A lot if you ask me! And I think getting dates right is important. In fact, in my world, it's more noble to forget a date (out of ignorance or a chance accident or any other excuse you may have) than to get it wrong because to me that only indicates that either you don't pay attention to hard-facts or you simply don't care enough to get them right.
Where am I heading with this? Let me ask you a question. Actually to drive my point home, let me make that many questions. Do you wish people Happy New Year on 28th December? Does your bf/gf get his/her Valentine's Day card (if at all) on 12th Feb? Is Women's Day celebrated on 5th March?
Then why...why oh why have people been wishing me Happy Birthday all week? (Did that narcissism catch you off-guard?) I absolutely hate it! (Not the narcissism but the being wished happy birthday before the actual date...)
Ten years ago, it used to be fun to see who remembered and who didn't. Facebook has taken that simple pleasure away from me! Now everyone is sent reminders and this information is flashed on the Home screen from 72 hours in advance. I don't want to sound ungrateful but perhaps only Mid-nighters retain their charm.
It all started on Monday, 27th October. I logged in to my email account to find an email from my Dad saying, "Happy Birthday...(and other senti stuff)". Believe me, nothing can shake your faith in this world more than your parent getting the date wrong. My first reaction was to check the date. My second was to call him and ask if it had always been the 27th and they had only just realised 23 years after the event that they had always got it wrong. (The event being my birth, of course!)
So I called him - that's too burning a question to not raise. And he explained that he sent it 5 days earlier because he wouldn't have internet access till 31st.
"Then why not send it on 31st itself? After all, that is my birthdate...isn't it?" I yelped all confused.
"Yes but between now and midnight on 31st, this was the only slot so I thought I would send it now," he said, sounding extremely content with himself. There is something you should know about my Dad. Every 31st October, he starts calling me from the time it's midnight in Japan to the time the Sun sets in Hawaii. I think somehow he feels the joy of having his first child all over again so much so that he can never get enough of sharing it with me! And this emailing me 5 days in advance was just another incarnation of this sentiment...
So I decided to overlook that and life went on...till this morning. When I woke up and logged into Facebook, I was once again disappointed. A certain person (who must not be named so we will call her (or him) You-Know-Who as a tribute to Lord Voldemort of Harry Potter fame) had wished me a very happy birthday. Now ordinarliy, I would have bitten my lip and gotten over this little incident but this time, I was a bit more annoyed than on the average occassion. You see, You-Know-Who and I aren't really friends or anything. Except on Facebook, where one sometimes accepts friends out of social courtesy than a desire to snoop into their life and share your crazy photographs with them. And that's when it was so apparent - this person obviously knew my birthday was around the corner because Facebook was advertising it! (Uggghhh...)
But even then, why would you pretend you are 2 full earth rotations ahead of me and wish me 48 hours before my birthday??? Do I look like someone who cannot wait till the actual date? Or is You-Know-Who too lazy to log in two days later and do the deed? Or does You-Know-Who think she (or he) will forget it by then despite that impersonal-as-hell Facebook reminder?
I still haven't replied to You-Know-Who and I probably won't till my anger (I know that's a strong word but I can't think of anything else that fits the bill) subsides a little and I sound a little grateful for the "careful thought"!
Here's the deal people: If you are reading this, you're old enough to remember your birthday. And you never forget the date because it's your day! Even 23 years on, I think of it as my special day. But little surprise remains when the likes of Facebook and BirthdayAlarm advertise it as if some stupid boy-band were going to perform in town in a couple of days. I used to say, "Thank you for remembering my birthday" but that seems to have become too much of a presumption these days. So the only little surprise that remains is to NOT hear about it till the actual day - just in case someone somewhere wakes up, looks at the date in his watch and says, "Oh! It's Aanchal's birthday today. Let me give her a call..."
Wednesday 29 October 2008
Sunday 5 October 2008
Moscow, Day 3: The famous dead…
The last day was bright and active. The Sun was out and I had fully recovered from the fatigue accumulated over the last few days. So, I packed my belongings in my Lehman rucksack (a highly coveted souvenir now!) and headed out early.
