Thums Up

It is quite common for a country or region to have a signature drink. Usually it is alcoholic in nature. A small sample from the world of beer would include Steinlager (New Zealand), Heineken (Netherlands), Guinness (Ireland), Corona (Mexico), Foster's (Australia), Medalla Light (Puerto Rico), and Budweiser (USA). The king of beers in India is Kingfisher. United Breweries, run by the enigmatic Vijay Mallya, has the lion's share of the Indian beer market and is the third largest producer of spirits worldwide. Although quite tasty, it is not the beverage that unites a people. This honour belongs to a carbonated soft drink: Thums Up.

After Coca Cola was forced to withdraw from India in the 1970's a homegrown cola rose to take its place. With no serious competition in the cola market, Thums Up ruled supreme. In the 1990's government hard restrictions on soft drinks were lifted, and Pepsi and Coca-Cola soon entered the market. Thums Up stood toe to toe against the massive marketing might of Pepsi Cola for a time, until Coke's entry made it a three way tango. The Indian owner of Thums Up eventually relented against this international onslaught and sold Thums Up to Coca-Cola.

Coca-Cola would ideally have liked its namesake drink to be the flagship product in its lineup. so it tried to marginalize Thums Up. Reducing its marketing budget and focusing its promotional efforts on Coke were not enough to eliminate the beverage. The nation's love affair with Thums Up was too strong. Deciding to build on its distinctiveness, Coca Cola repositioned Thums Up as a manlier alternative to Coke and Pepsi. As a drink that distinguishes men from boys, Thums Up was a constant source of refreshment during my journeys through India.

*****

Taste the Thunder!

Indian Weddings

Three of my Satyam colleagues invited me to their weddings. None were taking place in Hyderabad or Bangalore though, as they all hailed from different areas. Due to scheduling conflicts I was only able to attend one of the three weddings. The first one was in Murudeshwara, a city in Karnataka on the coast of the Arabian Sea that is famed for having the tallest statue of Shiva in the world. Another was in Thanjavur, an historic temple town in Tamil Nadu. The marriage that I was able to attend was in the district of Erode, also in Tamil Nadu.

No two Indian weddings are alike. They differ from state to state, from region to region, and from religion to religion. Whereas Western marriage ceremonies follow a relatively standardized formula, the rituals and ceremonies that take place in an Indian wedding vary dramatically in length, order, pomp and circumstance. In this particular wedding the reception was taking place on a Saturday evening, while the actual ceremony was scheduled for before dawn on Sunday.

After attending the wedding of a friend from Canada in Chennai, and then relaxing in Pondicherry for a few days, I caught a train to Erode. I arrived early in the morning and my coworker picked me up, put me up in a hotel, and introduced me to a few of his old friends. His friends subsequently proceeded to introduce me to the local brew. After lunch we fell into deep slumber and got ready just in time to make it to the reception. The bride and groom to be were sitting on a pedestal in the center of the marriage hall, and all the guests were coming over to congratulate them. There was not much song and dance.

Several other coworkers had also made the journey from Bangalore to attend the wedding, so once the ladies were finally prepared we rushed to catch the tail end of the early morning marriage. Afterwards, it was time to feast. With hundreds of guests, rows and rows of tables and chairs had been set up in a hall. Everyone was provided a banana leaf as their plate, and servers made the rounds placing different items onto the large leaves. No utensils were used, only hands and mouths. After I was finished eating I rolled up my plate and threw it away, leaving a very low ecological footprint with zero non-biodegradable waste generated. We bid farewell to Erode after a brief temple visit and took several buses back to Bangalore.

Origins of the Rosogolla

While at a Bengali cultural event, I mentioned to other attendees that the birthplace of the rosogolla (or rasagolla or rasgulla) was Orissa and not West Bengal, but nobody was impressed with my sweet talk. Rosogollas are sweet, plump, and juicy delights of non-female form. It is the favourite sweet or "mishti" of Bengalis and many other Indians. It is the state of West Bengal that is generally associated with this treat. During my days with Satyam, a coworker from Orissa informed me that in reality the rosogolla was created in his home state. I was shocked by his statement and proceeded to verify this information from secondary sources.

I checked the usually reliable centralized collection of mass knowledge known as Wikipedia. Sure enough, what was written there was in line with my colleague's comments: "The rasagolla was invented in the state of Orissa, where it has been a traditional sweet dish for centuries. The recipe for making rasagollas eventually spread from Orissa to neighbouring West Bengal. This was during the Bengal renaissance when Brahmin cooks from Orissa, especially from Puri, were routinely employed in richer Bengali households. They were famed for their culinary skills and commonly referred to as Ude Thakurs (Oriya brahmin-cooks). As a result, many Oriya delicacies got incorporated into the Bengali kitchen".

