ideas digitized

Chicago - An invasion of Stimuli

Dear Chicago,

Planning to travel to America has always been a headache for me. The customs, the procedures, oh so many! I have visited quite some countries in my life and none had the drab dull dragging problems while getting a visa. Yet, you did, America. You annoy me. But, I got through and gotcha!

When I stepped into the O'Hare, the overwhelming crowd took my excitement and sent it falling into the abyss. Spending a whole year in soft quiet Enschede, I was allergic to crowds. Well, I persisted.

After finally settling down, hours later, I calmed down, waiting for the excitement to take over. T minus 10, T minus 9 .... and then it creeped in. You are massive Chicago. You blew me with your stupendous spires scraping the sky. Huge, Monumental buildings standing upright like tall toothpicks around ants crawling by. Clouds made way for your monumental pegs looking down on the people running to work.

After all, I have been at one of the tallest buildings in Enschede. Supermarkets in Chicago are taller than those poor creatures back home. I suffered from a neckache a few days later.

But, let me first address your love affair, before the touristy things I did. Sugar!!! Oh Amrika, Why do you need so many Dunkin' Donuts? Oh, the tooth decaying sweetness!!!! It draws you in, with its soft sweet spongy bready fragrance and then a bite into its sinful sugary-ness makes you regret buying three donuts!!!! How much sugar do you guys love? Its incredible.

But, I love your food scene otherwise. Hotdogs without ketchup or as you call it; Chicago Dogs! Kudos! And Deep dish pizzas, boy oh boy! And foodies, please check out Dimo's Pizza near the Wringley Field. Fried Chicken toppings for pizza is the best love story I have heard. Period.

There were also moments that made me emotional. Places where I clutched to my seat and did not want to leave. Like a kid. It moved me so much, that a lump in my throat, sat comfortably, as if it owned the place. An Immovable, unseen emotional lump. The TimeLine Theatre's play 'Chimerica'. A couple of people were surprised I picked this play. They did not expect a random tourist to walk in. Well, I was glad I did.

I have loved plays but hadn't been exposed to many. 'Chimerica' was a fictional drama based on the 'Tank Man' photograph. History through entertainment had always plugged my attention. This one, used beautiful contrasts between Chinese and American politics and how they trampled on the little bugs we all are. A splendid portrayal of innocent love amidst blood and rage, made me a tad teary. I walked home, clutching to the sensitive part of me.

An evening later, I caught up with 'Spongebob - The Musical'. This theatre was everything 'Chimerica' was not. The Musical, a grand gesture, was a marriage between an Indian wedding and a Hollywood's massive wonder. I was stunned. Although I could see my soul retching at the juvenile comedy being made and the audience's response to it, I was too awed to care. It was but a slick sweet spectacle. There were actors rollerskating, flying with jet packs, huge contraptions on either side of the stage, beautiful light effects, stage props, and so much creative blood oozing from everyone on and off the stage. It was a spectacle to behold.

And I found love in your bookstores, Chicago. Man, you guys know how to make love to books. Three book heavens I stepped in - Chicago Public Library, Unabridged Bookstore and Myopic. Thrice, I was blown. Especially you Unabridged. You know what true love is. What true bookworms look like. I am in love with you. If I could make a horcrux, I would place a piece of me in you.

For people like me, with shallow wallets, I found the perfect tourist guide 'Free Tours by Foot'. Tourists, behold. This is the best offer you could get in a city. A walking tour that is free of cost. I signed up for three of them. 'Chicago Gangster and Blues Tour', 'Chicago Ghost Tour' and 'Chicago Riverwalk'. Yes, there was also a 'Chicago Movie tour', where they talk about 'The Dark Knight'. I missed it :( Boo Hoo!

A great story needs a Great story teller. These people were bleeding out brilliant stories well worked into the walking plan. It was a well planned drama, where we were led like sheep across your beautiful streets while being told chilling tales about lives lost or talents discovered. Three thumbs up for their perfect choreography of the walking tour. I felt like a kid on a school trip.

One of the evenings, I also visited the Kingston' Mines! A beautiful blues bar, with two stages. One played Chicago Blues and the other Delta Blues. This was recommended by the guide from the walking tour. And this was where the legends who invented Blues used to perform. There was a certain flow of mellow beauty in the halls. An intricate stage where you watch the artists conversing with the music, oh so deeply. However, the acoustics were so loud, four more seconds, and my ear drums would have given up. But, that did not shy the hair on my hands and neck from standing up. And yaayy! Free entry on a student ID.

Well that was most of it Chicago. Yes of course, I spent 5 hours at the Art Institute, but its yet another museum. Nothing much to drool about.

The week was fun, with lectures in the mornings. But you weren't here to read about that. (Cue tongue out smiley) Packing in my evenings with travel and scraping the soul out of my metro pass, I guess I was the perfect 'tourist' my purse strings could allow me to be.

And then, I was home. And life moves on. Thank you for hosting me, Chicago.

Yours lovingly,

Irfan

To Chimerica, Hot dogs and Snazzy bookstores!

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, by IrfanRefai

Are you Leaving?

Academic writing sounds socialistic. Being told what to write so that everyone is just like you. You are told that you are free to choose, but only from items in the basket they provide. Ugly words like ‘models’, ‘quantitative’, ‘results’, ‘literature’ and ‘conclude’ build up a rigid house in my head. A restaurant that doesn’t innovate. An artist that doesn’t create. A repeating rhythm. A reappearing demon. But such is conformity to standards. To expectations. Are we all stock pieces? Factory built to be later customized. Customized, yet restrictively.

