Mumbai, my reaction

Well. It was only a matter of time.

What with attacks in Delhi, Bangalore, I’ve lost track which other cities in the past year, at the back of everyone’s mind would have been the clock ticking for Mumbai.

And yet, despite the fact that bomb blasts have become routine news in India – a fact that foreign news channels seem to not grasp as they go with the ‘unprecendented’ line – it’s still a shock. It’s always a shock.

It’s more shocking that it’s not ended yet. That there cannot have been more terrorists than the Mumbai police force now combined with the army, and they should not have been better armed, but somehow they have not yet been “flushed out”. It is unbelievable to me that the head of the Anti Terrorism Squad was killed, reportedly shot three times in the chest. I watched a documentary on bullet proof vests recently and I’m pretty sure nobody should have died if shot in that area but I think it might depend on the kind of gun and range. I think everyone is a bit amazed that Karkare led from the front and there is renewed sense of empathy with the force who are asked to go into battle with so little resources.

And yet, why so little? We have been under attack for so many years relentlessly. Why do we seem to be handling it so ineffectually? The images of what looked like railway police creeping around behind taxis confusedly as if they were parodying a badly made action film are so tragic.

This report from DNA continues to annoy me to new heights:
a) The tragedy of a cop who was sent in with a gun that can fire only one round.
b) The stupidity of a journalist who goes into a hostage situation. Why was she not slapped by her superiors for endangering the lives of people who would have felt obliged to protect her instead of glorifying her ‘ordeal’ with blow-by-blow accounts?

The ineptitude of the Indian journalists reporting this is appalling. I’m ashamed to say that CNN is doing a better job. One of the Indian journalist who was interviewing a survivor goes: “Really, they really said that? What else what else?”

And the lack of information from the government is also ridiculous, though at least in the foreign media they are trying not to say that. I just watched an interview with a woman who has been outside the Taj for 30 hours while her sister and niece are still inside. But the government announced that all guests are safe. Even if the government wants to bandy false information at the general public, should they not keep the relatives of those trapped inside informed? Should they not make arrangements for people standing vigil outside while their family’s fate hangs in the balance?

I was surprised that Manhoman Singh did not address the nation immediately on the first night and that when he did he resorted to the ‘foreign hand’ cliche. Without any confirmation of who was behind it, he felt the need to go with the knee-jerk reaction. Why don’t India and Pakistan realise they have to fight this together? Pakistan has come under attack too.

And the focus on ‘foreign tourists’ targetted continues to rankle. Even in my office people were saying ‘OMG British and American citizens were targeted’. Maybe it’s because the only thing they could identify with because if they went to India that’s where they’d stay. But it’s only a manifestation of the self-centeredness of those who lead cocooned lives of safety that has always rubbed me the wrong way while living abroad. And this is what the terrorists were counting on. They knew that if it was ‘just Indians’ it would merit about ten seconds on an international news channel. They have succeeded and it’s laughable that our reactions are so easily manipulated.

Someone needs to do a breakdown of how many Indians and how many foreigners died in this and I’m quite sure the majority would be Indians. The terrorists weren’t asking for passports when they sprayed bullets at people on the street or when they first stormed the hotels and started firing indiscriminately.

The focus of the reporting has been on the Taj and the Oberoi from the start almost ignoring the attacks at CST and Cama Hospital. How come we still don’t have clear details about what happened at the hospital? To me, a hospital under attack is worse by far than a hotel. Did people die in the taxi bombs at the petrol pump and near the airport? Nobody knows and nobody seems to care. And this is why the terrorists focussed more people on the hotels.

The fact is that Indian people have been under attack for years without much media attention. We have lost more lives in the past few years in India than any other country, second only to Iraq. But do our endless casualities not get that kind of attention? Even now, when taking stock, the foreign media cannot get right the number of attacks in Mumbai itself since 1993, even while Indian citizens continue to point it out to them.

For anyone who’s in any doubt, this is the correct list. It’s a close call what is more terrifying for the ordinary Indian citizen – the possibility of a bomb going off in a local train (which everyone uses) or an attack on hotels and gunmen with AK 47s in the streets.

Finally, I wonder if it was possible to prevent this. Even if hotels had security devices in the lobby, it’s possible for armed gunmen to open fire before they get to them. If hotels have security outside, they can be taken by surprise. Nobody really expects people with AK47s to step out of the street and shoot at you.