My first stop was the Novodevichy Cathedral near Sportivnaya. To be honest, I had almost overlooked this one. But when Sergey said that it is definitely worth a visit, I read up my Lonely Planet on it and realised that if for nothing else, I was going to go there to see a particular person.
Some Russian women like Catherine, the Great and Valentina Tereshkova are famous of their own accord. But most - as in other cultures - are famous because of the men they were with. And I was interested in precisely such a person. The Novodevichy grounds are the final resting place of Nadyezhda Alliluyeva, Stalin’s second wife!
I walked everywhere within the walls of the Cathedral. My Lonely Planet had a picture of her tomb so I would have recognised her immediately. But even after 30 minutes of an unsuccessful safari, I hadn’t found her. My time at the Cathedral had started to eat into the rest of my itinerary so I finally decided to open my dictionary to find the Russian word for ‘tomb’ and ask the information desk where she was. (I did bump into some very interesting people though. One Olga Mikhailovna Marinskaya had a witty sense of humour. Her tombstone, read, “Uvidimsya tam!” i.e. “See you there!”)
The lady at the desk told me that I needed to go to the Novodevichy Cemetery, which was next door. I took out my Lonely Planet to protest that she must be there at the Cathedral grounds itself and that’s when I realised that it did in fact say, “Cemetery”! Suddenly the words, “Attention to detail!” echoed in my head from the two years I had spent in investment-banking. I hate making mistakes and when I do, I can be unreasonably it-is-the-end-of-the-world hyper-critical of myself!
The Novodevichy Cemetery was just stunning! Never in my life have I seen such exquisitely beautiful tombstones! Everyone’s tombstone there silently demanded a few seconds of admiration and I felt so guilty for rushing through the cemetery to get to Mrs. Stalin! I followed the map and walked to one end of the cemetery. Even before I got to her, I recognised her. Not that her tombstone was the most beautiful but the glass case around hers, probably to protect the underlying stone from Russia’s unfriendly climate, immediately gave away her VIP status!
The Sun peeked through the canopy on to her white granite face that emerged from a plain column, on which the inscription read, “Nadyezhda Sergeivna Alliluyeva Stalina; 1901-1932”. Her right hand emerged inconspicuously and rested under her chin, apparently a tombstone paradigm to indicate that the person had committed suicide.
As I left the cemetery, I saw many people taking photos near the entrance against a stone that was painstakingly done to look like the Russian flag, swollen in some places as if laden with the wind. I walked to it and clicked a couple of photos myself. And then suddenly, I saw the inscription across it, “Boris Nikolaivich Yelstin; 1931-2007”. This is where the first Russian President lay buried! The Russian flag was the perfect posthumous garb for him. My Lonely Planet had obviously not prepared me for him as it was the 2006 edition but I felt lucky to have bumped into the ex-President!
Walking out of Novodevichy, a peculiar feeling overcame me. During the Second World War, many dead in Stalingrad, Leningrad and hundreds of other cities were dumped as one giant mass of rotting bodies into huge cavities dug overnight in the ground. This was because during the War there was no space in cemeteries to carry out deserved burials. And here was Novodevichy, an elite burial ground with tombstones carved to perfection and adorned with various motifs and plaques…
I wonder if Marx and Lenin have organised a revolution to overthrow this bourgeoisie on the other side of life as well!
Friday 3 October 2008
Moscow, Day 2: Communism’s Mummy
In Russia, they say “Lenin zhil, zhit i budet zhit’!” (Lenin lived, lives and will live!) Move over King Tut, Communism has it’s own Mummy - Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. Marx may have written The Communist Manifesto but it was Lenin who delivered. And for that reason every city in Russia has a Lenin Square, a Lenin Avenue and a Lenin Street. But Moscow has one more thing. Moscow has Lenin himself!
On Sunday morning, when I got to Krasnaya Ploschad, it was easy to guess what most people were there for. A long line extended all the way to the end of the Square and it looked like Lenin had more security in death than when alive! Nothing was allowed inside the mausoleum - no bags, phones or cameras. Moreover, you were not allowed to speak lest you would disturb this ‘great’ (a debatable adjective!) man’s slumber.
