tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61683763554572887032024-03-09T01:53:28.012+05:30Tall Girl in Japan Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.comBlogger293125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-5273704997716209682020-10-24T15:40:00.004+05:302020-10-24T15:53:15.915+05:30Japanese Curry and an Indian Love Story! <div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;">The
famous Japanese curry chain Coco Ichibanya opened its first restaurant in
Gurugram, India a few months ago. A foreign company opening a curry joint in
India may seem like carrying coals to Newcastle except that Japanese curry is not
like anything that we eat in India.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;"><br />When my
Japanese friends ask me for the recipe of Indian curry, I honestly don’t know
what to tell them. Do I tell them the recipe for lentils or a mixed vegetable
or do I tell them how to make sambhar, or maybe a fish or chicken curry? The
truth is, India does not have something called Indian curry. What we do have is
a whole range of dishes with an astounding variety of ingredients and taste. It
is said that in India, every 100 kms or so, the local dish changes.</span></div><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">To the Japanese,
who have spent all their lives in a homogenous country with one language, one
culture and food habits that are more or less consistent across the island it is
extremely difficult to comprehend the vast diversity of food that we have in
India. </span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">So,
what exactly is Japanese curry?</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Japanese
curry is orangish-brown in color, thick in texture and has a taste that
veers towards sweet rather than spicy or tangy. There is no taste of fresh spices
or condiments. When you make Japanese curry, there is no sound of jeera popping
in the ghee, no heavenly aroma of fresh ginger, onion and tomato and green
chilies sizzling in ghee or oil. Japanese curry is simply a blend of few basic spices,
thickened using flour or potatoes. Most of the time the curry paste also
contains chopped apples – hence the slightly sweet taste. </span><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">The
supermarket here is full of packs of ready to eat curry. There are boxes
selling curry paste that you can add to your meat or vegetables and even
pre-cooked packs of chicken or beef curry.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxASlgbeWTC01hsxz6opnVNkJjULa-rDU2hZojZDtpb7La7l_s24KSOmVFp1XD2E4x_7SOk7bLoX-X0dmA47b2cHf8zI77oKLmf3rA2-FVe7arLm4l_806dC7vvSPokm4upBTZ4Ur7qg/s2048/curry+packets+.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxASlgbeWTC01hsxz6opnVNkJjULa-rDU2hZojZDtpb7La7l_s24KSOmVFp1XD2E4x_7SOk7bLoX-X0dmA47b2cHf8zI77oKLmf3rA2-FVe7arLm4l_806dC7vvSPokm4upBTZ4Ur7qg/w640-h480/curry+packets+.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;">The most
common and famous curry dish in Japan is Kare – Raisu or curry rice. Which is nothing
but a plate half filled with rice and half with a brownish curry with some meat
or very thick pieces of potato and carrot and beans nestled in it.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVO0YeqgIJaMX80czMq1krNVu43LHbJKKYoBxpNNHNaO5-oEqVi4Be2S8BeEJJNXbzA8LlpBnEVv0SplyBYsQbeEH8HsGRhga_feFGv92ka4A3iRX8dHCkWf15Jr-351uTFezMMd2XZ0/s2016/curry+rice.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVO0YeqgIJaMX80czMq1krNVu43LHbJKKYoBxpNNHNaO5-oEqVi4Be2S8BeEJJNXbzA8LlpBnEVv0SplyBYsQbeEH8HsGRhga_feFGv92ka4A3iRX8dHCkWf15Jr-351uTFezMMd2XZ0/w640-h480/curry+rice.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">Over the
years, curry has become as popular as ramen or sushi in Japan,may be even more.
Research indicates that the average Japanese household has curry at least once
a week. The Japanese have become so enamored with curry that they now even have
a curry ramen or soba –usually eaten in autumn and winter when the weather
turns cooler because curry is supposed to have heat-inducing properties. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjRYwh6pmVyxHZHLEOKEIBcENh8dolwm2zPivoAkYvd3wni8EOMKhyBwyTOZlUZd6e8VeR1R3cpTDF0Y89ZKvS1LvdtcglCFhfwR9WFvsy0Ud0lJuyXeCb0VNVEzumD4WH1LXHLSMBeU/s1440/curry+udon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjRYwh6pmVyxHZHLEOKEIBcENh8dolwm2zPivoAkYvd3wni8EOMKhyBwyTOZlUZd6e8VeR1R3cpTDF0Y89ZKvS1LvdtcglCFhfwR9WFvsy0Ud0lJuyXeCb0VNVEzumD4WH1LXHLSMBeU/w640-h640/curry+udon.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">The Japanese
also eat curry bread which is nothing but curry flavored dough made into buns
filled with vegetables or meat.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dGZWFqWkqzZurpAN6qo3zp0YDydImMlfUQvluBWov7gpRxkpCXaSEWMkg4ZTSFxTJuyHbDWlY31WN6pDIu-yWvjlyEUXcETZJiHlXid_Fxy7G-LM0kBYLn3OVZdhWZYHf_Nz5ygBE6Y/s1280/curry+bread.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dGZWFqWkqzZurpAN6qo3zp0YDydImMlfUQvluBWov7gpRxkpCXaSEWMkg4ZTSFxTJuyHbDWlY31WN6pDIu-yWvjlyEUXcETZJiHlXid_Fxy7G-LM0kBYLn3OVZdhWZYHf_Nz5ygBE6Y/w640-h480/curry+bread.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">image - wikipedia<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">Since
the Japanese are used to the taste of this curry, most Indian restaurants also
tend to offer a curry that is similar to the taste of the Japanese curry. </span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">Luckily over time, the number of Indian restaurants have grown and now they serve
curries slightly closer to the Indian taste but still nothing like what you eat
in India or even in other foreign countries like UK and Canada.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 游明朝; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">There
are many versions of how curry was introduced in Japan. The most popular
version is that it was introduced by the British sailors in the Meiji era</span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #444444; font-size: 12pt;"> (1868 - 1912) </span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">who brought it with them from
the then British occupied India. Over time, the original version was modified
by them till nothing remained of the original taste.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">The
British soldiers may be responsible for getting curry into Japan, but there is
a much more fascinating story of how the Indian version was introduced here. Surprisingly,
that story has to do with our freedom struggle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">Almost
every Indian knows Rash Behari Bose – the freedom fighter who founded the
Indian National Army. But not many know of his Japan connection. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ras Behari Bose fled to Japan to escape the
British after his attempt to assassinate Lord Hardinge, the then viceroy on India.
Once he reached Japan he took refuge with a Japanese family sympathetic towards
the Indian freedom movement. He continued to support the Indian freedom movement
from Japan and eventually with the help of the Japanese authorities founded the
Indian National Army that was later taken over by Subhas Chandra Bose.</span><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">But
there is another interesting and romantic angle to the story of Rash Behari
Bose. He fell in love and later married the daughter of the Nakamura family he
took refuge with. </span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf-9h0yA998ZDr3vcc0vwNP14oVk6bw5z_Mhtx7JBs3Yj9SpXvKjvtOePz3YQEDd71h65SnG2m1J7BRH5iLAivdGOrPuIY19xzXzEWJSBUibkKlz2MiAMuraPczBuiv7D-2bvgxqUJLY/s960/pic+bose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="729" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf-9h0yA998ZDr3vcc0vwNP14oVk6bw5z_Mhtx7JBs3Yj9SpXvKjvtOePz3YQEDd71h65SnG2m1J7BRH5iLAivdGOrPuIY19xzXzEWJSBUibkKlz2MiAMuraPczBuiv7D-2bvgxqUJLY/w486-h640/pic+bose.jpg" width="486" /></span></a></div><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;">But a few years later tragedy struck and his wife passed away suddenly. His in-laws owned a Bakery and in 1925, he along with his Father in law decided to introduce authentic Indian curry to japan. He personally selected the ingredients and decided on the cooking Style. Japan’s first Indo curry (Indian curry) restaurant was opened behind the bakery. </span></p><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyFTGkyu2x08JOS1F9be5uf226wyYGa8ztnOvIA0Lh2AA2QEn5RIreiO9yMkTLQURz5jKxE81I-polg_MUDzDMtJTDRxgrYrXu4njv3IQOpaJGQ9ShXn1NBGZyGecsbSubxQPbOrXMNEE/s960/nakamura+curry.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="668" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyFTGkyu2x08JOS1F9be5uf226wyYGa8ztnOvIA0Lh2AA2QEn5RIreiO9yMkTLQURz5jKxE81I-polg_MUDzDMtJTDRxgrYrXu4njv3IQOpaJGQ9ShXn1NBGZyGecsbSubxQPbOrXMNEE/w446-h640/nakamura+curry.jpg" width="446" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJEDR4vEQyfPll4CXi8JF3JmLaS_49SHelK90xMdQgmpZ8lInphlDTeLG4PUvF1kdeV-x1xXjcvmMXjpoSWjIU19SyXwsRnpJIJnQBwKgSs8bhVcv9u67jUNX1sZAoR_7bdldtgMIK3c/s960/namakamura+poster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJEDR4vEQyfPll4CXi8JF3JmLaS_49SHelK90xMdQgmpZ8lInphlDTeLG4PUvF1kdeV-x1xXjcvmMXjpoSWjIU19SyXwsRnpJIJnQBwKgSs8bhVcv9u67jUNX1sZAoR_7bdldtgMIK3c/w480-h640/namakamura+poster.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">This restaurant still
exists in Shinjuku area of Tokyo. I have eaten there, and if not 100 percent
authentic, the Nakamura curry is closest to the Indian taste. Even now packets
of this curry are sold under the brand name “Nakamura Curry”</span><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 8pt; mso-line-height-alt: 11.75pt; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> The only </span><span face="Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">time I ate curry in Japan was when I was taken to a restaurant by a well-meaning
Japanese who felt I must be missing the Indian food and eating curry would make
me happy. I could barely choke down that thick sweet curry and have not really
stepped into a curry restaurant since. I stick to other authentic Japanese
dishes like sushi and ramen and leave the Japanese to gush over their curry
rice. I feel the most sorry for the unsuspecting Indian software engineer, who
comes to Japan and missing the ghar ka khana makes a beeline for the curry
shop. What a shock he is in for.</span></span></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">To my
friends in India all I want to say is - If you do want to try the Japanese
curry in there – go with an open mind. Because what the Japanese have done to
our food is exactly what we have done to Chinese food – turned it into
something unique and entirely different from the original version</span><span face=""Tahoma",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Pゴシック"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">.</span></span></p>Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-81619953281512998032020-08-18T17:36:00.010+05:302020-08-18T18:00:59.993+05:30The Legacy of Renkoji Temple - Ashes of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose<span style="font-family: verdana;">Renkoji Temple stands in a quiet residential area in Tokyo and at first glance looks rather simple and unassuming. It seems just like one of the many neighborhood temples that dot Tokyo, till you peep inside its usually open gates. Inside, you will find a very life-like statue of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. </span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_WET99FaFjcGVfVJc4JyIttt9rVCdz2_qGqiEJ2Bf9l7QSR73jcTbPk3WWW-eJCazo1raOUYeB55lJMyjhWSJTPJf9ZadWsskdwDI_lyEBUHp1Yk5AlUZy6qC2wNr30lVPjvfJcMmIc/s2048/IMG_0570.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_WET99FaFjcGVfVJc4JyIttt9rVCdz2_qGqiEJ2Bf9l7QSR73jcTbPk3WWW-eJCazo1raOUYeB55lJMyjhWSJTPJf9ZadWsskdwDI_lyEBUHp1Yk5AlUZy6qC2wNr30lVPjvfJcMmIc/s640/IMG_0570.jpg" /></span></a></div></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, the Indian revolutionary and freedom fighter had a very deep connection with Japan. Very few people know about the small but significant influence Japan had on India’s freedom struggle and the Azad Hind Fauj. <br /><br /></span></div></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">During World War 2, In a quest to find support for a free India, Subhas Chandra Bose first traveled to Germany and then decided to ask for support from an Imperial Japan. He made the long and arduous journey from Germany to Japan in a submarine. As soon as he landed in Japan, he was granted a meeting with Prime Minister Tojo who promised him full support in his fight for India’s independence. Bose assumed the mantle of leading the Indian Independence Movement from outside India and supported by the Japanese aid and influence, proceeded to revitalize the Azad Hind Fauj (Indian National Army or INA) that was originally created using Indian soldiers who were taken prisoners of war by the Japanese during their campaign in South East Asia. The resurrected INA fought alongside the Japanese soldiers against the British forces in Burma, Imphal and Kohima and for a short while managed to turn the tide against the British. <br /><br />Unfortunately, things changed with Japan’s defeat in World War 2 and on 18th August 1945, three days after Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s unconditional surrender, Netaji boarded a plane, supposedly to escape to Manchuria. The sequence of events is somewhat clear till this point, but after this point, there are many theories. The most accepted theory is that the plane caught fire over Taipei and Netaji lost his life in the plane crash. <br /><br />It is widely believed that his ashes were brought back to Japan where they were handed over to the priest at Renkoji temple for safekeeping. His ashes remain interred there to date. Besides Indian dignitaries, members of Netaji’s family have also visited the temple and Netaji’s daughter Anita Bose Pfaff has also requested the Modi government to conduct a DNA test on the ashes kept there. She along with a large fraction of people believes that her father did indeed lose his life in the plane crash. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLOxGWGboGt-QmiJhzsCjjdFwVWYefoFoQ-S4FO-rA8RoYmSBfe_WfBHGSOy57Bv8SixfMP-cX4l-WtHwQAamrrVfGBVjPOInp0A7WqrRDpUzIb0qQAIMmZIEpcfQrQP8lpNpDqXQfvck/s820/Renkoji-temple.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="820" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLOxGWGboGt-QmiJhzsCjjdFwVWYefoFoQ-S4FO-rA8RoYmSBfe_WfBHGSOy57Bv8SixfMP-cX4l-WtHwQAamrrVfGBVjPOInp0A7WqrRDpUzIb0qQAIMmZIEpcfQrQP8lpNpDqXQfvck/s640/Renkoji-temple.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Image - Wikipedia</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span>Every year, on 18th August, the purported death anniversary of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, the inner sanctum of the temple is opened to the general public and a memorial service is held inside in Netaji’s honor. Last year, I had the opportunity to visit the temple and witness the ceremony. <br /><br />The Renkoji temple belongs to the Nichiren sect of Buddhism and is inspired by the Goddess of Wealth and Happiness. The alter is indeed magnificent but what makes it significant for us Indians is the huge photograph of Subhas Chandra Bose kept at a place of prominence. Beside it is a tall wooden plaque with his name written in Japanese. On that day, the alter was beautifully decorated with huge candles making the gloomy interior radiant. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2KsRjNQQNtJaSsAy184ySj7oNTmYWXNEQliqA1E_rOQQejeToH2JM8P6GG6GyLq7gsy9uFJYpjMQ7XO0rsT6mSKgmvrQQ5U-9bo7oOphhTlLh42e7Zb2B0b8btodUTUv3w3zwR0g_tk/s2048/IMG_0555.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1492" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2KsRjNQQNtJaSsAy184ySj7oNTmYWXNEQliqA1E_rOQQejeToH2JM8P6GG6GyLq7gsy9uFJYpjMQ7XO0rsT6mSKgmvrQQ5U-9bo7oOphhTlLh42e7Zb2B0b8btodUTUv3w3zwR0g_tk/s640/IMG_0555.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVm4eF6njGdkRhoarw2px6rJ1KiKQRGIwV_z5tyKVkwkltgl8lskuPXszJsBHmyB6KJ1cnOljDLE4bsybbA7Eaj8yn9rkWsXls5t4ofYmuih35GAUYRy-8XKg5G45_U3HmelAESlFkRE/s2048/IMG_0543.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVm4eF6njGdkRhoarw2px6rJ1KiKQRGIwV_z5tyKVkwkltgl8lskuPXszJsBHmyB6KJ1cnOljDLE4bsybbA7Eaj8yn9rkWsXls5t4ofYmuih35GAUYRy-8XKg5G45_U3HmelAESlFkRE/s640/IMG_0543.jpg" /></a></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">wooden plaque with Netaji's name written in Japanese </span></div></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>The ceremony was officiated by the head priest and Buddhist sutras were chanted for more than an hour. During the ceremony, the silence was absolute, and we were asked to respect the dignity of the occasion and not click any pictures. I was touched by the sincerity and reverence with which the Japanese pray for the soul of someone who does not belong to their country and whose ashes they just have in their safekeeping. After the prayers, we were allowed to go up to the altar and pay our respects. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZ84F9ZPVfww-zRZoSqfsgnqchVSOCN0eP-zqwvCb-hWsya99-I0VPo_t6pOg98UCQU6MZiiC-FJrCkKpXbeOVf5-zgcK6sva-f87T0V6tCnIQQZu-UzE00CaX1h0zeu4TeA0iAguaGk/s2048/IMG_0558.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZ84F9ZPVfww-zRZoSqfsgnqchVSOCN0eP-zqwvCb-hWsya99-I0VPo_t6pOg98UCQU6MZiiC-FJrCkKpXbeOVf5-zgcK6sva-f87T0V6tCnIQQZu-UzE00CaX1h0zeu4TeA0iAguaGk/s640/IMG_0558.jpg" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">The complete altar with the chair on which the priest sat to officiate the ceremony</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On the right of the altar, surrounded by incense and flowers was a small box that contained the purported ashes of Netaji. The box is usually kept inside but is brought out once a year every August 18th. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although the Indian Embassy in Tokyo pays for the upkeep and maintenance of the ashes, the head priest at the Renkoji temple considers it a great honor that they have been given this responsibility <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZb6L1pEIWru5jBUpmrlX0zSV05VqO-aanpUS3dtQIuv1TYBRldjGuJGZvzDlk07MVH56C6cEhiw5jdeQrJi3etEx5J8Jmg9Rxr9L6wAWWy24LT9KDGUrNlvsYNyOkCId6-0Iplvrq4uc/s2048/IMG_0563+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZb6L1pEIWru5jBUpmrlX0zSV05VqO-aanpUS3dtQIuv1TYBRldjGuJGZvzDlk07MVH56C6cEhiw5jdeQrJi3etEx5J8Jmg9Rxr9L6wAWWy24LT9KDGUrNlvsYNyOkCId6-0Iplvrq4uc/s640/IMG_0563+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ashes </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Amongst the motley crowd of Indian visitors, you will also find a few </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Japanese whose families in one way or the other have been associated with Bose and the INA. When we spoke to them, they had wonderful tales to tell about Netaji’s association with their fathers and grandfathers. It was heartwarming to see how much he is still revered there and how his tales of valor have been passed on to the younger generation. <br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Outside, in the temple grounds, behind the bust of Netaji are plaques carved with words from Indian dignitaries who had visited the temple, right from Rajendra Prasad, Jawaharlal Nehru, Indira Gandhi and most recently Atal Bihari Vajpayee. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8-jRhJPKvI9Nhqu99Gt1dae8IM3TfJN5DpFY3gKrBZMQ5u9sA8FZGc3h10qVqafT2O3AcTggbageq5krTyIoRWCo-Ct6BpDMehlItCYz72P41GJym6crgh6Uh6wkfrtSDEauWe-qNE8/s2048/IMG_0564.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8-jRhJPKvI9Nhqu99Gt1dae8IM3TfJN5DpFY3gKrBZMQ5u9sA8FZGc3h10qVqafT2O3AcTggbageq5krTyIoRWCo-Ct6BpDMehlItCYz72P41GJym6crgh6Uh6wkfrtSDEauWe-qNE8/w410-h308/IMG_0564.jpg" width="410" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Indian government began the process of declassification of files related to Bose on 23rd January 2016, but even now the controversy continues around Netaji and whether the ashes at Renkoji are indeed his. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>All controversy aside, I find it a matter of immense pride and honor to see one of our freedom fighters remembered with such reverence outside our country. </span></span></div>Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-19491067941538338352020-08-12T10:09:00.001+05:302020-08-12T10:23:34.879+05:30Song of the cicadas and other Japanese summer follies <p><span style="font-family: verdana;">For the Japanese, it is not spring till they have seen the first cherry blossom
and it is not summer till they have heard the cicadas sing.<br /><span lang="">Normally,
you would wake up with blissful silence around you till one day </span><span lang="" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="background-color: white;">you
are rudely shaken out of deep slumber by a sound that is similar to the sound your
grandfather's ancient alarm clock made back in India. This is the cicadas
tuning up for their summer concert. All through the summer, you will hear this
sharp, drill-like noise till the entire island is positively vibrating with it.