I soaked in words. I waddled in it and let it marinate within. Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Reza Aslan, Dan Brown and Rowling. They put a ladder in front of me and told me, ‘Climb! Dream! My youngling!’ And I did. Budding, imbibing inspirations from them.

I went on, like a rolling stone. Gathering moss. Like a snow ball, gathering mass. I went on, like a bird with wings long and boundaries none. I love to flitter in the wind, with words, with text, with rhyme, with sounds.

I am a machine, I would like to imagine, if not too humble. Churning words. Churning thoughts, dreams, emotions and fire. Slowly growing, fed by the fodder of novels, fiction and non.

Then they came. Marching. With signs on their arms. Rigid. They had STRUCTURE! Oh Lord! Conformity they called themselves. Conform! Confound!

They had rules; they had grammar. They had opinions, pre formulated.

I stood by, watching them take over my house. My beautiful home. Etched in alliterations. Draped in metaphors. Sprinkled with a little form.

But they put things at ‘it’s’ place. That’s what they said. They told me, you are not doing this now. You should learn to love another. Another?

‘Yes. Another!’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because they won’t understand what you write! They don’t want to know what you feel! They want you to be plain! Respect the Data!’

‘Data! Oh Lord. What’s this now? I want my words, not data.’

‘But this is what you chose now. Imbibe. Soak. Transpire. You be creative. If that’s what you want. But choose from the words in this basket!’

‘Why??’

‘Because people should know what you are telling them!’

‘Why can’t they just feel? Why can’t they think for themselves? Where is the soul here? Why is it so mechanical? Why can’t my friends jump into the text as they please?’

‘This is how it is!’

I shuddered but chose to accept. Because this was my doing.

My words crawled up to me. Dragging their robe, robe that left sparkles on the conformed floor. They pulled with them a bag of words that I was deemed too high to use. They held my hem. Trying one last time to see if they could sway me.

I looked at them in their big deep dark eyes. My wet eyes struggle to hold a flood. The words sniff, know the onset of impending doom and remove its greasy yet sweet fingers off my hem and leave.

I sit and watch. My world was being turned upside down as I speak. Conformity was re arranging my home, my insides. My words were trudging with despair and walking out the door and onto the street.

I couldn’t hold it any longer. I ran up to them and stopped them. They turned back and looked with hopeful eyes. Eager to expect that I would let them back in. I hesitated. I turned back and saw a completely different house. Conformed. I saw that it was completely strange. It was polished. It was gleaming. But inside it, it was structured! STRUCTURED! So that others would understand me.

I looked back at my words. And whispered to them, ‘Go now my children. Wait for me. For every night I will sneak out to search for you. My affair with you is everlasting. Conformance is only momentary. I live and breathe for you. You survive me and I will come back for you. Our parting may be short, but not without secret rendezvous.’

And then I head back into my new house. My new abode, changing my self and my heading. This too shall pass. Wont it?

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, by IrfanRefai

Press Start to Begin

Games are simple. Their goals are defined. And you know how you would end up eventually. Mostly not dead.

I wish life was too. Life, world etc has already been compared to games and plays. There is truth in those statements.

We are each born into a culture. With prefixed perceptions and ideals. We are taught that the ideals that you are born into is always valid. Logically valid, but sound? As we grow older, we either add more ideals into our treasure trove or slowly shed the burden, one by one. And at every moment, the world is re-painted with a misty tint. You cannot view the story in different shoes or change the protagonist as in a game. There is only one shoe and you are standing in it.

Life comes with principles just as Games come with upgrades and Level-Ups. With each upgrade, you are open to several new options in the game. For example, a health upgrade usually lets you stay alive for longer, a weapons upgrade allows you to hold more weapons.

But life, not so. With each principle that you hold, your views, options are restricted. Being a vegetarian, you lose the option of having meat. Moreover, being a vegan, your options are further limited to a non lactose diet. Being a non vegetarian and a Muslim, pork/alcohol becomes a huge no-no. But these are that which defines us as a character in the game.

Is it a boon or a bane?

Well, it depends. For, principles stand on the verge of our consciousness. A threadbare string of knowing. Unlike a game, a principle can be changed at any moment. You do not need to reach a set target or collect a certain number of gems for that case.

Once you achieve the required number of trophies and collectibles, you end the game as an average player. For you to be an excellent player, it requires you to add extra hours into the game, collecting hidden trophies and finding Easter eggs. Do that, and you can boast as a star player among your friends.

But then, what does it take to be a good person?

--
To the Ups and Downs in life.

1Comments

, by IrfanRefai

Decoding Weather

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, by IrfanRefai

A year in Chillsville

Bengaluru – The Silicon Valley of India was my holiday for a year. A holiday from home and responsibilities. It all began with the envelope from Cognizant. When it arrived, it came along with a spicy sweet notion of me having to travel.

Travel – Bring it on I say, but the thought of staying away for God knows how long in a foreign city gave me the creeps. Yes it is a foreign city. A city where it’s bloody cold all the time. A city where prettiness was abundant. A city that goes to bed by ten o clock no matter what the day of the year was. Yes, weirdness all of them.