It goes on to explain that a man named Nobin Chandra Das of Bagbazar, Kolkata "modified the original recipe to extend the shelf life of the highly perishable sweet" and made it more marketable to the masses. Looking for further verification on the origins of the sweet, I checked Yahoo! Answers and the results were the same:
"By the time the recipe reached Nobin Das (which was either in 1868 or a few years earlier through another confectioner, Haradhan Moira), it was already a traditional item in Orissa - standard fare in the cities of Bhubaneswar and Cuttack, and of course in Puri."

Jayanta Mishra mentioned that "One can easily see how the popular misconception that Rasagulla originated in Bengal arose. It gained nationwide popularity only via Kolkata, with its better marketing infrastructure. Besides, one must not forget that when Rasagulla became popular, the state of Orissa was itself a part of the province of Bengal under the British". The only related article of interest yielded by Google Scholar was on the prevalence of coronary heart disease in Kolkata due to the eating habits and sedentary lifestyle of its inhabitants. For true lovers of the sweet delight, it does not matter who invented the rosogolla but that someone did.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

In India, I would frequent sidewalk stalls or more refined establishments for the purposes of trimming my hair. I would also get a shave at the barbershop, and occasionally indulge in a head massage or facial treatment. I would vigilantly note whether the barber used a new razor blade to minimize my chance of infection. In Canada, I must perform the barberly duties myself due to my comparatively low standard of living. My previous duties were limited to seating myself in front of the barber and being aware of safety issues. They have now multiplied to include the actual act of pogonotrophy itself and the ensuing cleanup.

After many hours of blood, sweat, and hairs, I have become somewhat of an expert at cultivating the ARNABeard and in preventing the reunification of the ARNABrow. I pay carefeul attention to the follicles on my face, but I sever all emotional attachment to them the moment they are no longer attached to my bodice. I often neglect the post-trim environmental maintenance which includes tasks such as washing and cleaning all the tools of the trade - the disposable razor for a quick shave, the electric razor for more advances styling, and the miniature sewing scissors for shaping. The gathering of the fur that has fallen to the ground like rain from the heavens is not a task I look forward to either. Some of the hair escapes my attention and makes their way into the pipe and sewage system of my home. On one occasion, all the pipes had become clogged and were in danger of exploding due to the vast deposits of my threadlike fibre. A professional plumber had to be called in during this time of crisis to handle the hairy situation.

Relieving the Past

There are very few pleasures that match the joy of freeing oneself of a burden under the open sky; of pulling a vehicle over and emptying the tank; of creating intricate patterns against a wall and initialing them; and of creating a personal waterfall for a moment in time.

"Every sweet has its sour; every evil its good." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

The happiness that is derived from performing this liberating act must be tempered with a sense of social responsibility and profound shame. My friend James once described the horror he felt when he accidentally witnessed someone "pinching a loaf" for the first time on a Bangalore sidewalk. The trauma of being an unwitting spectator to the deed can sometimes leave a lifelong scar. On instances when the public good or personal modesty must be taken into account, privacy is desired. The noble origins of the water closet can be traced to this requirement.

If washroom facilities are within easy reach, there is no cause for concern. When there is nothing as far as the eye can see or the nose can smell, that is when the urge to purge rises to the top of to-do list. Agonizingly cruel "TO/LET" signs advertising empty flats available for rent fill the vision of an emergency bathroom seeker, as he frantically looks for a public restroom. In Europe, the "pay-to-pee" concept is quite popular and most people do not mind putting down a few euros for the privilege. But in India, an "anywhere, anytime" mentality exists, primarily among the male segment of the populace. Pay-per-use bathroom compounds do exist in larger cities or near tourist attractions. Usually, an attendant will charge an entrance fee and be responsible for its upkeep. Sometimes, imitation guards man free public bathrooms and collect a few rupees from unsuspecting bathroom goers, but that is the least of their worries.

Majestic

During my days at Simon Fraser University, it was known for being a commuter campus. With a solitary location upon a mountain peak and a limited amount of on-campus housing available, students would make the trek to the campus just for their classes and immediately head home afterwards. In the same way, Bangalore is a commuter city with car, motorcycle, rickshaw, and bus loads of individuals being carted to and from work, followed by a mass exodus on weekends (in particular long ones) to the cities or towns that each calls home in Karnataka or the adjoining states of Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra and Goa. Most of these locations are within a 6 to 18 hour bus ride away from Bangalore.

On Friday evenings, a great many of these people will converge at the Majestic bus stand, which is conveniently located across the street from the Bangalore Central Railway Station. The whole area in fact bears the label "Majestic" for some unknown reason. Local lore says the name comes from the name of a nearby movie theatre, but this has not been verified. It is a well planned station with plenty of signage indicating where to wait for which bus. Amenities such as restaurants, cloak room, bathroom facilities, drinking water, phone booths, information counter, convenience store, and hair dresser are all available.