A sound that I loath because not only do I find the sound highly annoying but it
also signifies the beginning of one season I detest the most in Japan – Summer.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dykM1kOENHDDhTspxBaOS_TxPgI_h37TYS86WNPqCR44tJIbs2tQMb0twkk4o8z1U6UqtG7xOqyJ5N_78IxtQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">The sound besides the sound of the water are the cicadas and their symphony. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;">It rains non stop all through June and July</span> and Japan is perpetually hidden behind a
layer of rain and mist, making everything seem all mysterious and surreal. But as soon as August begins,
the rains suddenly disappear to be replaced by clear untarnished blue skies.
The sun is out in all its glory and perhaps miffed that it had to spend two
months behind clouds, now shines down with a vengeance. It rises at 4.30 am and
refuses to set before 7 pm making the day not only long but torturous for those
who need to step out. Japan being an island does not help at all as now the hot
and humid air rolls over from the Pacific so that you feel as if you are trudging through a sauna. If the sun doesn’t kill you, the humidity does.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">Heat
exhaustion or Natsubate is very common in Japan, b</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">ut
the Japanese being Japanese, have found several ingenious methods to deal with
the heat.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">One
is the Fan. We have all seen pics of Japanese ladies daintily fanning themselves
with pretty paper fans. But with technology, there has come a newer version of
the good old paper fan. Come summer and shops are flooded with small battery-operated
handheld fans. You can see a lot of people walking about outside while holding
these fans close to their faces. I find it a bit silly and would prefer a
traditional fan if I must use one, but whatever works!</span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqA7pM2KlTqp-1u9KebYOb8xWlz03lEmemJpCiOJ_xubcldIFzOCUKmNJ6NeCbrDaoS0TgAzoeStfK-JdUluaL_q1mWwkxLqgkaJC07dPfz3zbZgfGDkBGpuRdHSm8K530HEWEEfBb1g/s1200/hand+held+fans.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Portable fans at Tokyu Hands store" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqA7pM2KlTqp-1u9KebYOb8xWlz03lEmemJpCiOJ_xubcldIFzOCUKmNJ6NeCbrDaoS0TgAzoeStfK-JdUluaL_q1mWwkxLqgkaJC07dPfz3zbZgfGDkBGpuRdHSm8K530HEWEEfBb1g/w480-h640/hand+held+fans.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portable fans at the Tokyu Hands store<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another
interesting thing are the cooling sheets. They are small methanol gel filled sheets
that you can put on your forehead or on the back of your neck while you go
about your work. They give you an instant cool feeling. There are also special cooling
sheets you can put under the soles of your feet and on your ankles when you
have been walking a lot and your feet and tired and hot. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I have tried them and now this is the first thing I stock up on as soon as summer starts. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UvXM5VGaxEy9xbcBganwoVYch4ZrPISB5oT5jktPf32MA47djK9L6g2dTWYSOAPqge2GvbphtC9JbNem9mox9892P-ZLw-q4ZPxVjcSz5Hh9dUxqO7dtS0SYKM3tckgsN8qYurllzp4/s850/20150630-24-02-summer-cold-spray+fun+jpan.jpg" style="clear: right; font-family: verdana; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="850" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UvXM5VGaxEy9xbcBganwoVYch4ZrPISB5oT5jktPf32MA47djK9L6g2dTWYSOAPqge2GvbphtC9JbNem9mox9892P-ZLw-q4ZPxVjcSz5Hh9dUxqO7dtS0SYKM3tckgsN8qYurllzp4/w400-h268/20150630-24-02-summer-cold-spray+fun+jpan.jpg" width="400" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="661" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic51XeHzo9waK3WmK6lrktVgOu4FFdGI13VeYnspj6a3RHQga-cMhGnbwEG6_3Q63xpAjCfAZnyG-u6poH05KIrU8u-g3EIW3RcuYELJJZtd78t8N5UrsWwsoS7-GQOIohSPksK-oiPuI/w212-h320/leg+pad.jpg" style="font-family: verdana; text-align: center;" width="212" /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another
quirky Japanese invention are the sweat pads that you put under your clothing –
usually around the armpits and they absorb all the sweat. Japanese deodorants
are usually very mild and for the life of me, I cant understand why they would
make something like these sweat pads instead of just making heavy-duty deos.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">If
you don’t like the idea of sticking sweat pads under your clothes there is something
called the shirt spray very creatively named as </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">'</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shirt cool</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">'. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">You spray it on your clothes just before you put them
on and every time you sweat the substance in the spray reacts and gives you an instant cool
feeling.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang=""><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR-CLnZqP3agVegvvx7i2NOlDZhJ5aNStARgejCHRkh8h9-YuFZ50nPBlE_H9nDHZ5FJ8iWrPaowcuqSF2zhWLoEJTS84PrQkm2Kt41hB1wtYIc7R5yDd7ubBwuF_qUuZYQKXRcv11pg/s800/O1CN01d6VPBj1WZofeG5JSt_%2521%25212099242803.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR-CLnZqP3agVegvvx7i2NOlDZhJ5aNStARgejCHRkh8h9-YuFZ50nPBlE_H9nDHZ5FJ8iWrPaowcuqSF2zhWLoEJTS84PrQkm2Kt41hB1wtYIc7R5yDd7ubBwuF_qUuZYQKXRcv11pg/w320-h320/O1CN01d6VPBj1WZofeG5JSt_%2521%25212099242803.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">All
these things are displayed in shops under a sign that has a lot of ice or snow
with penguins and polar bears sliding ecstatically in it. Once you see this sign you will trip over yourself in a rush to buy all the products under it so that you can feel as cool
and happy as the polar bears. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another interesting thing about Japan is the food. Every season they come up with some
interesting food combinations. The flavor of summer is usually mint. Everything
right from ice-cream to chocolate to cookies to coffee is mint flavored. This
year even my hairstylist offered to wash my hair with a mint shampoo. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang=""><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9iQgyOIcDVRrM3jgty4L3AaOrwOxM3OdnFJR6iY1iOKlJAJBnFQz20aqAcEnRlpLzuhn223NKUSFBuAO0-XUsqSxJi4AHSOxjys2wtUdGFrkWKDTsW9H3dcJ2S9WaDXOaXnkBvlrhQho/s960/101381239_10157793889894094_3878246878629855232_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="515" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9iQgyOIcDVRrM3jgty4L3AaOrwOxM3OdnFJR6iY1iOKlJAJBnFQz20aqAcEnRlpLzuhn223NKUSFBuAO0-XUsqSxJi4AHSOxjys2wtUdGFrkWKDTsW9H3dcJ2S9WaDXOaXnkBvlrhQho/s640/101381239_10157793889894094_3878246878629855232_n.jpg" /></a></span></div><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">One
traditional Japanese dish that I am extremely fond of eating in the summer is
zaru soba. This is cold soba noodles eaten after dipping them in a light
summerish soy broth. I find them very tasty and refreshing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang=""><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm4O7XcdpVaMjhcCZ4oSnPrjTDT2tk1unamYfeaKUiFKg8ALIN2g7kLUk7CmrOgTWhOYuuxy0jkxPCOFXssJYHc2NhatUihyYLEmKS7sXfmRqLOczFlG4ZXvH6DqmANtb9rjvcqErD14/s1440/69385322_10156940949734094_2054064226661564416_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm4O7XcdpVaMjhcCZ4oSnPrjTDT2tk1unamYfeaKUiFKg8ALIN2g7kLUk7CmrOgTWhOYuuxy0jkxPCOFXssJYHc2NhatUihyYLEmKS7sXfmRqLOczFlG4ZXvH6DqmANtb9rjvcqErD14/s640/69385322_10156940949734094_2054064226661564416_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang=""><span style="font-family: verdana;">Besides
the interesting food items and ingenious inventions to beat the heat, the saving
grace in summer are the firework festivities held throughout the country.
August is also the time for the Obon festival. Obon is when the ancestors are
supposed to visit you and they are welcomed not only by solemn Buddhist
ceremonies but feisty Obon dances. </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">This year corona has put a dampener on all
festivities. <br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, with not even the fireworks or the Obon dances to lure me outside,
I shall stay indoors while the summer lasts, gorging on mint ice cream and cold
soba and dreaming of October when it is pleasant once again and the leaves start
turning a reddish-golden in the anticipation of autumn. </span><span style="font-family: verdana; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-16606760059695827332020-06-30T18:40:00.011+05:302020-06-30T18:48:24.208+05:30Meiji Shrine - A Spiritual Oasis<font face="verdana">5 am on a quiet Saturday morning found me walking towards the train station instead of lying snuggled up in bed. My plan for the day was to visit the Meiji Jingu Shrine and take a refreshing morning walk through the forest surrounding it. In the land of the rising sun, sunrise is at 4.20 am during summer and by 5 the day was already promising to be one of those hot, breathless summer days with bright blue skies and not a cloud in sight. I wanted to make the most of the day before heat and humidity drove us indoors. <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Oasis of calm in the midst of an urban jungle </b></i></div></i><br /></font><div><font face="verdana">Nestled deep within lush green woods right in the heart of Tokyo, the Meiji Jingu is dedicated to the spirits of Emperor Meiji and his wife, Empress Shoken. Emperor Meiji, who reigned from 1867 till 1912 is known for the modernization of Japan and opening the country to the west. <br />To reach the shrine, you walk through a winding forest of thick trees that seem to form a wall of dense foliage. You can enter the forest from Yoyogi or Harajuku, both extremely busy districts, but as soon as I stepped inside, the city seemed to magically fall away. The only sound I heard was the wind rustling through the leaves. Even my footsteps seemed inordinately loud on the gravel. The serene walk through the lush green forest calms your senses and you are almost in a zen-like state by the time you reach the shrine. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHFM3aLblNvhIp8yCZKcYM3CQTPtSLfMLclbFsq8AeeTslCDYDyU7unrMl1kJvWf-toR4z7xipuHDaoWEyB6dOFkSOli0R0HMKXB2GxAGJ8oOIx6jMR1fsdc_yAeCq_D2_c5X_U3NcA4/s4032/IMG_2602.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHFM3aLblNvhIp8yCZKcYM3CQTPtSLfMLclbFsq8AeeTslCDYDyU7unrMl1kJvWf-toR4z7xipuHDaoWEyB6dOFkSOli0R0HMKXB2GxAGJ8oOIx6jMR1fsdc_yAeCq_D2_c5X_U3NcA4/w480-h640/IMG_2602.JPEG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi_wlaSCrxnBFxJBgwimml1k_ZZ5YuRBO3mSusZRYjVw6DjecrgTkyL930aToG7auyU9Y-8K_FhYhD0POtBEaAeKeIOHopP-Jz-pJhcxjZOnhbX3Mvj61k9aazVHkSG7c9jInobpZkpM/s3553/IMG_2442.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2667" data-original-width="3553" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi_wlaSCrxnBFxJBgwimml1k_ZZ5YuRBO3mSusZRYjVw6DjecrgTkyL930aToG7auyU9Y-8K_FhYhD0POtBEaAeKeIOHopP-Jz-pJhcxjZOnhbX3Mvj61k9aazVHkSG7c9jInobpZkpM/w640-h480/IMG_2442.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />After walking for about 15 minutes you reach an imposing 40-foot high torii (gate) made entirely of cypress. This is the official entrance to the shrine. A Torii is supposed to separate the spiritual world from the physical, material world. As soon as you pass under the Torii you are supposed to be in the presence of gods. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxLVrgTHu3XrKf1nk0MST7204-W1C4dsFWRDge9ViEfJVFAV0wtRSXhVKa6xSiu2R96r3W5Xy0VEIAqniQtAFib4MU_1vBxRAmrSswkbduFgMd1LDedXEI886VBtLg-_I47PwkKkhTUQ/s3575/IMG_2444.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3575" data-original-width="2681" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxLVrgTHu3XrKf1nk0MST7204-W1C4dsFWRDge9ViEfJVFAV0wtRSXhVKa6xSiu2R96r3W5Xy0VEIAqniQtAFib4MU_1vBxRAmrSswkbduFgMd1LDedXEI886VBtLg-_I47PwkKkhTUQ/w480-h640/IMG_2444.JPEG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The massive Sake barrels add a splash of color</b></i></div></font><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Before you walk towards the shrine, you see an interesting sight – bright, colorful barrels of Sake or Japanese wine. Sake is also used as an offering to Gods in Japan and these barrels have been donated by Sake manufacturers from all over Japan. The Sake is used in religious ceremonies at the shrine.</font><div><font face="verdana"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPAZvK-jIlul8BrVkBrBul3_fZZJSACyOkug0yR-EyC5Z26-xIMw8S-jSJdP52aU-fIHP7r0XxSjyLaSbduiThviUtDrSGwX_a7oKMls0cGExhtcebxOIHwsfQld92QVS5_dd_EpC6Rw/s2048/IMG_2552.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPAZvK-jIlul8BrVkBrBul3_fZZJSACyOkug0yR-EyC5Z26-xIMw8S-jSJdP52aU-fIHP7r0XxSjyLaSbduiThviUtDrSGwX_a7oKMls0cGExhtcebxOIHwsfQld92QVS5_dd_EpC6Rw/w640-h480/IMG_2552.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq-lWRGK2A13p3RWvv3SXmYhIJiivb37XI8l5ilceTkaclWYxyRgQjh7CArVZcdELxcb-tPTnA4lDVtavAeGsS8hpnfKYXk9HLgQWXE0fKEMSxQswnAVy1AG-GfswBkWmKQIe1-esppE/s3226/IMG_2546.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2420" data-original-width="3226" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq-lWRGK2A13p3RWvv3SXmYhIJiivb37XI8l5ilceTkaclWYxyRgQjh7CArVZcdELxcb-tPTnA4lDVtavAeGsS8hpnfKYXk9HLgQWXE0fKEMSxQswnAVy1AG-GfswBkWmKQIe1-esppE/w640-h480/IMG_2546.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>A place of great spiritual aura</b></i></div></font></div><div><font face="verdana"><b><i><br /></i></b>The main gate to the shrine is magnificent and sheer size boggles your mind.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3smW2OToYmnPG9MaI2hv7EvlBTrkQULI854l-n-7FqqVcrxWKOlfJ5L9d8D487uWxk7VJUhYyutNdn5HWhFrgUhnAVkt-9ZrXffB9MTxSyzeKGERWgKPfr0twMj87IMQSQ0nYwU1eo3Q/s3513/IMG_2463.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2640" data-original-width="3513" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3smW2OToYmnPG9MaI2hv7EvlBTrkQULI854l-n-7FqqVcrxWKOlfJ5L9d8D487uWxk7VJUhYyutNdn5HWhFrgUhnAVkt-9ZrXffB9MTxSyzeKGERWgKPfr0twMj87IMQSQ0nYwU1eo3Q/w640-h480/IMG_2463.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrBN61YDjpeT4hGKqhu7lbHz9DVCAzUaxKobWs_tDChQmCyzn48PcPoOycfV1Ut08VP1oip2i3cVoYOFZQE9XER7JRjbYdy3987XXYHajM6_q8c69BfLKJVn3at3zWuiitOBmE-EQxgQ/s3374/IMG_2587.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3374" data-original-width="2656" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrBN61YDjpeT4hGKqhu7lbHz9DVCAzUaxKobWs_tDChQmCyzn48PcPoOycfV1Ut08VP1oip2i3cVoYOFZQE9XER7JRjbYdy3987XXYHajM6_q8c69BfLKJVn3at3zWuiitOBmE-EQxgQ/w504-h640/IMG_2587.JPEG" width="504" /></a></div><br /><br />The main shrine is inside a huge courtyard with entrances from three sides. The shrine was designed by the architect Chūta Itō and built in the traditional nagare-zukuri style using Japanese cypress. The roof of the main building is made of copper. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSave81rrhI8eCt_riTnFqRbqiuQiFnvsVr89AfpjE1yjfOGh6Nd2fZgzlExb4BWdasNQ-NZnUdmIcVClEgTMPe590zyrPfd71WDHjZm81eiLNSGeObSLkBivCVzH8wRTsULQz_DCUW4/s3670/IMG_2573.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2892" data-original-width="3670" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSave81rrhI8eCt_riTnFqRbqiuQiFnvsVr89AfpjE1yjfOGh6Nd2fZgzlExb4BWdasNQ-NZnUdmIcVClEgTMPe590zyrPfd71WDHjZm81eiLNSGeObSLkBivCVzH8wRTsULQz_DCUW4/w640-h504/IMG_2573.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Almost in front of the shrine stands two camphor trees bound together by a holy rope called Shimenawa. This is supposed to be a spot of great spiritual power. People flock here to pray for everlasting relationships and marital happiness. <br />The air was heavy with the fragrance of camphor. </font></div><div><font face="verdana">I had never seen a camphor tree and never knew the smell emanating from them could be so strong. It all added to the spiritual aura of the place. In the quietude of the morning, the shrine did seem to vibrate with the spiritual aura it is so famed for. <br /></font><br /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOVtXp2xOkgDe_567TkozaST-HGrpNVsYJzTRBI9ucdwonTmlycOUNlZKMObeIYnoCv2vXvuLANJEw7Wn3LNw1jyoCrtqKUZjPcgQ6jYAySXusgUp78RjPsnqNd9TePcFjHT9rC5hqkk/s2992/IMG_2787.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2992" data-original-width="2156" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOVtXp2xOkgDe_567TkozaST-HGrpNVsYJzTRBI9ucdwonTmlycOUNlZKMObeIYnoCv2vXvuLANJEw7Wn3LNw1jyoCrtqKUZjPcgQ6jYAySXusgUp78RjPsnqNd9TePcFjHT9rC5hqkk/w462-h640/IMG_2787.JPEG" width="462" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><font face="verdana">Moving away, opposite the camphor trees is the place where people hang Ema or prayer plaques. You can buy these wooden plaques at all shrines, write your prayers and wishes on them and hang them here. </font></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjenhASHFiJhduzEyfkbg5bZijXZgcc8Wg06EkPBpGSSIJG6WI8E6c-hDudgS1hXlW8RfrzH040ugZqTjsVnTGFuCD_O-iTGhf8k65OsPHOZVxon9Pq2bCM3pM8ybLRWv7Ak-iiFcytV1M/s2686/IMG_2478.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2681" data-original-width="2686" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjenhASHFiJhduzEyfkbg5bZijXZgcc8Wg06EkPBpGSSIJG6WI8E6c-hDudgS1hXlW8RfrzH040ugZqTjsVnTGFuCD_O-iTGhf8k65OsPHOZVxon9Pq2bCM3pM8ybLRWv7Ak-iiFcytV1M/w640-h638/IMG_2478.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><b><i>Dignified in its austerity </i></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;">The Shrine is majestic but almost unadorned, its severe lines enlivened </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">here and there</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> by delicate woodwork. One would expect a shrine dedicated to an emperor to be flashy and colorful but there is great dignity in the austerity of the Meiji Shrine.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9fiDMU8QYwlNUB63MHXvh1QOO-WIK9N7j24a32YqVZHPY64otYvBwuhv2DJgiLlUJGrrATT-N9_85ZG6dVkC8NGPnXDSr1zXjYdB6OAeSrD2I4nmGviA22LQoc1ptkNxm6fDER_qmEA/s3219/IMG_2742.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2740" data-original-width="3219" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9fiDMU8QYwlNUB63MHXvh1QOO-WIK9N7j24a32YqVZHPY64otYvBwuhv2DJgiLlUJGrrATT-N9_85ZG6dVkC8NGPnXDSr1zXjYdB6OAeSrD2I4nmGviA22LQoc1ptkNxm6fDER_qmEA/w640-h544/IMG_2742.JPEG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAofORkJaCdHf7St-0N5ZPuZrXAIzlMKbBrFN2ky1FVPUq_kheclaeZbgXZNHCYOUlSkDb_8LhmoEvRelVVv32-0-teacaHV2OSkQ3jRCc5K86isiqXEIiDnqzyZgmFpHKT0uebUgegso/s3690/IMG_2514.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3690" data-original-width="2889" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAofORkJaCdHf7St-0N5ZPuZrXAIzlMKbBrFN2ky1FVPUq_kheclaeZbgXZNHCYOUlSkDb_8LhmoEvRelVVv32-0-teacaHV2OSkQ3jRCc5K86isiqXEIiDnqzyZgmFpHKT0uebUgegso/w502-h640/IMG_2514.JPEG" width="502" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7KDQzVFzuhldFCxfSO7UlspvT2gZYOtioNKV6ry4rI7vQN8dmuhnYih5VtB2QqTM1LuXVG5je1suewpf5oI4ZECYxw0mkKlB4Y4SsJWIPDLuXJpK6ZVA-upGdf9s2tciXulnS1oGPMo/s3780/432C0928-23B0-40A8-885B-CB0BD7264AF6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7KDQzVFzuhldFCxfSO7UlspvT2gZYOtioNKV6ry4rI7vQN8dmuhnYih5VtB2QqTM1LuXVG5je1suewpf5oI4ZECYxw0mkKlB4Y4SsJWIPDLuXJpK6ZVA-upGdf9s2tciXulnS1oGPMo/w512-h640/432C0928-23B0-40A8-885B-CB0BD7264AF6.