No signs were posted; no instructions given, but things were clearly understood. People followed those who were in front of them. Once you crossed the metal detectors, the guards indicated the way by their hands. The entrance of the mausoleum was dark. I went down the black malachite staircase and turned right, following a guard’s muted signal. Everything there - from the dim light to the reticence to the dark décor - reinforced the melancholy of the mausoleum.
I walked into another dark chamber where only one soft-light was shining on the object of everyone‘s interest. And this is where he lay in his glass coffin. I walked through the side and to the front of the glass case, right opposite him. Lenin was smartly dressed in a dark blue (or black) suit. The palm of his right hand was lightly clenched, his left weakly stretched out. His face was drained of any colour and if you looked hard enough, you could sense his pain. His last wish was to be buried next to his mother in St. Petersburg. But Stalin wouldn’t let that be. And since Stalin, the mausoleum has become some sort of a hybrid between a temple of communism and a popular tourist attraction.
Perhaps, one day someone sitting in the Kremlin will change this and Lenin will rest in peace. But for now, he remains incarcerated behind glass walls, coated in layers of immortalising chemicals and continues to pay the price for his fame and influence. And as long as he is out there, Russia’s love-hate relationship with him will go on…
Thursday 2 October 2008
Moscow, Day 1: The Day I defeated God
I woke up at about 5:40 AM, just 10 minutes before the train was to reach Moscow’s Leningradsky Station. As I slipped out of my blanket to get ready, I could feel the chill through the train’s walls. Yandex had predicted light showers in Moscow but it had also predicted light showers in St. Pete all week, when we were pampered by the Sun so I was bullish on the weather conditions despite my first impressions.
When I stepped out of the train, I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, taking my own sweet time to soak in a bit of Moscow right there, with a complete disregard for those behind me. (This is what happens when you watch too many Bollywood movies. You think this is an absolutely legit way of entering a new city!) For a time when it was cold and pitch-dark, Moscow displayed an unusual energy. People scurried on the platform, kiosks were already busy, a neon-blue ‘МОСКВА' sign told you where the main entrance was and taxi-drivers pounced on you as soon as you entered the main hall. In the main hall, Lenin’s porcelain bust inspected everyone from atop a column that dwarfed every other structure. And there I was under that column, my eyes betraying that I hadn’t slept much on the train but full of an emotion that was stronger still - that of hunger. I was starving for Moscow!
From the station, I took the metro to Sportivnaya, where I was going to stay with my friend, Aishwarya. Even though Moscow is bigger than St. Pete, the metro makes it seem smaller. With its tentacles entrenched all over the city, the Moscow Metropolitan ensures that you are never more than 45 minutes away from your destination!
After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Aish and I headed out to the city centre. As we got out, I realised one thing - Yandex was right this time. It had started to rain. But I’m a Delhi girl, who is used to heavy monsoons. I wasn’t going to let this spatter bother me!
Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. This probably shouldn’t have been the first stop. I was dying to see the Kremlin, Krasnaya Ploschad (Red Square), and St. Vasil’s Cathedral, so this Cathedral was a reluctant stop and only because it was on our way to Krasnaya Ploschad. My impatience was visible even through the layers of warm clothes, I was wrapped under. I seemed to ignore the imposing character of the Cathedral, its golden domes and the gardens that skirted it. Lenin would have loved me - I was thinking only Red! And it was perhaps this blasphemy that enraged God. Ten minutes later, the wind had picked up speed and it was raining even harder!
The walk to the Kremlin from the Cathedral had become a trek. The wind clawed at my face and the rain dampened my overcoat and gloves. Crossing the roads was tricky as well. I realised Moscow isn’t pedestrian-friendly and zebra-crossings were rare. This meant you had to gamble every time you crossed the road. Ordinarily, thanks to my Indian origin, even that isn’t a problem but judging the distance and speed of cars in the rain was getting harder and harder .