The high of this city is its mundane richness that it provides so comfortably amidst greenery and a cooler climate. But I am a guy who prefers sweats to chills, mind you! Bengaluru greets you with fog infused sun rays that tickle you up from sleep like a mother waking up her new born. But dare wake up before the sun and you go all buzzer deaf in your ears with that ear invading chill.

And I checked the check box almost all professionals seem to tick these days. Being the IT guy. My encounter with the IT kind was grandiose. Towering buildings, Reach-n-Grab fast food counters and never ending pathways. It seemed like the entire Bengaluru came here for their day and night jobs. Like planktons in an ocean.

And not to forget the sinfully pretty roads. Yes I am not talking about the traffic jams. Ignore them, and you find yourself in such a beautiful city. It makes you think you became rich wherein the city quietly sips off your funds in ways Chennai would have never dreamt off.

The Sky Bar at UB tower, Metro rail, MG road, Cubbon Park, Bannerghata Park and a sports resort were all the check boxes that have been ticked.

Traffic? Please move on.

Food. In. Bengaluru. Oh! Mahn! Its to DIE for. The themes, the cuisines, the locales and for many other crazy reasons, I give it to Bengaluru. From the Mosque Road’s roadside specialties to Posh Island themed restaurants, Bengaluru gives you a lot of options.

Did you know that the maximum any Tom, Dick or Harry can charge for a movie ticket in Chennai is 120/- tops. Note. MAXIMUM. Now switch to Bangalore. Prices start from 150. I mean. Like. Whateva. Hail Pirate Bay. I can buy a 16 Mbps internet plan at cheaper prices and suck the living soul out of any movie.

Guess what construction companies do during their tea breaks. Build malls. Hey, there is a farm on the outskirts of Bangalore. Lets build a mall. Hey, there is free land in my back yard. Lets build a mall. Hey I forgot my phone at home. Lets build a mall. No, I wasn't getting carried away.

Autowalas? I don’t know what people hate about them so much, but having stayed in Chennai for a fat duration, I pity them. I almost blurted out “That much only a!” during the first few days in the city, but slowly the locale’s irate seemed to rub on to me.

The people here are very hard to judge. Bangalore, is like a huge bowl of mixture. You find number plates all the way from Russia to Australia.OK FINE! From all over India. The city showcases the entire Indian demographic.

Bengaluru – I thank you for all the memories and fun that you have given me. In short it was quite a pleasant stay. Stay classy.

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, by IrfanRefai

Baumgartner's Bombay - The Review

There was this moment that I remember ever so vividly. It took place after I finished the God of Small Things. As I put the novel down, I witnessed a literature that struck the right cords of my emotional scale. I have had no such feeling for any other man made novel. As I read the last words of the novel, Naalai, I felt heavy and wanted to sit down and shed tears for each of the characters in the book. Being the sensitive animal deep down, there was a lump in my throat. The book not only being heart wrenchingly pitiful, it made you connect and savor the turbulence the people in the novel go through. The drama was domestic pulsating a stronger sting. A stronger sorrow for Pappachi and Velutha’s life.
And then I read Baumgartner’s Bombay by Anita Desai. On a scale of 0 – 10, 10 being God of Small Things Level, it scores a straight seven. This story, having way less tragedy than GOST, takes you through several journeys. Journeys of Time, continent and culture.The story walks the life of a self proclaimed reject, Baumgartner born in Germany and traces the entire thread of his life till Bombay. Set in a period where the world was maturing and wars were fought with more vengeance and machinery, Baumgartner identifies himself with the common reluctant Indian. Yearning for a chance to meet his mother, Baumgartner soulfully searches company yet keeps them at bay. Solitude was his forte. Anita Desai, carefully captures the pre-war and the post war India. The India that shined and the India that warred within. Events wash Baumgartner in its waves as he walks aimless and lost. Replete with domestic imagery of India and her forlorn street dwellers, she shows us the gap between the well off and the poor. Her imagery is so splendid and rich that you get lost in her million ways of offering scenery to you. Garnished and prettied like the offering to an Idol. She wrestles with words twisting them and makes several genuine adjective marriages seconded by Arundhati in the Indian stage. Though the ending was written to exact empathy from the reader, it could have had a stronger note.
If you love literature, of the sort that sucks your soul like candy leaving you empty, hopeless and lost yet fully conscious of the truth that hovers like mosquitoes on the evening of a rainy day, you would love this book. The book spews with the delicacies of life and how India never turns her head away to anyone who knocks her door.

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, by IrfanRefai

Inferno – The Dan Brownian Comedy

Cerca trova...

First off, Comedy and Tragedy are two aspects of play. In-spite of the layman's definition, Tragedy actually refers to works written for the elite in high language whereas Comedy contains erudite knowledge but is understood by everyone. The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri is a 14,000 lines epic poem written circa 1308 AD and depicts the afterlife and the concepts of Hell, Purgatory and Paradise. High intellect in simple words.

This was Dan Brown’s inspiration for his fifth Masterpiece – The Inferno (DBI), which in itself is a Comedy. The Divine Comedy (DC) is a hundred chapters long and so is the Inferno. What Dan Brown does is attempt a mimic of the epic, in a different era, on earth.

The story line is simple. If you have read the extract that was released a few months ago, it pretty much conveys the plot. An impending disaster awaits, enclosed in a time bomb that is set to blow on a particular day. The plot is similar to Angels and Demons. It is Robert Langdon’s job to search the bomb using references to the DC, a doctored painting and a mask. As you read through the book you almost empathize with the guy who created the bomb.