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><font face="verdana">The shrine is also famous for Shinto weddings. I was too early to see an actual wedding but I did catch a bride and groom as they got ready for one. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ps9amc7ZBi8vbL0iXqHGHS1YHRrxfIetPThhE3Q2dTOahIrUJTj6ZhA0gW7rKgh415bN1_AI5TU0BBGGU5HccXG5vp_oAeNAThpNna6WwmmVzIYJy6Gnw-JLfL9iap830exUbtT2-i0/s2183/IMG_2536.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2183" data-original-width="1637" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ps9amc7ZBi8vbL0iXqHGHS1YHRrxfIetPThhE3Q2dTOahIrUJTj6ZhA0gW7rKgh415bN1_AI5TU0BBGGU5HccXG5vp_oAeNAThpNna6WwmmVzIYJy6Gnw-JLfL9iap830exUbtT2-i0/w480-h640/IMG_2536.JPEG" width="480" /></a></div></font><br style="font-family: verdana;" /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="verdana"><b><i>A visit to the Inner Garden completes the experience</i></b></font></div><div><font face="verdana"><b><i><br /></i></b></font></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Meiji Shrine is also known for its Inner Garden. The garden existed even before the shrine and Emperor Meiji and his wife were frequent visitors. The beautifully laid out garden has an arbor, a tea house that the emperor had built for Empress Shoken. </span><br style="font-family: verdana;" /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The tea house is on a gentle slope of land, surrounded by greenery and overlooking the pond. </span><br style="font-family: verdana;" /><font face="verdana"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D4m5x_kqeMYIjhK3BV7gJ0903WS1JK60iTgZnD518CvOH2ecnYQH3T42SMNbYyVT0c5KtLw-t6JNCQ8zDaKoGjgig0RPkc-GPXeylBMotNOblhkPUPu4TNMcIa6nx2H9AdlXD5teA_o/s1440/104621062_10157881653599094_4547850670048626183_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D4m5x_kqeMYIjhK3BV7gJ0903WS1JK60iTgZnD518CvOH2ecnYQH3T42SMNbYyVT0c5KtLw-t6JNCQ8zDaKoGjgig0RPkc-GPXeylBMotNOblhkPUPu4TNMcIa6nx2H9AdlXD5teA_o/w640-h640/104621062_10157881653599094_4547850670048626183_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The pond is a delightful place at all times and the clear blue sky, the cluster of lilies floating in the water, and the colorful carp weaving through them made a pretty picture.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-McDixbEd6vCR8bRY9nB7ksfG7hyphenhyphenP9MoIJoHqb_3beCOUMz1oGNEQF0vyyH8NDx62bIfZIdcQMvqSr2oV2YXeX_-zfNzOzfWlCB2UoWGEd7vU9_s1aNFbSsNLzHl-FtbdK_dHHOVd3A/s1440/104920450_10157881653794094_5177000415944089735_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-McDixbEd6vCR8bRY9nB7ksfG7hyphenhyphenP9MoIJoHqb_3beCOUMz1oGNEQF0vyyH8NDx62bIfZIdcQMvqSr2oV2YXeX_-zfNzOzfWlCB2UoWGEd7vU9_s1aNFbSsNLzHl-FtbdK_dHHOVd3A/w640-h640/104920450_10157881653794094_5177000415944089735_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YxDLnIKMfaR5FeL5-Ejt1AbQfsELvpXoNBAfUXTVj_EYkpGtNrMgeetU8bz8vyFI2bkx24UHwVQTs9lBLCsg2bin2C37UYaN0_IWxCaGL3G_iTJXX-U8LOxiRyB2pmkKtHoxBEgTCRc/s1440/104899038_10157881653384094_5623249790551498209_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YxDLnIKMfaR5FeL5-Ejt1AbQfsELvpXoNBAfUXTVj_EYkpGtNrMgeetU8bz8vyFI2bkx24UHwVQTs9lBLCsg2bin2C37UYaN0_IWxCaGL3G_iTJXX-U8LOxiRyB2pmkKtHoxBEgTCRc/w640-h640/104899038_10157881653384094_5623249790551498209_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Different flowers bloom all through the year, but the garden is particularly famous for its irises. The Irises were in full bloom when I visited.<br /><br /></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTISMWiMFJ__4DHUPKqieO-2Rr9_Pw01GYqSfJPfS7eSXoOT1UKG3nQgMm6rh8lpo7Uldb7GMQg9uCmS2A7kUEt1iDpqnyXWsuWsM6u43LtbNiUp4c9MtkiK3j_GaVgs6Yh9nigEoZEY/s2048/IMG_2682.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTISMWiMFJ__4DHUPKqieO-2Rr9_Pw01GYqSfJPfS7eSXoOT1UKG3nQgMm6rh8lpo7Uldb7GMQg9uCmS2A7kUEt1iDpqnyXWsuWsM6u43LtbNiUp4c9MtkiK3j_GaVgs6Yh9nigEoZEY/w640-h480/IMG_2682.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><font face="verdana"><br /></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmNR9A9tsMJqxEaCu7Rt1ajDXaWSvpzWu-9ugvnHcTThodEJ9isx0cxsjWrEAZB83HSny40rAOzuPe52HEbsm-1zAESDsi0t35ojH-4TQHxTQgNcGe5wemB5E6VPOU9NlgWwBpNBD6D8/s1440/105946692_10157881653319094_2007064516444079851_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmNR9A9tsMJqxEaCu7Rt1ajDXaWSvpzWu-9ugvnHcTThodEJ9isx0cxsjWrEAZB83HSny40rAOzuPe52HEbsm-1zAESDsi0t35ojH-4TQHxTQgNcGe5wemB5E6VPOU9NlgWwBpNBD6D8/w640-h640/105946692_10157881653319094_2007064516444079851_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: start;">With its imposing torii gates, austere yet dignified architecture, tranquil forest area, and a beautiful garden, Meiji Shrine is the epitome of Shintoism. A must</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: start;">visit if you are in Tokyo. </span></div> </div></div>Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-18006328108891093762020-06-09T07:52:00.001+05:302020-06-09T07:53:10.568+05:30The Masked Japanese<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The world has discovered masks now thanks to the coronavirus but the Japanese have been using them for a long long time. When the Japanese leave their house, don’t forget your mask is as common a refrain as don’t forget your keys. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I first visited Japan, almost 15 years back, I was taken aback to see the number of people wearing masks. Outside of a hospital and besides a doctor, I had never seen anyone wearing a mask. And here were normal people, going about their daily lives– all wearing masks. I was completely bewildered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are they all seriously sick? I wondered. As time passed, I got used to the mask-wearing Japanese and realized it is as common as wearing glasses or a scarf. Infact the mask-making industry is a multi-million-dollar industry here. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4YUIT82t-dYEhR3YTaWc75F6tangW9k_cQGCgRcXGNG3llVLg_SYIAeac_Ks4tcaRcXmeZHmNaJ5hfZzOLwTAPxqfKoMtKa3YEJHgeZ455hyphenhyphenGzinwIaXFWfNCR73wJf50Rq0evrCWew/s960/people+wearing+masks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="764" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4YUIT82t-dYEhR3YTaWc75F6tangW9k_cQGCgRcXGNG3llVLg_SYIAeac_Ks4tcaRcXmeZHmNaJ5hfZzOLwTAPxqfKoMtKa3YEJHgeZ455hyphenhyphenGzinwIaXFWfNCR73wJf50Rq0evrCWew/w510-h640/people+wearing+masks.jpg" width="510" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Japanese wear masks for various reasons– a lot of which us non-Japanese would find very difficult to comprehend. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The main reason of course is Health. A surprisingly large number of Japanese have hay fever allergy and wear the mask to avoid inhaling pollen. You will see a lot of masked faces during the pollen season. For the same reason, a lot of Japanese wear masks during the Flu season. Japan is a very densely populated country with overcrowded trains and cramped, often claustrophobic public spaces. Wearing a mask when you are packed like sardines in a train ensures that you are not breathing in any bacteria or germs that might be floating around. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But a more important reason for wearing masks is the Japanese emphasis on proper social etiquette and the concept of Enryo. Simply put, Enryo means to be considerate towards others. It can be seen in Japanese habits of not talking on the phone while inside a train or not picking up the last bit of food from the common plate in case anyone else wants to eat it. The Japanese wear masks to not only protect themselves from infections but to make sure that they don’t pass on their germs to others around them. This reminds me of the Jain monks in India. They cover their mouths so that they don’t inadvertently inhale small inspects. The meat-eating Japanese have no such qualms but they are considerate enough not wear masks so that they don’t give their germs to anyone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It has been touted that the main reason for japan beating coronavirus is that most of the population was already wearing masks so that the spread of germs was much less. The government did not have to educate people about wearing masks. It came naturally to the Japanese and they were already taking this precaution before the government asked them to. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another reason is more psychological. The Japanese tend to be reserved by nature and wearing a mask gives them a feeling of being socially distant from others. It also allows you to mask your expressions – the Japanese firmly believe in not letting the other person know what they are thinking through their facial expressions. Wearing a mask may also provide privacy and make you less approachable by indicating to others that you do not wish to talk or mingle with them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Coming from India, a country where social interactions and informality is the norm, this need for social detachment and inherent social anxiety amazed me. Even after being associated with the Japanese for a long time, interacting with people who wear masks is something I am still very uncomfortable with. It is unnerving to talk to people when you can only see their eyes and can never make out their reactions to what you are saying. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Japanese who are always in the eye of the public also tend to wear masks to protect their privacy. There are some convenience store workers or bank employees who I would never recognize at any other place because I have never seen them without a mask. The reason could be that they want to be polite towards the customers and make sure that they are not breathing any germs on people or merchandise. But some people do it to remain incognito. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another reason has to do with vanity. Grooming and keeping a perfect appearance is paramount in Japan and you will rarely find a woman who is not well-groomed and without makeup. It is considered a disrespect to others if you appear before them slightly less groomed or without a perfectly made-up face. Masks are very handy if you just want to dash across the road for an errand and can't be bothered to put on some makeup. Wearing a mask hides most of your face and no one will ever get to see you au naturel. Showing their natural behavior or face is something most Japanese are not comfortable with. Masks can also be used to hide a slight imperfection – like a pimple. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The mask seems to offer the Japanese protection both physically and psychologically. It remains to be seen if the other countries will follow Japan's cue to adapt masks or discard them as soon as the COVID scare is over. </span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-59984202135170438062020-05-29T03:03:00.000+05:302020-05-29T03:07:11.604+05:30The Golden Week that turned to brass<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The first time I experienced emergency was when I was a mere babe in my mother’s arms. Indira Gandhi had declared an emergency in India to deal with political disturbances. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now so many decades later, I face a different kind of emergency in a different country. In April, Prime Minister Abe declared an emergency in Japan to deal not with his political opponents but with the Corona Virus. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The thing is, Abe is no Indira Gandhi, and coming down with force is something that the Japanese are not good at anyway. So, this was a sort of pseudo emergency. Transport was still running and almost all businesses were open.There was no enforcement, the government just politely requested people to stay at home and avoid crowds. Surprisingly even without any strict enforcement, people actually followed instructions from their government. For an Indian like me, this in itself was something new and baffling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Most offices declared work from home in March and I have been at home ever since. The past few months have been an interesting study on how to spend a lockdown alone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The first few days were fun. There was no pressure to get up very early, quickly cook breakfast and lunch, and then leave for work. I could simply roll out of bed and switch on my work Laptop. All I had to was make sure my hair was neatly combed and I had a good shirt on whenever we had video calls. This fun period lasted only a few days until I started feeling like a sloth and a sense of lethargy set in. Also staying in my pajamas the whole day was not liberating. It was just depressing. Eventually from lolling about in my pajamas, I moved to the other extreme of dressing smartly every day even though I knew I was not going anywhere. I even started putting on a bit of perfume and makeup. Surprisingly it all helped. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Until now, I had loved my compact and easy to manage apartment but suddenly it started feeling highly claustrophobic and inconvenient. Earlier I just used it for sleeping and putting together quick meals but now that I was spending all my time in it, its shortcomings became all too evident. The kitchen was just too small to cook regular meals and I kept banging into my few pieces of furniture while trying to move about. There is not much you can do in a small space and pacing up and down inside the apartment didn’t help relieve boredom at all except that I now know that I can take exactly 32.5 steps in my apartment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Soon, I was so bored that I started looking at myself in the mirror and asking aaj khaane mein kya banayun. And in response I snarled at myself because roz roz same question! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am not a very social person and don’t always need company but after a few days with just myself, I could barely tolerate my own idiocentricities. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Japan is not like India or Spain or Italy, where neighbors will stand in their balconies and talk or cheer each other with a glass of wine and hold musical concerts. My neighbors would have found it very strange had I suddenly started talking to them after ignoring them for a better part of the year. So, I thought this is the perfect time to call my friends and family back home in India. But that was no fun at all. Half of them were in a constant hurry and a terrible mood because they were busy juggling work, family and missing their maids more than they would miss a limb. The other half were busy turning the lockdown into a productivity contest and churning up every dish from jalebis to banana cakes, doing weird fitness things like climbing their living room wall or turning into gardeners by growing everything from dhaniya patta to exotic flowers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Busy or not, they all did have one thing to say to me -How lucky I was to be alone at this time. I had all the personal space I wanted without the entire family breathing down my neck and I just had to cook and clean for myself. Ah well, the grass being greener on the other side and all that! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The worst thing about the emergency was that it ruined the Golden week for me. Golden week is a period of five glorious continuous holidays in Japan at the end of April. I spend my entire year in anticipation of these holidays. This is a time when Japan has the perfect travel weather. Not too cold and not too hot. What numerous plans I had for the golden week and not one included staying indoors. But now I was faced with almost an entire week cooped up inside the house with nothing to do but fret and worry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Strangely enough, it was the park near my house that eventually saved me from death from boredom or worry. Wearing a mask and armed with a sanitizer I started going for daily walks. The park not only became my place of daily exercise and rejuvenation but, now that I had more time on my hands, a delightful study of nature. I had a chance to observe the cherry trees right from when the first few buds started appearing till the trees were covered in a pink and white cloud of flowers. This experience turned out to be more enjoyable and personalized than going to a crowded tourist spot to see the cherry blossoms as I had originally planned. After the cherry blossoms came the delightful wisterias, irises, and azaleas. Every day had some new flower, some new shade of green on the leaves to look forward to and marvel at. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I used to see a lot of Japanese sitting in the park reading and some even working on the laptop. Houses are usually small in Japan and almost everyone was feeling the lack of personal space. With all cafes closed, sitting on a park bench and working seemed like a good option. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After I had moped around enough I realized what a golden opportunity this time was to just relax. For the past year, since I had moved to Japan, my life had been a frenzy of continuous activity and at times rather stressful. Here was a chance to slow down and do what I wanted, the way I wanted. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eventually, I settled down to a quiet routine of office work through the weekdays and working on writing and reviving my long-forgotten blog over the weekends. Writing has always made me happy and it was just the perfect thing to do at this time. I also finally started going through the 100 unread books on my kindle. The most unexpected thing I did was to decide to learn how to cook some basic Japanese food. I am not too fond of cooking and this decision came as a surprise even to me. But Japanese recipes are quick and easy to cook and I could finally learn how to use those interesting looking local vegetables and herbs I saw at my grocery store. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The downtime gave me time to unwind, relax and take stock of a lot of things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And you know what, I am not the slightest bit guilty about not learning any new skill or utilizing every moment of my time productively. I got through this emergency living on my own and with my sanity Intact. For me, that’s about enough! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Japan goes back to normal life starting Monday. Now that I am so used to my own company and solitude, I think I might just miss it! </span></div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-16203404700978884042020-05-04T14:43:00.001+05:302020-05-08T06:57:39.247+05:30Hokokuji - The Green Cathedral <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today is Midori no Hi or Greenery Day in Japan. A National Holiday to give thanks to nature and the bounty that it gives us. Nature and religion go hand in hand in Japan. Shintoism in its purest form is the worship of nature and the same concept has been absorbed by Buddhism in Japan as well. All shrines and temples here are surrounded by some form of natural beauty - be it a pond, bamboo groves, or trees. The best of autumn leaves, cherry blossoms, wisterias, or any other seasonal flowers of Japan are always found blooming in shrines and temple Gardens. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Kamakura – the temple town near Tokyo is a place I visit very often. I love walking up and down its narrow winding lanes and visiting the numerous Buddhist temples. Each temple right from the temple of the Great Buddha to the smallest one has something unique to offer. My favorite is the Hokokuji Temple.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /> A Zen temple, Hokokuji is the family temple of the Ashikaga clan and very well known for its bamboo grove. Infact some people find the bamboo grove here more beautiful than the famous Arashimaya bamboo grove in Kyoto. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You enter the temple through a gate and walk through a small and immaculate garden that has paths paved of small white pebbles winding through the green grass. A few Bonsai like trees are scattered here and there. The whole appearance is of a Zen-like state created in a small space.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gE3jFy4iYaUyarkcm3aGTT91U1ecBYTs2n3yKdTTQ5p4lSmgnEPwDimY6d6iYyMPgmPrQvAA9b-umkHTCtJVDLB4njEjDnV3KU55p-lxNFgUWPd0U0labgMTDOjpdQdYN07-CTLNdg0/s1600/sen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="904" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gE3jFy4iYaUyarkcm3aGTT91U1ecBYTs2n3yKdTTQ5p4lSmgnEPwDimY6d6iYyMPgmPrQvAA9b-umkHTCtJVDLB4njEjDnV3KU55p-lxNFgUWPd0U0labgMTDOjpdQdYN07-CTLNdg0/s640/sen.jpg" width="602" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />The steps that lead up to the temple look ancient and don’t seem to be man-made. It’s as if nature crafted them out of stones and the roots of the trees and then covered them with a carpet of moss. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9Y-MBfV5brphd7ziap8rQcoYn7SrVzTl-Uk_EfjvqHQeUtI1lCyLeCuuvO8PAdyKGcbTFbZNm56fVcAB2ZGzwiWF9Q4cQPKoFC9Y0HUxPcyxxlvc84c7kZbAZiHB7e09_-SpK2z0xgc/s1600/stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="654" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9Y-MBfV5brphd7ziap8rQcoYn7SrVzTl-Uk_EfjvqHQeUtI1lCyLeCuuvO8PAdyKGcbTFbZNm56fVcAB2ZGzwiWF9Q4cQPKoFC9Y0HUxPcyxxlvc84c7kZbAZiHB7e09_-SpK2z0xgc/s640/stairs.jpg" width="436" /></a></span></div>
