Our Life, Our Times :: 33 :: Elusive "achchey din"

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As the 2019 elections inch closer everyday, campaigning for candidates is acquiring fever pitch. While candidates are being nominated rallies have become the order of the day. Newspapers are full of reports of who said what against whom. The two major parties, Bharatiya Janta Party and the Indian National Congress, are generally at the throat of each other, one accusing the other of corruption. Apart from the abuses for the opposition, there are sops galore for the people, particularly those constituting the weaker segments of the Indian society. The promises, extravagant in nature, are being made and, it seems, were the Congress to come to power it would have precious little left for improvement of infrastructure and other sundry services.

Modi seems to have learnt a lesson from the 2014 General Elections when he made extravagant promises which he could not fulfill during the five years that he ran the government at the Centre. He was mauled by the Opposition on two of his promises – one was about bringing back the reported piles of black money and putting Rs. 15 lakh in each Indian’s pocket and the other was about ushering in “achche din” (good times) with the defeat of the “corrupt” Congress. Though Modi won the elections fulfillment of these two promises have remained elusive. He, therefore, seems to have been more circumspect this time and has refrained from making hard-to-fulfill promises.

Many of his supporters have criticised Modi for his failure to bring in “achche din”. Newspapers have been running reports and comments on his inability to usher in good times. The people’s expectations had been raised sky high by these profligate and lavish promises and when they saw that these were nowhere in sight they were thoroughly disappointed. Even a rightist commentator and generally a Modi supporter, Gurcharan Das, expressed his disappointment the other day at Modi government’s utter failure in bringing about “achche din”. Das pities that Modi’s was a golden opportunity to make the best of a chance that he got but seems to have squandered it by failing to capitalize on it. Das says some good work was done but the most basic thing – jobs – that were not being created are still nowhere in sight and hence the dividend offered by the favourable demography was lost.

The difficulty is that nobody ever defined “achche din”. Even BJP or Modi never ever clarified what would be their components. As it is, ours is an aspirational society. Even those who live in shanties have aspirations of living a better and dignified life. They were so much taken in by Modi’s promises that they started dreaming of a far better life, far removed from the daily grind of poverty and perpetual want. With all those dreams disappearing in thin air they have been disappointed and frustrated. Their frustrations will surely cost Modi some votes at the forthcoming elections.

The extravagant promises generated runaway expectations. Modi did not have a magic wand with the wave of which he could bring about all round happiness and prosperity immediately on being elected the prime minister. If I expected that I would become as rich as Mukesh Ambani, live in a 27 storied (effectively 60 storied) mansion with six floors for the collection of my cars on Modi winning the 2014 elections I would be nothing but an inveterate fool. An intelligent man would realize that ”achche din” takes a lot of effort and dedicated, honest work to materialize and five years is too short a time for any government to work through the rot and mess that was left behind by the previous government.

 The ignorant and unsophisticated were not able to appreciate that the promise of bringing “achche din” was only a handy thick and heavy stick to beat the Congress with which, honestly speaking, it thoroughly deserved. It wasted ten years of the country and instead of progressing towards a better life and greater prosperity it made the country regress and brought it close to a precipice.

Elections are times when all kinds of promises are made. Sops for farmers and the poor continue to be showered, this time, even by the Congress. But then they need to be taken as so much of trash. It is what the political parties do after winning the elections that matters and not what they promise before they form the government. “Achchey din” was a ploy to win the 2014 elections and nothing more, just as “Garibi Hatao” (remove poverty) was a ruse used by Indira Gandhi to win the 1971 elections. Hence, those who are disappointed need not shed tears for no-show of “achche din”.

*cartoon: from internet

Destinations :: Oxford & Stratford-upon-Avon

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Oxford

We had to go to Oxford and from there to Stratford upon Avon. My friend Tiwari’s daughter used to be in Oxford working, if I recall, in a research establishment. Tiwari had told us that his daughter, Bela, had bought an apartment and we could conveniently spend some time with her. When I rang her number from Margate I was surprised to get Anne on

Oxford

the other side. She had come over for a few days.

