Person of Indian origin

  

Who am I? Which country do I belong to? Which group of people do I belong to? Which system do I follow? Which rules do I follow? Who do I agree with (of course my wife)? What is my place in which society?

Some of the questions can be answered with facts and some with circumstantial evidence. The rest you figure out on a day-to-day basis and the answers change everyday  depending  on ones mood, state of mind and the amount whiskey.

I was born in India. Most of my life I have lived in India, so I am Indian. But I have moved around in India while I was growing up. India being India is a large country with its states, cultures and numerous languages. It’s like each state is a different country. My home state, Punjab - or where my parents come from - is as big as Norway (where I live now).

I was not born in Punjab; I was born in UP and now that state has been further broken up into other states. So am I Punjabi because my parents come from Punjab, or am I from UP where I was born? Oh, maybe I have missed out on the bigger picture here – it’s not really that I am Indian but I am no longer Indian, but that I am British and I have a English wife.

I don’t feel English but I do feel British and European, HELL (although I don’t believe in hell or heaven) YES!  I feel British and European and I even voted for the first time in England to try and get my MPs and MEPs elected. Whereas in India, I could not even get a voting ID. One time the address was wrong, the other time they put in the wrong photo and then sent my voting ID to someone else.

All this is not helped by the Indian media, which keep reporting news of what people of Indian origin have done in other countries. It’s like India does not let you go even when you denounce the Indian nationality. There are two kinds of news in the media: (1) somebody died or got beaten up in other countries then it’s an Indian or Indian student but (2) if someone has achieved something and it’s by a person of Indian origin (I guess these people don’t want to be called Indian), is it not time to let it go and just say so and so did great in so and so country?

I don’t know what point I trying to make here - have they asked that person how he feels, whether he wants to be referred to as Indian or a person of Indian origin? On what basis has he chosen to be non-Indian? Did he really want to leave the country? How did he feel about it and how has he been treated in his country? Why is the person of Indian origin so important (person of Indian origin maybe a citizen of another country)? Are there not enough Indians, being Indian citizens, who have done great things to get a mention in the news? Believe me, there are loads of Indians who deserve recognition but it seems that persons of Indian origin over shadow those who are indeed Indian.

My friend Harpreet Singh Padam was not happy man when I told him I took up British citizenship, but I think he understands in a way why. Like I said, I was born in Uttar Pradesh in India to a set of parents who were born in Punjab, in a unified India. I married and English/British woman, moved to Alesund, Norway, where our first child was born. Just for fun and to make his life a little complicated, we gave him a Russian second name. Who knows what my son is going to make of all of this.

Sometimes it’s not easy to explain it to people or I don’t know if I want to explain it. People ask where are you really from. You land at Delhi airport and you get asked at immigration: so you are British, why do you have a Norwegian address? Oh! You were born in India! You speak very good Hindi.

I am a Norwegian resident, a British citizen, and an overseas citizen of India  living on planet earth, floating in the milky way. The point is that when you feel like a citizen, when you feel you belong to a place, where your loyalties lie, that is where your heart is and where you can sing you are “500 miles away from home”. 

Anatomy of female shaver

Nothing much to it, it’s PINK and white, it’s got five blades, it’s pink, it’s got lots of curves, it’s pink, it’s got this rubber thing above the blades which soothes your skin, it’s pink, the blades move with your facial contours, it’s pink, easy to clean and it’s pink. I have nothing against the pink colour.

My shaving  days did not start until 1997 and I didn’t know what kind of razor to use. It was my friend Nikhil Kumar who came to my help, he introduced me to the world of razor cuts, foamy shaving creams, the burning skin after a shave. Over the years I have tried different blades: a single blade razor, a twin blade, a tri blade, even a five blade. The one I have been using for years is Gillette Sensor Excel. I don’t know why other than the fact that it was recommended by Nikhil.

Nikhil, who in those days was way ahead in knowing boys stuff (everyone has one friend who acts more grown up). Now it’s not supposed to be confused with mature and sensible, just grown up, you know what I mean, one who gets to shave first, one who has a girlfriend first amongst friends, the guy who develops the husky voice first, the guy who talks to big strong boys on your behalf. That’s the guy I am talking about. That’s Nikhil.

Back to the razor blade. It’s done a good job for more than 14 years. Even when I  moved to Norway and England I kept on using the same razor, when I ran out of blades I even imported the blades from India, as they were not readily available in the country. It’s strange to use the same kind of blade and razor for so long, but as people say if its not broken why try fix it.