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<br />The main temple has the statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, sculpted by the famous Buddhist sculptor, Takuma Hogen. Frankly, it is not a very awe-inspiring building. <br />But then the true magic of Hokokuji lies behind the temple, in its bamboo grove. <br />The grove when you come near it does not seem to be anything special. Till you enter it. It has about 2000 bamboos and is very dense. As soon as you go inside, all sounds fade away, except the occasional rustle of the leaves. The rays of the sun filter through the tall bamboos as if from a very great height and fill the grove with an almost mystical and surreal light. You feel as if you are walking through a great cool, green cathedral. As you slowly walk through the grove, your chaotic mind is stilled and spirits refreshed. </span><br />
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<br />One of the main reason temples, especially Zen temples are surrounded by woods is so that the monks or even visitors are able to calm their senses just by walking through the temple grounds.</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Dotted here and there, between the bamboos and under other trees, covered completely with moss are small statues of Buddhist gods. This temple is nothing but greenery and nature in different forms and shades. <br />m</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCEyVhtxGC1H73FHz3I5ZixgQv2VhXZ_i0uhuA3WlK_FOg7CwkdPpmVnKR7is8_jABYqfwW8_u6M-KH_gWqh6xI9Z3Vwb5x0ZA92h8G-XgAlpYvqxx-s9TITsEgsNZkqegI4XfO7lZas/s1600/95715726_10157715513114094_6764514632968175616_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="896" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCEyVhtxGC1H73FHz3I5ZixgQv2VhXZ_i0uhuA3WlK_FOg7CwkdPpmVnKR7is8_jABYqfwW8_u6M-KH_gWqh6xI9Z3Vwb5x0ZA92h8G-XgAlpYvqxx-s9TITsEgsNZkqegI4XfO7lZas/s640/95715726_10157715513114094_6764514632968175616_n.jpg" width="596" /></a></span></div>
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<br />A traditional Japanese tea house is nestled deep within the bamboo grove. You can sit there with your bowl of green tea and simply gaze out at the beauty around you. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rH2-Rt7Q06X98HkuN9MDWCt1j0PDtUvb8siIbjS103eDv7ClMgusLmxpYml-o8dovHJvNdLu_3Fs2LFNSq5weGpYvg89EdddCR51gs5vAif0iwFj31tKvwWxVMAN3VBfZlS_tOXezpc/s1600/95917072_10157715533584094_3104196284722970624_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rH2-Rt7Q06X98HkuN9MDWCt1j0PDtUvb8siIbjS103eDv7ClMgusLmxpYml-o8dovHJvNdLu_3Fs2LFNSq5weGpYvg89EdddCR51gs5vAif0iwFj31tKvwWxVMAN3VBfZlS_tOXezpc/s640/95917072_10157715533584094_3104196284722970624_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The tea house is a popular place, full of people but you don't hear much conversation. Everyone is content to take in the serene surroundings and just be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The small garden, the bamboo grove even the way the tea is presented all speak about Japan’s love for nature and aesthetics. </span><br />
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I find myself veering away from the more famous and crowded temples and going back to temples like Hokokuji again and again. For me, God exists not inside great buildings but in nature. Being in nature is how I commune with God. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Note-Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that I do a Shrine of the Month post there. Each month, I will be doing that post on the blog now. </span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com5Unknown location.37.870477746506118 142.0242922511.937752246506118 100.71569825 63.803203246506115 -176.66711375tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-30138712675493957572020-04-16T09:13:00.001+05:302020-05-02T17:59:58.349+05:30Life in Japan during the Coronavirus <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Japan was one
of the first few countries to be infected by the coronavirus thanks to a
regular influx of people from China. Inspite of that, Japan remained largely
unaffected till March. The first case was detected as early as January but the rise
in number of cases remained extremely slow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">While the
world locked down and frantically prepared to battle the virus, life for those
of us in Japan went on as usual. The only major impact was on the tourism
industry. Although it was cherry blossom time and peak tourist season, a lot of
people had started cancelling their international trips and there was a drastic
drop in tourists. This had an unexpected effect. T</span><span lang="EN-US">he Japanese suddenly
realized that perhaps for the first time in their memory, their country was not
inundated with foreigners at this peak tourist season and they all came out
with a vengeance to enjoy the good weather. Popular destinations like Kyoto
recorded almost no foreign tourists but a marked increase in local tourism. I visited
Kamakura, the temple town near Tokyo, sure that I would have the place to
myself but was surprised to find the shrines choc a block with the Japanese. It
was as if the virus did not exist at all. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US">By March,
Japan started taking the virus a little more seriously and a lot of tourist
spots as well as schools were closed. But there was no stopping nature! Cherry
blossoms were blooming and like every year popular cherry blossom spots were crowded
with people. In true polite Japanese fashion, the government kept requesting
the people to avoid crowds. The Japanese however, were not the ones to let a mere
virus dampen their pleasure of enjoying the cherry blossom season that lasts
for a mere two weeks but is something that they wait for the entire year. A few
did stay home, but they were the minority. </span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile the
world continued to speculate on how Japan continued to defy the virus. The majority
of Japan's population is aging (like Italy) and that along with its proximity
to China should have posed a great risk. However, Japan had clamped down on
visitors from China right from the beginning and had promptly isolated the
infected cases. The population though aging is in great health with a strong
immunity. Another reason is that social distancing has always been a part of
Japanese culture. This is a country that shies away from handshakes and casual
touching. Bowing is the acceptable form of greeting. Another factor was the
widespread usage of masks in Japan. Even before the world discovered masks
through the coronavirus, they had always been a common sight in Japan. With
their fetish for hygiene and health, the Japanese use the masks as protection
against germs and allergies. Hay fever season begins around January here and a
lot of people were already wearing masks to avoid inhaling any pollen as well
as any cold germs that might be floating about. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Having said
that, it was still baffling how Japan with its densely populated areas and
crowded trains managed to keep the numbers so low. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A very strong
opinion was also that the government was hiding the true figures or testing
less because Prime Minister Abe had his eyes set on the Olympics and had no
intention of letting go of his Olympic dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things started going downhill by the end of
March when suddenly a lot of cases with no travel history popped up. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: black;">While it took Japan around
70 days – from January to mid-march to reach 1000 cases, it took a mere 10 more
days for the figure to reach 2000. The identified clusters were mainly</span><span lang="EN-US">
entertainment areas with restaurants, karaoke and pachinko parlors. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: black;">Governors in the most
affected areas of Tokyo and Hyogo started asking people to stay indoors on
weekends and evenings. Perhaps the Japanese felt that the virus here worked
only nights and weekends ! </span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">After intense
pressure from the medical community, on 7<sup>th</sup> April Prime Minister Abe
finally declared a state of emergency in Tokyo, Osaka and a few more areas. Unlike
India where lockdown was clamped almost overnight, the Japanese government took
its time. The leaders huddled in meetings day after day while we kept hearing
reports on how </span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #3c4043;">'</span><span lang="EN-US">discussions
to prepare for the announcement of an emergency</span><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #3c4043;">' </span><span lang="EN-US">were being held. There is a lot of emphasis in Japan on following the proper
procedure and protocol and reaching a mutual consensus before making a
decision. There was no reason why things should be expedited now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The emergency
when it finally came was very different from other countries. As per Japanese
law, the government cannot force people to stay indoors or ask the businesses
to close or work from home. All it could do was strongly request people to
avoid the three Cs – crowds, closed spaces and conversations at short distances.
There can be no fines or punishments if people don’t comply. Public transport
is still running, the roads remain open. The emergency is just to make the
citizens aware of the gravity of the situation and allow the government to take
economic measures. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So how
successful this emergency is, depends entirely on the people of Japan. They are
a highly disciplined society, known to follow their leader, view all requests
from the government as orders and always put society and Nation first. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But at the
other end of the spectrum is the hard-working Japanese who considers his work
as the highest duty. There are still people who would consider working from
home as shying away from responsibilities and not being a good employee. Unlike
the west, work from home is still a very alien concept in Japan. With their emphasis
on face to face contact a lot of traditional companies just cannot comprehend
remote working. Also, there is still a lot of paperwork here and digital
signatures have not yet replaced the company seal. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With the
current figure of around 8000 cases, the numbers still remain comparatively low
as compared to other countries like US, UK and Italy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Let’s see
what the coming weeks bring ! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-84022700071061278502020-04-13T13:36:00.000+05:302020-04-30T12:56:31.884+05:30Glories of a Japanese Spring <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Most people associate spring in Japan with Cherry (Sakura) blossoms but before the cherry blossoms drive people into a flower viewing frenzy at the end of March, there comes the Plum blossom season in February. According to me, it is the Plum or Ume blossoms that truly herald spring in Japan. With colors ranging from pristine white to light pink and almost reddish the Plums looks very pretty against the clear blue of a typical Japanese winter Sky. It is still cold in Japan when the plum blossoms start to appear and they do a marvelous job of adding color to the drab leafless winter landscape.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After the long cold Japan winter seeing the first plum blossoms always fills me with happiness. The cheerful flowers seem to tell me that the air might still have a nip in it, but spring and warmer days are not too far! They remind me of a line From Shelly’s poem If Winter comes, can spring be far behind!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Beginning of March brings a new kind of excitement. The days are longer and warmer but this is not what makes people more cheerful. It is the anticipation of Sakura. Right from end of February, the newspapers and magazines start publishing region wise predictions about cherry blossoms – when they will first start blooming and when will they be in full bloom. The Japanese follow these reports with as much interest as some of us follow share prices. In Tokyo the cherry blossom season is officially declared open when the first blooms or Hatsu hana appear on an ancient cherry blossom tree at the Yasukuni Shrine. <br />Yasukuni shrine may be the official symbol but all of us here in Tokyo have our own personal Cherry blossoms spots that we keep our eyes peeled on to see if the blooms are out or not. The park near my apartment is lined with sakura trees and everyone right from the joggers streaking past, sedate old ladies walking their dogs, the salaryman quickly crossing the park on his way to a meeting or young mothers pushing strollers, would glance up in anticipation to see if the blooms are out yet. For a week or so I watched the buds grow bigger and bigger every day during my walks. And suddenly one day there they were, the first cherry blossom of the season. They sure did put a spring in our steps. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cherry blossoms can be found all over the city but there are some areas in Tokyo like the Ueno park and the Meguro river front that are known for their cherry trees. All sorts of events are organized during this time and food stalls are put up everywhere. The cherry trees are lit up at night for night viewing or Yozakura. There are also Hanami or flower viewing parties that are usually loud and boisterous get togethers where friends and family gather under cherry trees and have a daylong picnic. It is a cheerful time, everyone is happy to leave the winter behind and looking forward to spring and summer ahead. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This year, the pleasure of cherry blossoms was marred by the corona virus. By the times the blooms came out, the government had started asking people not to go to crowded places. Hanami parties were banned and all events canceled. <br />The Japanese however, were not the ones to let a mere virus dampen their pleasure of enjoying the cherry blossom season that lasts for a mere two weeks but is something that they wait for the entire year. A few did stay home, but they were the minority. </span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">I chose to not go to the popular, crowded cherry blossom spots but I did have my local park where walks under the tree-lined paths gave me a lot of pleasure. </span></span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
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Sometimes just viewing rows after rows of cherry blossom trees is just a bit much for the senses, but the park is very green with a lot of other trees and the white and light pink cherry trees popping out against the greenery made the perfect visual experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">This selective viewing in peace was perhaps much better than being jostled by crowds and trying to take a picture of the trees without a thousand people photobombing it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When the flowers appear on the cherry trees, there is not a single leaf on them. Perhaps this is what makes them so special, a drab brown tree with naked branches one day and the next day covered with delicate petals. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But when tender young leaves start appearing on the sakura trees and the ground under them becomes a carpet of cherry blossom petals you know the cherry blossom season is about to end. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<br />The season lasts all of two-three weeks and reminds us of the impermanence of things. Whatever has come will go, to be replaced by something else – something different but perhaps equally beautiful. <br />Cherry blossoms may have gone, but soon the bright and happy summer flowers will arrive – The Japanese lavender, hydrangea, azaleas,sunflowers and so many more. I wait for them in anticipation of better times ahead so that we may all go out again and rejoice in nature! </span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-69030927171249270562020-04-03T09:55:00.000+05:302020-04-09T16:06:19.679+05:30The Tall Girl in Japan <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">A
lot of you who follow me on Facebook must have realized that I now live in Japan.
