Russian Tadka - 2nd April Moscow

It's been only five days since we moved from Hamburg to Moscow. We have wonderful memories of the place. The cleanliness( you have to come to Germany to see it), orderliness, the snow, the showers, the summer, the red maple leaves and then again the naked trees, the lovely German brot( bread), the potatoes grunkohl and spinach- a staple veggie diet, Bionade, my jogging path, the autobahnn- and travelling long distances in short time, moving the lawn, learning the language, walking to school and the activities there, beer, ....So so many things that one just gets used to. And now a new city, new lifestyle, a new adventure and new beginnings. Another opportunity to explore and understand a new country and experience a different culture. All experience is invaluable. Experience is knowledge and we've learnt a lot. How to adjust and adapt and adopt. And it is this that makes relocating fun even though it means getting out of that comfort zone that you've created for yourselves over a period of time. I will share some of my experiences in the bustling city of Moscow as a novice. Anoushka has her Easter holidays and to kill time and have some fun I took her to an indoor Ice-skating ring. If it weren't for our driver we wouldn't have even found the place- which is just three kilometres away and yet a good 20 minute drive given the traffic in Moscow. In Russia( needless to say) everything is in Russian:) So neither does whatever knowledge I have of Deutsch help nor does my 'fad fad' English save me from embarrassing and pitiable situations. We got off at a typically huge mall and went onto the 7th floor. But once there, we were lost. Not that the 7th floor had much to offer. Yet I felt like a complete moron looking around trying to make sense of the surroundings. A) We couldn't locate the skating ring. Nothing looked remotely like it. B) If there was any signage "Kala akshar bhais barabar"- we couldn't read it. C) Talking to people( there weren't many at 11 in the morning) was useless - no one understood/ spoke a word of English. We finally went into an indoor play area with slides and swings and trampolines and those toys and machines that run on coins. I surveyed the place and walked to a counter with 4 girls behind it. I smiled and said my hello in Russian- Sdrasvuytye!( bowing my head like the Japanese. But just a bit and not all the way! I always do that subconsciously in situations like these when I know that the other person has the power of knowing the local language that I don't ). I asked them- Skating? They looked at me in bewilderment. I asked again- Skating! One of the girls muttered something.' English?', I asked them. They muttered something again shaking their heads. 'Skating?' I was uttering the same word again and again and it meant nothing to them. I used my forearms and with the palms pointing outwards thrusting them back and forth repeatedly trying to remotely imitate skating, hoping that they would understand. Honestly it could've meant anything. It looked more like a hip hop dance step. The girls were now giggling but I was determined. This time I moved my legs, with feet gliding onto the tiled floor and hands and neck(in sync) complimenting the feet, moving forward effortfully on my heeled shoes! With a purse in one hand and a bagful of skating stuff in the other I looked grotesque and this time the giggles were louder. My daughter was visually embarrassed by her mother's antics. BUT, my effort was not in vain. They finally seemed to understand. This time one of the girls used her hands to denote a cross and grabbed a calculator and punched the numbers 14. What I think I understood was that the skating ring will be closed till the 14th. What I learnt was that when in Russia you must learn Russian.

Miscellaneous 2

Picking fruit off a tree and relishing every bite of it is such a succulent experience. Be it sweet red strawberries, juicy oranges and lemons, ripe plantains, crunchy apples, majestic mangoes or the humble guavas. People like me, whose fruit picking is generally restricted to the shelves of a super mart can’t pluck enough at the source. I salivate at the prospect of being able to savour fresh fruit in an orchard like some hungry herbivore animal greedily chomping on the greens. What follows next is the urge to immortalise this experience by capturing it with camera in every angle possible with the heavily laden tree in the foreground. I am glad that simple pleasures of life are for free.

Miscellaneous 1

After a month of good monsoon as I drive through a Ghat, what meets my eyes first are the orgasmic greens. The flora is dripping with happiness after the long dry spell. A constant drizzle keeps the wipers of my car busy as rows of water droplets gather onto the windshield like little children queuing up briefly and dispersing the very next moment. As I look around I see rivulets that have sprung almost instantaneously as water seeps through the crevices of rocks to form a steady trickle. In some places it gathers enough mass and progresses to become a water fall. I see flocks of delighted people stopping by to wet their desires. Eager limbs ache excitedly to take a dip into every possible source of water like impatient souls greedily grabbing the elixir. How starved we are of such innate urges! The soothing sound of water falling, splashing and flowing drenches my occasionally parched soul. Every other water body however tiny like a puddle, fancy like a fountain or big as the ocean is a brimming source of bliss to us.

Horn NOT okay please.

My early memory of trucks is that of Ashok Leyland and Tata. Gaudily coloured, dusty and rusty they came with intricate floral patterns ( the Lotus being most common )or with images of gods and goddesses and other motifs. Golden, silver, black and red shiny shimmering stringy decoration often hanged from various parts of the trucks body. However what was most interesting was what was written behind the trucks usually over or below the number-plate. Theses lines ranged from a word of praise for India or a common saying or some poetry or shayari or even some philosophical thought and words of wisdom. However the one that was ubiquitous with all trucks was the HORN PLEASE sign with OKAY squeezed somewhere in between. I don’t remember seeing a truck without this sign.

What prompted this truck-drive down the memory lane is a small initiative started by my Mama( as in Uncle) in Pune, to create an awareness about the unpleasantness and redundancy of honking, besides of course it adding to the noise pollution. He has designed stickers which simply say HORN NOT OKAY PLEASE, which one can stick behind the vehicle. However his purpose is not just to urge people to stick these stickers , but more importantly to convince the driver of the idea. A honking vehicle with a sticker reflecting views otherwise is a shame! In times where the function of indicators in our vehicles is yet to be discovered or is conveniently forgotten and though we use different body parts to indicate where we intend to take our vehicle, we continue to strongly believe that honking will rescue us miraculously from any and all situations on the road. In fact honking has become a favourite pastime of most drivers in our country who proudly honk at all times, even at rhythmic intervals and sometimes to keep themselves awake and occupied! Anyway, I don’t want to elaborate on the harmful effects of honking. My readers are wise. I appeal you to give it serious thought and help us in having a quieter city.