Officially named the Kempe Gowda Bus Station, the sprawling complex provides the hordes of travelers with many types of buses upon which to place themselves within or on top. Some buses have air conditioning (A/C), some have 1/2 A/C, some have windows that open, some do not have windows, some have A/C that is currently malfunctioning, and some make no mention whatsoever of A/C. Some buses accept advanced bookings, some sell tickets to passengers once they are aboard, and some sell the same seat twice using both methods. Most of the buses are operated by the state government sponsored KSRTC (Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation), and have "Majestic" names such as Airavat ("Elephant" - the carrier of the gods), Rajahamsa ("Royal Swan"), and Mayuri ("Peacock").

For longer rides, travelers may opt for sleeper buses where they can lie down and relax throughout the night. There are solo bunks available on most buses, but not always. Sleeper buses are not recommended for solo travelers who may have concerns about their mystery bedmate for the night. Once the sex of the traveler is verified by the operator of the bus, he or she is assigned a bed buddy of the same gender, which increases the likelihood of an unpleasant, though never unremarkable, journey.

The Taj Mahal

While in Delhi, fellow traveler Stein and I had booked train tickets for a journey to Amritsar in a couple of days. With a day in hand, we decided to go to Agra, home to the Taj Mahal. We joined an organized tour but only used it for the transportation portion of the trip. At sites of interest, we would wander around on our own before meeting up with the rest of the tour group at predetermined times. Sikandra, the final resting place of Emperor Akbar, was our first stop. Magnificently manicured gardens surrounded an elegant but understated tomb made primarily out of red sandstone, providing a preview of what to expect from the Taj Mahal but without the same levels of exquisite workmanship or opulence.

Due to the damaging effects of pollution on the Taj's white marble surface only environmentally safe vehicles are allowed in its immediate vicinity. We took an eco-friendly bus to the gates of the monument to love. It was now time for the physical convergence of two of the world's most magnificent creations on the banks of the Yumana river. This rare event occurred when I entered the Taj Mahal complex. The sun reflected of the marble exterior of the Taj Mahal, the gentle breeze brought temporary relief from the sweltering heat, and the tourists busily snapped photographs as my silhouette was framed by the arch at the entrance to one of the New Seven Wonders. Emperor Shah Jahan commissioned the erection of the legendary mausoleum for his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal. As with all matters related to love, the Taj Mahal is something to be experienced, not described.


Entry to the Taj is based on a two tiered system with differing admission prices. If you appear to originate from the Indian subcontinent you pay one price and if you appear to come from elsewhere you pay a price approximately twenty times higher. The rationale behind the higher price is that it will either restrict the number of pollution inducing tourists who come to visit or provide funding for the upkeep of the site. On the bright side, people who look like foreigners are provided with a small plastic container of bottled water to quench their thirst and cute booties to protect their feet.

After a late lunch and a demonstration by local craftsmen of their marble inlaying skills, we went to the Agra Fort. A family had gathered together to pose for a picture in one of the fort's many courtyards. Stein was standing near them. The family member taking the picture was gesturing towards him. Stein's pasty complexion made him a novelty for Indians who wanted him to appear in their photographs, so he moved closer to the family. The man motioned again, but this time waving to Stein in the other direction. Stein had made an incorrect assumption and was not welcome in this family photograph. One of the merchants who hawk goods to unsuspecting visitors in front of tourist attractions offered to sell us a whip. Excited at the possibilities, we negotiated the price down to something that seemed reasonable and decided to purchase it if it was still available once we exited the fort. Unfortunately we were beaten to the punch and never got our hands on it.

****

Rabindranath Tagore: Let the splendor of the diamond, pearl and ruby vanish like the magic shimmer of the rainbow. Only let this one teardrop, the Taj Mahal, glisten spotlessly bright on the cheek of time...

Delhi

The expiry of my contract with Satyam coincided with the last day of work for my roommate Stein. After wrapping up our professional obligations we decided to meet up in New Delhi, the capital city of India. From here we would embark on a great North Indian trip spanning multiple states and modes of transportation.

Stints in Delhi would bookend our trip. Soon after our arrival we visited Rashtrapati Bhavan, the presidential palace, and the other Parliament buildings of the largest democracy in the world. We then drove down the majestically broad thouroughfare of the Raj Path to India Gate, a memorial to soldiers.

Of India's major cities, Delhi has the highest number of historical sites to visit. The Qutab Minar complex houses the tallest brick minaret in the world. The Lotus Temple, a Bahá'í House of Worship, is a fairly modern architectural marvel with its petal shaped design. Completed in 1986, it bears some resemblance to the Sydney Opera House.