The book contains a million parables to the DC. Dan Brown hides them among puzzles, designs and others.

The cover of the hardbound edition contains Dante’s death mask in watermark at the top. Towards the centre, blood appears to be infused with a spark of fire that originates from the letter ‘F’ of 'Inferno' which probably refers to ‘Genetic Terrorism’, a word used in the novel. And below is the skyline of the beautiful Vatican where most of the story takes place. The back cover has a dove on the top that soars into flight with open wings, and a ripple behind it. This derives a parable to the novel, which is set into motion because of a dove that foils an attempt on Robert Langdon's life. The ripples thereby suggest the chaos that follows.

If you remove the paper cover, the hardbound contains a portrait of Charon who is seen ferrying souls to hell across the river Acheron thereby drawing a similarity to Langdon ferrying the characters towards the goal. Flipping over the hard cover, one can see Mount Purgatory upside down. Because in the DC, at the centre of earth gravity inverts. Up becomes Down.

As Dante travels through the three stages of Afterlife; Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso, along with a poet Virgil and so does Langdon. He travels to Florence, Venice and Istanbul along with Dr Sienna Brooks, who is also an actress. The gates open to him in Florence in the DBI as does the gates of Inferno/Hell in the DC. Venice is the purgatory, where the characters realize whose side they are playing on and try to right their wrongs. Finally in Istanbul, salvation is obtained. Paradiso.

Florence is my favourite of all the cities experienced in the Assassin’s Creed. A perfect Renaissance city, it is the birth place of Dante, Leonardo Da Vinci and as Assassin’s Creed fans might be aware, is also the birth place of Lorenzo Medici and Machiavelli.

All through the novel, the colour red repeats. The blood on the cover, a red memory stick that contains a disastrous message, red cap and robe of Dante, descriptions of the buildings as well as a certain clue “blood-red waters” that Langdon will have to follow.

Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso of the DC end with the word “stars” as does DBI. A number that you might find almost everywhere in both the books is “nine”.

Being a scientist, the antagonist's study revolves about Transhumanism. Creating a super breed of humans through cleansing. In the DC, the souls are put through hell, purged and finally allowed admittance to paradise. Parable.

As usual with Dan Brown literature, the book is replete with imagery, sometimes going over the board. But it was not sappy for me. I devoured all I could and frowned that it ended too soon.

Having read all his works, Digital Fortress still has me enraptured by the number of twists and the magnanimity in technical know how. Here in Inferno, he hits the proper chords with humor. And it has got a better ending than The Lost Symbol.

Before I part, ponder this paradox. If you can throw a switch that would instantly kill randomly half the population people on earth, will you do it?

------------------------------------------

But know this, if you don’t throw the switch, the whole of humanity will become extinct in a few years.

Seek and ye shall find

2Comments

, by IrfanRefai

A Treatise on 'STORY'

Prologue: “Here is an attempt at explaining the rules governing a Story and a brief study if not detailed on its aspects.”

If one was to define a Story and required a layman’s one page guide here goes.

A Story is a simple, almost cost free of conveying a message or rather presenting a certain collection of events in a manner as to provide a collective approach to a certain goal otherwise called climax.

To explain it in a school based method, the main elements of a Story are

S-Structure

T-Time

O-Order

R-Relish

Y-You

A story is a multidimensional element. With the ever perpetual and flowing aspect of time, a story is described and woven intricately along the lines of the flow in such a manner than once the aspect of time and space is removed, the story ceases to exist.

A story is generally placed as a sequence of events that flow forward backward or are displayed as varied pieces of puzzles that can be fit together in a manner as pleasing by the reader's mind but majorly dictated by the written matter.

A story when read generally is sensed by the higher areas of the brain and the readers mind creating a visual space accessed only by the reader's mind portrayed in a way such that though the context and the content of the surroundings are defined by the words, the description and magnanimity are entirely left to the reader.

Much like an inception as described by Christopher Nolan.

Feel is another dimension. As the theme being described by the writer is placed in a reader friendly mind space, the story can have a lasting effect only when the events being described affect the higher intelligence of the brain being emotion, sentiment and bonding with the theme of the story.

Alongside the events being described, the manner in which they are revealed to the reader also has a huge impact. Plots, twists and story turns reveal a certain style of writing and decide the acceptance of story as a piece of work by the reader.

Language also adds its own beauty to the story structure and expression. Use of a proper adage in the right weight can lever the story to different heights of beauty and perception.

A story's success depends heavily on the easiness with which a person can empathize or relate to the events or the effect of the events over the antagonist.

In short, a Story is similar to the domino effect. It is necessary that along with the trigger, the path of flow is properly constructed so as to orchestrate a perfect fall. A single misplaced piece can jeopardize the whole layout depending on its angularity creating in chaos or in an inability to comprehend.

Thus the effect a story has on its reader is similar to that of a cascading fall of dominoes. After progressing to the final piece, the story’s last line, it will be clear whether the final impact of a long scripted tale has taken its toll on the minds of the reader.

2Comments

, by IrfanRefai

Trip to Andaman - Finale

It had finally come to this. The shades of the cottage were drawn and the faint simmer of morning was decipherable. I went out to the balcony and could see the early ships pulling into the harbor. The long deciduous woods in front blocked a complete view and offered snippets of the jetty where we alighted the day before. It was cold and the morning was all clean and showered. Tiny birds chirped around. Sparrows, a rarity in Chennai now, freely roamed around ignorant of the disappearance of its mainland cousins.

