Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

Now, Campbeltown Loch is a beautiful place,
A place where the whisky is trim;
How nice it would be if the whisky was free,
And the loch was full up to the brim.

Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

I’d buy a yacht with the money I got,
I’d anchor her out in the bay;
If I wanted a nip, I’d go in for a dip,
I’d be swimming by night and by day.

Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

We have a gathering of the clans,
They come from near and far;
I can see them grin as they’re wading in,
And jumping from the bar.

Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

But what if the boat should overturn,
And drowned in the Loch was I?
You would hear me shout, you would hear me call out,
“What a wonderful way to die!”

Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

But what’s this I see, ochone for me,
It’s a vision to make your blood freeze;
It’s the police afloat in a dusty bright boat,
And they’re shouting, “Time, gentlemen, please!”

Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I wish you were whisky,
I would drink you dry.

PS: Should Scotland’s famous beverage be spelt ‘whisky’ or ‘whiskey”? Well, the ‘water of life’ as the Scots call their brew, was originally called whisky (plural=whiskies). And the Irish and Americans concocted their own versions which they felt was superior and to distinguish it from the Scottish version called it whiskey (plural=whiskeys). Ask a pure bred Scot and he will tell you the Scottish whisky is the original and the Yankees can’t spell right! A simple rule of the thumb is that if your drink comes from a country which has an ‘e’ in its name, spell whisky with an ‘e’; else dispense with it!

Hamish with our fabulous guide Patrick

We met Hamish enroute to Stirling Castle in Killmahog. All tourist buses stop here to meet Hamish, and there is a ‘snack bar’ for you to buy Hamish some bananas and veggies- Nice neat business sense!

Highland cattle need to be protected from the Scottish winters and they have a thick coat of fur- hence that epithet ‘Hairy Cow’. This sheds off during spring. What I loved most was Hamish’s fringe, which protects him from the wintery winds. Hamish has become so used to tourists that he has now learnt to pose for cameras. His horns look scary, but he is a docile gentle fellow.

Hamish posing for the camera

I learnt that Hamish is quite a celebrity having made appearances on BBC. During the Mad Cow crisis, there was a campaign to save Hamish from slaughter, and he was let off as he was not allowed to mix with other cattle. He is a loner- this Hamish— but has now retired after serving for some glorious years at the Stirling Smith Art Gallery.

And guess what- I found several videos on youtube, some showing him in his spring hairless avtaar.

It didn’t surprise me that all my companions on the guided tour were from cricket loving nations: India, Australia and South Africa. When the tour started from the Pavilion, I first saw a huge oil of Vivian Richards greet me on top of the stairs. My heart missed a beat at the sight of the green expanse and the pristine white stands. It was awesome. And even more so thrilling knowing that you were in the prestigious Long Room in the Pavilion where the MCC members watched the match from. This is the jam-packed room through which players have to pass through when their turn to bat comes. Mike Gatting is said to have remarked that his best moment was walking through the Long Room after hitting a hundred, being applauded and thumped on the back. And, also that his worst moment was walking past the silent members with their noses burrowed in their newspapers, when he was out for a duck.

When we got to the players’ dressing rooms I realized with pleasant shock that the huge chair that I had chosen to sit on happened to be Andrew Flintoff’s favourite chair! And my most exciting moment was actually seeing the balcony where Kapil Dev had lifted the World Cup. Which was incidentally where Sourav Ganguly chose to strip off his shirt to shock the conservative MCC members! I learnt that Rahul Dravid had brought his wife Vijita for a tour of Lord’s on their honeymoon. And that Sreesanth burst into tears when he realized he had reached the ground where people he worshipped had actually played. This is the kind of effect Lord’s has on most people.

Along the walls of the pavilion, the bar and the Long Room are lined a number of paintings. WG Grace dominates most of the oils. I caught a series of pictures of cricketers as we walked to the balcony where presentations are usually made- Keppler Wessels, Imran Khan, Malcolm Marshall et al and only Kapil Dev representing India. India is very poorly represented in both the Pavilion and the Museum. Except for the spanky new picture of Sachin Tendulkar, and the odd one of Harbhajan or Sehwag, you cannot see many Asian faces. Yes, there are a few black and white portraits of the Maharaja of Vizianagaram and his team, but they aren’t well labeled like the rest.