This summer in England, as I was getting the wrong kind of looks from the UK border police and other people for having a two month growth on my face and almost a shaven head and a few lovely convincing words from my wife I decided to have a shave. As faith would have it I had left my razor in Alesund and the only thing that would reduce my facial growth was either a pair nail cutters or a pink and white soft rubbery stick with excellent curved body.

My friends, let me introduce this great mechanical wonder called Gillette Venus Divine Shaver. At first I was a little hesitant to use it (you know all those stories about using women’s products) but gentlemen this is a wonderful tool for those unwanted hairs be it on a women’s legs or on man’s face. The ease with which it glides on your face and no irritation, no cuts, no burning sensation afterwards, easy to clean . I guess I was missing something in life and this was it, after the shave I told my wife what I had done with her razor. I thought she would be angry with me but she told be next time I should try the new women’s razor with 5 blades. What?!!!! was my response. They have an advance version of this razor, my god how many things have I missed in life. As it turns out in the razor blade world I have missed out everything after Adam eating the apple, apparently now they have razor with ribbon of moisture, razor with shave gel bars built into the razor head, razor with white tea sent in shave gel bar, moisture-rich shave-gel bars that are enhanced with a triple blend of body butters. Question is do any one of these actually shave hair?

For me for the next 14 years it will be Gillette Venus Divine Shaver and it will be pink in colour.

The dog

After another day of taking care of Udham (mostly Udham taking care of me with his laughs and saying it’s ok dad), Amrit took me out for a dinner at one of the most popular Indian restaurants in Manchaster called Akbars (http://www.akbars.co.uk/manchester).

As we came out of the hotel, there was a pub called Brew Dog. I have been drinking beer made by Brew Dog for years now , but I never knew they had gone into the the pub business. I had read about them in Time magazine, that they make the strongest beers in the world.

I had to go in. For me it’s not just the beer, it’s the attitude of the people who make the beer and the funky names they have given to their beer. With names like Trashy Blonde, I Hardcore You, Nanny State, Tactical Nuclear Penguin, Sink The Bismarck!, The End of History, Ghost Deer. Even if you are not a beer lover you have to give it to them for their effort in making beer and not backing down to the competition; they are ever changing. They made this beer called Tactical Nuclear Penguin with 32% alcohol, which was claimed to be the strongest beer ever made. Someone in Germany made an even stronger beer so these guys came up with Sink The Bismarck! 41%. But Brew Dog did not end there: they one uped themselves by making the end of history at 55%. This is one of the reason I like this brand: they just go for it. So I would recommend this beer to any beer lover, just try it once if you can get your hands on it. It’s got a great taste and great history behind it. http://www.brewdog.com

After just one not so strong beer I was ready to eat at Akbars. It’s a very nice restaurant, but it’s plagued by the same issues as any other Indian restaurant: over staffing and when you need something there is no one around and if you don’t there are always 3 or 4 people hovering around and talking amongst themselves. I would say the food was great and the Nan was the biggest I have ever seen, two of us could not finish it. I in all my greatness told them to make my lamb hot. I think hot is a relative word, who you say it to and what they understand and how they make the dish. The lamb came in a bowl of chillies, well the only consolation is that I wont be constipated tomorrow morning. Burning it goes in, burning it comes out.

That was the last night in the great city of Manchester.

I will come back someday.   

Mini me

Sitting in this lovey Radisson hotel in Manchester I’m taking care of Master Bhullar while his mum is away studing for her masters. I’m thinking I could not have a have a better holiday, no amount of cycling or driving or anything can give you as much pleasure as your crying and moody baby.

We drove here to Manchester on Sunday and I dont think I will ever get rid of my pollen allergies. We stopped at Watford Gap as recommended by FIL(Father in law). I got out to get something to eat, I don’t know why but whenever I stop for  break, I am under a spell to buy something to eat or drink. I just cant seem to control myself. Like a well-tuned robot I went into get me some non-natrual colour drink and some E-numbered riddled food. I was out for just 60 sec and in those 60 seconds all hell broke loose: my nose and eyes were on fire.

I still tried to drive the rest of the way and as usual I was in the middle lane (my lane) and suddenly a sign popped up on the big new sign board. It was like they had updated the sign just for me. It said in bold capital letters DON’T HOG THE MIDDLE LANE. I dont know why I love the middle lane but it’s the best. I don’t drive that fast so I dont have to be in the top lane and I don’t like to change the lanes to overtake the trucks so often in the outer lane. So I just use the middle lane to cruise without changing the gears or putting on the breaks. I think it’s very eco-friendly. All you need is people driving at the right speed and at equal distance from each other. I guess all don’t live in Bhullarsworld.