We took a bus from London’s Victoria Coach Station and were in Oxford in under two hours.. As we had made it rather early I deposited the bags in Left Luggage. As I came out I saw somebody peeping out of a window from the Coffee Bar and calling out to me. It was indeed Anne. I had met her in Delhi in 1972 when the entire family had travelled to Gwalior and was staying while on their way

Oxford

in YMCA at Delhi. Bela was around 5 or 6 years old then. There were two other children – Nila, almost of the same age as Bela and Anil who was four months old. These two were adopted children and were neither of East Indian nor of Caucasian descent.

in YMCA at Delhi. Bela was around 5 or 6 years old then. There were two other children – Nila, almost of the same age as Bela and Anil who was four months old. These two were

Oxford

adopted children and were neither of East Indian nor of Caucasian descent.

Ever so irreverent about social niceties, my mother asked Tiwari why did he have to adopt two children when he already had one of his own. He explained to her how things were different in Canada and that everyone had to share the societal burden. I could see his point. Having decided to live out his life in an alien land it made an enormous lot of sense to adopt its ways. He

Shakespeare's birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon

had done just that.

We spent just about two days with Anne. Day One was meant for sight seeing and day two for Stratford-upon-Avon. I think on the third day we moved back to London on our way back to Brussels.

Oxford is basically a medieval town and the architecture is

On the banks of River Avon

likewise medieval. We took a conducted tour in an open top

bus. The city has numerous spires and towers and each one is very well maintained. I couldn’t help wondering at the upkeep of these old buildings that could well be more than 500 years old. I think pride in their heritage that drives the local people to maintain the buildings in the

AnneHathaway's cottage, Stratford-upon-Avon

best possible manner. It is a matter of attitudes. They have the right attitude while we seem to have no attitude at all. I took a few photographs. No Swachchha Mission can keep cities as clean as you see Oxford in the photographs. I must also mention what a pleasure it was to see boys in white playing cricket on local greens.

Another bus ride and we were off to the Bard’s place. The bus seemed to move between a sea of yellow. The fields were full of rapeseed flower which yields oil used as cooking medium.

Stratford-upon-Avon

Stratford I found rather unremarkable. The only places worth seeing were the house that was Tudor in style where Shakespeare was born. The house he died in, however, no longer exists. The other worth seeing place was the cottage of Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare’s wife. She appered to come from a family of substance and, perhaps, that is why her house is relatively much bigger.

One must, however, mention that one cannot do justice to Stratford-upon-Avon in a day trip. One needs to take in the Shakespearean atmosphere by visiting at least one theatre, say the Royal Shakespeare Theatre or take a weekly Ghost Walk in which guides are all professional actors. I wish my father could visit the place. He

used to teach Shakespeare in the College having been taught at the Presidency College, Kolkata by English professors who

used to be experts either in Shakespearean comedies or in tragedies. That was in the first decade of the last Century. Then the Avon River offers beautiful sights on its banks. A boat ride should have been a must. But, alas, inadequacy of cash made it impossible to spend more time.

Next day we were back in Brussels. We crossed the sea in the catamaran nullifying the anxiety of the Belgian mmigration officials displayed during our out-bound trip. We rounded off this trip of  ours to Europe by taking day trips to Antwerp, Cologne and Luxemburg.

Bhopal Notes :: 72 :: Ridge Road half done despite minister’s intervention

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I nave several times used this column to project the difficulties of my neighbourhood where for want of a decent road life seemed to have gone haywire. Around five years ago the Mayor had happened to visit the neighbourhood and had found the Ridge Road in a deplorable condition so much so that he promised to build a cement concrete road for the benefit of the residents. More than four years went by and the new cement concrete road was nowhere in sight. A new election for the municipal councilors is now in sight. But before that the state elections took place in which the ruling dispensation, BJP, lost and a state government led by Indian National Congress is in position.