It was our last day in Andaman and I was missing this beautiful island already. The daily showers, the locale and the warmth of the local people made me want to spend more time here. But, I had to move on.

Dressing up, I went out to film the cottage we were staying in. Since we checked in at night, there wasn't much visibility of the serenity that surrounded us. Now it was clear and brighter with vibrant green and brown. There were two hammocks close by and the ‘Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock’ popped into my mind. They were blue netted and sitting on them made it sag way down to the floor below. Clicking few shots and covering the sea line and horizon on the other end of the cottage we made it to the top of the hill for the restaurant and enjoyed a better scenery from here higher than the otherwise spreading trees and leaves that blocked our view. We had a panorama view of the horizon flanked by hills in the far distance, like arms cupped together to hold the jetty on the left and the water that always tallied along.

Liners were pulling in slowly and added smog to the fog that blurred the hills on the right end. Like the horns of a cow they tapered at the end pointing towards the sea that lay silently sleeping on her sand and coral bed.

After a quick breakfast and checking out, we got into the Scorpio while the usual faces greeted us with the warm smile and an extended hand. The first on our list was the Naval Marine Museum. The ride was short, and we stopped at a small park that had a building at one corner with the bold words on top. Samudrika. It lay on a hill and was lopsided to the right. A short walkway was decorated with lifelike effigies of the local Andamanese tribe on the left and a skeleton of a blue whale on the right. There were three or four rooms that housed the Island Formation Tribal Museum, Coral Museum, an Aquarium and another tribal artefacts museum.

The first room gave quite a description about the etymology, formation of the islands, and the list of local tribes being Andamanese, Nicobarese, Shompen, Ongese and Sentinelese, the varieties of local wood. It was quite a brilliant collection of basic information that any tourist would need to know. Wish we had covered the museums before venturing far into the island. There were also pictures of the tourist spots and water sports and several other events on the walls of the museum. The next room was an aquarium. It was small but each of the tanks were brilliantly rich in color. There were many fishes that were solely found in the corals. The entire cast of finding nemo was here, those at the fish tank where nemo would be captured. Yes, what I saw while snorkelling was here on display. Clown fishes, white lobsters, stonefish, sea cucumber, clam shells, trigger fish, sea anemone, blue starfish, sea urchin, parrot fish, butterfly fish and couple of other fishes I couldn't figure the name for. Filming all of them, I felt I wasn't simply at any other fish museum or aquarium.

The next room had a plethora of corals up for display, placed in wooden shelves and complete with fancy focus lights. The names were a plenty. If I had to name what I saw, I would say stag horn coral, finger, blue coral (poisonous – which we did see), red fan corals, marble corals, organ pipe red coral, mushroom coral, table coral and the one we saw every time underwater, the brain corals. The shells as the name suggests, were how they looked like.

The next was the shells museum that had yet another huge display of various shells and their name tags along. I was finally glad to learn the names of a few. There were couple of hornsbill turtle hoods for display. Yes, finding nemo again. The shells we saw were scorpion shells, finger, king, trochees, mother of pearls complete with a pearl in it, rare bird shell, sea horses, conus, sundial shell, silver colored albone, pink clam shell and same in white, nancowries, paper shell, mango shell, spotted screw shell, rare brown screw shell, ear shell, black mulli shell, really large bivalves, yellow mulli, turbo shells, rare converted ganesh, queen shell, nautilus, cowries – keychain, music shell, tri ton shell, horn shell, katori, pooja shell, left hand shell, Australia clam shell, plate shell, sea urchin shell.

The next room had a few displays of tribal artefacts. Canoes/hodi, fishing pans and baskets, varieties of moths, snakes and butterflies, a ten rupee note printed when Japanese took over the island, couple of bow and arrows used for fishing, tribal cloth made of wood and a model of a hut.

And thus we were done with the museum. We were on a time crunch, with three more museums to go and the need to board the flight back to Chennai at 1.

Yet another short drive to the Cellular Jail Museum, we experienced a soft drizzle, with the rain greeting us again for the day. The cellular jail had museums open till 4 or something, after which tickets are sold for the light and sound show. The museum was initially built as a star with seven feet. Only three of the rows remain today. Before we went into the jail, there were galleries on either sides of the entrance. The first one I entered had a display of the sack cloth that was used when the prisoners were being punished. There were also models that displayed the three kinds of fetters used, bar, chain and cross bar. A replica of the jail was also seen, that housed all the 7 rows. A display of the 100, 50 and 10 rupee centenary coins was also seen.

Moving forward, I could see a huge mortar and pestle, black in color and a spike on the ground closeby. The coconuts were ripped open using the spike and the huge pestle was turned around by a bar that jutted out. This was an oil mill that drank most of the sweat and blood of many prisoners here. I just stood there by the magnificent machinery and couldn't seem to put myself into place how the cell mates could have toiled here. It was scary. Beside this torture device, there was also a frame that had two wooden columns on each side and a short bar where a belt was used to fasten the prisoner face first on the platform and lashes could be delivered to him from behind. The model in its very form was the scary reminder of human torture and pain our freedom fighters faced.

I stood by, watching the shameless frame gleaming in the light. A few utensils used were also on display. Leaving the horrifying imagery behind, I moved on to another gallery where the pictures of most of the revolutionaries imprisoned here were on display, categorized on the conspiracies and the terror they created within the British skin.