Manchester city is much nicer thsa I was led to believe it to be. Maybe my lovely wife, a Liverpool supporter, didn’t want me to think of it as being better than the lovely and holy centre of the world Liverpool. I was under the impression it was a run down city full of gangs and stuff from the shady novels. It’s nice and it’s being modernized, with the odd old bulding right in the middle of the modern structures. TheTrafford Centre, I guess you can’t hide things too much, has all the nice and big shops and even bigger brand names and a very clean, big parking lot. The only thing which made you feel you are in Manchester (The NORTH) is the handpainted portraits of people on the walls near the celling. In india I would understand they can be used to ward off evil spirits, but here I could not begin to imagine the purpose. Maybe they’re an advert for the new living dead zombie movie. All along the length of the shopping mall there are golden yellow lines that highlight the pottraits. Maybe in The North you don’t do things for a reason. Maybe they are done in the name of art, let the secret be a secret.

Taking care of master Bhullar. My hats off to my lovely wife and great mother to Udham. He is a lovely boy that does not want much, but when he wants it he wants it. He wakes up with this big smile and big eyes, does his stretch and holds his arms out: it’s pick me up time daddy - the day has started and you need to entertain me now. Then starts a round around the hotel room, good morning beds, good morning sofa, good morning mirror, good morning window and so on. He has a little baby chat with all these things. When looking back at me ’I am bored daddy, is there something else on the agenda today?’. I reply: ’well son it’s kick daddy in the tummy time’ and then it’s some more talking to the furniture time. Soon it’s milk time, well he looks at you and I know he’s thinking ’well dad you don’t have the natural equipment that mummy has, how are you going to manage this task?’. Well son someone invented a thing called the bottle and it does the job. The look in his eyes says ’if i have to, hunger can bend the strongest of wills’. With a big sigh coming out of his mouth, he takes the bottle. With his eyes he looks deep into your soul and says I don’t like this arrangement but since I have no choice I will make do for now. But wait until I’m a teenager - revenge is a dish best served cold daddy. He is a lovely boy. His one smile can make your day and one look in the eyes can say a thousand words (most of them go like this: daddy you are great, daddy you are smart, daddy you are handsome, daddy you are the greatest, daddy, daddy, daddy).

This is my version of events. I tell the truth, nothing but, BUT the truth.

A mad dash

A mad dash

Woke up on the Løkken beach in Denmark to a beautiful sunrise and decided to bitch slap the beach, which a week ago did not let me cycle on it. Now I would drive on it with four wheels. What I didn’t know was that while I was bitch slapping the beach, it was waiting to give me a sucker punch. I just went off the track a little bit and the beach took revenge. Guess what people? I got stuck on a beach, in Denmark, at 0400hrs. What a start to a long day’s drive.

Well this was Denmark and soon came a car full of students who were still tipsy from last night’s partying. The main point though was that they were still willing to help. Help they did and pushed the car out of the sand. I still belive half of them didn’t know where they were and what they were doing. If these guys were not there at that time of day I would have had to wait for hours to get help. Sometime strange things happen. That’s why I always try to help people on the road as much I can because you never know when you might need help. The way I do things I seem to always need help. Well their kindness was paid with 2 cans of last night’s beer and 3 cans of coke, which is all I had to offer. I’m not sure how they were going to share them but for now that’s not my problem.

The problem ahead was to reach Calais (France) at about 1700hrs to catch my ferry to England. It’s  1400km in less than 12 hours. You will never know untill you try it. This one I knew very well I wouldn’t make it but like my car crazy friend Gurpreet and Nikhil Kumar would say GO FOR IT BUDDY! I tried.  I even had a few cans of red bull and some chocolate to keep me up but I had not had a good sleep for a while. So I was falling asleep. I had to stop the car and take a nap. It was only supposed to be half an hour but I woke up after an hour. There is no way I could make it to France in time for the ferry; I was still in Denmark and there was Germany, The Netherlands, Belgium and France to come. My tour manager Amrit rebooked the ferry to 0115 the next morning.