The bigger question is how was it possible to smuggle that magnitude of arms into the city. But hey, we have so many borders and so many people. Is it really possible to keep track? Even if you do, we’re in the age of suicide bombers. When people are willing to sacrifice their lives, when what they see as a higher goal is bigger than anything that you could do to them, when they are not looking for an exit stratgy because they themselves are the exit strategy is there anything you can do to prevent that?

Except maybe, try to understand why an increasing number of people hold their current life in so little esteem that they are convinced in such large numbers that it’s preferable to give it up for the temporary glory of making the lives of others a bit more miserable.

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Two weeks worth of reading

I spent the past few weeks eschewing chick lit for relatively serious stuff. So I’d do a series of mini-reviews here:

This book will go down as one of my favourites just as the film adaptation is one of my all-time favourite films. The film is a study on what, according to me, excellent film-making should be. Spot-on casting combines with a wonderful soundtrack and picturisation that is so sensory it moves you even though the plot is ephemereal. The book is an ambitious attempt to transplant Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway into the 20th century and to link it back in time and while Cunningham’s opening pales in front of Woolf’s memorable first paragraph, it’s still an awesome effort.

I resisted reading this novel because it sounded like neo-theological mumbo jumbo. Then I read the back and it said it was about a boy in a boat with a tiger and I thought that I couldn’t possibly spend my time reading about another Robinson Crusoe time story. Only I could. I finished the book in about three pages, and most of that is about the boy and the tiger. It’s a feat that the author manages to make it a page turner and still manages to frame the narrative in an over-arching question that takes it beyond the realm of just adventure story in a quite post-modern way.

Slaughterhouse 5 is supposed to be Vonnegut’s masterpiece but I couldn’t find that in the library so I got my hands on this. Jailbird is a semi-fictionalised account of the unlikely events of the life of Walter J Starbuck after he was released from jail for being involved in the Watergate scandal. But somehow this book is more about justice and the meaning of life especially when life has been stripped to essentials and everything has already been lost. It also reminds me why all intellectuals have to have a bit of a leftist foot.

Ode to Emmy

Emmy makes me want to be a better person.

Emmy is our helper. She came into our lives after Emma and the more itinerant Bess. Granted, she is slow. But oh, when she’s done with the house it sparkles.

When I come back to a house that Emmy has left, I feel full of hope and good resolutions. The desire to Put Things Away and Be Neat creeps in. I do the washing up on time and take my shoes into the bedroom after gym for the first few days. Mid week, I may dust.

Many Europeans are uncomfortable with the idea of a maid (referred to here as helper). They see it as a form of slavery. It is not necessarily so. In fact, seeing it that way demeans what is an honest job. Of course, it is only an honest job if you’re paying your helper fairly and not treating her like crap.

In India, we’ve grown up with maids. They become part of the extended family. Nevertheless, they are not quite. They always refer to their employers as Sir or Ma’am and they generally sit on the floor or on a separate stool and eat in the kitchen. I have always been uncomfortable with this.

However, it is a system that works. The thinking in India is that unless you nag and harangue the maids, they won’t do a good job. I learnt the hard way that this is true. The maids function only under a culture of fear. Frankly though this seems to be the case to greater or lesser degrees with all of India. We cut corners where we can. Finding loopholes is to be admired.

Moreoever, on and off, the maids will steal from you. This is a betrayal I cannot stand. I understand it stems from poverty but it still hurts.

So when I came to HK I was determined not to employ anyone. If I had to nag someone to do the work, and pay them to boot, I’d rather do it myself. Moreover, I hated that dependence on maids that people labour under in India. It’s a minor, no major, crisis if one’s maid doesn’t show up.

However, at some point, V’s friend’s helper needed work and so we decided to try her out. The helpers come reasonably priced here and we can have them in only once a week. We were hooked. The helper did her work competently with no urging from me. In fact, she had her mp3 player on all the time while I just read or watched TV. Ocassionally if I wanted something done, I shouted so she could hear me over the music. I’m sure this arrangement would not work with everyone but my thinking was – if she’s doing it better than I would do it, that’s good enough for me.

Unfortunately Emma decided she wanted a life and so she brought us Bess. Who didn’t measure up but began to not come after a while. And then we got Emmy.