The original Ashes urn is the highlight of the museum. And as our guide narrated the story of how Ivo Bligh was gifted the urn, our Aussie friends on the tour called it a spiel written by an Englishman! There is a lot of cricket memorabilia that you can see at the museum.

The Marylebone Cricket Club owns the ground and Lord’s is prestigious as it was here in the committee room that the rules of the game were written. Membership to the MCC has a waiting list of 20 years and it is not easy to get into. While we were there we also got a glimpse of ‘real tennis’- the original tennis game which later morphed into lawn tennis as it is known now. The game looked like a cross between lawn tennis and squash—as the ball hit a wall on the right of the ground before it went to the opponent. And it looked pretty complicated compared to lawn tennis.

The cricket stadium seats 30,000. You can see a slight slope across the field and the wicket which some cricketers don’t quite like. Sachin Tendulkar has never scored a hundred at Lord’s. While I was there I heard that after his surgery in London, Sachin had rented a flat in St John’s Wood and came to the ground every morning to practice and carry out his physiotherapy.

The new addition is the ‘spaceship’- the media centre situated at one end. It drew criticism for being out of character with the rest of the stadium thanks to its futuristic design. But it did feel lofty to be seated there and visualize Harsha Bhogle or Geoffrey Boycott sitting in one of those broadcaster’s seats.

It was overwhelming to walk into the Lord’s cricket ground and touch the grass where our cricketing greats had played. Curiously, I didn’t realize that cricket made me so emotional till I stepped into Lord’s! Wimbledon will hopefully be my next stop.

Lord’s: The home of cricket- and the ’spaceship’

Familiar balcony?

Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was to be staying in a location which is two minutes from the Westminster Bridge, and how I should not miss the fireworks at the Thames on New Year.

My husband, Subodh, had joined me here in London for New Year’s. I can see part of London Eye from the window of my room and was wondering if we ought to stay back and see the fireworks from there, instead of freezing outside. We finally decided it would be foolish to miss the celebrations.  

Since the morning I had seen signs being put up, the road being blocked for traffic and lots of policemen in their fluorescent jackets buzzing around. And then I could see rows of green booths being lined up at the sidewalk. Lots of men and trucks coming and going all morning.

When we walked out around 9.30 pm, as we were told there wouldn’t be any place to stand later, the crowds were just coming in. It was drizzling and it made the cold worse. And then I saw multiple long queues of men and women lining up. I was wondering what it was all about, when I realized that those green booths were temporary toilets and those folks just needed to go to the loo! With all that booze inside them and the weather not helping either, that was one necessary arrangement the civic departments had to ensure more than security!

We found a place on Westminster bridge to sit down. There were people from lots of countries and we could hear a Babel of tongues. One common factor was that they had all brought their favourite bottles of alcohol- I guess it kept them warm! We found people littering the place with their bags from McDonald’s and bottles of beer.

It was boring and cold– inspite of so many people around, there was no feeling of camaraderie. It was an abominable long wait. And no entertainment either.

And when finally at midnight, the fireworks happened, they were spectacular. Colourful, synchronized, and theatrical. The London Eye was used effectively and the reflection on the Thames was pretty.

But it was over in less than fifteen minutes, and I was hugely disappointed. Not so much with the fireworks, but with the people. Had this been India, I am sure each stranger would have wished every other a Happy New Year. Here, inspite of the Big Ben ringing out its dozen loud chimes, people didn’t have enough warmth to share with people other than their girlfriends and boyfriends!

A damp squib indeed! 

PS: But what is admirable is that by the time we got up the next morning at 7 am, the authorities had ensured that the entire place was spic and span– litter, toilets all had magically disappeared! This is something we could learn in India please.

Sometimes being over-punctual helps- I got there in time to see her up close addressing the press. Her mom accompanied her in a resplendant green silk saree. Well, I even managed to get between the press walas and listen to her talking about her being uncomfortable in a bikini, which is why she is not yet a Bond girl and how she wants to shop like crazy in London. She also talked about her new yoga DVD and pushed it hard.  She is smart, talks well and carries herself very elegantly. Like an idiot I forgot my camera at home, and so you have to do with the grainy pictures from my mobile camera.  She looked great like she does on screen, and the girls couldn’t help gushing about how gorgeous she looked. And then they were worried about how she would get dressed for the show which began at 7.30 pm when it was already 6.30 pm. They needn’t have worried- the show began at Indian Stretchable Time- at 8 pm.