Along the banks of the dried up river Yamuna in Old Delhi, lies the Red Fort or Lal Qila. Constructed by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan in the 1600's, it is still in spectacular condition. Protected by a 2.5 km long wall, many of the marble buildings inside are off limits to the public. The Diwan-i-Am is the imperial courtyard where the emperor honoured the public with his royal presence. It is also the former location of the fabled Peacock Throne, which has an estimated value of $1 billion USD were it still to be in existence today. It was not long before stomachs began to rumble under the midday sun. A cycle rickshaw through crowded back alleys led us to Karims, a meat lover's delight. We savoured a meal of kebabs and biryani at this famed restaurant before continuing on to the Jamma Masjid. India's largest mosque boasts a courtyard that can hold 25,000 worshipers at the same time.

Delhi's shopping scene also offers great variety. From the shining new malls of Noida to the heritage circles of Connaught Place, there is something for everyone. At Connaught Place, or CP for short, we reunited with the final third of High Street's trio of roommates - Joe. My shoelaces were untied, so Joe kindly tied them up. He had also been journeying across India and we shared a hearty meal before we went our separate ways. Stein and I also visited the upscale Khan market and the seedy Palika Bazaar, an underground market where my European companion was swarmed by merchants eager to sell him dirty videos and magazines.

Sightseeing and shopping completed, two activities remained before Stein had to fly off to his homeland. When he had visited Mumbai, Stein had dubbed several scenes for singer Himesh Reshammiya's debut film Aap Kaa Suroor. We went to the movie theatre to see, or rather hear, him in action. The last item on our itinerary was a visit to Asia's top restaurant - Bukhara. Offering fine cuisine from India's northern frontiers but no cutlery, the food was immensely tasty.

Rameswaram

I took a 3 hour bus ride to Rameswaram from Madurai. Rameswaram is a town located on an island off the coast of the tip of mainland India. Sri Lanka is visible in the distance. It is here that the hero of the epic Ramayana is said to have built a bridge to the island nation to retrieve his lovely wife Sita from the clutches of her captor Ravana. It is not hard to imagine, as a clearly visibly chain of odd looking undersea rocks head towards Sri Lanka. This is known as Rama Setu or Adam's Bridge, and it can be seen through the turquoise water. Rameswaram is accessible by land from India by another magnificent bridge - the 2.3 km long Pamban Bridge.


The ghost town of Dhanushkodi consists of deserted and decaying buildings, the surviving remnants of a devastating cyclone. Simultaneously surreal and beautiful, it can be reached by catching a ride on a mini-bus full of stinky fish(ermen). The other highlight of Rameswaram is the Ramanathaswamy Temple. Here I was drenched with water from 23 sacred wells, each containing water from a different sacred river. I drank from each well to ensure they had distinct tastes.

Madurai

Although most of my trips were in groups or pairs, there were a few solo trips. These are enjoyable in a different way, as the solo traveler has unlimited freedom to spend as much or as little time as they want at any particular site of interest. He has to be responsible only for his own safety and well being, without having to worry about fellow companions. A trip to the temple towns of Madurai and Rameswaram in the state of Tamil Nadu provided one such opportunity for personal exploration.


Following a reasonably comfortable overnight bus journey from Bangalore, I arrived in Madurai early in the morning. After securing a room in a hotel with a rooftop restaurant that offered a view of Maduria's crown spectacle - the Meenakshi Temple - I headed for the landmark itself. Once inside the temple I wandered around before relaxing by the pool at the centre. I narrowly avoiding being crushed by one of the elephants that bless devotees, before walking around the outside of the temple to view its many intricately decorated gopurams (towers).


I continued on to the Thirumalai Nayak Palace, which was built in the 1600's with the help of an Italian architect. An amalgam of Indian and European architectural styles, I walked into a movie shooting upon arrival with dozens of colourful dancers moving around in unison amongst drapes hanging from the ceilings. Several other onlookers and I were quickly ushered away by the local authorities so that we would not appear in the movie as unpaid extras. Later I found out that movies such as Bombay and Guru had scenes filmed here also.

Madurai is also the place where Mahatma Gandhi first donned his famous loincloth, A comprehensive museum traces his life and the history of India from the its time under British rule to its freedom. Several of Gandhi's personal belongings are also on display as well and an adjacent library houses copies of his many letters and other writings. Several other temple visits, monkey encounters, and a rooftop meal rounded out the day.

The Measure of a Man: Waist to Hip Ratio

The Waist to Hip ratio, or WHR for short, is a useful metric for quickly sizing up the overall health, fertility, and desirability of an individual. Calculated by taking the circumference of the waist and dividing it by the circumference of the hips, this heuristic cuts through boundaries of time and culture. Whether a society prefers a full figure or a waif-like one, the desired ratio still remains the same - 0.7 for women and 0.9 for men. Surveys in many different countries have trended towards this 0.7 value. Research has shown that there is a link between a mother's WHR and the cognitive abilities of her child, making it an useful metric for ARNABride candidates. The hourglass figure and the vital statistics of 36-24-36 all allude to this magic number that acts as a rule of thumb for calculating the fecundity of a female.