Last February when 40 CRPF policemen lost their lives there was a general feeling of outrage in the country and people assembled at Martyrs’ Memorials in their respective towns to pay homage. The local MP and the new Minister for Housing and Urban Development (a Cornell University Graduate and son of former chief minister Digvijay Singh) happened to visit the Bhopal Memorial which is very close to Idgah Hills. Some enterprising residents took both of them on a ride on various Idgah Hills Roads in order to give them a feel of the condition of the roads. Having seen for themselves the condition they let loose their ire on the municipality officials and the councilors concerned.

Promptly roadbuilding material and equipment were sighted on the road. The road building commenced earlier this month but, alas, it is yet to be completed. The contractor two works simultaneously and would work each of them for two days and move on to the other for thenext few days The result wase quite by design of the contractor we were imprisoned within the confines of our house as he blocked the exits on both sides.

The road largely remained undone With the festival of Holi commencing, the work was stopped and is expected to recommence after 31^st March when the last of the series of festivals “Dol gyaras” is to be celebrated.

One does not know what action the MP and the Minister are going to take against the contractor and the officials concerned for the serious inconvenience caused for years together to the people residing on the Ridge Road. The primary responsibility should be that of the municipal councilor who should be  hauled up. One hopes the minister who is in charge of Urban Development does something like this so that others in the municipality look sharp about providing due facilities and conveniences to the people in good time

Kashmir 50 years ago :: 10 :: Army "Bara Khana"

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The road to Baramula

The colleagues from the Army Postal Services came calling one afternoon. They had come to invite me for their Bara Khana at Baramula. The khana was to commence late in the evening and go on till about10 in the night. Army Bara Khanas are meals in which all ranks join and they eat together. Despite the strict hierarchical system the Army men become somewhat socialistic on such days and freely mix with all ranks.

Initially I was reluctant to travel 30–odd miles just for a khana. But then our Deputy Director, CP Thomas, also got an invite. He rang up to say that we would be going giving me no option. I said my car was all jacked up for the winter and hence could not move an inch but he said we would be using his car. He had a 1964 Herald and was a sheer beauty to drive. I agreed and two other friends joined in. One was Udipto Ghosh of the IAS J&K and the other was Jyoti Mathur, DAG in the office of AG J&K.

 As Army bashes generally have booze flowing Thomas said that I would drive on the way up and he would do so on the return journey since he would be abstaining from alcohol. That was fair and we commenced our journey around  four in the afternoon Thomas’s Herald was a sheer beauty to drive and the road, a single lane affair, was superb. We were there in under two hours.

Baramoola, as is well known, was a place that the Pakistani raiders had settled down to loot, plunder, rape and indulge in butchery during the raid on Kashmir in 1947-48. It played no mean role in 1965 as this was the most used route for infiltrators who, unfortunately for Pakistani dictator  Ayub Khan, got caught by Kashmiris contributing largely to the failure of his Operation Gibraltar. But as we travelled down the road to the town it was as peaceful as one could expect in normal times.

The “Bara Khana” was a leisurely affair. We were introduced to the unit heads over drinks. Thomas scrupulously avoided alcohol. The “Khana” was held, if I recall,  under a huge tent and the atmosphere was festive. Senior officers came and met their men and junior officers over either drinks or the seniors tried to force-feed their juniors. I had no experience of such a “khana” but it was fun. The great camaraderie on display among the men and officers was somewhat infectious; one thought it was a great way of keeping up the morale of the fighting forces and their ancillary services. There was nothing of this kind in the civil side of the government.