It is an enchanting land but between you and me I think I have chosen the most
unsuitable country to live in. Let me give you a very sincere piece of advice if
you must work out of India chose a country according to your size. I mean look
at me, all five feet nine inches living in a country that even on the world map
seems narrow and cramped.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">I
could have chosen Canada – where everyone is tall (and handsome), where there
is enough space for you to take long strides without banging into things and
where the shops overflow with lovely clothes – all of which fit you. Instead I
chose to live in Japan, a country that makes you feel as if you are living
inside the dollhouse you had as a kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">Space
is at a premium here. The apartments are handkerchief-sized, the rooms so small
that when someone as tall as me stretches out on the bed, my legs hang out of
the balcony. This is a world where you get used to standing in tubs and
showering because the tubs are so small that the only way you can have a bubble
bath is if you curl up in a fetal position with your knees touching your ears. I
am just thankful for a detachable showerhead. Washing my hair in a crouched
position would be no fun at all. The loo is an interesting place with all those
high tech toto toilets but the toilet is so low that you keep wondering when
your butt will finally hit the seat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">The
kitchen platform and bathroom sinks are perfect for a five-feet person but for someone
like me, it is like viewing them from space. I never know if I am applying my makeup
correctly because the mirror cuts me off at the neck. My greatest achievement
in Japan has been finding a bed that fits me. Of course, that huge bed now takes
up most of my apt and leaves space for nothing else. Sheets and quilts are
another business altogether. I don’t think there is a quilt ever made in Japan
that can keep me completely warm. If you like to pull up the quilt till your
shoulders be prepared for frozen toes when you wake up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">It
is not only the apartments. One would think a better world awaits once you
leave your tiny claustrophobic abode. But that is not to be. It is as if the
Japanese in an attempt to save space started making everything in child sizes. The
seats in buses are so small that I sit with my legs jammed against the seat in front
of me and half my butt hanging out. Obviously, I take up most of the two-seater
leaving no space for the poor petite Japanese wanting to sit down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">In
trains seats are not a problem but you do tower over everyone else giving you a
nice birds-eye view over everyone’s head. The positive is that you don’t have to
breathe in everyone’s sweat during the hot Japanese summer because your nose is
high up in the air. But things are not hunky-dory here either. You need to be
on a constant lookout against the advertisements hanging from the roof lest you
bang your head against them and with every lurch of the train the handrails
play a tattoo against your head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">Sometimes
you just want to escape from everything and have a nice relaxing meal. So, you
go to a restaurant dreaming of a piping hot bowl of noodles. A lot of
restaurants have counters where you sit in a row with other diners. If the
restaurant is even slightly crowded, they will request you to sit at the
counter if you are eating alone. There needs to be an award for tall people who
need to fit their butt on to the tiny bar stools and also somehow fit in their laptop
bag, handbag and long legs and pointy elbows in the narrow space. I barely
enjoy my meal because I am always worried about my elbow dipping into my
neighbors Ramen bowl. Everything is so close to each other, even If I manage to
get myself a table, I am always in a perpetual state of anxiety about how I
would manage to squeeze out between the tables without juggling the table and toppling
my neighbor’s meal on his or her lap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">Japan
is known for its great fashion sense. I remember on my first visit here I
entered a clothing store with great excitement. Only to slink out totally
embarrassed a while later. The only thing that fits me well in Japan is a scarf.
This is a country where S is normal, M is what XL is to the rest of the word
and sizes beyond that just don’t exist. If you manage to buy a shirt you can
button yourself into, the sleeves will end well above your wrists, the shirt
length will be so short that it will barely clear your navel and your ankles
will invariably peep out of even the longest pants that you find on this
island. I now walk past all those fashion clothing stores with my eyes averted.
Buying shoes is equally embarrassing. The salespeople will not even bother to
assist you. They will glance at your feet shake their head and tell you nothing
exists in your size. The best thing to do is stock up when you go home. You
start treating clothes and shoes with more care than your diamonds because you
know you will never be able to buy more here if you run out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">Back
home, you may be a normal human being, but in Japan, you turn into a combination
of Gulliver and Bigfoot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "meiryo ui";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">So,
dear friends in keeping with my current state, this blog has been renamed the
Tall Girl in Japan. I promise to bring you the stories of my latest escapades
and adventures from the Land of the Rising Sun and Short people! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "meiryo ui";">I
do hope you will enjoy them! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-57877555972640551572019-02-21T10:30:00.000+05:302019-02-21T12:54:25.152+05:30City Of My Heart - A Book Review <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Delhi is supposed to be the heart of India and Delhi’s heart beats in the Red Fort.The Red Fort has been a witness to many things – The rise and fall of the Mughal Empire,the British invasion of Delhi,India’s independence movement and finally the moment when the flag of an independent India was first unfurled from it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Living in Delhi we have always taken the Red Fort for granted. It has always been there, defining Old Delhi’s skyline, a part of our history and heritage. We have all visited it, know the basic history, how it was built by the Mughals, how it was turned into British barracks after the 1857 revolt. But how much do we know of the people who actually lived inside the Fort and the kind of life they led. It was not only the Mughal emperor who resided there, the red fort was a city in itself housing thousands of people. A peak into their lives would give us such a fantastic idea of the life in that era.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Rana Safvi’s book “City of My Heart does just that. It gives us a unique and never seen before glimpse into the lives of people who lived inside the fort. The book is a translation from Urdu of four narratives written by people who had a very deep insight into the life within the Red Fort during the twilight years of the Mughal Empire. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">The first three books; <i>Aakhiri Deedar</i> (The Last Glimpse of Delhi) by Syed Wazir Hasan Dehlvi, <i>Bazm-e-Aakhir</i> (The Last Assembly) by Munshi Faizuddin, <i>Qila-e-Mu’alla ki Jhalkiya’n</i> (Glimpses of the Exalted Fort) by Arsh Taimuri all have colorful snippets about the daily life of the emperor, the antics of the queens and princesses and others living in the Fort as well as the intrigues and jealousies that form the intricacies of every court. It also describes in detail about the festivities and celebrations and how “Delhi was a gay and lively city where every day was <i>Eid</i> and every night was <i>Shab –e Barat”</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is very clear from these narratives that though the Mughal Empire was at a decline, culture and literature thrived and Delhi’s people were considered to be the epitome of etiquette and grace. What I found the most interesting to read was how some festivals unique to Delhi such as the </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Phool Waalon Ki Sair</i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> came into being and how both Hindu and Islamic rituals and festivals mingled together and created a very cohesive, pluralistic way of life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">The last book, aptly titled </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Begamat kein ansoon</i><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> (Tears of the Queens) by Khwaja Hasan Nizami describes the life of royals who fled the fort after the British took over it after the 1857 revolt. Most of the inhabitants were captured and hanged at the kotwali chabutara where the present day Gurudwara Sisganj stands. The ones who survived lived a life of abject poverty and misery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">The book has been translated from Urdu. Urdu is a flowery language full of nuances and idioms and is not easy to translate. Rana Safvi has done full justice to the translation, even better she has left some idioms and phrases as they are in Urdu (providing a footnote of course) so that those of us familiar with Hindi and a bit of Urdu can get the full flavor of what the writer is trying to say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Before I read the book, I had an opportunity to attend a heritage walk to Red Fort by Rana Safvi. Reading the book was delightful as her translation is flawless but it was the heritage walk with her that actually brought alive the Fort for me.<br /> <br />At the start of the walk Rana Safvi told us that the Red Fort was originally called <i>Quila e Mubarak</i> and represented the zenith of Mughal grandeur, money and architecture. But slowly as the Mughal empire declined, the Mughals themselves started using the jewels embedded in the walls and it’s gold and silver panelling to fund themselves.The last straw was when the British took over the fort after the revolt, built barracks and started demolishing buildings they felt were not required.Had it not been the intervention of Lord Canning the British would have changed the face of the fort completely. To feel and experience the actual grandeur of the fort Rana asked us to see the Jain Temples in Old Delhi. The paintings and art there is very similar to what the Red Fort had at one point of time.<br /> <br />As she took us through the Fort, telling us stories and narrating snippets from the book, the noise and the pollution of modern Delhi slowly receded and we were transported into a bygone era.<br /> <br />Red Fort was no longer just a cluster of buildings.They came alive as she described each one as it once was.We felt as if we were witnessing the <i>Diwan e khas </i>in all its imperial glory,with the emperor sitting on the peacock throne surrounded by courtiers. The Rang Mahal and the Heera Mahal were no longer bare empty walls but lavish living quarters full of gold and silver and precious stones and brocade and lush carpets. We could almost see the <i>Nahar –I – Bihisht </i>( The river of paradise) as it came through the marble flooring to form a graceful fountain. We could almost taste the dishes in the royal kitchen as Rana described them and hear the laughter of the royal ladies as they flitted through the Hayat Baksh Bagh dressed in their finery.The anguish that we felt as she described the British taking over the fort and turning the beautiful garden into barracks was very real !<br /> <br />The Red Fort no longer looked over busy a road teeming with vehicles, we could see the Yamuna flowing from it’s pavilions and the citizens gathered on it’s sandy banks for their first glimpse of the emperor or to watch the sports that were played there every winter.<br /> Rana peppered her talk with interesting tit bits like how the royal women spoke in a <i>“Begmati zabaan” </i> that was full of idioms but beautiful to hear and how the emperor released a Neelkanth bird (considered auspicious to Hindus) every Dushera.<br /> <br />Rana is a passionate Historian and a story teller par excellence. Her knowledge is based not only on her translations but her very extensive research and study of Delhi and it’s <i>Quila –e Mubarak</i>.<br /> <br />Her attempt through her walk and her book to show us a Delhi that was once the epitome of the <i>Ganga Jamuni Tehzib</i> and a perfect example of social and religious cohesiveness is truly commendable. </span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-80615383674102927402018-09-17T11:08:00.002+05:302018-09-17T13:16:43.231+05:30Himalayan Orchard - The Hidden Gem of Apple Country <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A few hours beyond the crowds and mayhem of Shimla, in the quiet village of Rukhla, lies a charming farm stay called the Himalayan Orchard.<br /><br />I was there earlier this month when the monsoon was still lingering in the mountains and the apple season was at its peak. With all my love for Himachal I have never been there at apple picking time. I have looked longingly at the trees when they were bare and shorn of their fruit or when the apples were the size of small green golf balls but an Apple Orchard in its full glory had continued to elude me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />The roads from Chandigarh are excellent and we made good time inspite of the constant rain. I can understand the concerns about not traveling to the hills during the monsoon, but the peaks playing hide and seek behind the mist, the verdant greenery, the sudden flashing streak of sun through the clouds is something you will only see when it rains in the mountains.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />As we neared apple country we could see apple trees dotting the mountain side, looking like shrouded giants under the white nets to protect them from parrots who love to feast on the fruit. As we went in deeper, the apple trees started appearing on both sides of the road, tempting us to just reach out and grab the ripe, shining red fruit. The trucks trundling down the winding roads carrying their loads of apples were another sign that we were really and truly in Apple Country.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Himalayan Orchard sits prettily on a sloping hillside, besides a pocket handkerchief sized garden with an immaculately kept lawn laced with a riot of multi coloured flowers. Painted a pristine white with a pink roof and green trimmings, pretty flower displays peeping out of huge windows gleaming in the sunshine, the cottage looks very welcoming. Beyond the cottage are steeply terraced hills, with their patchwork quilt of apple orchards and thick deodar forests, bumping and merging into each other before stretching on to the rugged peaks beyond.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />The Farmstay is run by Devanshe and Mike and is actually Devanshe’s family home. They both met when they were teaching English in Japan and they decided to come back and turn this delightful property into a Farm stay.<br /><br />Himalayan Orchard is a very beautifully curated home, tastefully done up with either family heirlooms or curios that Devanshe and Mike picked up during their travels. The art and artefacts, the various musical instruments, the ceramics from Japan, the colourful canvases on the walls, the wind chimes and the Koi nobori blowing gently in the wind all reflect a very personal style statement. This is a home where every nook and corner has a story to tell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The pretty picture windows in each room allow an unhindered view of the mountains and the orchards. I loved the morning times the best with everything serene and quiet and the soft sunlight pouring in through the windows.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We had all staked our favorite corners at the Farmstay and mine was this sit out where Mike and Devanshe have made a pretty trellis for the grape vine. The view from here was picture perfect. The brown knobs that you see supporting the vine are actually from fishermen’s nets in Japan that Mike has painstakingly collected over the years during his walks on the sea shore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The best thing about Himalayan Orchard is that it is not exactly on the tourist map so along with a peaceful and unspoiled environment you also get a chance to see what life is like in rural Himachal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />The farmstay has its owns stock of cows, chicken and a few goats. There is also a cock that will make sure you are up at day break whether you like it or not. The first morning when I was woken up by the insistent crowing I stumbled outside to hear a different kind of noise, somewhere between shouting and screeching. I started to wonder if this is how the people in this village greet each other but then I couldn’t see any one in sight. Devanshe told me later that this is the noise the workers make to scare away the birds from the apple trees.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Farm is always busy but there was feverish activity going on in the orchard since it was apple picking time. Usually extra hands are called in to work during the picking season but Himalayan Orchard also gets people from Workaways to stay and volunteer with them. It is a fantastic concept where you can live with a family as a volunteer and in turn get a fabulous insight into the local culture. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we were there, we met Olivia and Luke from Britain and Dominique from Slovenia. They not only helped Devanshe and Mike around the farmstay but also chipped in with the apple sorting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We decided we wanted to ‘help’ too and made our way down to the apple shed where Devanshe’s father was busy supervising the work. After the apples are picked from the trees, they are brought into the apple shed to be cleaned and then sorted according to size using a machine that has different sized outlets through which different sizes of apples fall into different trays. After sorting the apples are packaged for their Journey in to all corners of India.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />Later we made our way down to the orchards where workers were busy picking the apples. Our intention was to help again but I think the only help we did was eating half the apples off a tree!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tired by my efforts to pick and sort apples I was delighted to discover that the Farmstay has a library and a game room. The library warmed my heart. The book collection is eclectic and the view from the windows fabulous. You not only have hundreds of interesting books to choose from but very picturesque surroundings to read them in. I had to be dragged out of there at meal times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Meals at the farmhouse table were ambrosial. There was Devanshe’s home made sourdough bread, cheese, plum, gooseberry and ginger chutneys, mushroom pickle and jams and of course freshly made apple juice along with other Indian and continental dishes. When we were there, we had pasta with home grown kale pesto with delicious apple crumble one day and Sidkus made by Devanshe’s mother the next. Sidkus are a traditional Himachali dish made with wheat and stuffed with either lentils or Jaggery. I have eaten them before but I have never eaten more tastier ones than the ones cooked by Devanshe’s mother !</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Everyone ate together and the conversations hopped from one topic to another with Devanshe’s father telling us about the orchards, Mike talking about the local folk lore and history, Luke, Olivia and Dominique discussing their travel plans while Devanshe kept an eye on all of us making sure our plates were full and we were eating well.<br /> <br />Devanshe is a wonderful artist and glimpses of her art can be seen everywhere, from the beautiful signboards, the décor inside the house, her gardening, her flowers to the food she cooks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />If you are lucky, in the evenings when the frenzy of activity has died down and every one is in a relaxed and mellow mood, you might catch Devanshe at her Piano, playing something soft and beautiful. Olivia, one of the workaways happened to be a Piano teacher and both she and Devanshe made our stay that much more memorable by their music.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mike very good humouredly says he is good at something the British would call bodging but we in India call Jugaad. He is excellent with his hands and can do anything from making an apple juice press to building a yoga studio on his own. As you go around the farmstay you would see always see him tinkering with something or the other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />His interest and knowledge about the area’s natural history and topography surpasses that of even the locals. He has spent months mapping and curating trails around the farmstay and has up to 12 trails clearly marked till now. This is no small feat considering the terrain. One of the highlights of our trip was the trek up to Sararu pass with him to get milk for Devanshe’s cheese making and a hike into the surrounding areas for mushroom foraging.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Himalayan Orchard has something for everyone. For people interested in the outdoors there are hikes and treks as short as two hours to as long as two days. For nature enthusiasts and photographers there is an abundance of flowers and plants and butterflies to photograph and identify. You can potter about the farm and take part in the milking, the cheese making and other farm activities. For writers and artists there is peace and solitude and a picturesque view for inspiration.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQYGhwvW7pfRMan43TaLwiAKzqyJe3ezZZ3-YQGTjCbdO0nB9CC94Zt-1RvKJdAw9rMVyKKr04zlfgVjQSoFbzokGJtKMtV2T9BS69V7OH1fLqMfdru9la3qcn82LG7x1eBPwAzGYAv1M/s1600/use+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="932" data-original-width="1241" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQYGhwvW7pfRMan43TaLwiAKzqyJe3ezZZ3-YQGTjCbdO0nB9CC94Zt-1RvKJdAw9rMVyKKr04zlfgVjQSoFbzokGJtKMtV2T9BS69V7OH1fLqMfdru9la3qcn82LG7x1eBPwAzGYAv1M/s640/use+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If you are someone like me who just wants to vegetate, there are many cheerful corners with comfortable chairs and plump cushions that invite you to doze or read or simply be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Himalayan Orchard is the best of Immersive tourism where you get a deep insight into local culture and lifestyle. There is no television there but fabulous views, books to read, delicious home grown food and interesting conversations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For me this was a fabulous Detox not only from the digital but also the urban world and an invaluable opportunity to explore the beautiful surrounding area. I will definitely be back for more.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Himalayan Orchard from a Distance </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />For more Information about Devanshe and Mike and their farmstay, please refer to their <b><i><a href="http://www.himalayanorchard.com/">website</a>.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Coming up next – Hiking up to Sararu Pass with #JugaduMike and artisanal cheese making with #FarmerDevanshe</span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-56598018792053342722018-08-15T05:54:00.004+05:302018-08-15T06:21:23.487+05:30Of Gateways to Heaven and Freedom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: start;">I remember watching the news one sultry June evening when I was all of thirteen.The channel kept showing images of a man standing infront of a long row of tanks on a wide road. He was directly in the line of fire and was trying to stop the tanks from advancing. The tanks moved left. So did the man. The tanks moved right, so did the man. This went on for many minutes till he climbed the first tank in the row and started talking to the soldiers inside. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: left;">That unknown man became famous as the “<a href="https://www.history.com/news/who-was-the-tank-man-of-tiananmen-square"><i><b>Tank Man</b></i>”</a>. The road he was standing on was at </span>Tiananmen<span style="text-align: left;"> Square, the city Beijing. This visual became an epic image of what would later be known to the world as the </span>Tiananmen<span style="text-align: left;"> Square Rebellion.