A short flight of stairs led to an art gallery. Various artistic rendition of ‘Kala Pani’ and the isolated island jail was brought out in different art forms by many Indian artists. They circled around the theme of death and scarcity of kindness. Each experimenting different shades of colors somehow had a blackish element buried. It was a brilliant collection. The room adjacent to this gallery was entirely dedicated to Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose. Newspaper cuttings, charts, paintings, sayings and models of the great freedom fighter were placed across four different walls. Grazing through these gave one a deep understanding of the legend.

Moving on we entered the main grounds of the museum. The garden was maintained well between two rows of the jail. It opened with a Swantantara Jyoti and Matyr’s column on the left. The jail rows were in its primitive form, bricks aged black and a few signs of faded new paint. The three stories of jail cells towered over us and there was a watch tower right at the centre of the complex. Approximately 33 cells in each floor of a cell, they all overlooked the space between them. Four of them had been demolished, two by the Japanese and the rest by the Indian Government. The cells were simply a small room with no toilet facilities. Pots were provided for the same. The prisoners were locked in from 6 in the evening to 6 in the morning. There was small ventilation at the back of the cell and was high from the ground. The entrance to the cell was small and a huge iron bar was used to lose shut the same. Entering one was eerie. It was frightening to imagine being inside a jail that witnessed inhumanities of the worst degree. I was shaken a bit. Veer Savarkar’s cell was special. It was confined to the corner of one of the rows and was in the second floor. His cell had an extra iron gate and faced the gallows below. He was unlucky to witness the hangings of every soul that was sentenced. Death lurked at every corner. Even now, as I recount the day’s travel, a shallow sinking feel grabs my stomach. Passing on, we got to the top of one of the spokes of the jail and saw a spectacular view of the neighbouring Ross Island in the distance.

Climbing up the central tower, I came across a huge overturned fulcrum. This was lighted up when people were hung, as a signal to ships far off. On the grounds there was a First War of Independence Gallery that had news paper clippings and pictures of revolutionaries who had a hand in the first war of Independence. Moving forward we came towards a short platform painted in white. This was where people performed their last riots before moving towards the gallows. The gallows stood close by, a demon of a room. Here the sense of death was more profound. Three ropes hung by a wooden bar that hung across the ceiling. On the floor there were three circles drawn and filled with white paint marking the spot where the unfortunate would stand. We also walked underneath the floor and saw a rectangular room whose walls must have faced many helplessly twitching legs supported by a broken neck.

Shrugging and pulling myself in the chill, I walked towards the car which started off for the next museum. The last museum that we could afford seeing for the day was the Anthropological Museum. It was a more modern building with a great tile art in the front facade of the building. The building housed two floors of extensive detail, exhibits and models of the aboriginal people that inhabited this land. There were complete documentation and display of the Jarawas, Sentinelese, Great Andamanese, Ongese, Nicobarese and Shompen people and their daily lives. Lifelike models of canoes and huts were also on display. It was quite a brilliant museum and I must suggest you see the video for a lot is there to see and understand.

Thus our slated tour had come to an end and we were on our way to the airport. Regretting not having done extensive shopping, we boarded the jet airways flight back home. I was still in for a final treat.

The airfield was surrounded by hills and a beautiful panorama. Sadly, the video camera’s charge depleted before I could take a final shot of the brilliant take off.

But switching over to the digital camera I managed to muster some shots of a brilliant air view. The runway itself vanished into the horizon engulfed by a clouded sky and a leafy ground. As the plane nosed into the sky, clouds fogged the ground below.

What I witnessed below was a brilliant display of the earth’s beauty isolated from the rush of life in the mainland. Being in Saudi Arabia for a large portion of my life, runways were mainly yellow and deserted with sand lying everywhere. The Chennai runway was more of a brilliant haven with its tufts of trees interspersed between sprouting buildings. But what i was seeing here was more of the extraordinary. A brilliant painting, a complete landscape, a wonderful design. The land had everything; islands, marshes, rivers, estuaries, hills, roads and whatnot. it was a wonderful concoction of beauty I say. I glimpsed a navy building INS Utkrosh.

There was also the defence airport nearby it seems. Photography was prohibited thereby.

I must suggest you see the takeoff video. Mucho brilliance. As the plane flew away from the land below, there was a clear demarcation of land and sea separated by several boundaries. There was an extended line of beach; you could see posh green with a stark yellow lining. Then came the growling sea marking a line of waves parallel to the beach. And in between the beach and the waves there was the indigenous coral reef imparting a mix between green, yellow and white. Stunning. As we flew above the clouds, I saw a striking similarity between the land below and the sky. Clouds were scattered and were in various sizes and shapes.

At one point, I saw a war going on, with chariots and people running. It was a haywire display complete with two armies fighting against each other. Also a little further, I noticed clouds appearing equally displaced from each other as if trees in a forest and now and then a larger cloud similar to hills and mountains. The clouds cast their shadows on the massive pool of water below which was only disturbed by the faint breeze that rippled its surface.

Time flew along with the plane and I was nearing mainland. I glimpsed the line of familiar buildings and roads as we neared ground. Truly Andaman was an island apart, a special experience. A soothing of senses. A brilliant Indian beauty, rich in history, culture and geography. I must say we did the right choice picking Andaman. You plan one too.

And thus ends my Andaman story.