While I was queuing up in front of the gate, I met two lovely English ladies who asked me if I was going to dance inside- while I demurely denied it. Turned out that they were huge Big Brother fans and had come to see someone ‘they absolutely loved’.  Inside- the Royal Albert Hall was huge and the bright red decor was awesome.One day I will take the guided tour and give you more details. As I walked up to the third floor to my seat, I worried whether I will be able to see Shilpa from 3 floors up. Thank my lucky stars that I saw her so close, else I would be rueing my fate. In fact when the first dancers appeared on stage, we had half the audience whispering, ‘is it her, or isn’t it’! The more experienced ones had brought binoculars which were used effectively to look at pretty girls in the audience, who wore bigger dangling earrings than Shilpa, before the show started.

The show choreographed by Ganesh Hegde, is built around the story of Maya, a dancer who triumphs against all odds to perform at Trafalgar Square. And if you go there expecting Hegde’s choreography to be like one of those West End musicals- you will be thoroughly disappointed. For it is pure hard core Bollywood dance. For the first few minutes, I wondered if it was going to be anything better than a Annual Day function show in a decent school- for there wasn’t much meat in the script or songs. And the English parodies on Hindi film songs were ghastly- Ghaghra from Agra rhyming with abracadabra… ugh! It was amusing when Shilpa is rudely woken up from her reverie only to grumble, “Just when Richard Gere was about to kiss me!”

But you’ve got to hand it to Shetty for she had the audience lapping out of her hands- and by the end she raised the show to its crescendo with the audience dancing in the aisles. I was stuck somewhere in the middle seats- else I would have danced too! Well, after all there is no one in Bollywood who can execute perfect latka-jhatkas to the tunes of Kajrare, Beedi and Ishq Kameena in the manner Miss Shetty can! She was graceful, poised and fantastic when she danced.

But dancing aside, what struck me most was the manner in which Shilpa has emerged as a symbol of dignity to the Asian community here, fighting racism with courage. Even when they couldn’t decide whether to spell her name Che-tty or She-tty in their text messages, they admired her. In fact when she proclaimed that “life wasn’t always Goody-Goody” she had the maximum whoas of approval.  In a country where the Asians complain that they are most disadvantaged as they are more educated, her fight back on national television brought to the forefront an issue that was usually undercovers. In my short stay here, I haven’t experienced it too much- except perhaps the occasional old British lady who would refuse to sit next to me in the tube, and prefer standing. But I did meet South Africans who said they had experienced apartheid, but it wasn’t so blatant in-the-face discrimination and rudeness as it is here. But when I asked them if they wanted to go back to their countries, they said no.  For they couldn’t afford to get holidays in Europe if they went back! There must be something to this racism argument, for whenever someone on stage said ‘racist’ there was applause from the audience. And when they celebrated cultural diversity on stage, they made it a point to sink in that ‘tolerance’ and a ‘forgiving heart’ was unique to the immigrants from the subcontinent.

Well, I had a great time, listening to some wonderful music and watching some great dance. The light effects in the special sequence were marvellous. And as I walked out I had half a mind to give some sound bytes to the NDTV reporter who was waiting outside. But since I had to catch the tube I dropped the idea, only to discover that the gates to the only subway I knew in the area, were locked. But strangely at 11 pm that night, I wasn’t worried. For I was walking with 300 other ‘apne log’ all of whom spoke a language which was familiar and talked about themes which mattered to me. So I walked along with the crowd, and found the tube station without a problem, without asking for directions. And when the tube arrived, there were almost 50 Asians in that carriage- so comfortable in their togetherness, that the three English passengers in there literally cringed and shrivelled up. But then isn’t that what matters when you say, ‘us versus them’- the numbers. Strange, how the colour of one’s skin can make such a difference, when essentially we face the same problems along life as them.

Royal Albert Hall: The seats slowly filling in

I was rather piqued last week on my way to Slough, when I saw a signpost in Southall railway station in Punjabi. What was it about this community of Punjabis that had managed to make such a mark in the heart of London? So off I went this weekend, to see Southall all by myself.

I felt at home the moment I got out of the station and saw the huge Gurudwara outside. People walking around in colourful salwar kameezes- the typical sequinned ones you get only in Punjab in orange, yellow and red- and the ubiquitous pagdis. I hardly spotted four goras in that predominant Asian crowd. Punjabi was being spoken everyone and Sat Sri Akal was the most common greeting around. It felt so comfortable to ask directions in Hindi. Yet my eyes did spot a surreptitious little poster at the bus stop which proclaimed “Khalistan Zindabad. Never forget 1984″ making me wonder whether there were still anti India sentiments running there. The people I met didn’t make me feel that for even a second though.

