Hello Mr David

Michaelangelo's sculpture of King David is the raison d'etre of a visit to the Academia Galleria in Florence. The statue is truly a masterpiece of a great artist, but unfortunately, it has become a Florentine Mona Lisa. The tourists ignore almost every other statue and painting in the museum. The wonderful Fiorentine paintings don't get any attention.

Who cares about Sandro Botticelli? What does it matter if there is one of the rarest collections of old Russian Orthodox Icons in the museum? Should anyone bother about the other sculptures there, which give a real idea of people, faces and life in the days of the Renaissance?

Seeing David is as much about bragging rights than anything else. This reminded me of how Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Dali and Picasso are ignored at the Louvre all at the expense of the great Mona Lisa. In all fairness though, David is more impressive than Da Vinci's most famous painting.

Florence: More than the tourist attractions

It's easy to not notice some of the sights and sounds of the great city of Florence since the Renaissance architecture and the famous buildings are the raison d'etre for a visit to the city. However, for those who love Italian culture and want to see the real Italy, the city is full of delights. Yesterday, I put up an image from a society of anonymous poets.

Here are some images that caught my attention in the wonderful Tuscan city

The city has a wonderful sporting tradition. Like in other parts of Italy, most people look like they are in excellent shape. This is an achievment considering how rich and tasty Italian food is. You see young and middle-aged people going on evening runs. It's not so easy to notice the boatmen on the Arno River.

We were forunate enough to stay in a heritage building with an antique and beautiful, if scary, elevator. Our hotel had typical Florentine windows. These windows are specially designed for the Tuscan 4-season climate and remain shut all winter. We were lucky to launch spring in the city and open the windows, almost fully.

The water from this small fountain is potable. Most Italian cities have these old fontanellas, where the water is absolutely clean. Italy is one of the few countries in the world where you can drink straight out of the taps.

After drinking water in different parts of the world, I can certify that the tastiest water I have ever drunk is in Rome. Runners-up include Vienna and yes, New York City. The water in Florence is also quite tasty. Imagine, how much the Italians save by drinking off the taps, without boiling or buying water in bottles.

This would be a pipe-dream in Indian cities, but the reality is that Bombay's water was potable as recently as the late-1960s.

There is art in just about everything in Florence. I have seen innovative ideas when it comes to doorbells, but these were among the most artistic doorknobs that I had ever seen. That was until I started noticing the doorknobs in many of the city's buildings, both old and new.

Tales from Vienna: The Making of the Silver Bullet

Today is the birthday of one of the greatest crime-fighters the world has ever seen: The Silver Bullet. We know of his exploits in fighting crime and terror incognito in the mean streets of Khar and Kemp's Corner but very few knew how this German went from being an ordinary mortal to a superhero.

It all happened a few years ago in the grimy and seedy 'Bermuda Triangle' district of Vienna. The peaceful and calm capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire has just 1 dark spot in the correct side of the Danube: the area between the antique Ruprechts Church and the shady bars that sell cheap tequila.

The Silver Bullet, then an ordinary man in his mid-20s was having more alcohol than his body could possibly handle. After a deadly mix of tequilas, beers, vodkas and wines, he had a premonition: God was calling him. So he walked into the church, which is only open at night and shouted in German, 'God, I answer thy call!" It wasn't just the sincere pilgrims who took offense to this drunken outburst. The tortured spirits of the crusaders, who gave their lives for this very same God that the future-bullet mocked, swore revenge.

As the future-hero went back to the street and to a pub, where his friends were having even more drinks, he realised that he was missing his glasses. A sobre version of the future superhero would have known that the glasses were at home! In a state of panic, he shouted, "where are my glasses!!" The bouncer at the bar had just about enough. "You are too drunk to get in," he said to the future-hero and his friend.