Around 10 in the evening we bid good bye to our hosts and commenced our drive back to Srinagar. As was the understanding, Thomas took the wheel. We were a foursome and yet there was very little conversation. I think our luck was somewhat out as soon it started drizzling. The smooth road became slippery and the front windshield would fog out needing repeated wiping by a piece of cloth which Mr. Thomas would keep on top of the dashboard.

Once, it seems, he did not find the cloth where he remembered to have kept it and looked for it taking his eyes off the road and what happened next was catastrophic. Instead of taking the bend he drove into it where there was no road and the car took a few somersaults before it came to rest, mercifully, on its four wheels. The engine died but the lights were on. The rear wind shield seemed to have flown off allowing a huge mass of mud to come in and land on us sitting on the rear seats.

The lights revealed to us that we had taken a fall of about twenty feet from the edge of the road. Thankfully none was hurt, we had fallen into a bog with ankle-deep water and this water and the soft earth had, probably, cushioned the fall. The other lucky part was soon revealed and that was we were close to Srinagar.

We extricated ourselves with great difficulty from the two-door car only to find our feet sinking in ankle-deep waters. We managed to wade through the bog and climbed the steep slippery escarpment to get on to the asphalt that we had inadvertently left few moments ago. Mathur could recognize the lighted area and was happy to find his house not too far. We all trudged to his house leaving the car in the bog. It was cold and  my woollen clothes, as indeed those of others, were sogging wet; worse, they had mud and muck on them in generous quantities from the bog.

Mathur tried to be hospitable and wanted us to spend the night at his place. That was impossible as, like most of us, he was a bachelor. Wishing him all the best, Thomas and I started out in the forbidding overcast night for our respective homes. A casual glance at my watch revealed it was around 2 AM. Both of us had a common path up to Residency Road. So we did left-right, left right and walked out of Jawhar Nagar, came to Amirakadal, the first bridge of Srinagar. We passed by its market and arrived at Lal Chowk close to which was the Central Telegraph Office. Thomas used to live nearby and hence he cut across to get to his place. I knew Mrs. Thomas would give him hell.

 I marched on alone down the Residency Road as I had some more length to cover. Not a soul was in sight; my leather heels hitting the tarmac seemingly sounded inordinately loud. A fleeting thought came to me that in this surrounding loneliness I was a sitting duck. Anybody could stick a knife into me. But, no, those days were different and it was safe; I had company of a few stray dogs that trotted along till I reached the gate of my residence. I climbed up to my quarters. As I shook off the soggy clothes and the boots I mumbled to myself “what a horrid wet and mucky day!”

*Photo from internet

Destinations :: Edinburgh

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Edinburgh Castle from Royal Mile

This was the first time I ever sat in a bus with a toilet. We were off to Edinburgh from London in a National Express bus that wouldn’t stop anywhere on its route. It had only a minor stop at Milton Keynes where India had lost a Hockey match a few weeks back. But we were nowhere near the town. Likewise the stop at Newcastle-on-Tyne too was also for a short while away from the town.  

Passengers had to make do with the toilet that was onboard to cater to around 25 or 30 of them. Refreshments could be bought in the bus – the usual fare of sandwiches and coffee. With these amenities one did mot really feel the strain of atravel of around nine hours. to the city of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Skyline of Od Town Edinburgh

As we got off the bus we checked with a transport official the way to our B&B. As we moved towards the bus stop on the Princes Street I could hear the faint strains of pipe being played by somebody. As we got on to the bus I saw a piper in full regalia playing on his pipe standing on the pavement. I don’t know whether the piper was trying to makes ome money but the strains that emanated from his pipe were very soft and pleasant on the ear

.

We were headed for Broughton Street past the old Theatre  

Royal. Broughton Street was close to Princes Street and what was more interesting was that on the ground floor of our B&B were two shops run by Indian migrants selling mostly Indian snacks. I saw appetizing samosas kept in the hotcase.