Emmy is cheerful and chatty where Emma was taciturn. She is slow where Emma was fast but she is thorough. She is honest – if we leave money for her two hours and she’s worked for less, she leaves the change. This is astonishing to me but it works because it makes us trust her. She also takes initiative. She cleans under the sofa. She rescues my watch from behind the bed. She does things without being asked. Part of this is so that she can stay longer and be paid for an extra hour. But as long as she’s working, I’m happy.

And as I said, at the end of it, when I look around the house with a deep sigh of pleasure, it’s worth it. Sadly, it means I’m also a little addicted.

The other day I said to V: “Other than you, Emmy is the best thing in my life right now”.

How I know I am growing old…

When I first came to Hong Kong, V took me to the Peak and showed me the two sides of the city. The spectacular expanse of green mountains sparsely dotted with private bungalows, overlooking the deep blue and the flashing city with the glamour of towers reaching for the sky overlooking the busy harbour. V asked me which side I wanted to live on and I promptly chose the bustling city. V has always been a slow green life person at heart.

Now, I am rethinking. For the first time in my life, I chose to go on holiday with plans to do nothing. I went to a city but preferred the countryside moments. I basked in the peace that a beautiful vista could accord. Yes, I’ve always appreciated nature but it’s never given me this kind of solace. “I could live here forever,” I find myself saying.

Back in Hong Kong, I could consider living on the quieter edges if it wasn’t for the long commute and the knowledge that since I am already so worn out by work, I don’t think adding to the physical journey is a smart idea. Also, the impending move of the office to a far flung suburb has made me consider the wisdom of having a base in the city that I can drop in on between meetings if need be.

But the fact is I can see myself living in the back of beyond, even doing a little gardening. Ew!

Worse, I can see myself slowing down, having children, even just doing that full time. In fact, the idea has become like a dream scenario though I don’t know if I would actually love it so much in reality. My mum reckons not. But then she too is just only coming to terms with how much has changed, how much these two – no maybe four – years have wrought.

I have always liked the glamour of the work life. I have liked the idea that I am doing something. I am slowly coming to the conclusion that I am doing nothing more than making money, subsisting. I am making no great contribution to humanity in the 9 hours or so I spend at work. I am simply keeping myself alive and killing myself while doing this.

Many 40 year olds come to realise the importance of the small stuff and feel the need to slow down. This is what is happening to me. I am, at 28, somewhat ok with finding a job that is mindless, that pays ok but that does not kill me. It’s a bit weird because I don’t work in investment banking or anything traditionally considered high-stress.

But being a journalist, being in the public eye where your errors can have legal repurcussions takes its own toll. Add to that the pressure to find news where there may be none and a duo of slightly neurotic bosses and the picture is not pretty. People more prepared for this kind of thing than me have dropped out. So maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad.

How can I be so world-weary at 28? Maybe I’ve always been older, if not wiser, than my years, able to see through the bullshit behind the glitz and so come to the conclusions people ten years older than me have come to in shorter time. Maybe I am more sensitive to pain and have a low threshold for stress. Maybe I have glimpsed what the top could look like but it’s a long road and I don’t really believe in what it’s about anymore.

Maybe this particular job has just killed me. Yesterday, I found that not only am I stressed out about where the next story is going to come from – I do not know how I reached this moment of panic because my bosses haven’t said anything to me but sometimes you just know you’re not doing as well as you were – but also where to go for lunch, who to go with, and where to get off a buss. I found myself paralysed by indecision, able to keep it together for a 40 minute interview and then losing it completely. Well, not so completely that I can’t see it but I’ve always been particular adept at out-of-body experiences.

I always thought I was a rather steely character. So how can a mere job – one that in most people’s eyes seems terribly exciting and not particularly stressful – break me like this. Maybe it’s my desire to always excell and to be the best in the team. Maybe I push myself too hard. But the workplace does demand that – if we’re living with a looming sense that we could be fired then there must be some truth, no? – and especially in this market. Maybe the contrast between the tranquility of my holiday and the nerve-wracking chaos of coming back and scrambling for a Monday meeting were too much.

It’s been a horrendous two weeks.