The tortured spirits sensed a great opportunity to settle scores with this felon who committed blasphemy. One spirit entered the body of a frustrated young man, who was kicked out of boxing class for being indisciplined. This thug had an easy picking on a drunk semi-blind man. He punched our future hero several times and also took care of his friend. It was a massacre of the worst kind. When the evil sprit realised that the duo had been adequately punished, he left the body of the thug.

And what was the bouncer doing when all this was going on? Eating popcorn and enjoying the free show!!

The next morning, hungover, insulted, bruised and humiliated, the German said, "never again." He decided that he would not just make himself powerful but would fight crime around the world, even in places as far away as Pondicherry and Bali.

Years later, a grateful and safe public thank the Silver Bullet for making the world a safer place. It has been a long ride from that night at the Bermuda Triangle, through your training under a particular wolf, but you are now a Rockstar!!

A Wonderful Poem on a Florence Wall

This poem was attached to a wall in Florence by the Society for Emancipation of Poetry in Florence.

Firenze

The birthplace of the Renaissance, home of Dante, city of fascinating architecture and great museums. That is Firenze or Florence in a nutshell. I am not going to deny that the city is indeed very beautiful. The Dome is as beautiful as it looks on the picture postcards and the brochures and the Ponte Vecchio also does justice to its universal hype.

There is something irritating about this great city. It is a tourist-magnet. You see the busloads coming in from all over the world, each annoying tourist with a small digital camera. I can't imagine how dreadful this beautiful city would be on weekends or worse in the summer, when the tourist hoards descend on it.

We were lucky to be there on weekdays in the off-season. I loved each and every lane of the old town but what I enjoyed even more was crossing the Arno and walking deep into the other side. Here, you see normal Italian life in a normal Italian city. There are no tourists, just people going on with their lives. I loved the graffiti on the walls, the Florentine balconies with plants surviving in the cold, thanks to the Tuscan Sun.

Wander out of the tourist areas and see the military areas, the university campus and other nice places that remind you that you are actually in Italy.

Train ride in Italy

It wasn't without some sadness that I left Rome, a city that completely stole my heart. I think a part of me is still walking in Villa Borghese and another part is sitting on the Spanish steps.  

Buying a ticket at the Termini Station in Rome is a pleasure. The officials at the station are obviously less stressed than their counterparts in India and you can feel the difference. An extremely nice lady gave me all sorts of alternatives for a train ride from Rome to Florence. She suggested I take a slow train in the first class to the renaissance city as I could enjoy the Lazio and Tuscany country-side on the ride.

The ride was smooth and yes, the views were breath-taking. It was interesting to observe several midieval towns on hill tops with smaller settlements at the foot of the hills. It was spring and the greenery of the Italian countryside made a beautiful sight. I could see Vivaldi composing his beautiful music as the train headed north.


The railways in Italy are super-efficient. The train left exactly at 15:45 and reached at 18:48, as promised. As the train crosses a series of tunnels and heads into Florence's Santa Maria Novella Station, you don't see any traces of the legacy of this great city. The station is about a 10 minute walk from the historical part of the city.

Italy is really a small country. Florence is only 315 kilometres away from Rome. If you take a fast train, you can do a day trip to the city.

Images of Rome

I present some images of my new favourite city on the planet: Rome

Tips for a visit to the Vatican

Vatican City is the smallest and richest country in the world and a tour of the museums and the St Peter's is definitely a highlight of any visit to Italy. As is the case with any place in Europe, there are way too many tourists visiting in the summer, but the crowds can be maddening even in the so-called off season.

The best way to avoid queues is to book an official tour through the website of the Vatican. A very professional tour guide will go to great pains to explain the smallest of details in a tour that covers the palaces painted by Rafael and of course, Sistine Chapel, whose ceilings were painted by Michaelangelo.
The three-hour walking tour gives you a taste of everything at the Vatican.

On the way to the Vatican from the metro station, there is an army of guides ready to "help" visitors and they come from all over the world. They are probably well-meaning but once you have a tour booked, you can just politely turn them down. I was honestly suprised with the number of Americans on the way offering their services.