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, by IrfanRefai

Trip to Andaman - Day 4

Day 4 at Havelock greeted us drizzling. It was a perfectly set weather. But one that usually kills tourism plans. But we liked it. It was cold and wet. The setting of our cottage was such a relaxer. A breakfast on the house followed. I tried out the camera in the mild sun lit morning. We managed to get out of the place but were sure we would never be warm or dry.

The rain did not die. It rather stayed on like an unwelcome guest. Our fishing plans had to be cancelled. It seemed fish do not stay near the surface when it rains. It seemed unfair. They were water creatures anyways.

Skipping over, we were taken to an offshore island; a short travel by a dinghy. Yes it was still raining. After a while, he stopped at an island were we changed to swim clothes. A guide took us one by one into the sea and showed us the corals by snorkelling. While we waited for our turn the rest of us got to splash in the neck high sea shore. It was freaking fun. We waited until all of us had our turn and then finally had to start after a while so we could change and start for the ferry at 3 something back to the mainland.

After spending a while back at the hotel, the cottage type ones, we walked to the beach to get a brilliant morning view. It was perfect as it is. The chairs and all, set facing the sea with a wave less descent to the sea. It looked like our own swimming pool.

After a while we started off to the port and had lunch. Bengali restaurant. And waited for our ride back home to Port blair. The ship came and off we started. The ferry back wasn’t as much exciting cause it was sickly crowded. Passengers from two different ships were bumped into one. Finding a place to sit was exhausting as was the ride. Finally after three damned hours we were home.

We learnt that our rooms at the Emerald view were booked in our absence. And so the travel guys bumped our stay to another awesome sea facing cottage. Yes sir another bamboo roofed, walled and floored rooms, two of em. And a brilliant restaurant were we had buffet. The paths around the place were mostly inclined, flanked by properly trimmed bushes and differently colored flowers.

We couldn’t figure out the sea line as it was dark. Well that is a story for the next day. We had to bid adieu to Andaman the next day.

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, by IrfanRefai

Trip to Andaman - Day 3

The third day started off at 8 something. It was our last day of stay at the hotel in Port Blair. After vacating our rooms, we had time to kill before the ferry at 12 something to another island called Havelock. After another breakfast buffet on the house, we started off to the local science museum. Apparently having arrived early, we loitered around the spot. The museum was atop a hill and it steeps down to meet the sea. Rocks were put in jagged and menacing parallel rows facing the sea. There were migratory birds flying around. A soft drizzle appeared and the coconut trees swayed towards the sea. Shrubs had been erected and dried bamboo was used to protect it from grazing animals. We could see the Ross island through the fog on the other end of the sea. The museum finally opened and we spent an hour or so there. It was a small museum that housed practical models of basic physical laws and couple of ocean models of se wave formation and so on. A proper school kid kind of museum.

When it was time, we started to the Directorate of Shipping Services where passenger and cargo vessels were docked. Tickets had to be pre booked. Our vessel was named M V Strait Island. It was a magnificent three floor/deck ferry. It could accommodate 74 people in the main passenger area and 20 more below. We entered into the passenger area, complete with AC and rounded windows that let us glimpse a little of the sea. The ship started sailing and pulled slowly away from the ocean. As the ship moved, it carved a way in the sea for itself and pulled it away from the beautiful sketches and landscapes. A perfect Nat Geo motion picture was running in 3D. We went up to the main deck, and inspite of the drizzle that clothed us, we stood there excited. My sister got a little high and started dancing to her own tunes.

My parents fancied seeing a submarine and clicked pictures. After having had recorded ample snaps and video, I retired to get a good noon nap. Havelock was only 38 km from Port Blair, but it took us 3 hours to reach the place. It also stopped for a while at Neil Island in between. A little while later, we docked into another forlorn white sand beach where people where waiting at a bridge to board the ship. They were going back to the main land.

My tryst with a hill town. Havelock was far less adequate in infrastructure as compared to Port Blair. The roads had potholes for one; people depended on generators for electricity, and we had a jeep for a ride. Oooh, sexy it was.

After a 20 min ride we reached our resort. Yes sir, beach side ones. Perfect landscaping, rows of cottages, green and brown splashed up; it was brilliant. Refreshing ourselves, we started off to Radhanagar Beach; which was actually due the next day. We simply thought we could grab some other event the next day. Everyone claimed the beach was Asia’s second largest beach. It was a long stretch of white sand. There was a turtle hatchery but I guessed it wasn’t season yet as there were none in it. My parents went on to wet their legs in the slow waves that gushed ashore. My brother and me wanted to check out as far as we could before the beach could be closed at 5:30. Yes sir, no lamps, so it warranted the need to wrap up before sun down.

There was a small lagoon sorta lake nearby. Clear water that harboured many a tadpole and several marsh living shrubs. Close by there was an outpost that resembled ones in AOE. A high rise bamboo structure looked a perfect romantic spot if only the sun had gone down and there was a little stubborn lighting. Nevertheless, we spied our parents from atop.

Beside the outpost a eerie one stretch road snaked its way between trees and a forest farm. We went as far as we could, it was lonely a bit and then the excitement died down. So we turned around and came out to clear the place for now. There were hawkers nearby and my mom quenched her never dying thirst to shop for her sisters.

And it was thus for the day. We had a scrumptious dinner and sat by the chairs by the beach and swung in a bamboo chair hung to a tree. And that was another account of another beautiful day.