Of Sun and Moon and Lake

The best part of the holiday was our stay at The Lalu, a five star hotel overlooking Sun Moon Lake on the property where Chiang Kai Shek first lived when he fled from China. Rather ironically, it took an hour to get to Taichung on the bullet train but nearly two hours to drive to the hotel. But when we got there it was worth it. Just sitting in the lobby looking at the vast expanse of the lake was calming. It’s a memory I’m going to treasure all my life. Designed by architect Kerry Hill, the aesthetic is spare but incorporates a lot of wood and stone. We booked a suite, which overlooked the lake, and made me happy just being in it:

Dawn:

The first evening we went for a swim in the pool which is designed to make you feel like you’re suspended over the lake (an infinity pool?) We also had dinner in the village below the hotel but since V and I had a fight about who would carry the camera, I dont have pictures. The dinner was quite interesting – a thali type presentation on a leaf with little bowls of fried shrip, chicken, vegetable and Taiwanese mushroom and a tumbler of local rice wine:

Breakfast outdoors with a view:

Hired a bike and rode around the lake. Some of the sights included this temple featuring unusual relief work. The building was supervised by Chiang Kai Shek.

Assam tea terraced gardens:

Boat trip around Sun Moon Lake… on the “Love Boat”:

The Thao tribe used traditional techniques to build these floating grassy islands. They help prevent waves and attract fish:

A fish to a local floating home with fish ponds. The boat captain entertained us by hurling feed into the ponds, which got the fish leaping up mouths agape in a frankly creepy way:

The saint from this temple journed from Taiwan to India to bring back precious Buddhist scrolls:

We took an early morning stroll and plonking down on the pier, dunked our feet in the water. Note my new pedicure!

The locals obviously realise that the lake is their bread and butter. So in the early morning, a guy goes out clearing the inevitable rubbish:

Taipei 101 photoblog

Our hotel near Zhongshan MTR. Small but with a jacuzzi in the bathtub.

First stop: Din Tai Fung for awesome xiao long bau and braised beef soup.

Near Da-an district: A street food market. Too bad we’d already eaten.

Day 2: Taxi ride to National Palace Museum.

The museum is modelled to look like the forbidden city and houses the collection spirited away from Beijing during the civil war. The free guided tour was awesome, a crash course in Chinese imperial history down the dynasties.

Bus ride out of the museum.

And en route to XinBeitou, home to hot springs…

The hot springs museum showcases an old Japanese style bathing house.

Heated by the sulphuric fumes of volcanic soil, you can dunk your feet into the springs any time you want…

…Or you can rent a private bath like we did:

Then off to Shilin night market. Among the delights was the opportunity to get one’s ears candled. I’ll spare you the ear wax after-shot:

One of the disgusting things we did do was sample stinky tofu. It does taste as bad as it smells:

The area also had a lot of amusement park style games though not all the stall-keepers were as interestingly attired:

Day 3: After many transport interchanges, we landed in Jio Fen, pronounced for some reason, as Cho Fun. Which was why the hotel guys had no clue what we were talking about when we kept saying Jiyo Fen. Anyway, knowing how to pronounce it made it a whole lot easier to get there. It’s a village, perched atop a mountain with lots of traditional food and old houses that seem to combine Japanese and Chinese influences. It’s strange how Taiwan seems to be one place that accepts the Japanese influence with equinamity.

Don’t know what the above is but below is a taro ball and a scoop of icecream wrapped in a crepe. Taro balls are a speciality here.

Dog momentarily distracted from contemplation of sea and sky by pesky cameraman:

Example of the old houses I mentioned:

Taiwanese temple. They are somehow different from the ones in HK, though the form remains the same. In this one, the figurines on the roof that tell mythical stories seemed to be made of plaster of paris and brightly painted and gilded:

We descnded from the village and rushed off to Taipei 101, the tallest building in the world, hoping to catch the sunset. The problem with towers is that when you’re walking towards them, they always seem closer than they actually are:

And then, the next day, we were off to the Sun Moon Lake by bullet train. The train travels at 300 km/per hour at its top speed so even though our stop Taichung is somewhere in the centre of Taiwan, it’s only an hour’s ride:

Taipei 101 – 1

When I told people I was going so Taiwan for a holiday, most simply stared. Some, unable to control themselves, blurted “But why?”. One kind man even went so far as to say: “But… there’s nothing there.”

I was surprised because Taiwan is quite a popular destination among Chinese people and is on Travel and Living a lot these days. In fact, what I’d seen of the country seemed spectacular. Yes, it’s Chinese culture again but I am at a stage where I can tell the subtle differences and they interest me. I enjoy Chinese food, and what I’ve tasted of Taiwanese food in HK made me curious for more.

V and I seemed the only ones among our expat friends keen to visit Taiwan.