A gentlemen must also pay attention to his WHR. The WHR gives an idea about the distribution of fat around the abdominal area. Belly fat is a key indicator of chronic health problems such as heart disease and diabetes. While measuring myself for a custom tailored shirt, I had collected all the values required to calculate my WHR. A regular in annual IT industry publications lists of sexiest software engineers, when I first returned from India I had the ideal male proportions of 0.9. Since starting my new job, my metabolism has been unable to keep pace with my enviable work ethic and my WHR has slipped into the 98th percentile. In the past corsets were used to artificially alter a person's WHR, but I find this to be an unappealing remedy.

Mysore to Ooty

Soon after my narrow escape from the clutches of death, my parents decided to drop by to see me. As the elderly are not as suited to handle the rigours of independent travel as our rugged protagonist, I arranged for an organized tour to the capital of the erstwhile kingdom of Mysore and to the scenic hill station of Ooty. I avoid these tours as they usually spend more time parked outside of restaurants and stores that paid them for their visitation rather than at actual sites of interest. Before arriving at Mysore, the tour bus we were on pulled into Srirangapatna, the stronghold of the legendary ruler of the kingdom - Tipu Sultan. A temple and ruins of the fortifications were all that remained.

About 140 km away from the hubbub of Bangalore, Mysore is a much more relaxed city with no tall buildings blocking the sunlight and little traffic. The roads are wide and the buildings majestic, especially when lit up at night to recreate its former glory days. Mysore is located at the base of the Chamundi Hills, which has a few temples located at the peak. I was equally shocked to see the gigantic statue of the demon Mahishasura atop Chamundi Hills and the many bottles littering this officially designated "plastic-free" zone. Undoubtedly, what makes Mysore's a must visit is the magnificent Mysore Palace. Completed in the early 1900's by Wodeyar kings, the palace combines many architectural styles seamlessly and is guarded by stone leopards at its gates. Satyam's bitter rival Infosys has a pineapple shaped training centre in Mysore that can house over 4000 employees at a time. It is the world's largest corporate training facility. As Bangalore becomes even more saturated, the IT industry will continue to expand into Mysore, whose relaxed atmosphere now reminds many people of what Bangalore was like 20 years ago. Another highlight was the Brindavan Gardens, situated beside a dam and decorated with dancing fountains and tourists.

A winding trip through some crusty roads, a border crossing between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, some sari shopping, eating of vegetarian food, and an encounter with wildlife at Bandipur National Park occurred in quick succession. Before we knew it, we were some 7500 ft above sea level in Ootacamund, or Ooty for short. Aside from some spectacular views of the lands below, the 'Queen of Hill Stations' offers a cool climate to escape from the summer heat, relaxing walks in the botanical garden, and boat trips on the lake.

The other members of the tour were mainly newlywed couples of different shapes and sizes. About half of them were lost in Mysore, so our tour bus shrank in size into a much smaller one. My head brushed the thoughtfully carpeted rooftop even after I bent down. We were running behind schedule on the return journey. When we had retraced our steps to Mysore almost everyone in the city had fallen asleep and only one eatery was open. Idlis and dosas were eaten. The delay propagated through to our arrival in Bangalore, which was delayed from late night to somewhere around 4 am in the morning. The bus pulled over beside a gas station on the outskirts of Bangalore and an awkward hour was spent in silence on the bus, before it proceeded further into the city as dawn arrived. The passengers were then released into the arms of eager auto rickshaw drivers waiting to take them away.

Bangalore Riots: Aftermath

A narrow escape from death affects even the most stoic of men. Amid the chaos and rubble, I emerged unscathed save some cuts and bruises, but not everyone was as lucky. One child was killed and many others were injured. Store windows were left shattered and auto rickshaws were set ablaze. Curfew was enforced for the next several days and groups of people were not allowed to congregate or loiter around the streets together after 7pm. Lathi charges were carried out by the police. During this exercise, officers systematically proceed throughout many city blocks applying batons to buttocks to enforce law and order. A sense of unease permeated every crevice of the city, with tensions high and nerves on edge. It took more than a few days until life was back to normal. After examining my wounds my colleagues expressed deep sympathy for my ordeal. None of them had met with the same misfortune as I and were impressed at my survival skills. Later on they would chuckle at my narrow escape from a well deserved thrashing, but their immediate concern was touching.