<br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: left;">To someone like me who has grown up in a liberal democratic environment, </span>Tiananmen<span style="text-align: left;"> Square rebellion epitomized the struggle for democracy and human rights - short lived and ruthlessly squashed but very courageously fought. </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />So,when I was in Beijing in the beginning of this year, I grabbed the opportunity to visit Tiananmen Square. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />The entrance to the square is through a gate where you need to queue up for security checks. The day I visited it, a legislative meeting was being held at the Great Hall of people across the road. The security was very tight and the checks stringent even by Chinese standards. Later I found out that it was one of the meetings to discuss removal of presidential term limits effectively clearing way for president Xi to rule for life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The queue of Chinese people and tourists like me snaked for kilometres. It took me 2 hours just to get in the Square.I came out through a narrow doorway and was immediately staggered by the sheer size of the square. At 110 acres, </span>Tiananmen<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Square is the world’s largest paved square. Straight down the square are the Monument to the People's Heroes and then Mao’s mausoleum. Across the wide road is the Great Hall of people (Where the parliament meets) and other government buildings. To the North of </span>Tiananmen<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> square lies the Forbidden City, the imperial palace of the Ming Dynasty. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: start;">Mao built the Tiananmen Square as a magnificent showcase of the strength and grand scale of the communist party. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">I spent my first fifteen minutes in the square looking for some sign, some symbol of the rebellion. But there was nothing. Not even a signboard or a memorial. It’s as if the Movement for Democracy never happened. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I tried talking about it with my Chinese colleague who had accompanied me but he seemed very very hesitant to talk about it there. </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><br />At a glance Tiananmen (Ironically, it means gateway to heaven) seems like any other square. You could almost imagine flowers blooming there in spring. Children were running around, people strolling hand in hand and tourists clicking pictures of the life size picture of Chairman Mao infront of his mausoleum. But beneath this atmosphere of gaiety there was an uneasy feeling of constantly being watched that kept me on my toes. Policemen were everywhere, surly and silent, with their eyes on everything. ` </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Inspite of the size of the square, there didn’t seem to be any place to sit. You had to keep walking. Numerous fire extinguishers were scattered all over but not just for fire safety, they were there should someone set themselves on fire in protest. On the side of the road were huge lamp posts that I was told have hidden camera on them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Back in my hotel room, I tried searching for Tiananmen square on some Chinese search engines and all I could come up with was a few mentions about how it is a big square in china and surrounded by important landmarks. Apparently, all sites talking about the movement have been censored and blocked. The government frowns upon and suppresses all discussions about it online or otherwise. Journalists and activists who write about it do so under great peril. The government has managed to erase all traces of the movement from books, journals, websites and even public memory. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A whole lot of youth born after the revolution have a distorted and government fed view about it. If at all it’s mentioned in text books, it is portrayed as a counter revolutionary attempt to harm the country. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is amazing how history is distorted and minds shackled into believing just what they are taught. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In many ways China continues to stride ahead like a great giant. Beijing is very modern and sparkling with fantastic infrastructure and a great transport system. It is a safe, beautiful place to live in and it’s commendable how China has managed to control its seemingly unresolvable problems of both population and pollution. But behind this shining façade, there is something sinister and dark and foreboding that seems to suffocate you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then you come back to the chaos and disorderliness that is India. A country with a thousand wrongs but still a Democracy where the people have the right to raise their voice, the freedom to protest against what they feel is unfair. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For this freedom I am eternally grateful. And it is this freedom that we must always endeavour to protect and fight for, especially in these changing times, because if we lose the freedom of thought and speech, we are nothing but slaves of the people who rule us.</span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-79518999155354125722018-08-08T13:00:00.001+05:302018-08-08T13:02:57.714+05:30Of Sawan, Lord Shiva and Pretty Ladies <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sawan in Delhi means monsoon, the devout praying and fasting for lord Shiva and for people like me, long hours of commute as the kanwariyas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />Sawan up in the mountains means something else. It means long lazy days of rain, lush green forests, mist floating among the deodars and a very festive atmosphere in the ancient Shiva temples dotting the mountains.<br /> <br />One such Temple is Jageshwar, nestled in the mountains near Almora. What is interesting about Jageshwar is that it is actually a cluster of 124 large and small temples inside a walled complex. Some of the temples are so small that you have to bend double to go in and there is no place for even the priest to sit. Some are really huge with their own carved doorways, and sculptures of gods and goddesses in the area leading to the sanctum.<br /> <br />The most famous temples in the cluster are Shiva temples such as the Mritunjaya temple, Jageshwar temple, Lakulish temple, Dandeshwar temple but there are Ganesha, Devi, Kuber and Surya temple amongst others.<br /> <br />No one is certain when the temples were built but the archaeological Survey of India estimates that they were constructed somewhere between the 9th and 12th century AD. The temple architecture is predominantly of the Nagara style, with shikhara or a wooden roof covering most of the temples Almost all temples have stone sculptures as well as carved panels depicting mythological stories about the god that temple represents.<br /> <br />Walking around the temple complex is like browsing through a pictorial book of stone about archeology and mythology. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The walk to Jageshwar is through thick deodar and pine forests. It’s like walking through a great green cool cathedral that consists of the best things of nature, birdsong, tall, magnificent trees and a cool cool breeze.<br /> <br />Jageshwar is usually a quiet place, but it really comes into its own during July - August when the annual Sawan mela takes place and people from the surrounding areas descent to the temple to pray.<br /> <br />It was on the second day of Sawan, two weeks back that we found ourselves at Jageshwar.<br />We had looked forward to wandering around the complex clicking pictures and spendng some quiet time in the picturesque area. So we polished our camera lenses, replenished the batteries, got out our raincoats and began our walk to Jageshwar through a fine mist of rain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />What we had not anticipated was how much the locals love Jageshwar during Sawan.<br />The crowds started a few kilometers from the temple and by the time we reached there we were in the midst of an animated throng of devotees.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another shock awaited us as we entered the temple complex.Ugly blue and green tarpaulin covered the entire area to protect the devotees from rain. The beautiful arches and carvings that we wanted to photograph were used to string plastic from one temple to another to protect those walking under them. There was no way we were going to get our tranquility or even one clear shot of the temple. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Part of the Temple complex </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Some of the carvings and panels </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But the ugly tarpaulin were offset by something really lovely and exquisite that we would have missed had we not come during Sawan. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />In the hills, as it is with every small and big town in India religion is always interlinked with gaiety and celebration. People see religious festivals as a chance to dress up in their best clothes and make a big social occasion out of it. <br /><br />That was what was happening in Jageswar. Every seemed to be dressed to the hilt, but the women outshone everyone. <br />They were dressed in their finest sarees, wearing the traditional mang tikka and the famous Uttarakhandi nath studded with stones. Draped over their sarees was a beautiful shawl called the Pichoda. The Pichoda is a cotton drape in saffron colour with patterns and designs in brick red. Sometimes the Pichoda is decorated with gota and glass stones to make it more dressy. Every Kumaoni bride gets one when she gets married and on every social or religious occasion, the Pichoda comes out to be worn over their sarees. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At Jageshwar, we saw every married woman right from the old grannies to young brides flaunt their Pichodas. <br /><br />They looked like exotic colorful birds and added bright splashes of colour to the drab brown and black of the temples. They didn’t mind talking to us, showing off their jewellery and even allowing us to click pictures.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCDlrV8Sd564m_UPRy7jeSssB36si7W4oBmYQNTIgigmBZSqhkVjRnjZTuYCSHFhgRD6qVLw2BhCT_Wgtow0bOXpzTLk8J43RLZ88q2u0GLaCmTXjbXESuj8Pa2eykqlKFVHjeTH4Rd8/s1600/IMG_3641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCDlrV8Sd564m_UPRy7jeSssB36si7W4oBmYQNTIgigmBZSqhkVjRnjZTuYCSHFhgRD6qVLw2BhCT_Wgtow0bOXpzTLk8J43RLZ88q2u0GLaCmTXjbXESuj8Pa2eykqlKFVHjeTH4Rd8/s640/IMG_3641.JPG" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Jageshwar temple is also known for it’s Parthiv Shiv Pooja where the devotees make Shivalings out of mud or cow dung or butter depending on what they are praying for. Entire families were there, making those small Shivlings and then doing elaborate Poojas with the help of the priests. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Parthiv Shivlings made of butter and Mud. And the lady of the house performing Pooja ! </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thanks to the sawan mela we couldn't get the pictures we wanted or find the serenity we had hoped for, but we experienced the bonhomie and exuberance that comes with a festival in India and saw the otherwise silent temple turn into a vibrant, lively place. <br /><br />I think even Lord Shiva would have enjoyed that bit of fun and celebration!</span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-14846541038032159232018-05-10T12:08:00.001+05:302018-05-11T11:29:22.341+05:30In Defence of Sneakers <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The one picture that will stay in my mind forever from Sonam and Anand Ahuja’s wedding is the groom serenading the bride at their reception wearing a nifty Sherwani paired with - hold your breath, Sneakers ! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The sight of those sneakers brought a ray of hope for me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-LEencdk-QCwgwzHFouiKu9a44K1lcBnU2Yp4iXXX08VPvlEx7kFpznvFDCtCSMW-E7TTEnGu89jHC-LIf1yt-xQKUDnRJ22mzN-7HkgGV4lgg9S_R03dPYHK0Jt02Y9u90G2PigaHI/s1600/soname.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-LEencdk-QCwgwzHFouiKu9a44K1lcBnU2Yp4iXXX08VPvlEx7kFpznvFDCtCSMW-E7TTEnGu89jHC-LIf1yt-xQKUDnRJ22mzN-7HkgGV4lgg9S_R03dPYHK0Jt02Y9u90G2PigaHI/s320/soname.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />You see, I have broad feet. And when I say broad I mean one foot can cover North America, the other South America and perhaps the toes would still dip in the Ocean. <br /><br />On top of that, my feet distinctly have a mind of their own and refuse to be comfortable in anything else but good old fashioned sandals or sneakers. <br /><br />I go into shoe stores and look with great longing at those glittering, classy pairs of footwear all lined up to entice me. They seem to whisper to me – look at me, pick me up, I will make you look stylish and hot. Almost reverently, I try them on, only to find that they cramp my feet so much it feels as if someone is slowly and steadily crushing my toes. Then from a corner a comfortable but plain pair of sandals smirk and says haa look all you want, but it is to me you will come finally. <br /><br />And that’s the truth. Try as I might to cram my feet in those dainty footwear I invariably turn to the comfortable shoes because in my case comfort always wins over fashion. I have tried to buy trendy shoes or juttis with pretty embroidery by convincing myself that a shoe takes a day or two to become comfortable but after a few days of wearing them all I have to show for my effort is blisters and callouses on my feet and toes that are ready to fall off. <br /><br />Then I decided to go and work in Japan. The Japanese have very tiny feet that they cram into even tinier shoes. The only time I tried buying shoes in Japan is etched in my memory forever. I went into the shop and asked to see some shoes. The lady had one look at my feet and almost reeled in shock. She brought in the largest shoe size she could find and I could barely fit one toe into them. After an hour of trying every pair of foot wear in the shop, she finally asked me to go the men’s section and perhaps look for sneakers that were slightly unisexual as there was no hope of finding anything even remotely lady like in my size. <br /><br />My life became infinitely easier when Clarks opened in India. They have a range of shoes for broad feet that also look awesome on you. To them I am eternally grateful that I don’t have to wear frumpy and orthopedic looking shoes any more. <br /><br />But sneakers remain my first love. I have them in all shapes and colors and they occupy more space in my shoe rack than all other shoes combined. <br /><br />If you are a Punjabi you would know that there is no wedding complete without at least two full nights of mad dancing. And to dance you need comfortable shoes. I have been known as that mad girl who flings away her shoes to dance barefoot or simply changes into her jeans and sneakers to dance the night away. <br /><br />If I was not even as momentarily fashion conscious as I am now, believe me I would not think twice before wearing sneakers to work. But then decorum demands that I dress in formals. And I even with my nonexistent sense of fashion I would never combine anything formal with Sneakers. Unless of course I am Anand Ahuja. <br /><br />But honestly nothing compares with sneakers. They are simple no nonsense shoes that don’t you give any grief. It doesn’t matter if you squelch in mud wearing them, get them wet or dirty, all you need to do is wash them and you are sorted. They are the epitome of comfort. The soft sole, the laces that make for a comfortable fit, the extra room for your toes, all this keep your feet snug and happy. You can walk fast in them, run in them, come down stairs as quickly as you want without being terrified that you’ll break your ankle. Sneakers are your friend for life, you can walk miles and miles in them, climb Mountains or even the Great Wall of China and they will not even whimper. The older the sneaker, the more character it has and the more comfortable it gets. Nothing tells travel tales better than a travel worn mud splattered sneaker. <br /><br />So the world can laugh all it wants at Anand Ahuja’s sneakers, I am going to simply assume this is now a fashion statement and wear them all the time with great panache! </span></div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-7897982927081178972018-04-10T10:00:00.000+05:302018-04-10T10:00:03.145+05:30The Reluctant Gardener <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everyone in my family is born with a green thumb. My grandmother had this huge garden, one side of it dominated entirely by flowers and the other side with less ornamental but more practical things like chilies, spinach, carrot, cauliflower, tomato and other assorted vegetables, not to forget the lemon, mango and papaya trees. The lemons out of my grandmother’s tree were as big as oranges and there was not a more teekhi mirchi or a sweeter carrot for miles around.<br /> <br />Living in Delhi and nostalgic for the gardens of their childhood, my parents tried to replicate the same greenery in our small flat in Delhi. We always had plants, shade loving ones inside the house and the more sturdy ones outside in the verandah. There was even a corner dedicated to herbs like mint and coriander and lemongrass. Every weekend they painstakingly watered and mulched and pulled weeds, doing pretty much everything but crooning to the plants.<br /> <br />My role in all this was small. I hauled plants from one place to another and helped weed and water them under the eagle eye of my mother.<br /> <br />I realized how much plants really meant to me when I moved to Japan. In Tokyo I was surrounded by concrete and glass with just some sad looking trees here and there. I could live with that but I hated waking up to a balcony that was devoid of any sort of greenery. It seemed too forlorn and the window sills seemed desolate without any plants. I tried filling the void by buying flowers every week and putting vases full of them all over the house. But I still yearned for plants. The house looked too empty and too impersonal without them.<br />So I went to a flower shop cum nursery near my house and randomly picked up a few pretty looking plants and came back with detailed instructions from the owner on how to look after them.<br /> <br />It was then that I realized that plants die on me. Like just curl up and Die. Whatever I did, water them diligently, move them religiously from sun to shade and shade to sun, talk to them, sing to them they just refused to smile.<br /> <br />There was one particular plant I really loved. It had little pale pink and reddish leaves that looked all dainty and pretty. I took special care of it and kept in a sunny corner of the window where I could admire it all the time. One fine day I came back from work and found it drooping. I assumed I had been giving it less water and watered it some more. By next evening the plant was lying lifeless and no amount of watering or putting it in the sun could save it. I was broken hearted. Next to follow was a bonsai like flowering plant. It started shedding leaves and then there was just a stump left that withered and died within a few days.<br /> <br />After a few months of steadily killing the plants I had bought, I went back to the shop and asked for some sturdy plants that needed the least care. The shop owner gave me a dirty look that screamed “Plant Killer” but nonetheless gave me a few plants which she said could never die. All I had to do water them regularly.<br /> <br />Of course the plants died. No matter what I did over the months, the plants kept dying as if they had a personal vendetta against me.<br /> <br />The green thumb in the family seemed to have skipped a generation.<br /> <br />By the time I was back home in India, my parents had decided to shift to another city. My mother was very concerned about leaving her plants in my tender care but she really had no choice. I was given detailed instructions on when to water, how much to water and when to move to plants in and out of shade.<br /> <br />It goes without saying that over the years, with my parents increasingly out of town, our plant population has gone considerably downhill, leaving only a few tough plants that have managed to survive inspite of me.<br /> <br />Meanwhile, I realized that I sorely missed gardening. I missed the cool calm mornings spent watering the plants, the smell of wet mud and the joy of seeing a rose or jasmine plant bloom. I missed those days when the house overflowed with plants and the neighbors dropped in just to admire them.<br /> <br />Things were not made easy by my friends who all seemed to be avid gardeners and inundated the social media with their prettily flowering plants and bragged about their leafy palak and rotund pumpkins.<br /> <br />I was determined to make plants love me, come what may.I decided to give gardening another shot and bought a few plants over the internet. The picture showed smiling plants in the best of health but what I got was their drooping wilted versions. Obviously they were beyond any resuscitation. Then I went ahead and ordered a particular plant because I loved the flowers on it. When the plant arrived it was bare save a few leaves. The Gardner who looks after the society lawn told me that this plant flowers once a year and I would have to wait six months for that. Before the six months were up, the plant was history!<br /> <br />But I wanted plants. I really did. It’s not as if I wanted to turn great stretches of arid land into a beautiful landscape (Well in the distant future, I dream of doing that actually), all I wanted was a verandah full of greenery, some flowers and most importantly the simple pleasure of gardening, and watching things grow and bloom.<br /> <br />But I really didn’t want any more plant deaths on my head!<br /> <br />To console myself, I continued to visit Lodhi Garden – The mecca of Gardens in Delhi and rejoiced when the famous Sundar Nursery opened near Humayun’s tomb. But something in me was still not happy.<br /> <br />So I decided to give my relationship with plants one last chance. I spoke to the gardeners in my family, for once taking their advice seriously. I started with baby steps, In the beginning just trying not to kill the existing plants, before moving on to planting new ones.<br /> <br />Among the plants that my parents already have, there is now a sweet little marigold cheerfully waving it’s flowers, a rose plant showing great promise of white roses and some mint and coriander leaves peeping out of the soil. And yesterday, I plucked a few home grown lettuce for my salad.<br /> <br />I think the plants and I are slowly becoming friends.<br /> <br />Simple steps, hopefully that will lead to a greener and more colorful future !<br /> <br /></span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-83786081407081576062017-10-27T10:51:00.001+05:302017-10-27T10:53:35.940+05:30What to do when you need a Tissue in Japan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If there is one country that does things differently it’s Japan. Frankly, they hover between being weird and totally innovative. One of the most innovative things I have seen in Japan is Tissue Pack Marketing. Something as simple and as mundane as tissue paper packets are used very effectively as means of advertisements.<br /> <br />The first time I encountered this type of marketing was when I was walking down the street in Osaka minding my own business when suddenly this young girl jumped in front of me and started waving a tissue pack under my nose. While I gingerly touched to my nose to see if there was something on it that had made this kind stranger offer me a tissue pack, she started talking about a makeup product, smiled, handed a very bewildered me the tissue pack and left. It was then that I realized that there was a paper advertising the makeup product at the bottom of the plastic packet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Tissue paper marketing is a sort of guerilla marketing popular in Japan. It’s cost effective and hits the human psychology pretty well. Think about it, if you are handed a flyer advertising a product you’ll most likely throw it in the bin, but who would say no to a free pack of face tissues. By the time you have gone through the entire pack you would have probably glanced at the advertisement at the bottom of the transparent wrapper at least a dozen times.<br /> <br />Also, this strategy seems to work on the Japanese sense of obligation pretty well as most Japanese will tend to think that if they have got something free they might as well as look at or consider the product that is advertised.