Our trip got off to an ominous start though. I left our guidebook on the flight. This did not go down well with V, because it was borrowed from the library on his card. I was pretty pissed with myself too.

We got to our hotel in what looked like a busy neighbourhood without event, catching a bus from the airport. My first impressions of Taiwan was that it looks like a cleaner Indian city. I am now beginning to realise that not all Asian cities, even those from wealthy countries, look like Hong Kong, which is in the big league of London and New York. I had a similar sense of disappointment with Seoul, expecting it to be as gizmo-ish as the technology that comes out of it. Where they differ from Indian cities, however, is not just the cleanliness but also the infrastructure. Both Seoul and Taipei have efficient and easy-to-navigate MTR systems and good roads. They are also relatively safe, even for women alone at night.

We then left for Din Tai Fung, a dumpling place reccomded by a colleague. We picked the one loacted in Sogo and though it was in a food court-ish setting and the restaurant didn’t look as run down as we have come to expect authentic Chinese food to be located in, the food lived up to its reputation. We do get xiao long bau in HK, but these were really good, as was the braised beef soup that I had been skeptical about but which, when it arrived, proved to be subtly flavoured with the meat just melting.

Next stop was a night market in Da-an district that was a bit disappointing, owing to the fact that we arrived too early. Taipei is dotted with night markets, which seem to be more about street food that buying things. So, if you’re not hungry, you end up strolling around just taking in the smells.

After that, we went to Ximen-ding which is a Mong Kok-like place where the kids descent and sometimes dress in Manga themes. Unfortunately, it was really unhappening when we got there and we got rather tired and cross. Possibly, after Mong Kok this kind of place is not too special or maybe Monday night just doesn’t bring out the Manga vibe.

A bit disappointed, we headed back to Nanjing Rd where our hotel is and descended into a hot pot place. It’s buffet style – for a fixed rate you choose the kind of soup and then serve yourself your choice of meats, mushrooms, veggies and seafood from the buffet. You also get to mix your own sauce. To finish up, is a selection of different icecreams that really helps cool down your burning tummy.

And then, bed.

A walk in the clouds

Today, at last, we went to Tai Long Wan. This involves one or two changes within the MTR, then catching a minibus to Sai Kung, then another bus to Sai Kung Country Park. We, then, alighted and started down the Pak Tam Au trail.

It was eerily silent and spookily devoid of people walking in our direction. Since the bus took us up the mountain we were immediately plunged into a green vista. When we did encounter people they shocked us by saying “hello” and “morning”, already a different world from Hong Kong. Later, we discovered that contrary to the urban parts of HK, here the Chinese are friendly and the expat stony. Hmmm.

The most strange thing, however, was that the trail – although the description said for ‘the fit’ – was mostly level. This was later to prove to be too good to be true. After about 40 minutes we came upon campsites set along the waterfront. We seated ourselves on the pier of a deserted village, complete with overgrown ruins, and just gazed out at the beauty before us.

Unfortunately, the rest of the hike was to be not so pleasant. When trekking, the laws of reverse-gravity also apply and what goes down must always go up to. So we tortured ourselves up a mountain and then began a steep descent down to Tai Long Wan. En route, we stopped at another village and got drinks – iced lemon tea never went down so easily. Again, I was surprised by how the old village houses, though falling into disrepair, were still there.

It was then only a short walk down to the beach, fronted by two food shacks. The first thing that struck me was how unbelievably white the sand was. Then I got changed and threw myself into the oceaan. The temperature was just right and although there were waves (the name translates into Big Wave Bay), the moment I plunged in, I felt a moment of absolute peace. It was like the water was washing everything, every thought, away.

I didn’t stay in the water long, but it was enough.

We then headed to the shack and had some fried rice and awesome salt and pepper fish. Happily sated, we started looking for a way back. Unbelievably, there wasn’t one. Well, there wasn’t an easy one. It appeared there was actually a place untouched by even a minibus. We had to trek 40 minutes back up and down the hill and then flag a boat.

Even, this turned out to be eventful. Apart from almost getting thrown off it, a water police boat drew alongside us and demanded we show them identification. They then needlessly asked us where we had come from and where we were going. If they were really serious about it they would have at least taken down the name and number of the German guy who didn’t have any identificaition. But it helps to be German and not Indian I guess.

At last, we arrived at Wong Shek Pier where a lot of people were behaving like they had never seen buffalows before. And that was how I hoped to lose five kilos but given the fried rice, probably didn’t.