Next problem was Hamburg, Germany. So many times before I had promised myself never to cross Hamburg by road again. I don’t know I have to test out my luck everytime to see if I can cross it without a traffic jam. I have found out that I have more chance of spotting a flying elephant than crossing Hamburg without delay. It’s just one of those things. The jam started about 100 km from Hamburg, so in all my smartness I waited and hoped for the elephant to fly by at any monent. Things became slower and slower and then they came to a standstill. By luck I was at an exit. I took a chance and took the exit and hoped it would take me somewhere. It was better than standing still and it was going in the right direction. It brought me right to the door step of Hamburg. 6km away lay Hamburg City and it was bumber to bumper all the way in. It was so slow or just standing that I could feel my nails grow. At one point I was a serious contender for the longest nails in the world. It took me about 3 hours to cross the city. I have promised myself never to drive through Hamburg again.

After Hamburg I still had a lot of milage to cover which was not helped by the roadworks on the autobahns. Every few kilometres one has to slow down and the road is reduced to 2 lanes. Where I was counting on no speed limits on the autobahns I was forced to drive at a snail’s pace.

I can’t tell you much about The Netherlands and Belgium. They are small countries that you pass through very quickly. Now I know why in The Netherlands they have made this highway roundabout which is so confusing that everytime I cross this place I get lost. I try to follow the signs, try the GPS but it just doesn’t seem to work. I think they made it in such a way that you are forced to spend a little more time in Holland. It’s always an extra 6 km on the highway. If you want to know the highway, it’s near Eindhoven. Have a try and let me know how to go about the maze.

Belgium, honestly people, I don’t have anything talk about. Maybe I should spend some more time there someday.

By the time I reached Calais it was 2300hrs and I was booked for 0115hrs. I was well ahead of time. I had driven from Denmark to France – 1400 km in 19 hours – I still had 250 km left to go before I got home to London. It’s a 90 minute pit stop onboard the ferry and then off to London.

It was not before 0300 on Saturday that I reached London almost 48 hours after I started from Norway .

It was dinner or breakfast, who knows, but there were aloo wale pranthas to be eaten at 0300 in the morning.

Sometime you ask to yourself WHY? , sometime you say to yourself WHY NOT.

From two wheels to four

What a difference a machine makes. The holiday is not over yet so after a short pit stop at Fort Bhullar and a quick change of carraige, the game was on again. London here I come.

I have driven many times to London from Ålesund in the past so I thought I’d try something new this time – a new route involving the ferriess I had used to get in and out of Denmark. I usually use the main roads.

It goes some thing like this: Ålesund – Oslo – Gothenburg – Malmo – Copenhagen – Rodby –Puttengatten – and then the autobahns in Germany, just touching The Netherlands and Belgium and France.

First I would avoid Oslo and try a diffrent route – into the mountains and national highway 51 . Even after bragging about my navigational skills a few days ago, I managed to make a boo boo. I started at 0300 in the morning so I could take the ferries. I had planned a route in my head and map. But first I forgot my map at home then I tried to be smart by using a GPS. Well I took 3 ferries and and 3 hours later I landed at a spot where I could have driven in one hour without taking any ferries. A very smart sardar.

Anyway on one of the ferries I met this blond girl asking for directions. She wanted to get to this place, which meant she had to take the ferry and drive straight on the only road leading to the town. There was no other way but to take the ferry. But she said she wanted to drive and avoid the ferry. I told her it’s the only way unless she was prepared to take a 500km round trip to get to this blond wonderland. I told her when she gets of the ferry there is only one road and she should take it and where the road ends, that’s the town she wants to be in. She thought this a very complitated set of instructions. So as you know I am a sucker for blonds I told her I would help her out by running the point on the connvoy and  take her to the town (which was on my way anyway). So the gentleman in me drove in the front and she followed through this maze of a single straight road to her town.

That started with the cloud cover but as it went along the sun came out and it was hotter then hell. You know what happens to hairy Indian men when they sweat – they smell and get ichy all over. One of the curses we have to live with. Talking about curses, another we have to deal with everyday is our handsomeness. I know we are too modest to say it ourselves.

Anyway back to the drive. Oh the RV51 road is just beautiful - the high mountains and lakes and long straight roads.

While on the drive i was listening to the radio and on the news they said the highway department is cutting the budget for the cycle roads project by one third yet at the sametime the governmentt MP and the highway department said they would like to see more and more people on the cycles. I don’t know sometimes. It seems like these people wake up in the morning and say to themselves how can I make myself look like a fool today. Aaaah maybe I should say two totally contradricting things.

