A Week in vivid Sydney – the final part

The Excitement Continues

When I wrote the previous post, Indian cricket fans were at the threshold of either plunging into the depths of despair or flying high on the wings of victory.

The emotions yoyoed as India and South Africa fought a close match. It was nearly a photo finish for SA until it wasn’t, as the Indian team snatched victory from the jaws of another humiliating defeat in a crucial match.

I remember wanting to meet our SCG tour guide one more time after India trounced Australia on Monday, June 24th, just to hear her opinions on the match. Now that India has won the T20 World Cup, I really wish to meet her again and ask about Kohli’s overseas performance.

I knew today’s post, the last one in my Sydney travel series, would be the perfect fodder for my mental state, whatever the outcome of the T20 finals. And, just as I imagined, I find it difficult to gather my thoughts on our final outing experience in Sydney.

The highs of watching your team win a World Cup don’t leave a fan so soon. After hours of scrolling through memes and tear-filled reels, I have finally sat down to write about our experience at the magnificent and huge Art Gallery of NSW.

Art and Meditation

We got a glimpse of the Art Gallery on an earlier day. As soon as we entered the building, we knew the place required some time to explore. Fortunately (or unfortunately), our whale-watching trip got cancelled due to bad weather. They did offer a trip on a bigger ship, but we decided that spending three hours in the ocean in bad weather, merely a day before our flight back, wouldn’t be a good idea. So, we decided to go back to the Art Gallery. That would keep us safe and dry on a wet day and allow us to slow down after an exciting and busy schedule.

Food

The Art Gallery has restaurant and café options. We tried out the café for a quick bite and coffee before we did our tour of the gallery. The coffee was excellent, as was the orange and bee pollen cake, the blueberry and sour cream muffin with almond crumble, and the Harissa lamb sausage. It was a breakfast to remember, but I forgot to click pictures as I was more focused on warming my fingers. This is the only picture I took, a piece of the orange and bee pollen cake.

Before I move on from the topic of food, I must mention a must-visit restaurant in the heart of the CBD. Jimmy’s Falafel was a good choice the previous day when we prowled the streets hungry after a time-consuming errand. It isn’t the kind of restaurant we prefer when tired and starving. Loud, crowded, with a long queue outside and a fast-speaking hostess who could make you feel worthless for not knowing the menu, the Lebanese restaurant did not appear inviting at first glance. However, we were allowed to wait inside in a corner until they found a table for three. We were seated soon enough, and the dishes and service were top-class. The glib hostess drew our admiration as she balanced three dishes on one arm while waving goodbye to her customers with her free hand.

All our discomfort melted away as we warmed ourselves with Turkish coffee before they brought us our order. I forgot to click pictures again (I was famished). I remembered once my hunger was satiated. The dessert, a Baklava, was a temptation.

The Art Exhibits

We started our tour from the galleries next to the café. Bright colours popped out of the walls, and we stood mesmerised, transported to a different place and time. The work represented indigenous art and the unmistakable association with nature.

The paintings reminded me of my daughter’s childhood works when she boldly explored various colours, patterns, and media. It was a journey through time.

The Asian section was focused on traditional art styles. The Indian art pieces were from regions like Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan and drew inspiration from Krishna’s life.

I was piqued by a sculpture of Goddess Benzaiten, an East Asian Buddhist goddess of knowledge, arts, music, good fortune, and wealth. The myth of Goddess Benzaiten is said to have originated from the Hindu Goddess Saraswathi. Benzaiten was adopted into the Shinto tradition of deities in Japanese culture via China. The adoption is a testament to the pervasive nature of stories and the open-mindedness of ancient Eastern traditions.

Other interesting displays include four massive walls stacked with shelves from floor to ceiling holding the words from Gandhiji’s speech before the Salt March of 1930. The letters are made of 4479 pieces of resin to emulate bone pieces, and although there were a few unignorable typos and errors, I was awestruck by the display. The artist Jitesh Kallat wishes to convey the ongoing environment of violence and injustice through a defining moment in the non-violence movement.

Mahatma Gandhi’s speech on the wall: a work by Jitesh Kallat

You can read the full speech here.

As I roamed the galleries, I observed the young boys and girls who marshalled the spaces. Some were seated in their corners contemplating the meaning of life but simultaneously keeping an eye on over-enthusiastic visitors getting close to the exhibits. Some of them reminded me of the beautiful book by Patrick Bringley titled All the Beauty in the World. The book is based on his experience as a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts in New York. Bringley took up the job after a tragic loss in his life. Before working at the museum, he was a journalist for The New Yorker. It is an optimistic meditation on dealing with grief and loss through the lens of someone who finds beauty in the artistic details of an exhibit while working a mundane job.

As I noted that I should buy a copy of that book soon, I found a man straight out of Bringley’s book. His gaze was fixed on the floor. For a moment, I panicked, thinking that the man needed help. But he was perfectly stable and still. When I returned after a round of the room, he had shifted position lightly and meditated upon a different portion of the gallery floor.

Suddenly, I felt envious. Have you ever seen anyone stand in perfect stillness and not be questioned? Have you ever felt at ease contemplating a single point of focus without feeling the need to move to appear normal? How often have you pretended to be busy to fit into this crazy, bustling world?

The man was lost in his inner world, oblivious to humanity walking around him, sometimes staring through him or smirking at his other-worldliness. Frankly, he appeared to be in absolute bliss.

After the tour, I was physically tired, but my mind was full and my soul satisfied. It was much needed to ground my excited tourist senses because I had to return to my world and my writing, the second draft of my latest novel.

I wrote the travel diaries to empty my mind of those excitable emotions, to create a blank space and a clean canvas on which I can now hoist my incomplete manuscript.

The ideal situation would be the ‘void’ succinctly explained by a note to one of the exhibitions.

