Down Under : Sequel

Society has strange rules. I am sure picking one’s nose is frowned upon here, though back home it is nearly an art form. Sneezing is allowed here, of course. Amelia lets go 3 or 4 times each day and invariably gets “Bless you”s, to which she invariably replies, “Thank you Barry” or “Thank you, Stu” as the case may be.

Strangely enough, blowing your nose seems to be acceptable. I have often been startled by the sounds of people putting their hankies to their noses in the office, and honking like geese at various decibels.

This has the potential to become an art form. Perhaps a couple of them could set up outside the Telstra Dome or MCG before the next footie match, and go honking together, a small suitcase placed in front of them. (They won’t need a big suitcase because the earnings will be lower than those for a saxophone and a trombone.) Could be a bother though if one of them catches a cold in this chill weather:

“Wot’s the matter with ya, mate, you sound out of tune today?”

“It’s the cold, sunshine, you don’t expec’ the same timbre as Kenny G when a bloke had a cold, do ya?”

“Well, you better get rid of that cold fast. We’ve got that Collingwood game coming up soon, and we could rake in some money. We want our noses to be in top condition.”
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About those nose blow – err – jobs… it bothered me BIG time. And I really did wonder if it was just me, or a cultural thing. So, when I got there, I was down with this really bad cough and I would wrack like a TB patient in the advanced stages of the ailment — without much hope left. And you should have seen the stricken faces that looked up from the files, the worried ashen looks. Oh the looks! Sometimes, I wished I just blew my lungs out… through my nose, noisily, into a hanky, of course.
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The names of the streets out here are a reminder—or is it remainder—of the British Legacy.

There is King’s Street, where I work. There is Queen’s street. Alas, like in a Shakespearean tragedy, King’s and Queen’s streets run parallel and the twain never meet. Running parallel to these two streets is – inexplicably – Elizabeth Street. Hullo, I though she is Queen, isn’t she? Or are they referring to Queen Elizabeth I? Running parallel to these streets is Williams Street. As for the Empress, I’m not sure if there’s a street named after her, but she shouldn’t complain. Apart from a whole State, there’s a market named after her – Victoria Market.

Perpendicular to all these streets – King’s, Queen’s, Elizabeth’s, Williams and several others – is Flinders Street, which is another big street in the downtown area. The Flinders Street station is a big, important hub. At the meeting point of King’s Street and Flinders Street is the Melbourne Aquarium.

The admission fee is steep at $25 per head – plus I paid for the train ticket to Flinders Street since I was too lazy to walk. The Aquarium delivers partially – I would reckon it is worth $20, at the most. It doesn’t begin too promisingly. It starts off with a few creepy-crawlies from the Australian seas. Then you come to a point where the sign on the right says, “The Way to the Lair of the Dragon” and the sign on left says, bluntly and without ceremony, “Toilets.” This is what prompted Robert Frost to write, “”Two roads diverged in an aquarium and I took the one less traveled – and that has led me to the wash room.” I think he wrote that.

But the aquarium builds up well after that. Everyone knows that people really come to see the big sharks and rays. The other fish are merely appetizers. I was disappointed that they did not have the Box Jellyfish, one of the most poisonous creatures in the marine world. Well, it was a good experience to be in the midst of so many sharks. In my professional life, I have to swim with them all the time and survive. It was a welcome change to see real sharks, and safely behind glasses.

When is the last time you did something for the first time? I did two firsts today: I saw an aquarium, and – yippie – I rode in a tram!

I also inserted $5 worth of coins in the railway ticket vending machine, but failed to pick up the $1.20 change, because I could not figure out where the darn coins came out from. But I shall not count that as a first.
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Hahaha!!!

I was thinking about the disappearance of the loose change! But it isn’t something that I should be laughing at, really — The other day, I decided to use the microwave in the pantry, and I had such a tough time trying to open the darn door. Looked all over the place for the knob and tried to pry it open with my fingers and even contemplated lifting the appliance and dropping it on the floor nonchalantly. Thankfully, a woman walked over, gracefully pressed a miniscule button with her manicured finger, warmed her lunch and strutted off on her high heels… or what seemed like tiny skyscrapers.

Anyway, let’s focus on your eccentricities for now.

So, you had your tryst with the Rays and Sharks. I think anyone visiting Down Under gets a taste of life in the wild. The country is pretty civilized and very very swanky and modern and all that. But they consider their wildlife to be one of their main USPs. Everything has a touch of strange furry marsupials or venomous snakes or that of a drowsy Koala. Every state in Australia has a zoo to boast of and an aquarium with the most amazing deep sea stuff. I wish I had seen the Great Barrier Reef. Oh well!