After a couple of trips in and out of my gloves to click photographs, the fingers of my right hand were dissolving into senselessness. I was breathing in ice and breathing out vapour. I had clearly picked the wrong day to upset God. I went into a few grocery stores asking for cognac to warm up but vodka was all they would offer. And of all the Russian things I love, vodka isn’t one of them!
We finally got to the Kremlin. Somehow! God may be bigger and better than me but I am more stubborn than he estimates. I wasn’t going to seek refuge; the Kremlin tour continued! (Notice how self-obsessed I am and keep saying things like “I wasn’t going to seek refuge”. The Kremlin was absolutely flooded with tourists like myself!)
Aish and I walked for about 4 hours in the rain. We went in and out of cathedrals and exhibitions - sometimes just to get warm! Kremlin’s walls hid so much within them - the golden domes and icon paintings of the various churches, the Diamond Fund exhibition, the Armoury, the Tsar Bell and Cannon! Even though my appetite for vodka was increasing; the more I saw, the more I was determined to see.
Finally, we walked through the Alexandrovsky Garden to Voskreesenye Gate where Marshall Zhukov’s statue greeted us. And there I saw it! Across Krasnaya Ploschad - St. Vasil’s Cathedral! It was so beautiful! I just couldn't control myself and screamed like a little child! (Recall Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City, when she sees the Eiffel Tower from Petrovsky’s balcony. It was exactly like that, only I wasn’t being paid thousands of dollars to behave like an idiot!) I have seen St Vasil’s a hundred times on TV and in pictures but nothing, NOTHING compares to the frenzy of colours that stands before you! It’s like the difference between staring at a bottle of wine and getting intoxicated; between literotica and an orgasm! You just have to go to there to see what I’m talking about!
That’s when I started to absorb all that was around me. St Vasil’s in front, Kremlin’s red-brick wall and Lenin’s Mausoleum to my right, the History Museum behind me and an exquisite building that covered the entire left side of the Square!
“What’s this?” I asked Aish.
“The GUM.”
“The GUM? This is the GUM? The Gosudarstveni Universalni Magasin?” (The State Universal Store). This building’s entrance resembled the Winter Palace’s Jordan Staircase. In style it could shame Harrod’s and its collection had all the top brands in the world! But what had surprised me was that this was a State store - a wreck of the Soviet Empire - and it was so far away from the impoverished image I had in mind!
After spending a long time at the Kremlin and Krasnaya Ploschad, we made our way Park Pobyedi, which was home to the monument of Russia’s victory in the Second World War. When we came out of the metro station, I saw that it wasn’t raining anymore and the Sun played hide-and-seek behind the clouds. I guess even God needs a break ;) To be honest, the Sun brought welcome respite. My overcoat and jeans were wet. The wind had tested me all day. My hands were numb and my legs exhausted. My hair was in a complete disarray and my eyes blood-red with insomnia.(I looked perfect for a George Romero movie!) I was crumbling under fatigue but I was happy that I hadn‘t let the weather cripple me. I had done my full day’s worth of sight-seeing and most of all, I hadn’t betrayed my religion by drinking vodka. (My religion is cognac…and champagne…and B-52...but not vodka!)
Resilience is always rewarded in Russia. And once again, I was rewarded in the form of the massive obelisk in front of me. As Aish and I walked closer, we saw its reflection in the little pools of water the rain had left. An arc caressed the giant column from behind and the way up the platforms and stairs was paved by small bronze and malachite structures that hailed the achievements of the battle various - Leningrad, Ukraine, Minsk…
The 142m long obelisk itself - where every 10 cms represents a day of the war - bore names of the various cities that had fought the war - Moscow, Stalingrad, Leningrad, Kiev, Sevastopol…
Just in front of the obelisk, stood the giant figure of a horse-man, who had slayed a deadly snake with his spear. The bottom of the obelisk was adorned by flowers and bouquets, a tribute to all those who perished in the war. Whether in the armed forces or not, they are all war heroes! And it is this sentiment I admire the most about the Russians. They haven’t forgotten their war heroes, the heart-breaking conditions the war had created and the countless sacrifices made to protect the Motherland. No one celebrates their war heroes as much as the Russians do, and hats-off to that!
