Eid break in Hong Kong was a brief tryst with exotic food, therapeutic spa moments and lots of street walking, jostling through a sea of brand conscious Chinese flaunting Louis Vuitton and Dior bags – suddenly these brands looked affordable.
After a brief “Q&A” interruption at the immigration that ended in flashing my credit cards, cash and business card proving that I may not end up an illegal immigrant, I left behind a happy Chinese official and boarded the metro to the hotel.
The City is very modern with huge imposing glass buildings … a bit oversized for the average Chinese frame. But inside most of these buildings… everything comes in size ‘Zero’. Small beds ..still smaller chairs and claustrophobic-aesthetically designed bathrooms. Red taxies ply round the clock and while considering to use them remember that other than cash you need to have the street names and building names translated in Chinese. Music from FM channel seems to be unheard of. Almost all of the taxis we used were blaring Chinese news or could it be the communist manifesto? – who knows.
Public transport is efficient and heavily used – elegant double-decker buses, metro and trams. Trams looked like 3 dimensional hoardings on the move - dangerously delicate. The streets constantly smelled of Szechuan and other thousand sauces that left not a single Chinese with sparkling teeth – they looked as if pickled in oyster sauce!
We didn’t really go sightseeing…rather walked a lot in the city. But the ride up to the ‘Peak’ (that includes a mall perched on the mountain top) and the breakfast at Cafe Deco was an unforgettable experience…not just for the view of Hong Kong city from the peak…but for the first time I saw clouds losing their shapes and rapidly falling down in a trance…and then rained down on the city. It rained all the five days…in a way it was a relief from the humid weather. One night while waiting at a hotel reception for the rain to calm down, a lady who rushed in from the rain offered us her umberalla. Incidently it was offered to her by another stranger. For us … that was the soul of the city.
I found shopping cheaper than in Dubai. The iPhone was cheaper by AED 1,300. Spa is big business. We went in for a fish pedicure at the ‘Peak’ – hundreds of small fishes ate away our dead skin….a ticklish weird experience.
Hollywood road (‘load ‘thats how they pronounce) is lined with a lot of café’s, restaurants and pubs. We spend a few late nights in a few of them.
My friend a foodie and with a nose to smell the best kitchen that may not feature in recommended travel guides or in your hotel concierge listings found 3 fabulous places.
Press Room: Located on Hollywood road next to ‘Classifieds’ – a cheese and wine joint. Nothing journalistic about it….yes the collective vocal chord orchestration of the packed place sounded like a press room. Entry is strictly by reservation. Tastefully done interiors and dimly lit. We ordered Marion blanc 1988 craffe of wine; grilled sardines and Salmon ceviche in avocado, chili and coriander sauce for starters. Sardine was no longer a cheap fishe- it belonged to fine dining.
Rabbit rolled in ham bacon with ravioli in white cream sauce and Slow roasted sea bass in lemon and white wine sauce served with spinach and baby potatoes arrived under the main dish category. Not a morsel was left. We ended that day’s late night edition with a fruit gratin (stay away from this one) and Cho Marquise – chocolate fudge with ice cream. May be wrong choice of desserts – we felt like reading ’Page 3′ that’s cluttered with political analysis.
Gourmet Burger Union: You can either make your own burger – choosing the bread, spreads, filling etc or order from the menu painted on the wall. We went for the wall. The best burgers I ever had – unforgettable and didn’t feel guilty eating fast food for the first time. We came back again the next day.
Yung Kee Restaurant: on Wellington road was listed in the top 15 restaurants in the world by Fortune magazine and awarded a star by Michelin guide. It was our last day in Hong Kong and we relished on spicy crabs, minced pork rolled in omlets, steamed vegetables and Vietnamese style fried rice. My credit card company loved the transaction.
But no regrets…we ended Hong Kong on a high note with a heavy tummy and packed bags to the airport.
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
Monday, 21 June 2010
Monday, 14 June 2010
The elusive parking space…
Finding a match in your 30s is like looking for a parking space on a weekend. Good spots are all taken..! I was at lunch with this Arab American friend of mine. It was an unassuming Friday afternoon with a blazing sun outside and a growling appetite spread on the table.
She is in her 30’s and single. It’s been a few arabian summers since she last dated. Finding a date in this seemingly but not really conservative city has not been very lucky for her. She is not alone though. Her friends, all of them in the right and wrong side of 30 are single with no stable dates.