“The void is considered the primal source of possibility and potential, the origin of the universe. The Sanskrit word shunya, meaning both ‘zero’ and ‘void’, describes the source from which all things are created.”

Source: Art Gallery of NSW

I end this travel series with the hope of continuing my journey to find more creative possibilities.

P.S. You can read the previous part here.

A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 5

On a bright, sunny Thursday morning, we set out to the nearest sports ground. It was not The Lords, Eden Gardens, or even Melbourne, but it was the closest we had ever lived to a cricket ground, and we didn’t want to miss a chance.

The Sydney Cricket Ground is Don Bradman’s home ground. He had famously declared as a child that he would never be satisfied until he played at the SCG. And play he did.

The Australian pride in The Don was evident in the tour guide’s tone and the frequent mention of what Bradman meant to the SCG.

I was immediately in awe of the young woman (She would be over sixty) who took us around the stadium. She reeled away records and facts about the performances on the ground by domestic and international cricketers.

However, first things first. The tour started on an unpleasant note for my husband and daughter because of a snide remark. My daughter, excited to see a life-sized Kohli cut out inside the tiny enclave, which they called the museum, slunk away to take a picture.

As a courtesy, when the guide asked whether we were excited, I mentioned that my daughter had already spotted her favourite.

The guide replied cheekily, “King Kohli? Well, we’ll see him at the end of the year.” (Referring to India’s tour of Australia later this year). “He has to prove himself overseas, doesn’t he?”

My husband bristled. “Again?” he asked in a low voice, which I am not sure if she heard or pretended not to hear.

My daughter turned around with a smirk, “Nonsense!” she mouthed soundlessly.

So, that was not an encouraging start to the tour. It did not help that we had an Indian gentleman in our group who insisted on drawing comparisons between everything—the ground, cricketers, matches, and so on.

Cricket arouses passion and nationalistic fervour like no other game in India. Out of the eight tour group members, five of us were Indian fans. The guide was as ready with anecdotes and jokes as the audience was with the records that mattered.

While the guide highlighted Indian accomplishments with equal sincerity as the domestic ones, we still couldn’t contain our excitement when we saw some of the names hung up on boards, written on the wall, or scribbled. Yes, apparently, it is a new tradition to scribble one’s accomplishments on any surface one could find.

Why do accomplishments matter more when they are on foreign soil? Why does our chest swell with pride when we see the names of our heroes offered a respectable space on international walls? It may be the outcome of years of subjugation and colonisation. We use any opportunity to show that we are always strong, despite how the world sees or continues to see us.

I was glad my daughter learned how long it took to acknowledge women fans of the game. When the SCG opened, women spectators were considered guests of the male visitors, and the men had to stand up if a woman did not have a seat. When the number of women fans grew, they built the Ladies Pavilion, a separate seating arrangement for women. It was not until 1974 that women were given full membership access as men.

The tour included a peek into the dressing room for both the visiting and home teams. To reach the visitor’s dressing room, we walked up the steps used by the visiting team to enter the ground. If the guide hadn’t mentioned it, we would have missed this modest plaque proclaiming the gate as the Brian Lara – Sachin Tendulkar Gates. It was unveiled in April 2023 to commemorate Sachin’s fiftieth birthday and thirty years of Lara’s 277 at the venue.

As we filed into the rather narrow visitor’s dressing room, the guide shared an interesting story about a lone seat near the steps that led to the men’s washrooms. Apparently, it was the only seat available to an eighteen-year-old Tendulkar when he first played at the SCG after his seniors took their favourite spots. He went on to score an unbeaten 148 in the third test. Since then, apparently, he favoured that seat the most. Cricketers are known to have their quirks and superstitions. However, it was difficult to say whether the story was true or the guide was merely humouring a group of people whose eyes lit up at the mention of Tendulkar.

Tendulkar’s favoured (purportedly) spot in the visitors’ dressing room

Not surprisingly, the most vocal fan amongst us took the opportunity to take a photo of himself in the same seat, ignoring that the doorway beside it opened into a row of urinals.

Fandom was at its peak. I wonder what he would have done if the guide had known and shared more details about the players’ daily routine.

The group joked and laughed about the scores scribbled on the dressing room furniture, and there was a warm camaraderie despite the opposing camp vibes.

However, the air turned chill as we entered the home team’s dressing room. The interiors were more tasteful, and we couldn’t help but notice the snacks and food corner, which was missing in the visitor’s dressing room. I was a bit incensed and did not take any pictures of the room.

The guide quickly grasped our silent resentment and shrugged with a ‘home team advantage’ remark. It became clear why overseas accomplishments mattered more.

The saving grace of the moment was a framed message in the room. A few handwritten words from a twenty-year-old Bradman found in a child’s notebook takes the place of pride on the home team’s dressing room wall. The guide gushed about a young Don’s beautiful handwriting.

“If it’s difficult, I’ll do it now. If it’s impossible, I’ll do it presently.”

Certainly, Sir Bradman. You did it.

P.S. You can read the previous part here. The concluding part is here.

A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 4

By mid-week, we had grown tired of the cereal, milk, bread, and jam morning routine, so I bought a few veggies and eggs to make ourselves an omelette. I don’t know if it was the pan or the holiday mood, but the omelette turned out so pretty I wanted to share the picture with everyone.

I also did a quintessentially Indian thing: I bought a packet of tea powder to make tea at the Air BnB. I dislike tea bags, and the cold weather begged for a morning cup of chai. Of course, I did not carry the strainer with me from Singapore, but I used the school science of sedimentation and decantation.

Armed with the eggs, veggies, and morning tea in our stomachs, we set out to visit the University of Sydney. Google told us we had to reach Redfern by train, not the tram system. As soon as I saw the Central railway station, I couldn’t help comparing it with the stations of my childhood. The overbridge reminded me of Dadar but without the crowd. Can anyone familiar with Dadar imagine that?

