A Polish Picnic

Poland was a ‘black hole’ country…. till the time I stepped foot on this quaint land ….A small toyish aircraft took me to the city of Wroclaw..there were just 10 of us on that  journey. Quite unlike the jostling overcrowded glorified ‘corporation bus’ which I boarded from good old India…

As  I landed at the airport I was stunned at the size of the airport…it was like a ‘honey I shrunk the airport’ version….it was almost like a small walk-in store where you pick up luggage and walk out…!

As I checked into my hotel, I was amazed at it’s colonial environment….all the Charles Dickenson and Count of Monte Cristos of my childhood gushed into my mind as I tread over the wooden floors and marveled at the gigantic pillars and frescos…

The city to summarize is a charming tribute to the vintage era…the buildings have been retained at its most aesthetic best……..no artificial glass windows..no bumpy concrete structures to sour your eyes….its just magnificent architecture that takes you to the bygone Victorian era! The cobbled streets and little dwarf statues at each street corner spreads a cozy environment that is enchanting.

I was blessed to be in the city in the Christmas season and the festivities just brushed me into its folds…A Christmas carnival was glittering through the central square..small Polish stalls, Polish delicacies, miniature sleighs and a giant Christmas tree right at the heart of the square…!I At the end of it I was too was humming carols as I admired the little celebration that broke out every evening in the center of the city!

My last day was spent wandering through the bridges, rivers and the cathedrals of the city and the peace and serenity by the river was cherishing..the evening  was finally cut short by the large droplets of water that spluttered and added to the shivering bundle that I had become…I finally bid farewell to the beloved square and carried with me the little Polish ceramic tray that I bought and alongwith it the peaceful elegance that Wroclaw is all about!

The Indian Traveller

Over the past few trips outside motherland, I have idled away my time staring at my co-Indian passengers and all the time spent on such surveys seems to take on some strange ‘conclusions’ or perceptions as I would rather term them..

Why is it that the Indian flight lounge is always most crowded at every airport? And why does it seem like the space never seems to be enough??? Is it a mental illusion or is the density of population and luggages per square feet   really at its saturated height? A few hours of stopovers and there would be food packets, screaming babies and bags and baggages strewn around the lounges…

And then once the space problems are resolved and people take their designated lots, the ‘where are you going’ and ‘what are you doing’ conversations spark off almost instantaneously amongst the passengers..it is so easily forthcoming ..must be the DNA! Would you catch two strange British ‘stiff upper lips’ lock themselves in such conversations? A few minutes into the conversation and they would find a common ‘cousin’, neighbour or atleast at a minimum…the same ’native’ they probably originated from…The next step in this bonding exercise is the sharing of their ‘delicacies’ packed in neat packets and dabbas (depending on from where to where the flight is movingJ….)

And most often the leg of the journey decides the ‘bucketed’ travel lots that you would see…if it’s a flight from India to the popular NRI destinations of US and Europe..it would essentially have a few ‘suited seasoned’ travelers who would have no involvement in the charade described above..they would have a ‘Wall Street Journal’ pocketed somewhere around their being, a ‘how to win’ leather bound book clasped tightly…a boring grey/brown suitcase..as officious as one can look in the circumstances…But the majority are ‘aged parents’ on their journeys to meet their kids..most of them look troubled after being forced on with piles of ‘winter clothing’, our traditional ‘ammas’ pushed to wear some unmatching knee length coats, a few pleats of their beautiful printed sarees peeking out from the ‘Western’ outfit. And their eyes dart around anxious if the flight would be on time, the security procedures completed etc etc….and once they settle into the flight..they are eager to get to their kids and grand kids..And the last but not the least would be the newly wed ladies journeying across the seas to unite with their wedded better halves…they would be in their pristine best…the bright red sindoor shining from their straightened glistening mane..their limbs glittering with jewels (no doubt left over from the gala wedding)..already carrying the best branded bags and suitcases and in their best attire…that’s a crowd that cannot be matched up to…don’t even try…

And a reverse leg from the US and Europes of the world back to India would have the veteran NRIs forcefully bringing themselves back to India for ‘showing’ their ‘elementary, middle level’ kids what India is all about…the kids trapped in their Indian skins but mouthing ‘twanged and slanged’ accented English..then there are those returning after their ‘short service’ abroad…attempting to show off their newly acquired accent, gadgets and ‘foreign’ habits to the not so fortunate ‘first time outside India’ folks..

 But whatever real/fictional buckets you belong to, once you step out of the airport and its ‘foreign scented’ environment…hug a few of your loved ones…haggle a bit with the porter/cabbie… smell the aroma of the somosawallah on the strees….all the Indianness that you forgot or lost would possess you and unknowingly you slip into your mothertongue and merge with the crowd ..almost like you never left!

I amSTERDAM

Its a strange feeling when you write a travelogue of a place you have been as a teenager and then as an adult (that too the dreaded middle aged adulthood)….My last visit was as a short haired giggly school girl, in the company of my best friends..and now time machine got me to my latest visit as a seasoned ‘corporate’ adult..wrapped in the winter of adult ‘straight’ jackets…..!!

That apart the visit was as packed and short as the word short itself….we landed as a pack of vagabond ‘official’ team members…one hand supporting a laptop bag and the burdens that come with a pay packet and the other holding a camera to click a few glimpses of the famed beauty of Netherlands..We were transported to the little picturesque town called Noordwijk (a strange set of letters but pronounced very differently, don’t even attempt if you are the typical ‘Indian Englisher’)…The town is flanked by green and brown fields on both sides..waterways running through its heart ..and beautiful mansions dotting the already peaceful view…Its small roads don’t suffer the abuse of traffic blocks…its habitants I am sure has never heard the term ‘noise pollution’ in their entire existence…What stays in my memory is my little escapade in the wee morning hours ...the autumn colours changed from a deep twilight purple to a majestic yellow as the sun tossed its rays… it was worth the crazy alarm moment that shrilled through my ears…

After the three day grueling schedule, I got my one evening in Amsterdam. Canals and river ways meander through the length and breadth of this city..its a Victorian version of dear old Alapuzha (killing comparison I agree)…house boats…vintage mansions by the riverside…it’s a calming sight …a few dashed visits through the famed and notorious streets of Amsterdam and the night came to a close..time to head back to the routine and babble called India..

A turn back and the night sky glittered through the rivulets of water flowing under the bridges of Amsterdam..a moment that seeped in and probably would stick with me till my next visit as a shriveled old woman??:)