Edinburgh is dominated by Edinburgh Castle on the Castle Hill. It is reputed to be a place inhabited from as far back as

University of Edinburgh

the iron age. It, however, exchanged hands several times and has, therefore, been witness to a lot of blood and gore. Marie Queen of Scots gave birth to James VI in Royal Palace in 1566. From 1600 it held a garrison and later even hosted prisoners of wars. It continues to be a military base and at the same time is also a part of Edinburgh World Heritage Site.

Edinburgh has two iconic roads - Princes Street and the Royal Mile. The Princes Street was named after two sons of George III. Over decades it has changed as the road was planned and

Old Town Edinburgh

re-planned with the buildings having to abide by fresh municipal instructions. It is on this street that the Gothic Walter Scott Memorial is located close to Princes Street Gardens. RL Stevenson, if I remember, used to live somewhere off the Princess Street.

A spanking new mall too was located on this Street. It was named  Waverley – a name that rang a bell. I seemed to have heard it earlier. Long years ago our friend Vikram Shitole came down from Woodstock in Mussourie to pursue a regular Matriculation course instead of the one of American High

School Graduation. Being a young man he used to talk about the girls in the neighbouring Convent the name of which happened to be Waverley. That’s it; after years I again came across this name and that too as the name of a shopping complex. Later, however, I came to know that even the name of the Edinburgh Railway Station too was Waverley.

The other iconic street in Edinburgh is the Royal Mile. The rock on which the Edinburgh Castle stands is between Princes Street and Royal Mile. The Royal Mile is, in fact, a succession of streets intersected by what are known as “closes” from the Castle Gate down to the Hollyrood Palace where the British monarch comes and stays. The distance from the Castle Gate to the Gate of the Palace is approximately a mile. The Royal Mile is a crowded thoroughfare mostly busy with the activities related to tourism.

 It is a distinguished part of the Old Town and, naturally exploited and capitalized for tourism. No wonder Edinburgh is the second most important city for tourism in UK after London. Standing on the Royal Mile one can see a succession

The Royal Milee

of old residential constructions, religious places as well as othe structures that were used for purposes of governance. In the midst of all these one has the Castle, with its walls and the grounds green with trees sloping towards the Royal Mile. It has that touristy atmosphere a whiff of which we got while taking a ride in an open-top bus.

The railway station is stuated in a steep valley between the Princes Street and the Royal Mile. The railway was allowed after a stout fight  between the residents of then newly built residences who did not want the smoke from the steam engines to pollute the air and ruin their health. The railway with its station and other paraphernalia remained in the valley and to mask the effects of smoke in the area the residents built

On the Princes Steet

up gardens that are now known as the Princes Street gardens. To go across to the Royal Mile or the Old Town bridges were built for the benefit of travelers and commuters. The net result is that in Edinburgh you hear the railway engines but never ever see them.

We had a pleasant a stay of less than a week though if one went by what Stevenson said about the weather there one wouldn’t find it pleasant. We confronted rain only once but Stevenson complained of “rain, damp and blustery winds”. He wrote about the Edinburgh weather saying “ the delicate die early, and I as a survivor among bleak winds and plumping rain, have been sometimes tempted to envy them their fates. For all who love shelter and blessings of  the sun and perpetual tilting against squalls, there could scarcely be found

Walter Scott Memorial

a more unhomely and harassing place of residence”.

This he said about Edinburgh and reckoning the current

number of tourist footfalls in the town one would scarcely give any credence to such dark prognostications about the weather. One can only say how wrong he was in his perception of the town’s weather. Perhaps, his bronchial condition made him see darkness where, perhaps, there was light.

Memories of an ordinary Indian :: 19 :: Graduation and post graduation

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Clearing the Intermediate examination was, in fact, clearing the stage of higher secondary education. My higher education truly started as I stepped into the III and IV years of the college. I chose Political Science, Geography and English Literature for the graduate course of two years, both having examinations conducted by the Agra University to which the College was affiliated at that point in time. Much earlier, it was affiliated to Calcutta University, Allahabad University, etc. Later, of course the college was tagged on to Vikram University in Ujjain before it was brought under Gwalior’s own University.