As you walk down South Road, you come across the famous Glassy Junction, the first pub in the UK which accepts payments in Indian rupees. There was scaffolding all around it. I was tempted to take a look inside, but my conservative Indian upbringing stopped a ‘good Indian girl’ from entering a pub! Maybe a few months from now when I am a little more rugged I’ll dare to make that trip again!

Further down you have the Himalaya Palace Cinema which had huge posters of the Punjabi film- Sajna ve Sajna which will be released on the 3oth of November. There was Bally Sagoo’s mugshot interposed with Preeti Jhangiani, Dalip Tahil and Vivek Shauq. I was too early, and the cinema was still closed, so I walked up to Broadway.

Broadway is full of Indian food stores and shops displaying woollens, sarees and salwar kameezes. The prices of the woollens are tempting, but there is always a voice at the back of your head telling you that it is “Made in Ludhiana” and you’d probably buy it cheaper there. The salwar kameezes start from ten pounds, but I found the sarees exorbitantly priced. You can find loads of shops selling costume jewellery, trinkets and Punjabi style embroidered jootis. And yes, finally here you will find the much needed Ladies Tailor here to get your salwar kameezes and blouses stitched.

Between the Palika Bazar, Balwant emporium and other such Indian owned shops you also find sweet shops like Chhapan Bhog and  Kebab centres. Jhatka and Halal are prominently displayed on shop windows. After strolling around for an hour, I entered Chandni Chowk- a restaurant where the final moments of today’s Test Match between India and Pakistan were being played out. A huge screen showed Sky Sports and the crowd was in animated conversation. When India finished 32 runs short of a win, the biggest grouse against Ganguly was that they would have to arise early again tomorrow to catch the match in the wee hours of the morning!

Craving to eat authentic Indian food, I ordered hot aalu parathas for breakfast and got great mint-dahi chutney and achaar to go with it. I waited for a moment pondering whether to use the knife and fork- and then decided that if I couldn’t eat with my fingers in Southall- I couldn’t do that anywhere else in the UK! Finger licking experience! And most of all I was thrilled to find good chai. Else here, when you order tea with milk- they spoil the whole mazaa by pouring cold milk down the concoction- making it an awful lukewarm drink. And yes, I did get gajar ka halwa packed too.

When it was almost noon, I walked backed to Himalaya Cinema to catch Saawariya (review elsewhere on this blog) . Inside the lobby, I could spot carefully pinned up photographs of Shahrukh Khan, Kareena Kapoor, Ajay Devgan and a distinctly uncomfortable looking Amisha Patel posing with the owners and their families. I wanted tickets but the person at the counter wanted me to wait till the Gurbani cassette stopped playing! So off I went to Poornima’s next door to pack some great Tandoori Chicken and biryani which looked very tempting. I had to wait until some second generation Indians picked Indian sweets- not knowing what they were called: ‘I want two of the white one, and three of the round orange ones and three of the white round ones’!! Exasperating!! Understandable if they were goras- but Indians unfamiliar with barfi, laddu and rasgullas?!

After the movie, where the total audience including me was of seven people- I decided to scourge the Indian shops. Sarson ka saag was everywhere, so was mooli (labeled muli- not radish!). You found makke ka aata and bajri ka aata, gajak and paneer, lots of frozen parathas. And this was the first store where I found 4 large yoghurt cartons for one pound. Tempting not to succumb to buying everything you wouldn’t use. 

Well, Southall was really fun. I’ll go back there when my shopping list is really long and when I want to eat more parathas and kebabs.

Glassy Junction

Read the board!

The Tower Bridge

The Tower of London is one tourist spot that most of us do visit while we are there. We decided to take the cruise on the Thames and finally got there. The famous Tower Bridge makes a beautiful backdrop to the Tower. The queues at the ticket counters were horribly long as it was the weekend. And by the time we bought the tickets we were ravenous and decided to skip the ubiquitous fish and chips and try chicken instead.