Someday, I hope to see a Mumbai local train like this: not empty but clean, suave, sufficiently occupied, and perhaps a double-decker. Will it happen during my lifetime?

Redfern blew us away with its unique university-town look. There were rows and rows of houses with tiny gardens but big enough to park a bicycle. Groups of students converged onto the main thoroughfare, emerging from different streets and alleys. We walked and walked that day, comprehending a different meaning of a liberal university. We could enter any building, ask for directions, get vague responses, and still feel completely at home on campus. It is so huge that there are main roads crisscrossing right through and city traffic driving past university dwellers.

University of Sydney’s Quadrangle is famous as the Hogwarts doppelganger. Apparently, a few years ago, Chinese tourists convinced fellow travellers that this was indeed the location where the Harry Potter movie was shot, but it is not.

The famous University of Sydney Quadrangle

When you see the architecture, it is easy to understand why a Harry Potter fan would imagine the film being shot here. We saw several tourist groups hanging around for pictures.

A funny incident was when we entered the Geoscience faculty building without knowing what it was. We thought that this was the main building and sauntered in as if entering a museum. There were some artifacts and framed photographs in glass cases. Suddenly, I heard several voices, a calm, authoritative one rising above the din. Curious to know, I walked towards the voices and came to a door that modestly proclaimed it to be the meeting room for the Geoscience faculty. The voices inside were leading a serious academic discussion. We hurried out of the building, mortified, but no one had stopped us when we entered.

Hungry after a walk around the campus, we wandered into a café and ordered coffee and sandwiches. Another discussion took place at the table behind us. It was interesting to hear three faculty members deliberate on a project they wish to assign to their students. My daughter was impressed by how they set out to veer the students towards the project outcomes and objectives. I wonder if this could be a legitimate way to choose a good university by listening to the faculty discussions at the campus café.

A picture muddled by the photographer’s lack of height and skill

After lunch at the cafe, we set off for something we had been pining for since we landed in Sydney—the ocean. We have lived in coastal towns and cities for most of our lives, but watching the sea can never go out of fashion. Any opportunity to do so will be grabbed with all our senses.

We took a bus towards Bondi (pronounced Bon-dye) beach, and what a sight it was as the bus neared the stop. I nudged my daughter as a blue carpet shimmered in the afternoon sun between two villas on the street. She nodded and went back to sleep, only to be fully awake when we stepped out a few seconds later, for down below the bus stop lay the absolutely smashing and famous beach of Bondi. Unlike the photos online, the beach was empty because it was not beach-play weather anyway, but we had our fill of the sea view from atop the cliff.

Our main goal was to follow the coastal walk route from Bondi to Coogee (pronounced could-jee).

The blue waves crashed at the rocky foot of the cliff and turned into white foam. We stood there mesmerised. I turned to my daughter, “You know? The Opera House is amazing. It is one of man’s finest creations. But nature is the best architect.”

“But we just saw the University. Wasn’t that beautiful?”

“It was, but can you compare?”

She did not reply but turned her gaze to the ocean.

My husband stood as if he had unburdened all his worries and anxieties with a light smile.

More than the ocean, my family’s response to it made me happy. The previous day, we had second thoughts about visiting Bondi because the weather forecast was not all that encouraging. But at that moment, when I saw my family looking at the ocean, lost in its vastness, beauty, and sheer exuberance, I knew it would have been a colossal miss.

My initial plan was to complete the 3.2-kilometre-long coastal walk in about two hours, about four times slower than our usual brisk walking pace. But we lingered along the walk, taking in the ocean as much as possible. Closer to us, the weathered rock formations took us to a different place and time. The streams gurgling down the cliff did their best to make themselves heard over the din of the ocean waves.

speechless

We looked enviously at the houses above lining the cliff. Imagine waking up to that view every day. Does anyone ever get bored with an ocean view? But I also wondered about the price to be paid for a view like this, both monetary and environmental.

Many walkers and joggers passed by without even a nod at the ocean. I assumed that they must be daily visitors. Unlike them, we were arrested by the view from every vantage point. We ended our walk after a measly one kilometre, where the father-daughter duo found an ice cream stall. It was getting darker, and we knew that completing the coastal walk would not have been practical at that time. The sunset time was a few minutes before five.

We took the bus back to the city centre and marvelled at the driver’s maneuvers along narrow, climbing roads with just enough space for the bus. It was nothing compared to the hairpin bends on the hills back in India, but it was still impressive.

We returned to the apartment, contented yet yearning for more. Gazing at the vast, open ocean, blue when it’s calm, foaming white at its energetic best, with nothing to break the view, was the perfect getaway we needed. I had hoped to spot some whales off the coast. A sign at one of the viewing points mentioned that this was the best time to watch the whales. We didn’t spot any. However, we still had a chance. The last thing on our plan was whale watching, and we looked forward to going into the ocean to spot them.

Meanwhile, my daughter appeared excited. “Why?” I wondered. She reminded me of the tour we had booked for the next day, and I got my answer.

It will be fitting to write it tomorrow as India plays its final match in the T20 World Cup.

P.S. You can read the previous part of this series here.

And the next post here.

A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 3

I booked the Opera House tickets first while planning the trip. And, God forbid, we might have lost the money if not for the friendly staff at the reception.

That morning, we banked on our growing confidence as Sydney commuters and underestimated the time required to reach Circular Quay, the last stop on the L3 light rail line.

We also overestimated the predictability of the tram systems, forgetting that they were make-believe trains running on roads, making them vulnerable to traffic disruptions. Lesson learned. Besides, as my daughter always says, ‘Singapore spoils us.’ We have to get used to the fact that not all first-world cities run with clockwork precision.

