Confessions of a Travel Bag- European Ecstasy

It's almost been three weeks since I've been living out of my suitcase. When I finally took those last few steps to my burrow last night, I was tired and relieved. I've always loved traveling. Flying gives me 'the thrills' for as long as I can remember. So when it all began earlier this month, I was ecstatic.

Statistics reveal that 2 out of every 5 Londoners is an Asian. I'd take the privilege of modifying the data. 2 out of ever 5 Londoners belongs, even remotely so, to the Indian Subcontinent. Be it the Deli store owner, the Restaurateur or even the trafficwala, you cannot not feel at home in this Metropolis. Unlike New York where the first 'stench' that hits you is that of coffee and Eau de Cologne, London entices the senses with the smell of moist clay, fantastic mall-cities and Fish n' Chips! Harrods is a world in itself, closely followed by the uptight Selfridges. For the poorer minions like yours truly, Sainsbury and Marks and Spencer fit the bill just alright. So there was the triumvirate of Oxford, Regent and New Bond street where a swarm of human bodies were hustling-bustling to get the best 'deals', and then there was the Hyde Park corner where anyone could start their own rant on absolutely anything of no importance. London feels like home, and I know I am going to return one fine day!

Copenhagen, a ninety minutes flight, was a totally different world. The sun never sets in the Viking-land. So when I went for a stroll to the city centre near midnight, It was a pleasant evening walk in Lodi Gardens during late January evenings. The city has a network of canals, and pubs floating on those canals. The food was nothing to boast about, but something unique to the Danish junta is their passion for cycling. I chanced upon a 'suited-booted' gentlemen on a bicycle one day, and as it turned out, he was heading retail operations of Danske bank, the national bank of Denmark. And music! There were singers, pianists, street dancers, African tribal on the streets, in the city centre and in the alleys, all of them adding a new colour to the culturally vibrant fabric of the city. Oh ya! Danish Pastries and Cheese!

Wrapping up my belongings on the twenty-sixth floor of the hotel on a cloudy morning in Europe, I did not want to leave. There was a congenial nip in the air and I could not tear my eyes of the well mowed fields! The wind farms were teasing me to stay and the smoothly flowing rivulets begged me to reconsider my journey back home.

On the flight back to Delhi, I slept for a very short while. And when I did, all I could dream of was the multitude of faces that I had encountered in such a short span and how each, in it's own unique way, was similar to one another.

Rage-neeti!

The late night show at Rivoli on Friday was a decent experience. Discounting the 'Tum mere jesht putra ho' and other cinematic nonsense, the movie was alright in most parts. Not something that I had imagined it to be, but Prakash Jha's Rajneeti was not a letdown either.

Walking out in the wee hours of the night, I could only draw parallels between what I had seen for about 150 odd minutes and our epic, the legend, Mahabharat. The portrayal of characters on celluloid was strikingly, and unimaginatively, similar to what we have grown up with, thanks to B.R. Chopra. That made me drift elsewhere. Who was right and who was wrong in the Great War? Was Karna at fault for feeling humiliated by the ever so impulsive Panchali? Could Duryodhan be blamed for forging an alliance with Karna for their mutual benefit? Wasn't Drona heartless when he sought Eklavya's thumb because he could not stand Arjun being a close second? Was Draupadi irrational in her demand for Duhshasan's blood to tie her braid after she was disgraced in front of the entire sabha?

The line between moralistic and circumstantial behaviour is often very blurred. Winding up Mahatma vs. Gandhi, the story of Harilal- Bapu's eldest son whom he had publicly disowned- made me feel strongly for the gentleman. He was always in awe of his father, and could never come out of his shadow. Not that he did not try, but because Mahatma was 'morally bound' not to favour his children. Should one always blame the 'lesser mortal' because he is not as idealistic as is expected of him? Can't a human being, with all his weaknesses and lacunae, be correct in his demand for justice?

History has always extolled the selfless. It has sneered at the weak, the gullible. But the basic question remains that should someone be looked down upon, or even branded an 'evil', because he portrays emotions- feelings of angst, hope and hurt? Shouldn't we stand up for Karna and understand his predicament at being the 'unwanted child'? Was Gandhi being 'idealistic' in denying his child the right to education- something that he believed should be the fundamental right of every Indian?

Is doing wrong to a 'wrong' person, the right thing?
Some questions can never be answered. And some should not.