The rain was back with a vengeance but the day was almost over so it didn’t matter much! I had overcome the rain. And in some strange way, it felt like I had defeated God. (And the self-obsession continues...)
I was off to Oktyabrskaya to meet former Lehman colleagues for dinner at The Pancho Villa, an excellent Mexican restaurant on Bolshaya Yanimanka. It was a great night and good practice for my Russian. No points for guessing that, amongst other things, we all spoke about Lehman, which had filed for bankruptcy on 15th September 2008 becoming the largest corporate bankruptcy in history. At the end of the dinner, Sergey and Oksana did not let me pay for the tacos and tequila I had enjoyed. “Don’t worry, Aanchal! Thanks to Nomura, we still have jobs,” Oksana laughed.
When I stepped out of the train, I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, taking my own sweet time to soak in a bit of Moscow right there, with a complete disregard for those behind me. (This is what happens when you watch too many Bollywood movies. You think this is an absolutely legit way of entering a new city!) For a time when it was cold and pitch-dark, Moscow displayed an unusual energy. People scurried on the platform, kiosks were already busy, a neon-blue ‘МОСКВА' sign told you where the main entrance was and taxi-drivers pounced on you as soon as you entered the main hall. In the main hall, Lenin’s porcelain bust inspected everyone from atop a column that dwarfed every other structure. And there I was under that column, my eyes betraying that I hadn’t slept much on the train but full of an emotion that was stronger still - that of hunger. I was starving for Moscow!
From the station, I took the metro to Sportivnaya, where I was going to stay with my friend, Aishwarya. Even though Moscow is bigger than St. Pete, the metro makes it seem smaller. With its tentacles entrenched all over the city, the Moscow Metropolitan ensures that you are never more than 45 minutes away from your destination!
After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Aish and I headed out to the city centre. As we got out, I realised one thing - Yandex was right this time. It had started to rain. But I’m a Delhi girl, who is used to heavy monsoons. I wasn’t going to let this spatter bother me!
Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. This probably shouldn’t have been the first stop. I was dying to see the Kremlin, Krasnaya Ploschad (Red Square), and St. Vasil’s Cathedral, so this Cathedral was a reluctant stop and only because it was on our way to Krasnaya Ploschad. My impatience was visible even through the layers of warm clothes, I was wrapped under. I seemed to ignore the imposing character of the Cathedral, its golden domes and the gardens that skirted it. Lenin would have loved me - I was thinking only Red! And it was perhaps this blasphemy that enraged God. Ten minutes later, the wind had picked up speed and it was raining even harder!
The walk to the Kremlin from the Cathedral had become a trek. The wind clawed at my face and the rain dampened my overcoat and gloves. Crossing the roads was tricky as well. I realised Moscow isn’t pedestrian-friendly and zebra-crossings were rare. This meant you had to gamble every time you crossed the road. Ordinarily, thanks to my Indian origin, even that isn’t a problem but judging the distance and speed of cars in the rain was getting harder and harder .
After a couple of trips in and out of my gloves to click photographs, the fingers of my right hand were dissolving into senselessness. I was breathing in ice and breathing out vapour. I had clearly picked the wrong day to upset God. I went into a few grocery stores asking for cognac to warm up but vodka was all they would offer. And of all the Russian things I love, vodka isn’t one of them!
We finally got to the Kremlin. Somehow! God may be bigger and better than me but I am more stubborn than he estimates. I wasn’t going to seek refuge; the Kremlin tour continued! (Notice how self-obsessed I am and keep saying things like “I wasn’t going to seek refuge”. The Kremlin was absolutely flooded with tourists like myself!)
Aish and I walked for about 4 hours in the rain. We went in and out of cathedrals and exhibitions - sometimes just to get warm! Kremlin’s walls hid so much within them - the golden domes and icon paintings of the various churches, the Diamond Fund exhibition, the Armoury, the Tsar Bell and Cannon! Even though my appetite for vodka was increasing; the more I saw, the more I was determined to see.