In short, we arrived ten minutes late for the Opera house tour, hindered in our running by our jackets. We expected to be shooed away, and in my head, I was already composing the mail to request a refund. But the staff ushered us in, helped us deposit our bags in a fraction of a minute, handed us the headsets for the guide to talk through, and herded us to the meeting point from where our group had just begun the tour.

The guide welcomed us quite cheerily, and we climbed up the entrance in awe. I pondered why the staff and guide were so friendly to us. The rest of the people in the group did not mind, I suppose. I did not receive any icy stares. Did they assume we were doctors delayed by an emergency case or something? The way they led us inside, I felt like a superhero delayed for a party because of a world-saving mission. It was customer service at its best.

I did not dwell upon this unexpected pleasantness much longer as the guide plunged into her narration.

The precast concrete slabs with precast ribs that form the ‘shells’ of the Sydney Opera House

The Opera House, as everyone knows, is an architectural wonder. While the tour focused on the engineering challenges the team overcame to build the aesthetic shapes, the story that captured our imagination was that of Jorn Utzon, the Danish architect whose design gave rise to this beautiful edifice. A change of government during the construction ensured that he never saw the finished project. He was sacked before the completion by the then Minister of Public Works, who had no interest in the arts or aesthetics and agreed with the government on the frivolity of such a project.

Although subsequent governments tried to reconcile by inviting him, Utzon was too hurt to visit his landmark creation ever again. His family, though, still retains its ties with the project, with his son overseeing the maintenance of the structure as per his father’s instructions.

Any creator would understand the pain of being unable to see their creation in its completed form, admired and appreciated by millions of visitors from across the world. What a pity!

An accomplished team of engineers later completed the interior designs. I wanted to take pictures, but we were asked to refrain.

The tour left me in awe of the human endeavours to make life meaningful because what is life without the arts and aesthetics? What is life without the ability to appreciate the hard work and dedication that goes into creating a thing of beauty?

The guide repeatedly asked us if we had any questions, but I was too awestruck to ask any. If I attended any show at the Opera House, I would be gawking at the interiors rather than paying attention to the performance on the stage. The interiors were done so that the artist’s voice reached the last row in the main concert hall, which could seat more than 2,600 people. But any artist competing with the interiors to draw attention to themselves must be commended.

From one of the viewing decks facing the harbour

An hour of the tour passed without us glancing at the watch even once, and after we said our goodbyes to the enthusiastic guide, we indulged in family photo shoots in and around the area.

The trees beyond the waters beckoned, and we strolled across the neat pathway beside the Royal Botanic Gardens. The weather had suddenly changed. With overcast skies threatening to open up at any time, we abandoned the idea of climbing up the cliff called Mrs Macquarie’s chair. It was carved out of sandstone by Governor Macquarie for his wife. It offers a vantage view of Sydney harbour, but we didn’t make it there before the rain arrived.

In Singapore, a little rain wouldn’t have dampened our enthusiasm, but the cold weather in Sydney is like a double whammy. I have nothing but respect for the joggers who were relentless despite the weather. They reminded me of the noon joggers in Singapore — again, an example of the human spirit to accomplish something against all odds.

Inspired by my experience, I decided to go full steam ahead with my plan to ambush a famous bookstore in the city with copies of two of my books. My contention was that they had already listed my books on their website, so why can’t they listen to the author’s request when she visits their store? I did not have high hopes because my earlier efforts to reach out to the store’s buyer based in Sydney had not yielded any results.

I had this naïve hope that a buyer might be walking about in the store since it was the main one in the city. I spent a while among the aisles pretending to admire the books, but I was observing the store employees doing their jobs. I was loathe to approach any of them. Still, eventually, I gathered the courage. I spoke to a guy who politely explained that the online division operates separately from the offline division and that the website pulls products from numerous sources, thus offering a wider range of books.

My books were obviously eligible for this wider range, but in order to be stocked at the store, they had to be approved by the buyer at the headquarters. He suggested that I mail the buyer. I thanked him for his help and, having unburdened myself from the mission of promoting my book, browsed the bookstore’s collection. The switch from a writer to a reader felt cathartic at that moment, so much for trying to promote my books during a holiday.

Some interesting mugs sold at the bookstore

After a day at George Street, we took a ferry ride from Circular Quay to Pyrmont Bay. The ferry took us below the Sydney Harbour Bridge and offered views of Luna Park, an amusement park at Milsons Point. Having no interest in that kind of amusement, we were happy to click pictures from the ferry.

View from the ferry as it reaches Pyrmont Bay

The ferries are an integral part of Sydney commuters, and the fare can be paid with the same Opal card used for other public transport modes– buses, trams, and trains.

Waiting at the tram station was a unique experience for me. I haven’t been to Kolkata, an Indian city that still runs on trams. To cross the road without the right traffic signal is to break the law in Sydney as in any other city, but many commuters did walk across even as the tram trundled into the stop.

Tram coming into the station

Sydney CBD gave me a mixture of London and New York city vibes, but much cleaner and friendlier.

Our next location took us away from the light rail system onto the trains and buses. More on that in the following post.

You can read the previous part (part 2) of this series here.

And the next post here.

A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 2

Universities and their campuses have always inspired me, and the UNSW campus was no different. Tall, serious buildings and a green campus with a central avenue that climbs up as you walk into the heart of the campus reminded me of my alma mater in Mumbai.

Funnily, we identified fellow visitors from the ubiquitous Singapore umbrella they carried. The 7-Eleven stores in Singapore sell a foldable navy-blue umbrella with red and white flowers. We saw our respective umbrellas and broke into broad smiles, “From Singapore?” It was a happy coincidence to meet them there.

We were on a campus tour conducted by two students, and their perky narrations cheered us all up despite the cold, rainy weather. I was too overwhelmed to ask the guides any intelligent questions, but fortunately, the kids in our group had their lists ready.