Before I speak further on my years in the college, insignificant though they were, I might as well write down a few lines about the College building. For a place like Gwalior, then wallowing in the backwaters of the country, it was something to be proud of. While the building in which we studied was built during 1879-1891 the College was established in 1846 and was known as Lashkar Madarsa - Lashkar being the name of the town. It was renamed as Victoria College in 1887. Although located in Gwalior. later it was ironically renamed, not after a Scindia but after Maharani Laxmi Bai of Jhansi who was denied assistance by the Scindias to fight the British during the 1857 Mutiny or the First War of Independence, whatever one may like to call it. Finding her situation hopeless she decided to end her life at Gwalior where she was camping. The College (MLB College for short) is currently known as Maharani Laxmi Bai College of Excellence.

Built in the then prevailing Indo- Saracenic style, the structure is constructed of sandstone procured from what was then known as Rajputana. Even the workers were brought from there and Gujarat. The trellises on the porch and on the storey above are typical of Rajasthan. Its rooms have 25 to 35 feet high ceilings to keep them cool during the hot summers of Gwalior. I remember the tall doors, of teak and frosted glass, on which were writ large two alphabets: VC for Victoria College

 What was most interesting was the stairway for going up to the first floor. The first flight of it would commence from two sides as one entered the building from the porch after going across a wide verandah that went round the building. The first flight would end at a wall and the second flight moved along it up to the second landing and then two flights from the two sides would climb and converge on a landing that was suspended in the air, From there two flights took off rising in two opposite directions – one for the Union Hall and the other for the classes. It was somewhat like the stairways of palaces of royalty, shorn of all their embellishments, seen in the Hollywood films of the 1950s.

  The building used to look so balanced with its two wings and the clock tower in the middle seemingly piercing the sky. That balance has been destroyed by installation of a statue of Maharani Laxmi Bai very close to its porch - as if naming the College after her was not enough. We Indians are too fond of statues. For decades the College used to dominate the skyline of the town and the hourly chimes of the clock used to be heard right inside the bazaars a mile or so away. My mother used to work by that chime and her blood pressure would rise if she happened to be unable to complete her targeted chores by the time the clock struck one in the afternoon.

Built on many acres of land, it had a sand stone compound wall all around it which was brought down by some mad cap who replaced it with very pedestrian-looking hideous compound walls. It had extensive grounds for cricket, football and hockey, spaces for badminton and tennis courts, a gymnasium and some massive trees.

When I joined the College I somehow felt proud as not only my father was a teacher here, all my elder siblings had gone through its portals – some had passed out and the rest were still working through their respective courses. The College was so much with us, so well entwined with our lives that we were happy to be there as indeed, I remembered, I used to be happy to be there with my father years ago in the evenings during my childhood.

For graduate courses some of the professors used to be top class and some others were better than ordinary. Our Political Science professor who used to take classes on Political Thought was a Ph. D. from the London School of Economics where he happened to have been taught by none other than Harold Laski. The Head of the Department of Geography, Prof MA Qureshy, a very close friend of my father, was also exceptional.

The faculty would be very helpful and go out of their way to assist the students to come to grips with the subject.  I remember one of the Political Science lecturers was so committed that he invited a visiting professor from the US and requested him to take four lectures on the US Constitution when we were in III year. His name was Schleicher and was perhaps in the faculty of Oregon University. He had come to India on the invitation of Indian Council of World Affairs at New Delhi of which our lecturer too was a member.

As I entered the BA classes I lost a few friends and acquired some new ones. Among the new ones were mostly sons of Maratha feudal all of whom barring one have passed on. The only one remaining and whose father was a government servant, Udaisingh Ingle is still around. So are others like Ramesh Tiwari, DVS Kapil. While Kapil now spends six months every year in the US with his two sons I should like to dilate a bit on Tiwari.