Weeks later, tensions were again running high. This time the battleground was not religion, but the ownership of the water emanating from a river - the Cauvery - that spanned several neighbouring states. A Supreme Court decision was pending on who would get access to how much water, and regardless of the outcome many would be left unhappy with the decision. I was sent home early from work and told to remain inside so that the disgruntled masses would not get another chance to make mincemeat out of me. A statewide work stoppage (a bandh) was scheduled in advance for an upcoming Monday. With sufficient warning I was able to orchestrate my escape from Bangalore and spent the long weekend relaxing in my stronghold of Hyderabad.

The Measure of A Man: Custom Tailored Shirts

In India due to the low cost of labour, it is usually more affordable to have custom tailored clothing made by the in house tailor at a brand name store as compared to buying the pre-made goods available there. I planned on revamping my wardrobe with only custom tailored clothing fitting my drool worthy physique, but time constrains allowed me to only commission two dress shirts. Having identified the most prominent tailoring franchises in the country, Raymonds and Reid & Taylor, I had ordered one shirt from each as a test of their capabilities. Based on the quality of the finished product, adherence to instructions, price, service, and variety of fabrics available, Reid & Taylor was declared my favourite.

Within days, a shirt designed to meet my individual needs was stitched together. If the material available at the store was not to my liking I could bring in my own fabric. Then the tailor would be summoned to take my measurements. It is wise to know the amount of material required and all the aspects of the body that need to be measured for a complete form fitting dress shirt to be made. Raymonds custom tailoring resulted in the delivery of a short sleeved shirt when I had assumed a long sleeved one would be created. The total cost of manufacturing the shirt would equal the sum of the fabric cost and the tailor's fee. A receipt would be issued along with a note stating the expected completion date of the shirt.

What to Measure:

1. Neck - the circumference around the entire neck from the base where neck and shoulders meet and around the Adam's apple
2. Shoulders - turn around and measure from one shoulder edge to the other shoulder edge tracing the slope of the shoulders
3. Chest - the circumference around the largest part of the chest
4. Waist - the circumference around the largest part of the waist
5. Hip - the circumference around largest part of the hip including the bum at its peak
6. Shirt - the top of the shirt at the collar seam to the desired level at the bottom, recommended: trouser crotch level
7. Sleeve - from the shoulder edge to the hand at the desired level, recommended: where thumb and fourth finger join to make a 'V'
8. Wrist - the circumference around largest part of the wrist around the bony bump

Recommended Tools:

• Measuring tape
• Assistant

Calicut and Coimbatore

The Indian calendar reflects the richness and variety of the culture appropriately. Festive holidays are sprinkled throughout the year at regular intervals. Whenever one of these holidays came along, I pounced upon them as an opportunity to see more of the country. Everyone usually hurried of to their home towns during these dates, with most of Bangalore at a train or bus station on a Friday night of a long weekend. It was very difficult to find tickets for travel to the large cities or main tourist attractions during these times if I had not planned two or three months in advance. Thus, I would have to go off the beaten path to places such as Calicut and Coimbatore.

An intense 45 minute long flight from Bangalore to Calicut on a small aircraft that carried 40 souls on board was all it took before I was back in "God's Own Country" - Kerala. Calicut's airport was located on rocky highlands a distance away from the actual city which lined a
sandy coastal belt. Outside the airport there were only taxis waiting, so I loitered around until my favourite mode of motorized transport made itself present. After depositing a family of nine at the terminal, an auto rickshaw pulled a quick U-turn and was about to exit the airfield when the driver spotted me. The 19 year old at the wheel of the rickshaw, Kabir, was an amiable fellow. He did not speak English or Bengali, and I did not speak Malaylam or Hindi, but we were still able to communicate somehow.

Once we reached the city I instructed him to take me to a beach front hotel. Unfortunately, it was already fully booked. At each successive property on Calicut's Marine Drive I was rebuffed. Apart from the long weekend crowds there was also a conference being held, so rooms were hard to come by. I was then referred to the finest hotel in town, the Malabar Palace. Although not by the beach, it was centrally located and near the rail station so I decided to stay. After dropping off my travel bag there, Kabir took me back to the beach. We agreed to meet early the next morning, so that he could take me to all the sights in and around Calicut. The rest of day was spent meandering on the beach and soaking up the sun in the gentle company of several Calicuties. The Malabar Festival was in full swing, with many revelers on the beach enjoying the carnival atmosphere late into the night.

When I made my way to the lobby the next morning, Kabir was already there waiting for me. We headed for Beypore, a town 10km south of Calicut. Known for its wooden ships, I visited the port and the ship building yards. There I rented out a motor boat and was given a high speed tour of the port and its surroundings before heading out into the open ocean. After the conclusion of the nautical expedition, we passed through Calicut again, halting shortly at the aquarium, before continuing on to Kappad to the north. The gateway to the Malabar coast, Kappad Beach was the site where Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama landed when he stumbled upon India in search of unimaginable riches and untasted spices. I spent a few hours at the unspoilt beach before being dropped back at the hotel and saying farewell to my local guide.