I landed in Denmark on a fast ferry from Larvik. It’s a sleek vessel, but it’s a beast when it comes to parking your car inside. When it opens to unload its seems like the cars wont stop coming from inside its belly. It takes forever, but after a fast 4 hours you are in windy Denmark.

I am at the same beach I cycled on last week. I am just taking my revenge by coming on a car and staying the night on the beach, drinking beer and writing my blog.

This is the life.

Cycles, buses, taxis, trains, a ferry and more buses

When the mind was made up, the logistics came into play. How to get the cycle, 20 kilos of stuff and me home. From Tranum, I had to get to the nearest town to get a bus. I have to give it to the Danes - everything can be arranged for a man with a cycle. Even the price of tickets are such that you don't feel the pinch in the pocket - something like 12 Danish kroners for 2 hours. I would say the systems are good but you still have to rely on the honesty of the people. I didn't have enough kroners so asked to pay in Euros. The bus driver wanted kroners and said I could pay later and let me on anyway. Later he just picked a figure from the air and charged my cycle 15 Euros and me nothing. Aalborg train station, as it happens all across Scandinavia in the summer months (the Hi season for tourists) they have to repair the trains and tracks. They put you on a bus, drive you a little, Put you on a train, take you off the train and then back on the bus. Luckily for me, they made some mistake and I had already purchased the ticket so they had to take me to my destination. By whatever means. So they put my cycle and stuff in a truck and they called me a taxi. Now that's what I call taking responsibility. That's you DSB (Danish State Railways). Hirtshals was where I would take the ferry from to Kristiansand, Norway. I had some time to kill so I went to have lunch. Here I met 3 Italians who were doing the same route as me In Denmark and were having similar problems with the headwind and the maps. They couldn't do more than 50km a day because of the wind. We were talking about it and came to the conclusion that one of the reasons that the route starts in the south and finishes in the north is because of the wind. You get more tailwind on the south to north route and therefore easier to cycle. Once on the ferry, I did what all Norwegians do and bought duty free even if it meant I had to carry it on my back. My phone showed 0000hrs as I landed in Norway? The station was just across the street but I had a 2 hour wait for my train to Oslo. I bought the ticket at the machine but it would not register my cycle - the ticket prices were not from planet earth. And then as the train came in I was told that it would stop 50km short of Oslo because they were fixing the track and the bus would not take my cycle. The conductor told me that he would come to me to take the money for the ticket for my cycle so I went and sat down and waited. He came and saw my ticket and said nothing about the cycle. I too said nothing about the cycle. When it came to the time to take the bus I just told myself to go for it and take it and see if the driver takes it. And HE DID! No questions asked. Every railway employee I spoke to said he would not take it but I guess they never asked the drivers before. I am sorry to say that Norwegian railways are trying to improve their service in Oslo by putting pretty girls in their red uniform to deal with customer’s queries. The only thing they forgot to provide them with is information. The ticket terminals were down so I went to one of these girls... Question – where can I by ticket. Answers – hmmmmmm maybe on the trains, our systems are down. Q. Where does the train go from? A. Ahhh there is only a bus service today for the trains. Q. Can I take my cycle on the train? A. Don't know. Q. Who knows? A. The ticket sellers. Q. Where are the ticket sellers? A. We don’t have them today, buy on the train, but we have busses to take you to train, you wont know whether you can take the cycle on the train until you reach the train. This is the NSB service. They want me to travel on the bus to the train with the cycle and then once I'm there I have to ask if I can take the cycle and if not I have to come back on the bus, but the bus does not allow cycle onboard. So I opted for the long distance bus service. They have the same service problem, there is an office which says ticket sales. I went there to buy my ticket and got, oh we don’t sell tickets. Got my ticket on the bus. The prices just piss me off. It's like they don’t want people cycling. The ticket for the cycle is half the price of the adult ticket. They say the cycle takes space. You can put your whole house in it without any charge but if you have 2 wheels you have to pay. I can understand if there is no space or little space, but half of the freaking baggage compartments were empty. It’s a 12 hour journey with one change over. After going through all this, when I changed bus I was dreading how much I would have to pay for my cycle on the last bus change. At last my luck turned. This driver said he didn't like the rule of the cycle charge, there is space in the bus and he didn't expect more people so he would not charge me for the cycle. At last I'm home. I started at Tranum at 0800 Monday morning and arrived home Tuesday 2300. Glass of whiskey. That’s all I needed to say for today.