My favourite part of the tour was seeing Gandhiji’s bust on the library lawn. On reading up, I found out that it was unveiled in 2010 by the then Consul General of India and was a gift from India to the university. It is the only University in New South Wales to display a bust of Mahatma Gandhi. They commemorate Gandhiji’s birth and death anniversary every year.

Gandhiji’s bust at the UNSW Library lawn

After being suitably impressed by the university’s focus on research in various fields, we decided to explore the city ourselves. It helped that our cousin had flown down from Melbourne to give us company. He had hoped for warmer weather but was surprised by colder-than-usual Sydney, a testament to abnormal weather patterns this year.

The light rail or the Sydney tram system took us into the central business district, where we got down at the first stop, which struck our fancy. QVB, or Queen Victoria Building, proved to be the opposite of what we thought it might be. I was expecting a historical landmark because it was built in 1898. Even the mention of something built in the 1900s makes my daughter gape at the antiquity of the structure. It does not matter if it was the early 20th century or later and whether it was edifices or people. (‘You both were born in the same century as the two World Wars. Yikes!’)

QVB turned out to be just a modern marketplace with five levels, and it was always meant to be a marketplace, whereas I was hoping for a transformation story. Nevertheless, there were some quaint features, like the elegant name boards hung outside every shop and the dainty ‘Ladies Powder Room’ sign outside the restrooms.

The shops belonged to the brands that you see in any major mall in this world, nothing extraordinary. The stained glass was beautiful as was the suspended clock tower in the centre.

If time and hunger did not protest, I would have spent some time loafing in one of the corridors where, bang in the middle of the building, was a piano. Several pianists hung around patiently waiting their turn to let their fingers frolic on the keys. We listened until our tummies reminded us that we hadn’t eaten anything after the morning brunch at a local café near our apartment. Unlike my family, I had opted for a vegan bowl, which I did not finish. Of course, I packed it for home. It did not taste any better the next day.

A cursory glance at the restaurant menus in QVB did not motivate us. We were mightily hungry, cold, and we all dreamed of something spicy.

We decided to find an Indian restaurant at Surry Hills, where the streets are lined with restaurants giving off heady smells of masalas. I found a dish to my liking. It was called the Madras Chicken Curry, and although I have not had something like that in Madras, the tangy and spicy flavour was perfect for the cold and dark evening. Unfortunately, we ordered twice from the same restaurant during the week, but they failed to replicate that genius of a dish. Their inconsistency made me agree with their tagline, ‘home-style Indian cooking.’ It doesn’t matter what you ask for; what you get from the home kitchen is the dish of the day, whether you like it or not.

The next day, we headed to the Australian Museum precisely as scheduled. And what a weather it was. It was perfect for walking with no rain and the wind not so bitingly cold. We strolled through Hyde Park, happy to recognise the hibiscus flower among various unfamiliar plants and trees.

The Australian Museum is a treasure trove of archaeological, natural, and human history artifacts.

The First Nations people have a special wing in the museum where their rich traditions and heritage are displayed along with lessons from their Indigenous wisdom. Most of their beliefs resonate with the challenges we face today. A solution might not lie in their ancient lifestyle but in the principles that guided how they lived and interacted with the world around them.

It was heartening to note that the Indigenous people are being respected and appreciated for what they are, however late the appreciation might seem. Throughout Sydney, there are notes of gratitude for the original community to whom the land belonged and on which the modern edifices were built. Better late than never.

The natural world exhibits were special because they gave a sneak peek into Australia’s diverse and unique species, like the Dingo and the Tasmanian Devil. As with any museum, the few hours we spent were insufficient to assimilate and absorb everything they offered.

It is a terrific place for children to learn about the culture of the land, its people, and the local flora and fauna. The prehistoric wing looms large with its neatly labelled exhibits and the giant dinosaur skeletons grazing the roof. We found hordes of kids enjoying the display and unwilling to leave the place.

On our walk back from the museum, we peeped into St. Mary’s Cathedral and were pulled inside by the silence and calm. It was so peaceful that we might have spent the entire evening there had it not been for the darkness falling swiftly outside.

Before I end the post, I must mention that the lunch at the casual dining restaurant, Bistro Gadi, at the top of the museum and overlooking Hyde Park, was one of the best I had in Sydney. Though limited in scope, it was healthy and flavourful. Looking at their fare, I felt the restaurants back home should update their menus to put meat and vegetables under the Mains and rice, noodles, or any starchy items under the Sides. It makes a big difference to the nutritional balance of the plate.

We ended the day with splendid cups of coffee and hot chocolate at The Rocks Market, a place, which according to my teen, gives ‘proper Sydney vibes.’ I would agree after having the coffee and gaping at street stalls selling kangaroo and crocodile meat snacks.

On our way to The Rocks, we got a distant view of the Sydney Opera House, one of the must-visit places we had on our list.

P.S. You can read part 1 of this travel series here. And part 3 here.

A Week in vivid Sydney – Part 1

The first visit to any place leaves an indelible mark in your memory, especially when it’s with your family. It becomes fodder for nostalgia in the future and a point in time to check in your rear-view mirror and see how far you have travelled. First visits are also interesting in how we form opinions about a place. If we can revisit and get a different perspective, it’ll be interesting to note a change of opinion.

Last week, my family and I travelled to Sydney on vacation, and although I had made up my mind not to write anything during the holiday (I left my laptop back at home), every evening, I found myself itching to jot down a few words. I did type a few lines on my phone, but they were not enough. I process my experiences through words and feel compelled to write. So, this is about Sydney, as I saw it. Moreover, unless I get this out of my system, I won’t be able to get back to my first draft.

This post is my personal experience of Sydney, so feel free to skip reading if you do not like diary entries. But you may find a sample (if not the best) itinerary for your next Sydney visit. That’s my best promo line for this blog post.