Calicut to Coimbatore is a short distance with a travel time of only 4 hours by train between them. After my hotel graciously allowed me to stay a couple of hours past my midnight checkout time, I headed to the Calicut train station and caught a sleepy 2:30 am train to Coimbatore. The "Manchester of South India", Coimbatore is a textile town and does not have any must see attractions for a traveler to visit, so I just relaxed and observed daily life in Tamil Nadu's second largest city. I walked around the marketplaces of Kovai, ate a hearty and very spicy meal at a popular eatery, and enjoyed some pongalicious sweets from some Coimbatories before heading back to Bangalore.

Auto Rickshaws

My primary mode of transportation for intracity travel was the venerable auto rickshaw. Predominantly sporting an yellow and black paint job, these vehicles occupy an unique niche between private vehicles and public transportation. The peculiar shape and sturdy frame allows for it to navigate through dense traffic and diverse terrain without a care in the world. Auto rickshaw drivers are an interesting lot. Their driving skills are usually exceptional, allowing them to maneuver their three-wheeled vehicles through the most treacherous of road conditions. Their business ethics however, are suspect.

Officially only two ways to obtain a fare should be available – prepaid according to some standardized distance chart or according to the untampered meter which is to start running at the precise moment that the journey commences. In reality, it comes down to negotiating a price somewhere above what the actual rate should be. According to them, wherever you are going is either too far or too near, so you have to pay extra for the added effort or sacrifice.



Your destination will also be deserted even if it is the heart of a city with over 5 million people in it. They will have to drive back empty exactly to the point where you were picked up, so that means double the fare on the meter should be paid. If you want to accompany them on this return journey though, the fare again doubles. If it rains (August – November) or gets dark (after 6pm), 1.5 times the meter should be paid due to the personal anguish and physical stress placed upon them during these difficult times. If there is a traffic jam that means they will have to wait idly by without making much headway towards your destination. This will cause them to lose potential customers, so additional financial incentive should be provided.

Only 3 passengers and a driver are allowed by law unless extra moneys are provided. No change will be carried by the rickshaw driver at any time of the day or night, so the fare must be rounded up. Vehicles should only be refueled once a passenger is on board and not during the times when no passenger is present. Tea/coffee/toilet breaks and visits to shops/homes are permissible, but only for the driver. The meter may quite frequently be broken, too slow/fast, completely missing, or a figment of your imagination, so the charge will be greater.

Bangalore Burns, Arnab Bleeds

"What are you waiting for?! Run!!!"

I was reeled back into reality from a dreamlike state by my roommate Shyam's screams. Looking around, I saw everyone hurriedly clearing out of the small restaurant I was in. Panic was in the air. Everyone was rushing to the back of the dining room, into the kitchen, and out through the rear exit. I quickly followed them outside into the back yard, which was enclosed on the left and right by neighbouring buildings and by a 8 ft high wall at the back. A "Where's Arnab?" query came from a familiar voice just as I saw Shyam's body disappear over the top of the wall. Several more people followed him over before I too pulled myself to the top of the ledge, using cracks in the wall as leverage to power myself up. I discovered that the distance from the top of the wall to the bottom was almost double that of what I had just climbed on the other side. The descent was not even mildly pleasurable, although it did create a healthy distance between myself and my pursuers. I slid downwards along the face of the wall before letting go and landing on the ground beneath. A sprint through deserted back alleys and over some rail lines would lead us back to the safety of our flat.

Moments ago, a man with a motorcycle had come in through the front entrance of the Fraser Town eatery I had been dining in, warning everyone that an angry mob was fast approaching and to get out as soon as possible. The front shutters were pulled down as sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps, threatening shouts, thrown rocks, and heavy pounding were heard on the outside. At this critical juncture in time I had put down the food I was eating, stood up, paused, heard Shyam yelling, saw people fleeing, and joined them in beating a hasty retreat.

Once I had caught my breath, I checked to see if my comrades were alright and then examined my wounds. I had scraped my arms when I had grazed the wall, with the area between my arms and elbows bleeding from several lacerations. My skin, a surface so far left unblemished by the actions of man now bore the scars of communal violence, but the injuries were mainly superficial. Questions still remained to be answered though. ARNABlood had been shed tonight, but for what and by whom?