Ramesh Tiwari was senior to me in the College but I just do not remember how I got to know him. He was doing his B.Sc. Having scraped through, he switched to Geography for post graduation and obtained a good Second Div. That wouldn’t have taken him anywhere but for his prowess, despite his bulk, in Cricket, Hockey and Football which fetched him a placement in Bishop Cotton School, an old and reputed public school in Simla. He chucked that job for personal reasons and joined Yadvendra Public School in Patiala. For a boy from a family of modest resources he was pretty enterprising. Throwing the Patiala job he moved to Nairobi to teach in one of the public schools there. While teaching there, he somehow insinuated himself into Reading University in UK and started working on his Ph.D. With a doctorate in his bag, he got appointed in the University of Manitoba at Winnipeg. Before leaving for Winnipeg he came to our place at Bhopal in 1965 from where he called me asking me to go over to meet him. I was in Raipur that was 24 hours away by train. That’s when he revealed his plans to get married to an English girl who is still with him.

He has been a friend for around sixty years, but if one were to ask me, I wouldn’t know how he infiltrated into our household and of all the people, became pally with my mother who was generally known as Hitler among my friends. He came to know very well everyone of my family – all my brothers two of whom are no more.

I passed my bachelor’s examination with a high second division and opted for Masters in Political Science in clearing which, too, I did very well. In those days first divisions were very hard to come by. Only two of my siblings obtained them – one in Zoology and the other, my sister, in Geography. My eldest brother topped the University but missed I Class. I too suffered the same fate.

*Photo from internet

Destinations :: London

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From Margate we headed for London. A distance of about 150 kms takes little more than two hours. As we had taken a bus it took us to the central depot known rather archaically as the Victoria Coach Station near Victoria Station also called London Victoria. Known as Belgravia, we arrived at seemingly a very fine place. We had bookings in a

Westminster

B&B joint in one of the outfits located, I was informed, in one of the buildings that were built with the money of East India Company.

I would rather not describe all that I saw in London, which in any case was much less than what I would have liked, as many of my friends must have been to London and have had a better induction into the city. We spent only three or four days and the sightseeing was also not quite structured. We would generally hop into “hop on,

Big Ben from a nearby bridge

hop off” bus and see whatever we could. It was such a pity that we passed by Piccadilly Circus, May Fair, Hyde Park, etc on an “hop on, hop off” bus which perhaps would have been better viewed from ground level while walking through them. I took some pictures – some of them came off well and some are of indifferent quality. Nonetheless, they provide me with the feeling of having been to one of the greatest metropolises in the world and, that too. on my own steam.

The other thing is about British Tourism’ efficiency and dedication. We hed personal experience of their

At carnaby Street

comprehensive attempts to cater to the needs of tourists. When my wife, after waiting in a queue for a good part of an hour, got to interact with the lady across the counter it turned out to be complete and comprehensive job. My wife booked two-ways ticket to and from Edinburgh, a B&B joint in Edinburgh and London, a bus ticket to

At Trafalgar Square

Ramsgate for our return journey and our tickets for the catamaran for getting back to Oostend. For the B&B at Edinburgh she had to call various joints to check availability and eventually fixed one for us near the old Theatre. What was amazing that she never complained for putting load on her which she seemed to bear quite happily. Along with her patience I also admired the

patience of those who were waiting in the queue.

Sitting on the steps of Queen Victoria Memorial I kept staring at the Buckingham Palace. It was as unimpressive as Westminster was impressive. It was like a block of stone without any distinctive character. Maybe, it was gorgeous inside but from outside it was as plain as ever, even pedestrian. From childhood we had heard of Buckingham Palace but when I was up in front of it was disappointing. Our Gwalior Palace of the Scindias is much better looking. Designed by an unknown architect, Michael Filose, it is grand from outside and inside.