Sydney entered our travel list when we began exploring cities with well-established universities and employment opportunities. As a family, we watched a fair amount of travel vlogs to determine which places we wanted to visit and which we didn’t.
However, the final plan was based on our collective and individual interests.

Pre-visit jitters

It didn’t take us long to realise that visiting Sydney is preceded by the big event of flying into Australia, a country with such strict laws about what you bring into their country, that we started second-guessing every item in our suitcase. Are winter jackets allowed or not?

Indeed, preparations involved packing winter-wear because Australia, being in the southern hemisphere, celebrates its winter while we in Singapore enjoy our summer vacations.

But this is a heads-up for anyone visiting Australia for the first time: please make it a point to visit the Australian government websites to check which items you can carry in your luggage without being fined. If you are carrying any food items, it is better to declare. Once declared, the biosecurity team will scan the food items and ask you to discard them or proceed as they deem fit. However, I suggest avoiding all declaration headaches and food items if you are traveling on a short vacation. Instead, install Uber Eats and order your favourite dishes and meals from the numerous restaurants in and around the city (if you have diet restrictions).

The Drabness of Air Travel

I was expecting a somber US-airport-style security check process (Trevor Noah once joked that U.S. airports look like concentration camps with passengers walking barefoot in a single line). But I was pleasantly surprised to find that the officials actually smiled at you. And not in the patronising or condescending way that border security teams bless you with their ‘You don’t have to worry, but remember you are a foreigner entering our country’ cheeriness.

The staff were genuinely happy to do their jobs and possibly to see us. Their smiles reached their eyes. You can’t fake those.

The immigration process went smoothly with a smiling officer who didn’t want to intimidate whatsoever. Model behaviour, I would say. Then came the surprise when we were asked to stand in the biosecurity check line. This was after we collected our luggage. So, remember, folks, putting restricted items into your check-in luggage would not help either.

And the next surprise generated a range of emotions in the three of us. My heart melted to see the wagging tail eagerly sniffing out the suitcases while the youngest in our family was not too keen to be anywhere near it. A biosecurity team member politely asked my daughter if she was comfortable with dogs. She wasn’t, and they asked her to stand by until the dog finished sniffing out any items from our luggage that we shouldn’t have packed.

The dog didn’t find anything unusual with us, but if he had lingered around me a little longer, he would have realised how my heart was yearning to hug him. And it was not just him. There were several other dogs on duty. All of them waited for a single command from their human officer. I was tempted to enquire if I could get a job as a dog handler, but I didn’t want to exploit the genuine niceness with which the officers went about their jobs. It would be a weird start to a vacation to learn that people are not as cool if we disturb them at their workplace. I gave one last pining look to the four-legged officers in their cages before we rolled our trolleys out of the security check area.

As we pushed towards the exit, we felt cold air blasting from somewhere—just like the air conditioner blast from inside a mall in Singapore when we walked past. We looked all around for a heavy air-conditioning unit. It took us a few minutes to realise that it was not the air conditioner but the air outside.

Folks, don’t get me wrong. It was not my first cold winter experience, but the day before, I visited a nearby temple in Singapore at eight in the morning and returned wishing I had never stepped out. My spiritual experience was marred by the humidity and the unpleasant feeling of being drenched in sweat.

So, having a blast of aircon-cold air blowing at me from outside the airport was a pleasant shock. It was a cool twelve degrees when we landed.

Once we got used to the cold winter air made cooler by the rain, we settled in our taxi to admire the views.

We had to first acknowledge that Indian travellers need not feel alone in Australia. The taxi driver was from Hyderabad, and before we could ask his name, he told us about the best biriyani outlet in Sydney. He also pointed out that he figured out we were South Indians. I expected subtlety there, but people have their ways of displaying their familiarity with diversity.

On the way, he also explained to us how driving in Australia was not easy because rules are expected to be strictly followed, and penalty points are awarded for breaking them. If a certain number of penalty points are crossed, the driver has to reapply for the license. And, of course, for all the special tips that he offered, he asked us for a tip. Now, that’s what one calls an entrepreneurial spark at daybreak. He created an appropriate build-up by complaining about how long he had to wait at the airport for a ride and how much longer it would take him to get another one after he dropped us off. Fair enough, I suppose.

After a shower at the Air BnB and a light breakfast of bread and jam, bought from the nearby convenience store that called itself a supermarket, we set out for our first day in Sydney, suitably covered in layers and sheltered under umbrellas.

P.S. We arrived on the last day of Vivid Sydney, an annual festival of light, music, and ideas. We were told that there would be outdoor installations and beautiful displays, but we were just not ready to plunge into a crowd on our first day, so we skipped it. However, I liked the moniker for Sydney, and hence, the title of my blog post.

You can read part 2 of this travel series here.

2021 Reading Wrap-up: Connecting the Dots

It is time to wrap up my reading experience of the year, although there are still eleven days to go, and I am hopeful. I read forty-one books in 2021, not including the one I am reading now.

Initially, I thought of listing down only the ones I rated five stars, but that seemed unfair to some of the exciting books that I might have rated less. I consider a rating of three and above as excellent writing. You can refer to the images for a glimpse of all the books that I read this year, and you would agree that even the ones that I don’t mention in my post are good.

So instead of listing the highly rated, I created categories of books that run across genres, and you will understand why I clubbed these books together as you read. This post is also an attempt to show that you can derive similar reading experiences and lessons from both fictional and non-fictional books. And that reading is not an exercise that isolates the two but connects.

The industry has created genres to help them classify the books, but readers need not identify with those. Readers have only two categories: the books I feel like reading now and those I don’t. And the books can keep jumping across these two categories, irrespective of genres.