Torn between 2 cultures she feels that she is neither the quintessential western beauty nor a typical arab lass that would make bride material to a middle eastern groom. She silently joins the growing populace of single woman crossing the marriageable age trimming down the reproductive ambitions of this tiny state.
We finished our lunch and walked to the parking lot. She spotted her car. Getting a parking is all about timing. Being at the right spot at the right time. Sometimes it takes a bit too long. Eventually everybody looking for one gets a parking spot. Call it cosmic law.
She is in her 30’s and single. It’s been a few arabian summers since she last dated. Finding a date in this seemingly but not really conservative city has not been very lucky for her. She is not alone though. Her friends, all of them in the right and wrong side of 30 are single with no stable dates.
Torn between 2 cultures she feels that she is neither the quintessential western beauty nor a typical arab lass that would make bride material to a middle eastern groom. She silently joins the growing populace of single woman crossing the marriageable age trimming down the reproductive ambitions of this tiny state.
We finished our lunch and walked to the parking lot. She spotted her car. Getting a parking is all about timing. Being at the right spot at the right time. Sometimes it takes a bit too long. Eventually everybody looking for one gets a parking spot. Call it cosmic law.
Sunday, 6 June 2010
Sex and the political class....
‘Rajneethi’ evoked a lot of political unrest within congress. Be it the female lead's (or her wardrobe) resemblance to the congress supremo or the plot itself. Censor board prescribed certain cuts on a love making scene that involves a politician. According to the director half of the scenes were chopped and he remarked on NDTV... ‘in India politicians are allowed only 50% of sex’.
Indian politicians are viewed in black or white. The black has only shades of corruption and inefficiency (sex not included). The media and public wish to believe that the largest democracy is run by sterile or sexually loyal representatives – any allegations of sexual misconduct is swiftly hushed. Clinton loves this collective consciousness and badly missed it in his country.
Kamala Das’s embrace of Islam was widely covered in the media. Most of them (media and the literary circle) knew the reasons for her conversion even though she did feign an attempt to explain that she felt protection in a ‘purdha’, liked the discipline of the religion and wanted a Master to guide her. For someone who had romanticised her love for Lord Krishna through numerous writings and a literary icon who embodifies Hindu cultural symbols, her sudden metamorphosis to a burqa clad ‘Suraiya’ was like the Pope swapping his costume with Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.
The truth was that she once again found love in her late years in a politician who was 20 years younger to her. She believed in total surrender in love (as true to her writings) and declared to the whole world her plans to convert. The politician who was madly in love with her chickened out in the last minute. He was worried about his career; may be his worry had more to do with the public perception of him making love to a 60 plus year old literary icon.
He withdrew and she never revealed his identity. She wrote about their love …at times describing it as a love that was secretly unveiled in moonlight. A few poems later she left the world.
Indian politicians are viewed in black or white. The black has only shades of corruption and inefficiency (sex not included). The media and public wish to believe that the largest democracy is run by sterile or sexually loyal representatives – any allegations of sexual misconduct is swiftly hushed. Clinton loves this collective consciousness and badly missed it in his country.
Kamala Das’s embrace of Islam was widely covered in the media. Most of them (media and the literary circle) knew the reasons for her conversion even though she did feign an attempt to explain that she felt protection in a ‘purdha’, liked the discipline of the religion and wanted a Master to guide her. For someone who had romanticised her love for Lord Krishna through numerous writings and a literary icon who embodifies Hindu cultural symbols, her sudden metamorphosis to a burqa clad ‘Suraiya’ was like the Pope swapping his costume with Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.
The truth was that she once again found love in her late years in a politician who was 20 years younger to her. She believed in total surrender in love (as true to her writings) and declared to the whole world her plans to convert. The politician who was madly in love with her chickened out in the last minute. He was worried about his career; may be his worry had more to do with the public perception of him making love to a 60 plus year old literary icon.
He withdrew and she never revealed his identity. She wrote about their love …at times describing it as a love that was secretly unveiled in moonlight. A few poems later she left the world.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Love, Union Aur Conversion
They started their romance with a promise that they would keep it as casual as a passing breeze. Belonging to conservative families – one Hindu and another Muslim, they simply didn’t see a future for their office romance.