I loved the Sydney Aquarium. There was this one segment where you get to see the sharks, while walking through a glass tunnel, with the creatures swimming all around you. For some strange reasons—maybe to sooth your nerves—they were playing western classical pieces in the background, while the sharks bared their teeth. It added a very—errmm—Hannibal-like feel to the whole thing.
*shivers*

All streets and nooks and crannies in Australia reek (yes, I choose this word) of their British legacy. We lived in the Kent-Liverpool street crossing. Our office was on Kent St., while the Sussex St was located just behind it. We could cross the signal and—whoa—we were in George St. Then there’s a Hyde Park and a King Street too. The King St in Sydney was originally called ‘Queen St’ and the folks would confuse it with another street named Elizabeth. So, the authorities renamed it. Have you noticed something? Their imagination really runs dry when it comes to naming streets. Everything is so repetitive!

Hey, if you do get the chance, please check if they have any of those tourist buses — the hop-on-hop-off ones. They are fun!
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I haven’t come across any the hop-on-hop-off tourist buses. The Melbourne version – since Melbourne is after all quainter, more cultured, and steeped in the past than Sydney is, see – is the City Circle Tram. (“You’re talking like it’s your own bloody hometown, mate.”)

Trams are an integral part of the city’s ethos, and you see various types of trams. There are the new, sleek, silent trams; the somewhat older and rumbling trams; and the very old City Circle Trams that travel through the CBD and the Docklands area. They stop at the same designated stops as the other trams, but a voice-over provides commentary on the important parts of the city. And yes, they offer you a free ride.
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Wait a minute. If those Talking Trams are free, and if they stop at all the regular stops, then who would pay and go in the non-talking ones?!
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Well Einstein, these trams are free, but they go round and round in a circle over a small area. They may be ideal if I want to see the downtown and Docklands area and admire the old and new buildings, but if I have to get back to my suburb on time so that my wife (fictional) does not murder me for turning up late to pick my in laws (fictional) from the airport, I wont get into a city circle tram. I will either get into a tram that will get to my suburb, or I will take a train.

Notes from the Continent Down Under

Fact:

Two-thirds of the Troika has traveled to Australia at some point in time, or the other.

It’s chill and windy here.

I have managed to remain a vegetarian.

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You have a couple of weeks more to go – lets see how many animals you will eat!

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I walk home down the hep, organized streets along with the suited-and-booted crowds, all the time pining for the chaos of Delhi. Then I reach the hotel and face the four walls.

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I totally know the feeling.

I had started writing a lot, during those days. Its a sight to see – -the morning office goers. They wait at red lights, minding their own business. Then, when you hear the pic-pic-pic sound and when the lights change you resume your walk. All of them crisp and purposeful. I did pine for familiarity too, but I did not miss the lecherous looks or the dust or the Himesh songs. I missed the familiar scents, the trees, and the morning reading-in-the-bus routine.

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Yesterday was one of the windiest days in Vic in recent history. Wind speeds reached 130 kmph in several parts of the state. The town of Bondorrah had a bad dust storm. A TV station managed to get hold of a farmer Donald, who said he was driving down a country road and couldn’t see a thing. A radio station said a guy was on a motorbike when it was blown right off. I am not exaggerating when I say that at one point, I could not walk for the sheer force of the wind. Some trains were cancelled; power was out in some parts of Melbourne. Sounds like Bombay during the monsoon, doesn’t it? My clients insisted that I take an umbrella home, and offered me a huge one – that looked like those things they put up outside restaurants.

The people are disarmingly friendly here, at least the ones in the office – touch wood. Having lived for a long time in circumstances where I am left alone in one corner of Bay 6, and approached only when someone needs help, I found this unnerving. Also, given my somewhat introverted nature, I realized that acting extroverted all the time was downright exhausting! Yesterday, when I was having lunch on my own, an employee – a blonde – who sits not far from me came over and struck up a friendly conversation. She “Hi Merlee”, and said how windy it was, and discussed AFL, and cricket, and what a creep Ricky Ponting is, and how she wanted Harbhajan out, etc. I was waiting for her to ask me for advise on her design document, or a review, or something – but no. It was all so disappointing – she just wanted to talk to me! And today morning, she asked me if I managed to reach home safely through the weather. Well, really! – and I hardly know her!

I found someone “motherly” – an Indian originally from Cal – to advise me on food.

And yes, they do say “yeeeeh” all the time.

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“Yeeeeeeh..I Knouiii!!!”

Don’t they also say — “Exactly raaaaight” a lot?

I am glad that you like the way how things are shaping up!