The trip through the Tower of London is guided by the Yeoman Warders, who are the official guardians of the Tower. They are often called Beef-eaters and no one knows the real reason why. We had the pleasure of being guided by a handsome Beef eater dressed in his smart red and gold uniform. His manner was enthusiastic and as he narrated the stories of treachery, treason and torture, you couldn’t but smile at his sense of humour. He kept threatening to go back to square one if we didn’t pay attention!

The historic tales of the Tower are gory and gruesome- full of episodes of executions, beheadings and murder. There are numerous tales of prisoners of the Tower and I couldn’t help but wonder if British history was all about blood and gore. I remember our guide talking of one particular chap who was beheaded (I’ve forgotten all the names, as I never did study British history), and they later realised that they needed to have a portrait made as he was royalty. So they sewed his head to his body and made him sit up. And well, if you take a look at the portrait, he still has a ‘detached’ look about him!

The Yeoman Warders are retired from the British Army, Royal Air Force or Royal Marines with at least 22 years of glorious service. But as our guide pointed out- the most essential criterion is that they have to be drop dead gorgeous. After seeing him, I had to agree with that one!

The legend about the tower went that if the ravens disappeared the Kingdom would fall. And even today you can see the ravens there. The Tower is surrounded by a moat which wasn’t very effective in warding away invaders. Until the sewage of the kingdom began pouring into it, and of course, the cesspool in the moat was more than effective in putting off potential swimmers!

I was more than keen to see the Crown Jewels. And couldn’t help feeling disgusted that India’s Koh-i-noor was unfairly kept here. But as we went through the drill of seeing the Sceptres and the Crowns of the monarchy- we almost missed the Koh-i-noor. And so we took a roundabout turn to ask the Warder where it was. And when we saw the Koh-i-noor it was rather disappointing. Maybe because it was divided into three parts- but the size doesn’t impress at all. Instead Africa’s Star of Africa and the Cullinan are far more beautiful. But the end of it, I did come back feeling rotten about the imperialists who had done their best to loot our wealth and were now showing them off.

The Tower of London

On Saturday we drove to Stratford upon Avon which is the birthplace of the Bard of Avon- William Shakespeare. The drive through the countryside was a welcome relief from the noisy traffic of London. The old Victorian homes, the barns, the sheep grazing in the pastures and the horses made a pleasant sight. It is autumn and the leaves turning
red, orange and yellow made a memorable sight.

Stratford is a settlement near the river Avon which is a small canal by Indian standards- but most ‘rivers’ here are rather disappointing in terms of their span. The house Shakespeare was born in is kept in authentic state- perhaps possible because Shakespeare was a celebrity in his own lifetime.

I was accompanied by my 10 year old nephew Krishan, who kept me wonderfully informed with nuggets from British history which I was unaware of. You start the exhibition where an account is given of his father John Shakespeare who was a glove maker and was accomplished in making white leather. He was a rich man, and the house is rather pompous for that time. It has a parlour where a bed is kept and you wonder why it is so small that even I couldn’t fit in. And then you are told that in times of curfew, they were told to put out the fire, so they slept sitting up to conserve heat! Amazing! And it was so crowded that obviously people died frequently of plague, pleurisy and pneumonia. John Shakespeare was later the Mayor of Stratford and therefore William had a rich pampered childhood.

In the room where Shakespeare was born, under the bed there is a small cradle sort of structure, which is like our charpai. The ropes had to be tightened when they became loose. That perhaps gave rise to the expression ‘Good night, sleep tight’! One version is that boys were dressed as girls so that the witches wouldn’t take them away- they
slept there.

The other version is that before people went to bed, a pet dog etc was kept in the string bed. The fleas on the bed jumped onto the dog and then the dog was removed! Eeeeeks! Did that guarantee that all fleas were removed?

None of Shakespeare’s manuscripts of his plays exist. He was often accused of abandoning his family as he used to travel to and fro from Stratford to his Globe Theatre in London (like a modern day executive) where his performances were held. The Globe theatre is the only building in London which is allowed to keep its thatched roof. This is a country where they are almost paranoid about fire security and impressively the fire brigade reaches each place it has to within a maximum of three minutes. I get tired of hearing ambulances, police sirens and the fire brigade sirens all night, as my room is just adjacent to the St Thomas’ Accident and Emergency Centre.

Also you can see his will where he was upset with one of his daughters who had married against his will. He leaves her almost nothing. He left his wife no money -but his grand double bed!

It was rather interesting and I am posting pictures taken outside the house and of the graceful swans in the river Avon.