Monday, August 27, 2018
Bombay—First Day as a Fulbright Fellow:
Namaste from Bombay!
Dawn was breaking over Bombay when my Air-India aircraft touched down at Sahar Airport. It felt, for me, highly symbolic. It was the dawn of my new life in Bombay, it was the dawn of my new existence as a Fulbright Fellow, it was the dawn of my new persona as an assistant in Bombay to my Dad and my invalid brother Russel after thirty years away as an expatriate. It felt good to be repatriated again and to arrive with just one small suitcase and have a uniformed chauffeur waiting my arrival with my name emblazoned on a placard. It felt good to be chauffeured to my Dad’s home in Bandra so that I could leave behind a pile of laundry to be done, pick up my laptop and return to the waiting car and chauffeur who then drove me to downtown (South) Bombay to the West End Hotel near Churchgate.
I had a different visual idea of where my hotel would be—I thought it would be behind Eros cinema (I remember that there was a hotel there that I thought was called the West End—I was wrong). This one is right opposite the Bombay Hospital and I do not recall being there at all. In fact, I have very vague memories at age 18 of visiting my Mother, then being operated for breast cancer at Bombay Hospital by the inimitable late Dr. Arthur D’Sa whose daughter Vanessa went on to become my classmate at Bombay’s Elphinstone College. But I do not recall there being a hotel in that spot.
So imagine my surprise when I was driven there and dropped off in a place whose entire facade is being revamped. There was construction material all over the entrance as I made my way over the marble steps—not the best sort of welcome to be sure. However, the Receptionist was very welcoming and efficient and in finding myself at a very olde-world hotel with a large foyer, I had mixed feelings about where I was going to be for the next few days. The Fulbright folks usually put up their Fulbrighters for the first week in a hotel upon their arrival in a new city during which time they are required to look for and find their own accommodation. Hence, I started my life as a Fulbrighter in Bombay with a few days in an unfamiliar hotel in downtown Bombay.
After I checked in, I entered my room—large, spacious, very clean, very old-world. The bathroom has been recently updated. It sported a porcelain bath tub, marble floors, a nice new sink—everything was perfectly clean and very appealing. The bell boy who saw me to my room switched on the AC and showed me how to use the TV remotes. A few minutes later, another bell boy brought me a large bottle of water.
I spent a few minutes trying to get unpacked with my devices and getting on to WiFi and picking up my overnight email. Then, I fussed with the TV and discovered that amidst the million channels, there is BBC and CNN—the only two I intended to watch anyway. So, success there too.
I changed, had a very welcome and refreshing shower, got out of my travel-weary clothing and sank into a perfectly spotless, well-made bed and attempted to get some sleep as I felt sort of weird—not sleepy, not tired, but sort of listless. I guess jet lag was setting in. However, sleep proved elusive and I probably slept for just a half hour before I gave up and decided to reach out to the USIEF (Fulbright) people to thank them for sending a pick-up car for me and for the hotel they have arranged. They promptly got back to me to ask if I could come in for a security briefing in the afternoon at 3.00 pm. That worked well for me for it gave me some time to unpack and catch up with my email correspondence.
About an hour later, I left the hotel and bravely walked out into the busy Bombay back street that was pretty crowded with the comings and goings of office-workers of the area and walked towards the American Center where I thought my meeting would be—it was about a 7 minute walk to the place.
Visiting the (Former) PEN Society, Alliance Francaise and the Theosophy Hall:
En route, I happened to pass by what is called the Theosophy Hall, a place that I once used to frequent—about 35 years ago. It was strange to revisit the footprints of my past as I climbed the broad steps. I used to visit an old friend, the late and very well-known Indian poet in English, Nissim Ezekiel, who used to be my Professor of English at the University of Bombay and who ended up becoming a very close friend, at his perch as Director of the Indian PEN Society (I wonder if that organization is still alive in Bombay). I remember the hours I would sit in his airy, bright office discussing poetry, the position of English Literature at the University of Bombay, my life as a freelance journalist, etc. I could see Nissim smiling with his eyes through his 1930s-style bottle glass spectacles and voicing as slowly and clearly as he always did, his sometimes controversial views on things. I also noticed that the PEN Society name plate that used to be above the door of his office is no longer there. Perhaps that room has now fallen into disuse.
Just next door, I used to be a frequent visitor too to the office of the Alliance Francaise de Bombay where I had taken French lessons with visiting French people who lived as expatriates in Bombay. I had passed my Diplome de Langue Francaise through the AF and I had developed a very close friendship with the then Director Patrick Beck who had invited me to travel as a reporter when an Indian troupe of actors went off to France to present a play called ‘Le Quatorze Juillet’. I had interviewed him a number of times for a number of articles I had then published in the Bombay press.
All those memories came flooding back to me as I revisited the space to find a swanky glass door and a Reception space that was much reduced compared to the vast hall that I remembered. The focus today seems to be on furnishing the needs of Indian students planning to go to France to study, while in the decades gone by, we studied French because we loved the language, adored the culture and hoped someday to get to France as visitors and to be able to interact with the people there. That, at any rate, was my reason for studying French and indeed my goals were completely vindicated—when I had first arrived in France in 1988 and could actually communicate with my own French pen pal, Genevieve, in French and, over the years, on every occasion when I have spent time in France and have improved my language skills and been able to find my way so easily all over the country, thanks to my proficiency in French. So I felt really grateful to the AF for what it had done for me as I stood at the door. There was no Receptionist at the desk—no Shirin, no Shubhada—receptionists of the past who were good friends of mine. So, I did not enter.