Finally, we walked through the Alexandrovsky Garden to Voskreesenye Gate where Marshall Zhukov’s statue greeted us. And there I saw it! Across Krasnaya Ploschad - St. Vasil’s Cathedral! It was so beautiful! I just couldn't control myself and screamed like a little child! (Recall Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City, when she sees the Eiffel Tower from Petrovsky’s balcony. It was exactly like that, only I wasn’t being paid thousands of dollars to behave like an idiot!) I have seen St Vasil’s a hundred times on TV and in pictures but nothing, NOTHING compares to the frenzy of colours that stands before you! It’s like the difference between staring at a bottle of wine and getting intoxicated; between literotica and an orgasm! You just have to go to there to see what I’m talking about!
That’s when I started to absorb all that was around me. St Vasil’s in front, Kremlin’s red-brick wall and Lenin’s Mausoleum to my right, the History Museum behind me and an exquisite building that covered the entire left side of the Square!
“What’s this?” I asked Aish.
“The GUM.”
“The GUM? This is the GUM? The Gosudarstveni Universalni Magasin?” (The State Universal Store). This building’s entrance resembled the Winter Palace’s Jordan Staircase. In style it could shame Harrod’s and its collection had all the top brands in the world! But what had surprised me was that this was a State store - a wreck of the Soviet Empire - and it was so far away from the impoverished image I had in mind!
After spending a long time at the Kremlin and Krasnaya Ploschad, we made our way Park Pobyedi, which was home to the monument of Russia’s victory in the Second World War. When we came out of the metro station, I saw that it wasn’t raining anymore and the Sun played hide-and-seek behind the clouds. I guess even God needs a break ;) To be honest, the Sun brought welcome respite. My overcoat and jeans were wet. The wind had tested me all day. My hands were numb and my legs exhausted. My hair was in a complete disarray and my eyes blood-red with insomnia.(I looked perfect for a George Romero movie!) I was crumbling under fatigue but I was happy that I hadn‘t let the weather cripple me. I had done my full day’s worth of sight-seeing and most of all, I hadn’t betrayed my religion by drinking vodka. (My religion is cognac…and champagne…and B-52...but not vodka!)
Resilience is always rewarded in Russia. And once again, I was rewarded in the form of the massive obelisk in front of me. As Aish and I walked closer, we saw its reflection in the little pools of water the rain had left. An arc caressed the giant column from behind and the way up the platforms and stairs was paved by small bronze and malachite structures that hailed the achievements of the battle various - Leningrad, Ukraine, Minsk…
The 142m long obelisk itself - where every 10 cms represents a day of the war - bore names of the various cities that had fought the war - Moscow, Stalingrad, Leningrad, Kiev, Sevastopol…
Just in front of the obelisk, stood the giant figure of a horse-man, who had slayed a deadly snake with his spear. The bottom of the obelisk was adorned by flowers and bouquets, a tribute to all those who perished in the war. Whether in the armed forces or not, they are all war heroes! And it is this sentiment I admire the most about the Russians. They haven’t forgotten their war heroes, the heart-breaking conditions the war had created and the countless sacrifices made to protect the Motherland. No one celebrates their war heroes as much as the Russians do, and hats-off to that!
The rain was back with a vengeance but the day was almost over so it didn’t matter much! I had overcome the rain. And in some strange way, it felt like I had defeated God. (And the self-obsession continues...)
I was off to Oktyabrskaya to meet former Lehman colleagues for dinner at The Pancho Villa, an excellent Mexican restaurant on Bolshaya Yanimanka. It was a great night and good practice for my Russian. No points for guessing that, amongst other things, we all spoke about Lehman, which had filed for bankruptcy on 15th September 2008 becoming the largest corporate bankruptcy in history. At the end of the dinner, Sergey and Oksana did not let me pay for the tacos and tequila I had enjoyed. “Don’t worry, Aanchal! Thanks to Nomura, we still have jobs,” Oksana laughed.
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