And finally, try not to take a backpack to the Vatican Museums tour. Security won't allow it and you'll have to deposit the bags with them and then come back from the St Peter's just to get the bag back.

L'Italia, secondo Pushkin

"Chi conosce la terra dove il cielo

Risplende di ineffabile azurro...?

Italia, Terra Incantata

Contrada di elevate ispirazioni!"



--Alexander Pushkin 

Blame it on the Gypsies

Most people in Italy will tell you that a large percentage of crimes in the cities are committed by people from places like Romania. When a complaint is made to Romania, both government authorities and private citizens alike blame Gypsies.

Very few countries hate the Gypsies the way Romania does. These so-called immigrants from northern India were enslaved in Romania until the middle of the 19th century. Another country that hates the Gypsies is the Czech Republic, which claimed that it was Gypsies with Czech passports that were abusing assylum laws in Canada.

Coming back to Italy, tourists are warned about Gypsy thieves and pick-pockets and a particular modus operandi. One morning while walking up the Spanish Steps, I witnessed a botched pick-pocketing incident. A Chinese couple were walking down the steps, when a girl with a baby approached them to beg. While the couple were distracted, another woman tried to snatch the man's wallet. The couple managed to hang on to their belongings, while a crowd watched. A friend of mine asked them to dial 113 and call the cops.

The thieves in question were anything but Gypsies. They spoke Romanian and were very much ethnic Romanians. I am quite sure if the police told the Romanian authorities about this group, they would have been told that the thieves were Gypsies, implying that the Romanian Government was helpless.

I haven't had much interactions with Romanians, except those from Moldova, but I am sure that 95% of the people of that wonderful country are honest and decent human beings but I think Romania needs to accept responsibility for the bandits in the lot and not always pass the buck on to the Gypsies.

Please Note: I write the word Gypsies here and not the politically correct term 'Roma' so that I don't confuse readers.

The multi-taskers of Rome

On a beautiful morning, I was walking up the hill leading to the Spagna Church and I noticed a really beautiful woman sweeping a pavement. She wasn't wearing a civic worker's uniform, so I figured that she was just a concerned citizen.

The further I walked up, the more I noticed the streets being swept in front of each shop, by different people. Rome had a dedicated citizenry or so I thought, until I saw a woman finish sweeping, then enter a shop. She then dusted indoors before opening the shop to the public. She was the shopkeeper. I guess it's too expensive to hire someone to clean a sidewalk so the shopkeepers do it themselves. Each of these women I saw on the Via Sistina were well-dressed and elegant. This is when a lightbulb hit me about the concept of dignity of labour in caste-free Europe!

Would this happen in India anytime in the next 200 years? 

Rome's Bangladeshis

Being a non-English speaking country, you don't see Indian immigrants in Italy, the way you do in places like the UK and North America. But those from across India's eastern borders have made a beeline for the country. Most of the stalls near the Coliseum and in other touristy places in Rome are run by Bangladeshis. They seem to speak Bengali, Hindi and Italian.

A vast chunk of these people came to Italy illegally but thanks to the country's leniency in dealing with illegals, many of these Bangladeshis have legal status. Others from Bangladesh dress up as statues. A hard day's work to stand in the sun the whole day drenched in paint and a costume just to earn a few Euros! Bangladeshis also sell flowers on the streets of Rome and Florence.

Italians tend to be a very tolerant set of people and these Bangladeshis as well as immigrants from African countries seem to be at some degree of comfort in the country. But considering how expensive life and food is in the country, I wonder if these people actually save any money. I guess the hardships in their own countries must be much worse for them to want to illegally immigrate. 

The good-for-nothings of Termini

I was warned to be careful when using Rome's Termini station. This was the den of pick-pockets and other thieves, I was told. An Italian expat in Bombay even compared Termini to Dadar station!!