4 High Street

Now a popular tourist attraction, during my days in Bangalore I lived at 4 High Street in an area called Cooke Town. The maroon coloured apartment complex was protected by a pair of vigilant security guards who were capable of being present at any time of the day or night. For an additional fee they would also wash the vehicles of the other tenants of the complex. On the second floor on the third story (as ground floor is zero) of the building was my flat. There was a large lobby with sofa and TV, a balcony, a kitchen, and 3 bedrooms. Two of the bedrooms held 3 paying guests each, while the more expensive bedroom had two occupants. Each bedroom contained an attached bathroom, TV, beds, and cabinets. There was also a washing machine, ironing board, malfunctioning water filter, and maid for all of us to share. I was in one of the three person rooms. The rooms were sparsely decorated save for a sign taped to the wall warning us of all that we could not do.

Over the 8 months that I lived there I met an interesting cast of characters. At any one time the flat could accommodate 8 paying guests. The average period of stay per person was a couple of months, so a great many guests rotated through High Street during my stay. By the time I left I was third in seniority. Unsurprisingly, most of my flatmates were Indians, with 10-12 whom I spent time with and around 5-7 souls who did not interact with anyone not related to them or working with them. They came from many different states - Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Maharashtra, Delhi, West Bengal, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Jharkhand, and Punjab. The rest of my flatmates were either Dutch (4), Mexican (1), Brazilian (1), British (1), or French (1). There were dentists, lawyers, interns, and software engineers. There were Christians, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, Muslims, and some who did not believe in anything one way or another. Some were married, some had girlfriends, some were engaged, some were not interested, some were searching vigorously, and some were hoping for a miracle. Some were extras in Bollywood films or contestants on Indian Idol. Some were friends, some were acquaintances, some were strangers, but all were my flatmates.

Haleem

Apart from its signature dish biryani, the other Hyderabadi delicacy that I experienced was haleem. This thick and succulent concoction is widely available during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. The meat and wheat treat is available everywhere from upscale restaurants to the local mosque at this time of the year. ARNABride candidates are free to practice cooking haleem at home, with the aid of this recipe provided by NDTVCooks:

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Haleem
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Ingredients:
250 gm mutton/lamb
1 cup wheat-soaked overnight, drained, pounded & husked
1 tsp chili powder 1/2 tsp turmeric 1 tbsp channa dal- soaked for 1/2 hour
1 tbsp moong dal-soaked for 1/2 hour
1 tbsp masoor dal-soaked for 1/2 hour
1 tsp coriander powder
2 onions-sliced and fried crisp
4 tbsp ghee
2 tsp ginger-garlic paste
salt to taste

Method:
Take a heavy-bottomed vessel and heat 8 cups of water in it. When the
water starts boiling put in the drained dal, wheat and mutton along with
the ginger garlic paste, coriander powder, turmeric, red chili powder and
salt.

Cook over slow fire till the mutton is tender then mash the mutton.

To this mixture add the crushed fried onion. Heat the ghee and pour it
over the Haleem.

Sprinkle lemon-juice before serving - serve hot.

Bengaluru Tigers

Waking up to see the sun shining through our curtains on a Sunday afternoon, two of my flatmates and I decided to go on a road trip to Bannerghata National Park. After heading to the Ulsoor Lake swimming pool and picking up a bald headed Belgian, we set off on the one hour drive to our destination. On Bannerghata Road we passed by two prominent local institutions - the Indian Institute of Management (IIM-B) and the Forum Shopping Mall - one for study and one for play. After taking a wrong turn we consulted the locals and were given directions to our destination. When we arrived at the 25,000 acre zoological park the crowds at the entrance were already large. Most were waiting to board the buses that would take them inside the popular lion and tiger enclosures.

Busy trying to identify potential ARNABombshells in the crowd, time flew by for the four of us and before we knew it our foray into the wild had begun. We boarded the bus and sat in any available seats we could find as the safari began. The Bengaluru Tiger came face to face with his counterpart in the animal kingdom. A Bengal tiger blocked the path in front, pausing momentarily to allow everyone to take a few snapshots, before slowly circling around us. The bus had metal grates across the windows for protection from the magnificent creature, so fear could give way to admiration. The same could be said for the tiger outside, with its muscular orange and black form and regal carriage. Several other tigers also appeared as our journey progressed. The lions we encountered were not as forthcoming, preferring to laze in water holes and not approach the bus as closely as the tigers had. They were also very thin and appeared to be chronically undernourished. There had been reports in the media of misappropriation of funds earmarked towards the welfare of the animals in Bannerghata. Rumour had it that some of the park staff had been taking home the tender and juicy strips of meat meant to feed the lions and having a nice feast at home with the family instead.

The park also contained a zoo within it complete with reptile park and aviary. Soon after we entered though closing time was upon us. Friendly park officials encouraged us to get out. We complied, but not before catching a glimpse of feeding time. Large snakes were given live rabbits for dinner while the smaller ones were busy swallowing rodents. It was an engrossing experience where the line between man and nature was as thin as it could be in a controlled environment.