You know, I found the folks out there really friendly too. They smile at you whenever they meet your eyes. They say hi and they make small talk. There was this guy who used to sit right across where I sat. He would chat up with me and was really friendly. Well, almost to the level that K thought he was flirting with me!! He wasn’t, really. That’s how these folks are

Oh, by the way, on the last day of work, I did leave a tiny little gift for him, at his desk

And oh yes, I have an umbrella story to tell you too — So, it was raining crazy out there and the lady in the office insisted that she give us both one umbrella each. They are MASSIVE ones, not like the ones that we use out here. And yes, you could start a lemonade stall if you own one But then again… have you seen the umbrellas the folks in the Himalayas use? They are huge too!

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Yeeeh, that’s true, That’s what they sai. Also they also sai “exactly roit” )

Today, I have to buy a 1 GB memory stick and some yogurt. I lead an interesting life.

I have discovered 3 Indian restaurants. Yeeeh.

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Today when you buy yoghurt, ask for the sim recharge. Take the 29 AUD one. It will last long enough and will give you value for money.

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When Melbournians talk about traffic jams, they must be referring to Dabri Mode at 6 in the morning. They wouldn’t be able to imagine the chaos of Dabri Mode at 9 o’ clock.:) Most of the drivers in the cabs in which I have travelled have been Africans – except for one driver, a kindly old Queenslander, who chatted with me pleasantly all the way to the office. The Africans tend to keep quiet like the Indian cabbies. Yesterday however, the cabbie turned around and asked me, “You’re from India?” I brightened up and said yes.

“Mumbai or Delhi?” he said. When I answered, he said he had been in Delhi once. For two weeks, back in 1973. I would have probed a little and asked him about the circumstances had I not glanced out of the window and been riveted by the sight of a silent line of office-goers, mostly dressed in black, some holding coffee cups , all walking like zombies towards their destinations. So they could all scamper like frightened rabbits out of the offices and into trains at 5.00 PM – back to their suburbs. I may seem to be making fun of them, but I wish we Indians would be more like them in this respect.

Yesterday evening, there was a big “footie” game at the Telstra Dome in front of the hotel, and a sizable crowd had gathered to watch it. Such crowds usually get boisterous, and this one had started getting boisterous even before the start of play. I had been warned to keep away from such crowds, especially if the home team lost (it did). I went out to buy some potato chips. When I came back to the hotel on level 4, the lift “came along”, the doors opened, and a woman got out. She asked me, “Are we on the 8th?” I replied, no, she had just reached Level 4.

She got back in, giggled in a friendly sort of way as we started up, and said to me, “I cant figure these things out sometimes, you know. They move so quickly.” I nodded back politely, and smiled. I was amused. Half an hour back, on the way back from the office, I had ridden the lift with an Indian girl, who kept a safe distance from me in one corner of the lift, hands tightly folded, and steadfastly looked away. Made me feel like Jack the Ripper.

Well, it takes all kinds to make to make up this world. I have my own powers-that-be, who – even in the call we had yesterday – have still not asked me how I am getting along in a strange city. And then, there’s the Malaysian expatriate who sometimes sits next to me: when I told him I would urgently need to make a call back home when I reached the hotel, immediately pressed a calling card in my hand, and insisted that I could use it to call home from the office.

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You are right about that — it takes all kinds to make up this world.

When I went to Sydney, it really wasn’t the first time I was travelling abroad. But still, a lot of things hit me quite on the face — the main thing being FREIDNLINESS. Well, with a better spelling of course. The thing about us Indians is that we are very wary about everyone around us. I don’t know if we can blame our race for it or not. I am still trying to find the answer.

Lots of strangers smiled at me when I walked to work. There were courteous car drivers who would let you cross the road while they waited patiently. I made it a point to look back at them, smile and wave a thank-you. They would smile back and drive off. It really made my day(s). Construction workers would nod a good morning and allow the ‘Indian gals’ to walk past. No whistles, no comments, nothing.

You have ‘African’ cabbies? In Sydney, in three weeks, I saw ONE black guy. And that too, a tourist. It was worrying. So much to the extent that… I was beginning to get worried about what did happen to the blacks out here! We just had Asian folks all over the place (yes, Indians are Asians too! South Asians). The very first cabbie we encountered, the one who took us to the apartment from the airport, played the friendly guide. He showed us around, named the streets, gave a few tips and asked us to have a pleasant stay in his country. He would have been Malaysian. But that is another story, really. Did I tell you of this Malaysian guy at work? He loves gaming, and he loves pirated software. We were fast friends, in no time.

The morning office-going crowd, coffee cups in hand, coated and suited and booted. I almost loved the mechanized routine. If it weren’t for the fear of running late to work, we would have stopped at a bistro or two. The non-smoking ones. Aussies smoke a LOT. Or maybe not.