After taking a train there from Rome's Fiumincino Airport, I understood what the fuss was all about. There are many suspicious characters lurking in the background and on the prey for tired and confused tourists. The most harmless of those are the ones "volunteering" to help people buy tickets on the metro or long distance trains. Many of these people are from Romania, Albania and African countries.

When I refused an offer of help from a Romanian girl, she told me that a little money would help her eat. There were enough jobs in Rome for her to earn her daily bread. The train ride from Termini to Babarini was crowded but not by Bombay standards. I did keep a close eye on any "strange" character. The funny thing about pickpockets is that they have a good cover. They may dress like businessmen or walk with children...basically anything that make someone let their guard down.

These types exist in every major city in the world and form a tiny fraction of the population of Rome. On that crowded ride with my suitcase, I was on guard but also made conversation with a nice pensioner. When she said that the trains are too crowded, I apologised on behalf of the tourists, who make it jam-packed, she just laughed and said that I was welcome in Rome.

My pocket wasn't picked and I wasn't a victim of petty theft but I think being on guard helped. One of the employees of the Hotel Imperiale in Via Veneto told me that Rome had been unfairly stigmatised. He said the situation was far worse in Paris. It's hard to argue with that.

Rome: History, beauty and energy

There is one Rome: the touristy city of the Coliseum, the Vatican and Trevi fountain. This is where hordes of tourists are bussed into everyday so that they can take their Mickey Mouse pics and brag to their neighbours.

Then there is another Rome: a vibrant, exciting and elegant city with some incredibly nice, fashionable and beautiful people. This is the Rome of the Villa Borghese, a beautiful park, which overlooks some of the city's great public squares. This is the city of charming not-so well known piazzas (squares), wonderful eateries and ice cream parlours.

Romans are a fashion and fitness conscious people. Sure, they eat a lot of delicious food but then they compensate for it by walking on the city's 7 hills and running in the wonderful Villa Borghese. I love the non-touristy Rome. It's a great city, which despite being busy is friendly. In 3 days, I picked up many random conversations with strangers on buses and the metro. My Italian language skills helped but I can safely say that the Romans are incredibly friendly and open-minded people, and it wasn't my Italian per say.

Yes, I had to handle the sensitive issue about the Italian marines, who are in Indian custody, over the alleged killings of fishermen from Kerala. I did feel a tad bit uncomfortable when I landed at the airport in Rome and saw images of the marines walking to a court in Kerala on a television screen. I played it safe and said I wasn't qualified to have an opinion on the case and that I had no affiliations what-so-ever with the Indian Government.

Rome is full of beautiful and fascinating lanes and there is so much history there that it can take years to see the whole city. There is something special in the air in the city. Something magical! Over a dinner conversation with a corporate lawyer from Abruzzo, who made Rome her home 20 years ago, I understood that Rome can put anyone in a trance. 'Ale,' who is a also a great writer, says she feels the fascination for the great city every single day, even after two decades.

Ale and I are not alone in our feelings for Rome and its azure blue skies. Among the city's greatest fans were Gogol and Pushkin, statues of whom, Ale passes every morning when she runs in the Villa Borghese.

More weirdos in Andheri

For a crowded suburb, I have often wondered why there aren't more whackos in Andheri. But as the days go by, I keep meeting/bumping into such types. Taking a diversion today through the gaothan, I walked past a small mosque. There was a pre-prayer sermon in the mosque and from what I gathered, the preacher was agitated.

As I walked ahead, a man stopped me with an 'assalam alaikum,' and I responded with the standard Arabic response. He then asked me in Urdu why I am not entering the mosque for namaz. Hoping to get rid of the guy, I said my mosque is near Bhavan's College. The man then asked me about what kind of Muslim I am to wear shorts and a t-shirt on a Friday. He rued that even Muslim boys were dressing like the Catholics!!! When I told him that there are no verses in the Koran banning shorts on Fridays, someone else intervened and politely asked me to walk away.

I have been told by many people that I look like a Muslim, but this encounter still surprised me...