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, by IrfanRefai

Trip to Andaman-Day 2

Day 2 had a tad more garnish of the local flavour served to us in a wholesome platter of green. Hogging a free breakfast at the hotel, we started a little early to the Rajiv Gandhi Sports complex where a short shower greeted us. Drenching everything around as we cosily sat in our Scorpio, it gave way to sunshine in a few minutes. On reaching there we found three bridges that stretched to greet the sea, each in its own direction that served as the point for boarding the local ferries. Rajiv Gandhi stood boldly in black flinging a flower garland off his right hand. Morning seagulls flew haphazardly like the wavering wind. There were two islands on our list for now, the North Bay Island and Ross Island. The North Bay offered many water sports and had a brilliant coral reef. The latter was mainly a park that had a British encampment destroyed by the Japanese.

If you care to flick your 20 rupee note and look at the side without Gandhi on it, you will notice a beach with a tiny lighthouse in the distance. That was where we were headed now. North Bay Island, famous for its coral reefs. On reaching the beach, we had to leave our ferry at a distance and the crew shifted us to a smaller boat as the shore was shallow. And we were shown why. The dinghy had a glass bottom that stretched the length of the boat. The glass could magnify too. As the small boat glided across the beach the corals beneath the boat were visible. There were of many imaginable shapes thwarting visibility and attention from coloured fish and other sea creatures that swam across. After reaching the island, we went for the combo water sports pack that we had signed up earlier. I really couldn’t stop gaping at the many uninhabited islands that were scattered around us far into the sea each towering with arms of trees, thick with indigenous trees at the top and thin with coconut trees at the bottom.

We jet skied, took a motor boat far into the sea, took another ride called sofa boat ride, where you sat on a air boat that bounced its way while being dragged by a motor boat. And finally the fun part came when they pulled out a long yellow boat called the banana boat. Sitting on it, and being tugged by the motor boat we were pulled into the sea and a few minutes later with no particular warning whatsoever, the boat took a hard left toppling us off and sending us into the sea. It was fun max. Laughing and shouting out we swam back to the shore. Unluckily only my brother and me took this ride. The rest watched us from a distance.

Now came the event of our lives. Fitting us with snorkel masks, two guides took the five of us as we held on to each other like a floating human chain in to the sea. As we reached a certain distance, quite far from the shore, we could put our heads down and observe the beauty that lay beneath the liquid barriers. Brain corals lined most of the floor spreading out on all sides, and then came a couple of mushroom corals on top. Like the name suggests, they looked exactly how they were named. The mushroom corals gave of a light ink blue color. Parrot fish, zebra fish, and many other shoals of fish swam past carelessly. The space was set in green with a light brown sea bed with millions of colours that swam past beautifully. The guide also let my brother and me dive deeper and touch the fish, corals and sea bed. Except for the salty water that went up our nostrils, everything was brilliantly magnificent.

After a few more dips we waded back to the shore were they took us out for a glass bottom boat ride. Now we could see what we already saw earlier more vividly and without the fear of water going up our noses. The guide also pointed out to a few fish he knew and named them. We awed, gaped, pointed and behaved like an excited kid at a toy fair.

Our next destination was Ross Island. It was primarily an island where the British had their navy stationed. It was later captured by the Japanese for three years. It was a complete Island with bazaars, cementary, bakery ballrooms and whatnot. But an earthquake in 1941 demolished the buildings leaving it in the present state of worn bricks and buildings like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle. The Indian Naval Service’ Flag was seen fluttering on the right of the dock and a Japanese bunker on the left. t was a park now, more of a picnic spot what with freely raoming herds of spotted deer and peacock. Shy animals, they skirted unquestioned. I also managed to spot woodpeckers, with the peculiar smart black crown atop its head. We managed to spot ruins of a church, officer’s quarters, mess, and we hiked to the top of the hill and found a Chief Commisioner’s bungalow, complete with a ballroom and cannons at the entrance.

There was a also a small park where we sat for some time. There were many tender coconut vendors. Each of the coconuts were big and had copious amounts of water in it. Filled us to the brim one.

The sun was on the other side of the sky, greeting the magnificent sea. It was forenoon and we started from the Island and reached our hotel for yet another early end to a day.

With the little light that still remained in the sky, we planned to visit another beach closeby, Carbyn Cove. It was more of a regular mainland beach and had a row of palm trees sheltering beach chairs along the shore. People played volleyball on one end, and there was a few short waves.

We had come via an auto, which a Bengali drove. He gave us his version of the island. He claimed the climate to be same throughout the year, some sunshine, some rain and it grew up once again. Equidistant from Chennai and Kolkata, the island enjoys the inhabitation of these two fish loving societies. And, the island had NO theatre.

CD, TV hain na. Sab log kaam mein busy ho jaathe he said. He was friendly and spoke warmly too. Women took care fo the traffic till 7 in the evening. He also prided in the road system. Clean and neat and free of potholes. He also spoke about an Island far away, Baratang. Sadly it wasn’t in our list. We could meet with the local tribes there.

The beach was nice. We dint get to spend a good long time as both rain and sun set down. We left to the local market and shopped for corals and stones, the local notoriety there.

So far, so good.

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, by IrfanRefai

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Chicago - An invasion of Stimuli

Are you Leaving?

Press Start to Begin

Decoding Weather

A year in Chillsville

Baumgartner's Bombay - The Review

Inferno – The Dan Brownian Comedy

A Treatise on 'STORY'

Trip to Andaman - Finale

Trip to Andaman - Day 4

Trip to Andaman - Day 3

Trip to Andaman-Day 2

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