Also, I should mention that despite my misgivings about audiobooks, I listened to two of them this year – Barack Obama’s A Promised Land, narrated by the author, and Douglas Adams’ The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, narrated by Martin Freeman. Both narrations added authenticity to the writing although, I have to say that Freeman’s narration was more enjoyable. He is an artist, after all.

Unputdownable: These are books that keep you hooked with their intrigue, characterization, and pace. I read several fiction books this year but the ones below stood out by the sheer force of their writing. You can imagine them on screen with your favourite actors. Some of them have already been adapted. More importantly, these books would stand out as pieces of literature irrespective of their screen adaptations.

1. A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby

2. Bombay Balchao by Jane Borges

3. You Beneath Your Skin by Damyanti Biswas

4. The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth

5. Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult

6. The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett

Humour: This is one of my favourite categories and one that I hope to write a book in someday. It’s not easy at all, and hence I have the utmost respect for those who attempt and succeed. These books kept me chuckling through the year. They range from science fiction to slice-of-life observations to satire, but the smiles, chuckles, and laughs will make you feel lighter.

7. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Series by Douglas Adams (a series of six books)

8. Tongue-in-Cheek: the Funny Side of Life by Khyrunnisa A.

9. The Code of the Woosters by P G Wodehouse (I was in two minds about including this book here because a PGW fan knows that I need not call out the book as humourous. I usually read one PGW book every year. It is one of my comfort reads.)

10. Raag Darbari (Hindi) by Srilal Shukla (I read this in Hindi but an English translation is also available.)

Books for the Thinkers: Now and then, I pick up books that promise to elevate my thoughts above the mundane. This year, three books stood out in my reading list as the ones that affected me the most. One out of them is fiction, while the other two are memoirs. I would recommend these to be read at least once in your lifetime.

11. 1984 by George Orwell

12. Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl

13. I am a Girl from Africa by Elizabeth Nyamayaro

Awareness: So often, readers tend to turn inwards while reading that at least some of us are accused of being lost in an ideal world. On the contrary, books can make us aware in more profound ways than usual. Shallow reporting and journalism do a disservice to serious topics that deserve analytical writing. Both fictional and non-fictional books serve to open our eyes to critical issues for the future, understand the status quo and even appreciate our past. If you are an observer of the society at large and would like to know how historical events lead up to the present and might impact the future, I urge you to read at least one of the books below. I have listed them in the order of ease of reading.

14. Lady Doctors: The Untold Story of India’s First Women in Medicine by Kavitha Rao

15. The Silent Coup by Josy Joseph

16. The Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson

17. The Nutmeg’s Curse by Amitav Ghosh

Lady Doctors is reader-friendly and written in an exciting, direct voice. It offers six inspirational stories about pioneering women doctors who broke through several social and personal obstacles to achieve their goals.

The Silent Coup has a journalistic style but is shocking enough to keep you engaged until the end. Be prepared to become depressed with the state of affairs, but it is a must-read.

The Ministry for the Future is difficult to read, and I was unimpressed with the narrative style; however, after you read this work of climate fiction, you will not be able to ignore the warning signs from nature. Every time I complain about the increasing temperature, whether in Singapore or India, I am reminded of the horrifying premise of this book and the scary scenes that begin the narration.

The Nutmeg’s Curse is perhaps the most intricate book of all. I have been reading several paragraphs multiple times to grasp the ideas. But if you cannot link our past actions with what the future holds for the planet, this book is for you.

Travel: What else could one do but read when you are stuck indoors during a pandemic? And what better books to read than travelogues? I read two travel books this year and enjoyed both immensely.

18. A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trails by Bill Bryson

19. Monkeys on the Road by Mary Hollendoner

Bill Bryson is, of course, a well-known name and writes about hiking through the Appalachian trails in his witty chronicle.

Mary Hollendoner, a debutante, recently launched her travelogue in which she describes her experience of road-tripping across South America with her husband and six-year-old daughter.

Self-improvement: I am not a fan of self-improvement books, but occasionally, I find a book that not only proves to be insightful but interesting enough to be read multiple times. In 2019, I discovered Atomic Habits, this year, it was

20. Masala Lab: The Science of Indian Cooking by Krish Ashok

And if you are wondering why I would add a cookbook into the self-improvement category, then let me tell you, it is not a cookbook as much as a science book with practical experiments that one can carry out in your kitchen. Secondly, I believe cooking is a life skill handy at any stage in life.

Writing and Creativity: Every year, I read at least a couple of books that inspire and guide my writing process. This year, I added these two to my writers’ tool kit.

21. The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron

22. Edit Yourself: A Manual for Everyone who works with Words by Bruce Rose- Larson

The Artist’s Way is for any creative person and gives you actionable tips to unlock your mind. Not many people agree with the methods and exercises given in the book, but I gleaned some good practices like the morning pages.

Edit Yourself is a thin, crisp book that gives you a list of don’ts while writing. The book is as precise as the writing it purports.

Lastly, a surprise read that the young and the young at heart would enjoy.

23. Woof! Adventures by the Sea by Aparna Karthikeyan

The book is about a group of dogs living by the sea on a beach in Mumbai.

It is a book that I wholeheartedly recommend as a Christmas gift to the little ones in your life and any dog parents that you know.

I wish you all a happy reading year in 2022! Happy holidays!

The Home Series – Part 1

On her first day at school, my kid, happy as ever but nervous, let go of my hand when she saw the other kids. Her anxiety of being around unfamiliar faces soon gave away to anticipation. Always fond of activities, she plunged headlong into the ones that her teachers arranged for the class.

I watched from the sidelines as she finished her tasks gleefully, played with her peers, laughed, giggled, and shrieked with joy. Pride filled my heart. She was learning to be independent, finding her place in the world, her world. It was important to her. It was how she would grow up to be the strong, independent person that she would become.