Over time they realized that the time they spend busy punching away SMSs and in the late hours secretly whispering into the handset of the season gave them enough reasons to break the promise they made at the start. Finally they are getting married after a 5 year long courtship. Both the parents have agreed to the union. It must be a tremendous relief for the two as well as their parents.
But in all this she will undergo a transformation. A possible name change, start wearing a burqa, will no longer seek darshan before a ‘sreekovil’ to receive prasada which was so much part of her 20 plus years as a Hindu. Why confuse religion with love or relationships. Union of two souls doesn’t mean a union of religious beliefs. How does this conversion for love differ from the missionary conversions (allegedly lured with imported milk powder and bread) or other such conversions of the weaker population?
Hope ultimately the sanctity of love would triumph. It may one day help us to accept relationships above gothras, diktats of khaps (a new term into the vocabulary of the Indian urban populace) and religion among other boundaries we have collectively raised over the centuries…
Over time they realized that the time they spend busy punching away SMSs and in the late hours secretly whispering into the handset of the season gave them enough reasons to break the promise they made at the start. Finally they are getting married after a 5 year long courtship. Both the parents have agreed to the union. It must be a tremendous relief for the two as well as their parents.
But in all this she will undergo a transformation. A possible name change, start wearing a burqa, will no longer seek darshan before a ‘sreekovil’ to receive prasada which was so much part of her 20 plus years as a Hindu. Why confuse religion with love or relationships. Union of two souls doesn’t mean a union of religious beliefs. How does this conversion for love differ from the missionary conversions (allegedly lured with imported milk powder and bread) or other such conversions of the weaker population?
Hope ultimately the sanctity of love would triumph. It may one day help us to accept relationships above gothras, diktats of khaps (a new term into the vocabulary of the Indian urban populace) and religion among other boundaries we have collectively raised over the centuries…
Friday, 14 May 2010
Ms. Meritta - hereafter a beautiful memory.....
It was the early 80's and the debut of a 20 something anglo indian teacher with a charming disposition gifted with musical talent into the classrooms of a boys school was the harbinger of many a beautiful days to come.
She taught history, english and also lead the school choir. She was soft spoken, beautiful with short curls and never considered a cane as an accessory. I was part of the choir and also took private guitar lessons on weekends. She was dating her fiancee those days whom we all thought was a terrible mistake.
A year or two later in one of the catechisim class, Ms Zeta (her mom and our teacher too - credited to be the first in tangasseri to ride a bike) asked us to pray for her and her family to get rid of a devil thats entered her house. The previous night i heard the commotion in her house as i was a house boarder in the neighbouring house. The Devil left their home and the mom and daughter lead a lonely life.
I rarely heard about her in the last 2 decades..during which she lost her marriage, mom and a glimmer of hope to live. Cancer was at her doorstep with only an empathetic neighbour for support. I share my grief of a lovely teacher who passed away - overwhelmed to know that she was composed in her last days to have had the courage to make advance arrangements for her funeral (including stitching her burial gown) knowing fully well she was alone in a world while waiting for her last day...!
Acknowledgement for pics: Balu and Noushad
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Artistic Yoga - Looking for flat abs....look no further!
It took a few days for my Concierge Service agent to locate a 'Yoga' centre here in Kuwait. The centre offered 'Artistic Yoga' and ran 3 sessions a week. Day one was a big suprise. It was 60 minutes of hard labour that required physical strength, flexibility, stamina, balance and agility - not to mention the litres of sweat that rained.
Little did I know that Artistic yoga was poles away from the traditional form of Yoga. Bharath Thakur the founder of 'Artistic Yoga' has creatively blended ancient yogic techniques (asanas, pranayam, bandhas, kriyas & mudras) with modern cardiovascular-training intended to achieve dramatic results in body-toning and weight loss - abs in particular.
There is soothing music in the background while you toil your body. But at the end of the session you leave each class feeling re-charged, yet calmer...tranquil within.
Looking for flat abs....look no further!
Little did I know that Artistic yoga was poles away from the traditional form of Yoga. Bharath Thakur the founder of 'Artistic Yoga' has creatively blended ancient yogic techniques (asanas, pranayam, bandhas, kriyas & mudras) with modern cardiovascular-training intended to achieve dramatic results in body-toning and weight loss - abs in particular.
There is soothing music in the background while you toil your body. But at the end of the session you leave each class feeling re-charged, yet calmer...tranquil within.