Inner lanes of Andheri

From the time I first moved back to Andheri in the early 1990s, I never once even wondered what is inside the lanes to the left of J.P. Road. I knew there was a gaothan or a village, which was the only inhabited part of Andheri between the station and Dhake colony till the early 1970s. I never needed to go into those areas and explore.They were just a nothing land I gave little attention to until this week.

The upcoming metro has now blocked the main entry point for pedestrians from J.P. Road to S.V. Road, meaning, all roads to the station lead through those inner lanes. Yes, those fascinating inner lanes that can be a maze. The lanes remind me a bit of Mombassa's old town. The odd large bungalow shares the neighbourhood with small huts (not the variety that you see in the slums) and some so-called modern buildings.

The lanes are cosmopolitan with the smell of meat and the sight of Islamic flags, being as common as the ringing of temple bells and the cross erected in many small paths to buildings. You see rich and poor here, some women in shorts and others in burkhas. The gutters are well-sealed yet, I wouldn't risk walking in these lanes in the monsoons. If only there was someone who would tell more about the history of that place!!

Beauty in a Burkha in Vakola

As the car I was sitting in negotiated traffic towards the Western Expressway Highway I saw her for what was less than 10 seconds. She was in a black burkha but did not cover her face. It would have been a tragedy if that gorgeous face, which points towards ancestry in Herat, Tabriz or Aleppo, was hidden from public view.

The young woman would not have been older than 25 and there was more than beauty in her face, more than grace. She had a story to tell. Was this a story of oppression? Was this a story of a young man seeking emancipation in a patriarchal society, using education as a tool to salvation? Did she voluntarily wear that burkha that probably hid a slender body? Was she forced to wear it to keep the eyes of strange men off her? Did he feel more secure in those clothes or did she wish she was like the hundreds of thousands of others in her age group in Bombay, who were shorts on a warm March afternoon? Was she religious? Was religion forced on her?

I don't think I will ever know the answers to any of those questions. All I do know is that she was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in this city.  The equatorial moon could just as well have fallen on earth and manifested itself into a woman.

Book Review: Blue of Noon by Georges Bataille

I confess!! Like Orhan Pamuk, a sense of morbidity helps me enjoy reports in the morning newspaper about murders and violence. Of course, the feeling isn't as strong now when I read about the murders in my own city, Bombay, as it was when I lived in Bangalore. In those "golden days." I would start my day reading the Deccan Herald, which would put all the violent news in the "cutest" way on Page 3. The reader would know the name of the felon, the motive and most importantly, where he hailed from.

Living in a place like Bombay, and Andheri in particular, one develops a thick-skin and an ability to see disgusting sites and tolerate them for long enough until they fade away from memory. Georges Bataille's 'Blue of Noon,' is a test of how much a serious reader can digest. No doubt, Bataille was a great writer and he really brought pre-World War 2 Europe to life with this book. We get excellent glimpses of Spain at the outbreak of the civil war and cities like Leningrad, London and Paris before the war. However, the protagonist, Troppman and his lovers do some of the most unimaginably disgusting things!

Besides wild orgies, bouts of morose and sadistic drunken behaviour, you have 2 necrophiles having sex in a graveyard. The disgusting thoughts of Troppman and his lovers can shock even those with the thickest of skin. This is a great work of nihilism and worth a read, if you have the stomach for it.

I won't quote from this book. Some things are better left for the reader to discover for himself/herself.  Although thoroughly disturbed by this book, I am glad that I read it, if not for anything else, for its wonderful citing of history.

My take on conscription in Russia

Vladimir Putin has remained non-committal on removing conscription, while his opponent Mikhail Prokhorov has gone to the extent of promising an end to compulsory military enrolment by 2015. This is obviously not an issue that has the power to win or lose an election, but each year, many young Russian men between the age of 18 and 27 dread the thought of serving in the armed forces and look for innovative ways to avoid the military.

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