Instead, I went upstairs as I found out that on the third floor of the Theosophy Hall was the Reading Room—once of those Halls that had flourished in Victorian times when such Reading Rooms had furnished the reading needs of a public greedy for reading material but unable to afford to buy books or periodicals themselves. The Theosophy Movement has been founded in 1875 by the famous Madame Helena Blavatsky who had worked closely with Mrs. Annie Besant who, in turn, had worked closely with the Indian Congress to achieve rights and eventually Independence for the people of India. I had visited Kingsley Hall in London, a couple of years ago, where Gandhi had stayed while living in London as a close friends of the German Theosophist sisters who had founded the place and offered it to Gandhi as a modest lodgings when he arrived to participate in the Second Round Table conference in 1931. There too, standing outside Kingsley Hall (because it was closed) in the East End of London, near Bow Church, a region completely taken over by Bangladeshi immigrants today, I could not enter the place as it was locked; but I had felt as if I were in a 1930s time-warp for the building wore the pre-World War II look that some London buildings still manage to retain.
Well, I have to tell you...taking the aged elevator to the third floor and opening the door of the Reading Room, I was transported to that era all over again. There were sheets of dust over every surface in a vast Hall that was surrounded by bookcases that were filled with tomes that had not seen a flipped page in decades. The place was soundless—like a graveyard to an era that has long passed. There was no one around, but it is clear that the place still functions as a Reading Room, although who goes in to read is highly questionable. I must say that I had never been up to this Reading Room myself as I then did not know much about the Theosophy Movement or the Theosophy Society. I have learned so much about it in the past three decades and so decided to take a quick look around, surveyed the Victorian and Edwardian books on the shelves and then I left—as quietly as I had entered, unnoticed. I felt a sadness of sorts—it does not seem as if I will ever feel nostalgically happy about any of the places I knew and loved in the Bombay of my youth—so much has changed and not necessarily for the better.
On the other hand, I am well aware that Public Reading Rooms have fallen into disuse all over the world. In London, they were founded by Edward Pasmore who personally funded the building of these spaces so that the poor could have access to reading material. Pasmore Reading Rooms, relics of his philanthropic past, are to be found all over the East End of London from Hackney and Shoreditch and from Bethnal Green to Aldgate. Although I have not visited them but merely noticed the letters Pasmore Hall or Pasmore Reading Room engraved on the facade, I am sure that they too wear the aged looks of better times long past.
Solitary Chinese Lunch at Churchgate:
I then strolled around at leisure in the area around Churchgate. Not much has changed there except for the fact that there seem to be so many more people and so much more traffic. But this is the most vibrant city in the country and I saw similar crowds in China, the other most populous country—so the crowds did not, in any way, bother me. I walked all the way to the Bay, then crossed the road and found the Wok Express where I could have a custom made Chinese noodle bowl for lunch. It was delicious if a tad too spicy—the kind of Indian-Chinese food that has become so popular in India and in the US. I had a Chicken bowl with vegetables and noodles and it made me feel that if Bombay does not offer me anything this year, it will at least offer me wonderful food! Certainly my first solitary meal was good. I was surrounded by college students from Jai Hind College where I had begun my university teaching career and where I had spent 8 blissful years as a professor.
Getting my Surburban Pass for Railway Commute:
Then, I entered Churchgate station and went to the Ticket window to find out what was needed to get my monthly pass for suburban travel from Bandra (where I intend to be based) to Churchgate to use the library of the University of Bombay on the Western Railway and the Victoria Terminus (VT) station (now called CST—Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus) to St. Xavier’s College on the Harbor Line where I shall have an office. I found out that all they needed was a photograph and some form of ID. I had a photograph in my bag and I had my US driver’s license and they accepted that without a problem and issued my monthly suburban first class railway pass on both lines—for Rs. 640 which was less than $10! I could not believe it!!! I had paid less than half the amount I would have paid for a single journey from Southport to Grand Central Terminal in New York! Happy Days!
Security Briefing at the USIEF:
Then, I walked into Maker Bhavan (it is no longer the American Center where the offices are located) for my 3.00 pm meeting with the Bombay USIEF personnel. They were warm, welcoming and very efficient in putting me through the security briefing which is mandatory for all Fulbrighters when they enter the host region. I was given information about travel in and out of India, the formalities that will come into play, the ability to find housing through local realtors, the medical insurance that is made available to me, health and other worries (they spoke about malaria and dengue). They went through everything systematically and reassuringly and I found the session deeply enlightening. Basically, I was told repeatedly to use “common sense”. I left the office after reading and signing security papers and after being told that I will need to enroll for a couple of other programs that will ensure my security, should, God forbid, there be any crises or emergencies during my stay in the country that might involve the intervention of the US consular offices here.
Return to my Room:
I then walked back to my hotel room feeling as if I’d had a very productive day. It was my wedding anniversary—sadly, Llew and I were on opposite curves of the globe. He was just landing in NY and had whatsapped me to let me know that he had arrived. And I was settling down to email correspondence with my colleagues at NYU. Long calls with Chriselle and Llew then followed and I was connected in the most tangible way with those I most love. My Dad and my brother Russel had wished me in the morning and started my day by making me feel loved. So the day ended with others people in my life making me feel loved. It was the best way to begin and end my first day as a Fulbright Fellow.
Sleep came at about midnight...until tomorrow,
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