Looking for flat abs....look no further!
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Hannah Montana and the pink dreams....
She is 6 years old and hates her classical dance classes but loves bollywood dance numbers. So the 1 hour dance class is split into 30 minutes of classical lessons followed by a bollywood bonus in the 2nd half. Apart from pickig up an art, the 1 hour of prespiration is also intended to free her from the seemingly harmless comment 'she is on the healthier side'.
She adores 'hannah montana'. Why? 'because she is a pop star!'
So? 'she is rocking!' she said with her eyes wide open fluttering over rows of 'hannah montana' branded frocks, jackets and accessories - all of them PINK. All her class mates have 'HM' branded clothes or school bags. She managed to get the 'HM' clothes this time with a promise for a school bag during next visit.
Its not something new that kids want to be like grown ups. But these rows of branded pink sequenced dreams for sale is a highway to that pseudo-adulthood. A few rows across, women (housewives, mothers, aunts, professionals) were drifting through flowery prints - to restore the lost girly days.
She adores 'hannah montana'. Why? 'because she is a pop star!'
So? 'she is rocking!' she said with her eyes wide open fluttering over rows of 'hannah montana' branded frocks, jackets and accessories - all of them PINK. All her class mates have 'HM' branded clothes or school bags. She managed to get the 'HM' clothes this time with a promise for a school bag during next visit.
Its not something new that kids want to be like grown ups. But these rows of branded pink sequenced dreams for sale is a highway to that pseudo-adulthood. A few rows across, women (housewives, mothers, aunts, professionals) were drifting through flowery prints - to restore the lost girly days.
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
The date line....
One more of those survey findings that bloomed atop a lifestyle journos desk as a filler for the next days edition. But I found this one interesting. Women dates an average 24 times before they meet Mr. Right. Each set back adds up 8 pounds. Just imagine... by the time the average 'golden date number' is crossed she would have flabbed colossally....
I presume the journo either got the maths wrong or is a fan of junk food corporations that run global obesity mines - if latter then a feeble attempt to wipe the guilt smeared on them.
My pick is that the journo was just bad in numbers. Else how does one explain many of our toned page 3 celebrities.
I presume the journo either got the maths wrong or is a fan of junk food corporations that run global obesity mines - if latter then a feeble attempt to wipe the guilt smeared on them.
My pick is that the journo was just bad in numbers. Else how does one explain many of our toned page 3 celebrities.
Friday, 23 April 2010
In search of a song...
Simon Cowell commented to one of the American Idol participant that she performed a song that didnt represent her personality. The song represented someone else and not 'her' that they had seen in the last couple of weeks.
But what caught my attention was the participants immediate well articulated response to his comment. She said ' Am not sure why I should just portray one single personality. I embodify very distinct pieces of varied personalities that come into play in different situations. Which one should i pick for American Idol? I dont think i need to pick one of them to represent me here...rather go with a mix!'
So true. We all do.... play different roles and personifies as the script demands. As a sibling, spouse, colleague, lover, client, boss, or as a stranger who picks up a conversation while in metro, we all exude multiple layers of personlaities. I have not come across a single song that can personify this myriad collage of human ego and alter egos.
The mud sling on Tiger Woods brand representation or the questionable 'Sweat Equity' of Ms. Pushkar that consumed tons of brazilain rain forest pulp and peaked traffic on global fibre-optic networks, i guess was all about millions of Simons' quest for a singular persona in these tabliod victims thats palatable for public consumption.
But what caught my attention was the participants immediate well articulated response to his comment. She said ' Am not sure why I should just portray one single personality. I embodify very distinct pieces of varied personalities that come into play in different situations. Which one should i pick for American Idol? I dont think i need to pick one of them to represent me here...rather go with a mix!'
So true. We all do.... play different roles and personifies as the script demands. As a sibling, spouse, colleague, lover, client, boss, or as a stranger who picks up a conversation while in metro, we all exude multiple layers of personlaities. I have not come across a single song that can personify this myriad collage of human ego and alter egos.
The mud sling on Tiger Woods brand representation or the questionable 'Sweat Equity' of Ms. Pushkar that consumed tons of brazilain rain forest pulp and peaked traffic on global fibre-optic networks, i guess was all about millions of Simons' quest for a singular persona in these tabliod victims thats palatable for public consumption.
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