<br /> <br />An estimated 70 billion yen worth of tissues packs are distributed every year in Japan and they advertise everything from a new spa to cheap loans to makeup to car rental companies</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People giving out these packets are usually youngsters in school and college out to make some extra money. They are there everywhere, standing strategically at all busy roads and station exits. Seriously I sometimes wonder why shops in Japan sell tissues when all you need to do is walk down to the nearest station and at least three different smiling young men and women will hail you in their high pitched nasal voice and offer you a free packs of tissues.<br /> <br />It doesn’t matter if you can’t read or understand Japanese all you need to do is grab the tissues and smile a thank you. You get your free tissues and the business gets a potential customer.<br /> <br />Another reason the tissue pack marketing is so effective as compared to adverts is that the tissue distributors can easily target a certain demographic. For example as a foreigner I might get advertisements for Japanese language schools or makeup or travel companies.What I most certainly won’t get is advertisements for shady pubs or a massage parlor. My male Japanese friends may get these though !<br /> <br />Tissue packs even when not used for advertising, can be pretty interesting. Most tissue packs across the world will have mundane pics of the manufacturer but some of the packs in Japan have interesting covers such as that of Mt Fuji, Bullet train etc. These packs are often kept as mementos by tourists. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then there is a wonderful thing called lotion tissues. Extremely soft and very soothing to the skin. The best of tissues in India will seem as rough as burlap once you have used them.<br /> <br />Although I usually turn down my nos at freebies, I never said no to a pack of free tissue in Japan, even bringing them back to India and using for as much time as I could. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />I don’t really know if I am helping the products being advertised in the tissue packs but tissue paper manufacture must have gone up a wee bit thanks to me ! </span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-47547492192927842982017-09-20T09:32:00.000+05:302017-09-20T09:32:03.923+05:30The work from home Chronicles <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hurt my knee a month back and instead of limping to work every morning, I decided to work from home. I saw it as a respite from the never ending commute and traffic and had lovely visions of myself simply rolling out of bed, padding over to my desk in pajamas and starting work. I was so kicked by the fact that my journey to work would be reduced to 1 minute from I hour. <br /><br /> No more power dressing, no need to iron all those formal clothes, hell no need to even comb my hair if I didn’t feel like it. No more standing in line at the office microwave to heat my packed lunch, no more tepid coffee from the office dispensing machine. <br /><br />No one to see you if you are checking your mails with the toothbrush still in your mouth or if you are watching Mr. Bean videos on the side as you type serious mails to your team. <br /><br />Life was going to be so good. <br /><br />The reality my friends is something totally different. <br /><br />Within a week I was so bored and desperate for company, I was holding imaginary conversations with my plants. I was so used to getting up, getting dressed and being out of the house that I just couldn’t handle the change. I didn’t know I would crave so much for what I always thought of as a mechanical life.<br /><br />You sigh with deep longing when you look at your work clothes, all those neatly ironed trousers and formal shirts, ethnic kurtas hanging neatly in your cupboard and wonder if you will ever wear them again. You read articles about dressing up well even when you are working from home but somehow getting dressed in good clothes and then going nowhere seems to make you even sadder. <br /><br />You miss the buzz that an office gives you, the in and out of colleagues from your cubicle, the constant chatter. The silence and peace that you longed for so long now just depresses you. You know you are in serious trouble when you even start missing those snotty juniors who you were always admonishing for making too much noise. <br /><br />Getting up and making tea and eating all those healthy snacks by yourself is not as much fun as you thought it would be. It was so much better to walk to the cafeteria and share your food with colleagues and enjoy the chat sessions around the water cooler you till now thought of as banal and a waste of time. <br /><br />When you are working from home, you end up working more because you are never really out of office. In office, Lunch or tea breaks and even loo breaks mean being away from your desk, chatting with people for a while. Now unless you learn to strictly set time away from the laptop, you will end up spending all your time there, even eating in front of it.<br /><br />You also realize that Conference calls are the bane of your existence. <br /><br />It’s amazing but with uncanny precision, just when you have gone off mute and started to speak the damn street dog will start barking just outside your window and a zillion cars will honk together – You are not really supposed to blow your car horn inside a residential colony but then which self-respecting delhi-ite follows rules! <br /><br />Meanwhile, your manager and team mates are sitting in one conference room, right next to each other, with the speaker phone on just for you and you are using every muscle in your body to try and hear what they are saying. The connection is so bad, the only way you can hear them is if they shout right into the phone which obviously they don’t so finally you just resign yourself to laughing when every-one is laughing and then saying “I have no questions, Thank you” in the end while desperately hoping that nothing substantial has been discussed in the call. <br /><br /> I can never forget that one fateful morning when I attended an important client call in my night shirt with my hair standing up in tufts and suddenly in the middle of the call the client wanted it to turn it into a video call instead of a telephonic one. I set a world record for changing clothes, combing my hair and dabbing on some makeup that day, all the while pretending that there was something wrong with the laptop camera. <br /><br />Since you are at home all the time, your family kind of forgets that you work. You might be busy making an important presentation or struggling with formulas in an Excel sheet and your mother will disturb you just then because she can’t figure out how to make a whatsapp call, wants dabbas taken down from high shelves, wants to know what to get cooked for lunch or if she can wear this saree when she goes out today. <br /><br />You in turn will shout at them all the time to lower the TV volume, not to talk loudly, not to call people over, walk on tip toes and not even breathe if they can help it. <br /><br />Work from home has its good moments too. You can take quick breaks and walk around the garden, check FB or twitter without your colleagues peeping over your shoulder, even brew yourself some coffee while on mute during meetings. If you are working on assignments that require no support from others, you can pretty much tweak your work hours to your convenience or sneak out for a few hours to work from a café. <br /><br />Work from home is a wonderful concept. Specially for people who have kids to take care of or even those of us who want a little bit of flexibility and time for ourselves in our lives. Believe me not having to commute everyday does take away a lot of stress and adds a whole lot of time to your day. And largely uninterrupted work hours do wonders to your productivity and creativity. <br /><br />Having said that, I have realized I am the kind of person who needs to be up and out of the house and interact with others to a certain extent. An ideal situation for me would be a work from home once or twice a week when I can work according to my own schedules and avoid the commute. <br /><br />In my opinion, work from home works very well for free lancers and self-employed people but not always for people who are employed full time in one organization and need to connect with the rest of the employees a lot. Unless that organization has a widely accepted culture of work from home, and I honestly think that’s still lacking in India, You just end up making a lot of effort to stay connected and network. <br /><br />I guess, I will go back to working full time from office sooner or later, but till then let me make the most of it by writing mundane blog posts and teaching my plants how to speak Japanese. </span><br /> </div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-23013141080465234822017-07-13T18:30:00.000+05:302017-07-14T10:34:03.147+05:30Japan's Summer Singing Sensations <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One fine summer morning in Japan, just after sunrise, I
was woken up by a sound that can only be described as a cross between high
decibel screeching and a rasping sound. It reminded me of the worker who sits outside buildings being constructed in India and slowly and steadily cuts iron
rods into pieces while the noise from his machine pierces your skull till you
want to die. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I opened the sliding door of my balcony and stepped
out. No one was in sight but the sound was almost unbearable outside. Then I
remembered my Indian neighbors had talked about seeing a pressure cooker in one
of the local shops and wanting to try it out. I wondered if this is what a
Japanese pressure cooker’s whistle sounds like.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All through the morning as I dressed, ate breakfast and
left for work, the noise continued unabated. If this was indeed the pressure
cooker whistle, I wondered what my neighbors were cooking! <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But it was not the pressure cooker because the sound
followed me all the way as I walked to the train station. Mercifully the sound
shut off as soon as I entered the underground station. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My office was surrounded by a whole lot of trees and as
I stepped out for some fresh air during my lunch break, the sound hit me again.
By now I was sure that it was some kind of animal or bird but for the life of
me I couldn’t figure out what exactly it was. I couldn’t see any new species of
birds except the huge crows that perpetually seem to dot the Japanese urban
areas. The whole day, each time I went out I would be assaulted by this
deafening sound but mercifully it stopped in the evening. I went to bed
thinking that this is just one of those unresolved mysteries of Japan to add to
my list. But that was not the end of it. I got up the next morning and the first thing that I heard was that
sound again. This went on for three days till I thought I would go mad with the
suspense and the noise. None of my Japanese colleagues seemed bothered by it;
no one mentioned it and I wondered if they would think their Indian colleague
has gone bonkers if I mention a weird sound that I hear as soon as I step
outdoors.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was put out of my misery after a few days when I went
out to lunch with one of my Japanese colleagues and she casually said “Oh it
really feels like summer now that the cicadas are singing non-stop”. I stared
at her I total disbelief. Was that the sound of the cicadas? Were those
innocuous looking bugs capable of emitting such shrill, ear drum piercing sound?
And honestly how can the Japanese consider it singing! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
Apparently, the cicadas that seem to live underground and incubate for years on
end get out of their stupor in summer and invade Japan like an enormous dirt
colored army. The ‘music’ that they make is actually their love song. They
obviously don’t believe in wasting even a moment of their short lives over
ground because they spend their days lustily singing for their mate from
sunrise to sunset. Once they find their mate and the female lays the eggs, the
cicadas quietly wither away and die leaving behind flaky wings and shells that carpet all areas near trees and make a crunchy autumny sound as you
walk on them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I never got used to the sound. For me it just made a
shrill unpleasant background noise I could do nothing about and once the cicadas
started dying, I did my best to side step over their crusty bodies that
littered the ground. Strangely, the Japanese kids seem to be rather fond of these bugs. While kids from other countries spend their summer holidays
swimming or riding bicycles the kids in Japan spend their summer afternoons
chasing cicadas with butterfly nets. You can see them standing in groups under
trees, flapping their nets about and trying to coax the cicadas to fly down. I
don’t really understand why they want them as pets because after a few weeks
the cicadas would be dead anyway. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In Japanese culture, the cicadas represent the concept
of ‘Mujo’ or the impermanence of all things. Naturally, the Japanese poets with
their preoccupation with loneliness and death and the transient nature of this
world find the cicadas a fascinating topic to wax poetic about. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Basho, the famous Haiku poet sums it up perfectly in
these two Haikus:<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A cicada shell<br />
it sang itself<br />
utterly away.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I so agree with Basho when he describes the sound the
cicadas make. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stillness -<br />
the cicada's cry<br />
drills into the rocks<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Whatever the cultural or philosophical significance of
the cicadas, to me they will always be those cacophonous creatures that almost drown
all my other memories of a Japanese summer.</span></span></div>
</div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-12825713757575465682017-05-31T21:40:00.000+05:302017-06-01T09:34:46.516+05:30The loo with the view <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The only time I envy my fellow travelers of the opposite sex is when we need to use a loo while travelling in remote areas. The male members of the group discreetly retreat behind anything that half hides them while we female members run around looking for a place where we can go about our business in relative privacy.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The biggest challenge comes while traveling in the mountains. The well-traveled routes usually have washrooms that may be nothing more than just a canvas covering three sides. But, however rudimentary at least they offer you some privacy. </span><br />
<br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As you go higher up, even these basic amenities are missing. When you love mountains and your idea of traveling is to go to far flung obscure places where most of mankind in the form of noisy tourists has not reached, please remember that Vidya Balan and her Shauchalaya abhiyan has not reached there either. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At first, you spend your time marveling at the unspoiled and pristine beauty. Then there comes a time when you’ve had enough of the scenery and all you can think of is of your discomfort because you need to go to the loo. The subzero temperature and the endless cups of hot tea that you have gulped do not help matters at all. The scenic mountains, the pine trees, the pretty sheep dotting the valley hold no interest to you and the flowing rivers only serve to remind you that well .. you need to go. So while your co-passengers might think that you have your nose stuck to the window coz you love the view all you are doing is looking for anything that might act as a pit stop.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But for miles and miles, all you can see is desolate mountains or vast valleys that are devoid of a single shrub or rock you can go behind. You are on the verge of bursting when you see an area that has rocks big enough to act as temporary loos, you scream at the driver to stop, grab some tissues from your bag and make a beeline for it. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3sE7IQZeY-ZXNpuLm0w73CqP8lWJsYmLqVgrepcNUbCMPLX7HeiDi5wpRzt_WeqpIDhPUeVMlzXBZKeHJb15Kr0BxjMvFFfuc9Sx2WN45cywshHGe67hyphenhyphengaSrz_V9O0hj64VLKYRp3c/s1600/14067858_10153999452454094_680060098303616703_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3sE7IQZeY-ZXNpuLm0w73CqP8lWJsYmLqVgrepcNUbCMPLX7HeiDi5wpRzt_WeqpIDhPUeVMlzXBZKeHJb15Kr0BxjMvFFfuc9Sx2WN45cywshHGe67hyphenhyphengaSrz_V9O0hj64VLKYRp3c/s640/14067858_10153999452454094_680060098303616703_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The search for the perfect rock ! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Obviously for the not so seasoned travelers going in the open tends to be a pain and primitive beyond anything they have ever experienced. But tell me, isn’t the view from your outdoor loo much better that the white or light pink tiles and walls we usually stare at in the normal boring loos. Imagine looking up at snow peaks, mighty deodars and pine trees or a vast valley covered with little flowers spread right before your eyes as you go about your job. <br /><br />But remember, never to get so engrossed in the view that you don’t even look where you are going. The grass that you are just about to water hides insects and even leeches that can turn your behind into an itchy mess in minutes.<br /><br />In one of our treks, one of the ladies went and sat down without seeing and got a leech stuck to her fair and ample bottom. On another trip, a girl jumped up and shrieked in alarm because there was a small rodent like animal intently watching her as she took a tinkle. To be fair, more than anything else the poor animal must have been rather alarmed to see a huge strange animal staking its territory in what the poor animal thought was his territory. <br /><br />Camping in the open has its own “pitfalls”. Unless you are staying at a campsite that will probably have makeshift loos, you need to go out in the open. Searching for that suitable place in the dark is not funny especially when every twig that breaks seems like a bear about to charge you. Even proper campsites are not without their own adventure. The tent serving as the washroom is usually away from the other tents and the lighting there is rather poor at its best. One friend set out for her nightly ablutions armed with a huge torch. Somehow she ended up dropping the torch down the hole, so now none of us could see where we were going, only where we had been. <br /><br />What I have learnt over the years is to grab a chance to use the loo where you stop. Be it a dhabha or someone’s house or a petrol station; go even if you don’t need to coz you never know where the next pit stop is going to be and what it’s going to be like. <br /><br />Another thing that my travels have taught me is that an umbrella or a shawl do much more than simply shielding you from the sun or protecting you from the cold. In the absence of anything else, they help in protecting your modesty from the eyes of strangers. <br /><br />Traveling is an adventure and traveling off the beaten track to areas that give you nothing in the form of basic facilities can either be a great ordeal or an adventure of a life time. It simply depends on your perspective. <br /><br />The outdoor loos may not offer you the best of amenities but they do offer you something even better – a view that you will never forget.</span></div>
</div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-74411204087380297872016-08-03T11:32:00.000+05:302016-08-04T13:02:21.608+05:30The one with elusive peacocks and angry bees <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">About a month back four of us decided to escape the Delhi heat by going off to the mountains for a few days. The fact that at this time the mountains are almost submerged under a deluge of rain didn’t deter us at all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Weeks of relentless rain and a few cloudbursts finally convinced us that a journey up in the mountains can be a little more adventurous than what even we would like. So we cancelled it and thus began our search for alternate destinations. From Shekhawati to Pushkar to Jaipur to Landour to Kasauni each destination was scrutinized and rejected for one reason or the other. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finally we decided to spend our weekend on a farm near Alwar. We planned our trip with visions of taking lovely walks through the farm and eating healthy organically grown food. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course the fact that in monsoons the whole farm will be a muddy squelchy mess didn’t cross our minds neither did the fact that there are barely any vegetables growing in monsoons forget organic ones. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So on the rainiest day Delhi had seen in a decade we set off. Inspite of incessant rain and flooded roads, we still managed to cover a considerable distance in two hours. Our problems began after we started looking for the turn towards the village where the farm was located. Navigation both human and google was rather inept and after innumerable missed turns and wrong directions from locals who kept directing us to the wrong place simply because they could not understand our pronunciation of the village name; we finally reached the village. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The gate to the farm was so small that we almost missed it. Once inside, our car entered a veritable tunnel of verdant green foliage. There was a stone wall on one side with a vibrant bougainvillea trailing it. Trees on both sides of the unpaved lane were bent almost double with rain and wind and formed a canopy over us. The narrow bumpy road opened up to a parking area on one side and rooms on the other. Beyond the rooms was more farmland. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ever since we had arrived we could hear the sound of various birds but the koels and the Peacocks were the loudest. So after we had fueled ourselves with tea and paranthas we set off to explore the farm and hopefully see some peacocks. The ground was so wet that it was like walking on a huge muddy sponge. The rain had infused new life in everything and young plants and shoots sprouted everywhere. The leaves on the trees were thick and glossy and the raindrops glistened on them like diamonds. It was as if the world was just made up of different shades of green with occasional bursts of other colors in the form of flowers. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9x5KPs2UFzHAmi2SE0WPKhz5VaJWueUpnJ2Mfd8Rd1vzPZ1xqOAO1rKgrQja7rKCxq3EIHEXuIqDinTQyI5vxt-YsAWaACj0KDUiBT2W2Q5yvldk9BRrkut72oHWkhTqTNh_mOMhHYs/s1600/FotorCreated.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9x5KPs2UFzHAmi2SE0WPKhz5VaJWueUpnJ2Mfd8Rd1vzPZ1xqOAO1rKgrQja7rKCxq3EIHEXuIqDinTQyI5vxt-YsAWaACj0KDUiBT2W2Q5yvldk9BRrkut72oHWkhTqTNh_mOMhHYs/s640/FotorCreated.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were quite enjoying our walk inspite of having to squelch through ankle high grass. What we had not accounted for were the creepy crawly insects that come out in this season. Very Soon all parts of our bodies that were exposed turned red, swollen and itchy with mosquito and insect bites. We were either swatting away at mosquitoes or gingerly stepping and hopping over innumerable snails and earthworms on our path. But all this was nothing compared to the beast that awaited us just at the next turn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We realized that the sound of peacocks was very loud from one particular direction and we hurried there in the hope of seeing a few. What we did see instead was a ferocious dog bounding towards us. Two of us screamed and froze on the spot. The third brandished her umbrella like a sword and I was torn between laughter at their antics and alarm because honestly I am not too fond of dogs myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The four of us decided that the best policy would be to keep as still as possible and hope that the dog goes away. We stood there stock still, hardly daring to breathe while the dog stood and stared back at us; tail raised, quivering all over and making strange throaty noises that we hoped were sounds of welcome but looked more like warning growls. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he went off in the direction he had come from and we fled back towards our rooms, all thoughts of photographing dancing peacocks abandoned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Non-stop rain and blood thirsty mosquitoes made further forays into the woods impossible. So we just sat in the verandah and enjoyed the tranquility. The farm was away from all civilization and the only sounds were of the soft rain falling, the rustle of leaves and the songs of the birds; sounds that we rarely hear in the rush and madness of our urban existence. It was the perfect place to be still and enjoy the sound of nature. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But that was not to be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Suddenly the quiet afternoon was shattered by the earsplitting sounds of a machine. We looked up to see a tractor coming over the hillock near our rooms. A few farm hands sat on the tractor, along with our driver. Apparently he had made friends with them and they were all enjoying a ride together.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They continued to come up the hillock, tearing through the over grown grass and shrubs. Suddenly there was a loud yelp, the tractor came to a grinding halt and everyone sitting on it jumped off and ran in different directions as fast as their legs could carry them. One minute they were sitting on the tractor laughing and joking and the next instant they were running through the trees with their arms flaying over their heads. It was comical to watch. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile, the engine of the tractor was still on and the monstrous beast stood there making strange chugging noises. It seemed that in their rush to run from whatever they were running from, the men had not even stopped to turn the engine off. After some time they came out from their various hiding places and cautiously approached the tractor. we watched totally intrigued as they quickly switched off the engine and retreated to safety again. None of them made the effort to climb on the tractor and take it away. It just lay there, like a huge red beetle among the trees. Later, we found out that they had inadvertently disturbed a bee hive and the angry bees had descended on them like a huge buzzing missile. Most of them had managed to escape being stung but an over zealous bee had followed our driver right up to his room. He emerged in the evening, the area under his left eye swollen but thankfully his good humour intact. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Everyone on the farm had reassured us that peacocks always come down from the trees in the morning. The cook told us how a couple had seen peacocks dancing in the area adjoining the kitchen while they ate their morning parathas. The farm boys told us stories about how they have to shoo away peacocks from the parking lot every morning and how they dig up and eat up all the plants. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So it was with great expectation that I opened the door to our room the next morning to photograph the peacocks I was sure would be preening all around. Instead, I was greeted with our friend the dog going round and round in circles in the verandah and a few squawking ducks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The elusive peacocks continued to tease us with their songs throughout our stay but refused to come out of the deep woods. Forget photographing them, we didn’t even get to bring back a single peacock feather. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Oh well, as the saying goes, Jungle mein mor nacha, par kisne dekha !</span></div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-8114817547927491482016-07-26T10:59:00.000+05:302016-07-27T08:45:43.836+05:30Where History meets Spirituality - A Walk through Jama Masjid <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As a lover of both history and architecture I have visited the Jama Masjid many times. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have walked through it in the heat of a summer afternoon, with the red sand stone burning my feet. I have seen it on a winter evening, shrouded by the mist rising from the Yamuna. <br /><br />But to visit it during Ramadan is an experience not to be forgotten. That is the time when spirituality mixes with gaiety, fasting and abstinence goes hand in hand with mouth watering culinary delights. It all makes for an ambience rarely seen at any other time. <br /><br />I had the good fortune to experience Ramadan with Navina Jafa in a talk organized by a fantastic travel group called Travel Correspondents and Blogger Group or TCBG as we call it fondly. <br /><br />Navina’s website introduces her as a culture activist, academician and heritage lover. Those words don’t do justice to her. She is so much more. Her deep rooted passion and love for our culture and history becomes evident as soon as you meet her. The depth of her research and knowledge is astounding. On top of that she is a master story teller and narrates incidents and anecdotes you will not find within the pages of any historic tome. There is a certain charm in listening to stories and snippets of history gleaned from a diary here, a book there and from an inscription on some monument. <br /><br />Navina’s irresistible style of narration, her kohled eyes that almost sparkle and her graceful hand movements that only an accomplished Kathak dancer can have, simply transport you to a different world. <br /><br />As you listen to her weave her tales, you find yourself standing on a small hill top near the Yamuna, as workers file past you, bent almost double under the weight of the heavy red sand stone that they carry on their backs. You hear the sound of chisel on stone as artisans painstakingly carve intricate designs on the walls of the Masjid. You see the minarets slowly rise in front of your eyes, You almost hear the intrigue and deceit that formed such an integral part of the Mughal court, you see the great Emperor Shah Jahan striding up the stairs of the just completed Masjid for the first Namaz.<br /><br />Navina also explained to us what Ramadan actually means, and drew comparisons between Hinduism and Islamic fasting and rituals. <br /><br />As she spoke about Ramadan, I looked around. The Jama Masjid was full of people waiting to break their fast. They sat with the absolute patience of the devout, the food spread in front of them. At sunset, Fireworks went off one after the other to signal the end of the fast. As the sun sank behind the mosque, framing it into gold, as if on cue, the mosque lit up with a million lights.<br /></span><br />
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Later, we walked with Navina through the famous lanes adjoining the Jama Masjid, A criss- cross of festoons with Chinese lanterns hanging from them made a very festive roof over our heads. Jama Masjid had given us a sense of peace in spite of being filled with people. Here there were jostling crowds and bright lights and cacophony. And the food ! So many aromas and flavors all tantalizing our senses. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Large piles of dates, thick, brown and fat; Sevaiyan, their delicate strands all wound together to make a fragrant nest; a pale pink drink unique to Ramadan, made out of Roohafza, milk and water melon pieces; phirnis with delicate pieces of badam and pista stuck in the thick milk. For the Non vegetarians, succulent pieces of chicken and mutton on skewers, the flames sizzling as the juices from the meat dripped into them, the men behind the flames expertly turning the skewers or stirring the pots, their faces glistening in the heat.<br /><br />We walked on, wondering where Navina was taking us when she suddenly turned a corner and we found ourselves in an even narrower lane, with our shoulders almost brushing the building on either side. We ducked our heads through a small gate and stopped short with surprise. Infront of us was a wide courtyard, the walls painted a pristine white, with a mazaar on one side. The breeze here was cool and not laden with the smells of the bazaar we had just left behind. There was no noise, no frenzy, no crowds here. The transformation was sudden and almost shocking. In that quietude, we found our senses calming down. <br /><br />And it was in this hushed and tranquil atmosphere that Navina chose to tell us about Sufism. Interspersed with anecdotes about Nizammudin Auliya, Amir Khusro and Dara Shikoh she took us on a delightful journey about Sufism that ended all too soon for me ! <br /><br />Her last sentence as she ended her talk will stay with me forever “There is no need to worry about the growing religious intolerance. We should all think divine and be filled with hope because there are more similarities in our religions that we can imagine and hopefully one day this understanding will transcend all divides. “</span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-37176244455911997932016-05-22T11:13:00.001+05:302016-05-23T14:18:37.333+05:30The Chattisgarh of Shamans and trances <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The beauty of Chattisgarh lies not
only in its natural environs and its rich dense forest cover, but it also offers
you a fascinating study of anthropology, ancient customs and traditions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thanks to technology seeping into even the remotest part of the country and with the increasing adaptation of
new-fangled modern ideas, the tribals of Chattisgarh have become greatly
urbanized. But they still follow a lot
of their ancient customs and we were lucky to experience a few of them first
hand. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The first were the Shamans. A
village near the Kanker palace was celebrating a festival that included
worshiping the local deity and this is where we came face to face with the
Shamans. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Most of the Chattisgarh tribes worship either animals or nature in
some form or the other. Religion here is basic and non- complicated.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Shamanas are supposed to be men
of God chosen in their childhood due to their unusual behavior and actions.
Spirits, sometimes malevolent but mostly benevolent are supposed to dwell in
them and the villagers believe that they are worshiping God through them.
Their actions when they are in a trance are not the actions one would expect
from a normal human being. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I went to see the shamans with a
lot of trepidation. The practical side of me didn’t want to believe in any of
this but then on the other hand I was very curious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The village was just off the main road and was
almost a part of the main town. It had a very urban look to it, although a lot
of houses still had mud walls and thatched roofs and small vegetable gardens attached
to them. With the chicks and piglets running all around, it seemed that the
villagers were self-sufficient at least in their supply of vegetables and meat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But there were a quite a few concrete houses also and a lot of local youths zipped
up and down on bikes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I particularly liked the artistic manner in which the
house nos were written on the front wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;">We
could see a huge gathering in the center of the village and as we neared the spot
we could hear the sound of drums and pipes. We barely had time to take out our
cameras after reaching the spot when we saw the Shamans coming towards us. About
5-6 men, swaying from one side to the other, wearing yellow or Black Dhotis, a
heap of marigold garlands around their necks. Their hair was disheveled,
falling across their foreheads and their eyes rolled in their heads. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;">They had bells tied to their feet and some of them carried the ‘Ang Dev’ on their shoulders. Ang Dev is a long wooden staff with prayer flags hanging from it that represents the local deity.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
shamans as was very obvious from their disjointed steps and zig zag way of
walking were in a trance and some of the villagers were supporting them stay
upright. They walked without purpose, first going in one direction then another
as if their bodies were not in their control and their feet were being directed
by an unseen force. The Ang Devs wobbled erratically on their shoulders and people
stepped nimbly out of the way to avoid getting hit from the staffs. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1f25; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They danced
or rather swayed their way from one house to another dragging along the people
who supported them. As they approached a house, the people in the house came
out to worship them by washing their feet with water and garlanding them. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This
particular worship was in gratitude for a good harvest. The Shamans went round
the village stopping at each house and eventually gathered in the village
square where the dancing and festivities continued. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The crowds
had swelled by now, and the swaying shamans, the strong smell of liquor, the smell of flowers,
the drums and the pipes was like an assault on the senses and at least for me it did not make for a very pleasant experience.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Everyone
was trying to look over the wall to see what the shamans were doing, while this
young lady deigned to give us a teeny weeny smile. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
villagers might conceive the shamans to be divine and the swaying and dancing
and stumbling all a part of being in a trance but then we could also smell a very strong and distinct smell of the local liquor so we had our reservations
about how authentic the shamans actually were. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
faces around me were a mixture of awe and devotion and only mine seemed to
have skepticism written over it. The tribal beliefs, unlike ours are
uncomplicated, simpler and non-judgmental. Honestly, If this gets them closer
to their god why not. It is better than a 100 complicated rituals.</span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #1c1f25;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Perhaps this
is a better way to live than us city dwellers who tend to analyze, over think
and pass judgment on everything.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-77348215979596905372016-04-25T16:08:00.002+05:302016-04-25T17:25:24.296+05:30The Chattisgarh of Deer Horn and tribal Dances <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="text-align: center;">I came out of the air conditioned Raipur airport into the harsh sun and had my first look at Chattisgarh. A black tar road, shimmering in the heat, veered away from the airport into a vast dry landscape. The vegetation was sparse, the few trees lining the road were dusty, their leaves brown and wrinkled, fluttered slowly in the meager gusts of wind. The strong sun had withered whatever grass there was into tufts of drying yellow. The monsoons had come and gone many months back and even in December, the land stretching on both sides of the road looked hot, parched and in desperate need of water.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />The reason I had said yes to this trip was because the words ‘Bastar’ and ‘Tribals’ held some sort of Magic for me. For this was a world that I had only read about through the pages of the National Geographic magazine and here was a rare chance to see it come alive.<br /><br />We were guests at the Royal Palace of Kanker. Something that we were to realize later was an incredible stroke of good fortune. Not only was the royal family the greatest example of humility and grace but also instrumental in showing us the Chattisgarh we would have never seen otherwise.<br /><br />Chattisgarh along with Madhya Pradesh has the largest tribal belt in India. Some tribes known to the world, the others still half hidden, valiantly trying to protect their individuality, their customs and traditions against the onslaught of modernization. It was into this world, so alien, so different from our urban existence that we hoped to get a peep into in the coming days.<br /><br />The good people at Kanker Palace had decided to initiate us into Tribal life by sending us off to a tribal village to see their local dances. The village we went to belonged to the Deer Horn Muria tribe.<br /><br />The Deer Horn Muria tribe, as the name suggests are animists. The name Deer Horn stems from the fact that their traditional head dress is made up of deer horn. This tribe like all other tribes is excessively fond of their liquor and dancing and holds many festivities specially during the harvest season.<br /><br />As we left the main road and turned into a narrow lane, we could dimly see the squat flat roofed mud houses of the village in the distance. The harvesting had been done and the land was yet to be tilled for the next crop of vegetables and lentils. Brown was the predominant color here.<br /><br />After a few miles of bumping over fields, we reached the village. A simple village, the lanes swept clean of dust, mud houses, doors painted a deep blue or red, a few walls with intricate designs painted on the walls as if to counter the dullness in the landscape around us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A communal hand pump, and a lone motorcycle leaning against a wall - the only signs of modernization. Beyond the mud wall, little piglets squealed as they tried to climb over each other.We walk around, watching people go about their daily routine, feeling slightly self-conscious about intruding into their lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Since the village was so close to the city most men were dressed in trousers and shirts and not dhotis and some women even wore salwar kameezes instead of sarees. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What fascinated me was the jewelry that the women wore. Thick bracelets, necklaces and anklets made of pure silver with intricate designs on them. I would not have expected the villagers to wear such heavy jewelry as they went about their daily chores. According to our guide, the thickness and weight of the jewelry indicates the financial status of the family. Even now, the tribals rarely use banks and the silver is not only used as ornaments but also provides the family with a financial cushion. The jewelry is sold or bartered in times of need. The women therefore, act as keepers of the family’s fortune. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />We were taken to the house where the dancers were getting ready for the performance. A group of young men and women crowded into two different corners of a courtyard, getting dressed and preening into mirrors. The elders were sitting on a raised platform, looking at them critically, perhaps remembering the time when they were also young and ready to dance at the beat of a drum. <br /><br />The girls wore sarees of plain white but made up for the simplicity by adorning their hair with colorful ornaments made out of cloth and wore necklaces made of silver coins. With traditional makeup on their face and around their eyes, they looked very pretty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: center;">The boys were not to be left far behind. They were dressed in simple yellow dhotis with head ornaments similar to the girls’ but with colorful feathers added to them. True to the name of their tribe, a few sported head dresses made out of deer horn and carried staffs with deer made out of wood attached on top.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finally after a long wait, the dancers trooped out in a single file and assembled under a tree. It was a hot day and the sun was at its zenith, yet small crowd had gathered to see the performance. Everyone waited expectantly as the dancers formed a semi-circle around the drummers. The drummers started off at a leisurely tempo, the dancers moved slowly, almost languidly to the beat, singing in low voices. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then suddenly the tempo became faster and then faster yet, the drummer’s body swaying as their hands flew over the drum, the air seeming to vibrate with the beat. Taking the cue, the dancers now spun, whirled and leaped into the air till they were just blurs of color. Each one lost to the sound of music, each one innately graceful. The wooden deer that the men carried on sticks bobbed up and down making clanking sounds. I am not sure what the dance was about, but it seemed very much like they were depicting a forest hunt. <br /><br />We stood there mesmerized, watching the dancers give us an insight into their lives through their dance. We were transported deep into the forest, listening to the cries of the hunting men and of the animals. Then as the beat changed, the song became softer, the steps became less frenzied and more joyous and we felt we were celebrating the harvest season with them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It all made for a very flamboyant and fitting start to our tribal adventure. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>(My trip to Chattisgarh was a recce trip with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/onelifetotravel/">One Life toTravel</a>. Connect with them on FB to learn about their trips to
Chattisgarh and other offbeat destinations)</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6168376355457288703.post-61568600156272678452016-02-11T05:46:00.000+05:302016-02-11T05:47:08.194+05:30False Ceilings - A Book Review <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />It is rather intriguing when a book opens with one of its main characters musing over an ‘If Else’ statement, which is the first thing every software programmer learns and then going on to say that the statement is nothing but a reflection of life. <br /><br />Amit Sharma, the author of False Ceilings is a software engineer, as is the character introduced to us in the first chapter. And so we assume that the book will be just like a software program; logical, straightforward, linear. <br /><br />False Ceilings is anything but that. <br /><br />False Ceilings is a Family saga that takes us back and forth between generations all bound together by blood but equally separated by their petty jealousies and insecurities. At the heart of the story is a secret, guarded almost superstitiously and passed along from generation to generation that both holds together and destroys the family. <br /><br />The book begins in the current period, moves briefly to an imagined future almost 50 years from the present day and then suddenly without warning transports us to the Dalhousie of pre independent India. The narration is not chronological, the story twists and turns between various time zones and locations. As you get to know one character better and sit back comfortably to discover more about him or her, Amit pulls you through a time warp and takes you to an altogether different age and location, to yet another character and story.<br /><br />He alternates his focus between the myriad characters, revealing a little about them then very cunningly changing tracks, leaving his readers waiting, wondering and yearning for more. Each character has his own story, each story seemingly independent in itself and yet all of them intertwined. <br /><br />For me, there are two things that stand out about the book. One is the non - linear narrative that the author very skillfully employs and the other is his stark exploration of the human psyche. <br /><br />We are almost lulled into believing that the book is all about the secret. But as it progresses you can’t help but wonder if the secret is simply a ruse. The underlying theme of the book is human relationships and their complexities. Very subtly, Amit digs deep into the human psyche to unearth and explore deep rooted emotions, fears and half-forgotten memories of the past that define each one of the characters and makes them what they are. <br /><br />I suppose the reason why most new authors do not attempt a Family Saga is because it is never an easy genre to write. Chronicling the lives of so many people over generations is a complex task. So it is with False Ceilings. As the book progresses and more and more characters are introduced, you might get distracted wanting to know how it all ends. However, you get the feeling that this is precisely what the author wants, to confuse us before skillfully weaving together the various stories till everything comes together like a perfectly solved jigsaw puzzle.<br /><br /> The writing style varies between being almost nonchalant to philosophical. The prose is simple, direct and flows lucidly. There may not always be a symphony of exquisite words here but then there are no jarring notes either. <br /><br />False Ceilings is a very intense book. It makes you realize that life itself is nothing but a weird combination of circumstances, missed chances, grabbed opportunities and those almost anguished thoughts of ‘What If ?’ <br /><br />Not very different perhaps from an If Else Statement! </span></div>
Tall Girl in Japan http://www.blogger.com/profile/14397227521970178132noreply@blogger.com11