Yet, at the end of the allotted hours on the first day, when she came up to me and said, “I want to go home,” my heart rejoiced. She was happy to go back home. She was not flying away yet. She was a tired, weary but happy learner eager to be back at her familiar, comfortable place — her home.

Since then, every time she comes home from school, I have seen the same relief and happiness, although the teens have also brought some amount of nonchalance. The sentiment remains the same – I want to go home.

Today, when I trawl the various discussion forums for people desperate to fly and travel back to their families, I sense the same feeling – we want to go home.

The pandemic and the associated travel restrictions have placed constraints on people who are not entirely at home in foreign lands. Legally, they may or may not be accorded the status of citizens, but inseparable parts of their families are separated by a physical distance and tug at their hearts. Some may have embraced and, in turn, been accepted by their new country, but truly home is where the heart is.

And, if your heart belongs to your people, the home will be a place where you are in their midst.

As I wrote this post, my thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions and furious attempts to rationalise. There are so many who leave their childhood home to build anew. For many women around the world, marriage means separation from their parental families. Work and job requirements mean that it’s the same for men as well.

Many are homeless, for whom home is an ambiguous, amorphous concept when daily life is a struggle for subsistence. Others carry their homes with them, happy to travel around the world.

With so many diverse living situations, what does home mean to us? How does it define us while we forever attempt to make it better?

I ponder on these questions and more. Follow this post and the subsequent ones to tag along my journey.

Music knows no boundaries

My neighbourhood is a sort of a tourist attraction and on most days you will find groups of travellers huddled together under a lamppost or a traffic signal, listening intently to their guide. With cameras slung around their necks, these groups often make their way to the various streets that criss-cross the neighbourhood. They walk with absolutely no sense of urgency, savouring every sight and sound. The pub at the corner of the street receives visitors and office-goers alike. So the street continues to remain noisy late into the evening.

Having got used to the commotion created by the pub visitors, tourists and traffic, I was pleasantly surprised to hear some foot-tapping music blowing across the street along with the wind. It was too good to resist so I set out immediately to find the source. I guessed that it must come from the square at the end of the market where they hold musical jamming sessions often. But no, my feet turned towards the source of the music and I found myself in front of the nearest church. It was a wedding band and a crowd of commuters, cyclists and tourists had gathered in the front of the church, clapping, swaying to the tune and cheering the band on. I stood there mesmerized until the small group on the church steps decided that it was time to carry on with the ceremony.

The crowd was disappointed when the music came to an end but everyone did continue along their paths. I walked a bit aimlessly, stopping now and then to inspect the variety of fare exhibited by the traders at the market. As I crossed the square at the end of the market, a lady accosted me and handed me a small card which read thus “Bollygood dance session in support of Macmillan Cancer Foundation.”

I wasn’t really sure what Bollygood meant until I heard the unmistakable strain of ‘Poora London Thumakda’ from the Bollywood movie Queen. I rubbed my hands in glee and found a comfortable viewing spot around the Square. And then the fun began.

Bollywood ditties blared out and a crowd of about 30-40 enthusiasts shook a leg or two to the beats. It was one of the most relaxing evenings in London for me. Listening to music, whether it was the wedding band or good old Bollywood dance numbers, I felt alive and grateful to be part of this joyous journey called life. Life where music accompanies you wherever you go, crossing all possible boundaries…

Google photos helped me a create a short video that collates the sights and sounds that I saw yesterday. Click on the link below to watch…

https://goo.gl/photos/tB1zciygRV8GW8LA7

Following the birds into the park, into the small joys of childhood

Last week when I was talking to my family over Skype, I happened to hear the birds chirping in the background. It was only then that I realised, I had not heard a single chirp (unless it was the tweet on my smartphone) since I had arrived in London. All my walks were along the busy London streets, punctuated by traffic signal beeps and vehicular noise. So this weekend, I decided to scour the neighbourhood for a park at walking distance. There was one, about three miles away, which meant that I will get the much needed exercise that could shake up my 9-5 desk-bound body a little.

The route to the park was as interesting as the park. I passed through streets that had stalls set up on footpaths and shops
with names like Alankar, Naqashi, Bombay Plaza, Saree Mela, transporting me, for few minutes at least, back to my childhood days in Mumbai. The stalls sold all sorts of things starting from veggies and fruits to cosmetics, jewelry and ‘bindis’. Folks swarmed around these stalls, children eagerly reaching out to the merchandise hung up along the road.

The park called the Mile End park had a lot of walkers and joggers even though it was almost noon. Families strolled by, leaving the children to run around in absolute abandon. I relived a small childhood joy of my own when I climbed up a hillock just to enjoy the view from the top. Although the view was not anywhere near the exhilarating panorama of the green paddy fields that I could see from atop a hill near my father’s house in Kerala; climbing the hillock was enough to fill my heart with palpitating happiness. I sat there for a while enjoying the breeze and the solitude (for once). Though I had come in search of birds, there weren’t many. I guess it was just the wrong weather.

On the way back, I found another museum. (It is actually unbelievable! I have found a museum every time I have gone out exploring!) This time, it was the Museum of Childhood. The museum showcases toys, children’s clothes and the way they were brought up in England, over the years. I wished my daughter and her cousins were there with me to visit the museum. It is a very interesting place for a child to be in. The quaint little doll houses made me feel like gazing at them for as long as I could. That day I walked back home a happy girl. I had breathed a little bit of fresh air in the park and then seen some amazing glimpses of childhood. All on the pretext of following a bird to hear it chirp…!

	A Week in vivid Sydn… on A Week in vivid Sydney –…
	A Week in vivid Sydn… on A Week in vivid Sydney –…
	A Week in vivid Sydn… on A Week in vivid Sydney –…
	A Week in vivid Sydn… on A Week in vivid Sydney –…
	A Week in vivid Sydn… on A Week in vivid Sydney –…