Cops

A singularly uneventful week, except for the usual mounds of unfinished work. That, and a sixty Euro fine for running a red light. Another dent in the ol' college fund. Siiiiiigh!
It happened on the way to the swimming pool. We were cycling , a nice quiet ride at 7:30 in the morning, the Swim Buddy and me. The sun was just about kicking in and doing its stuff. At about this time there is hardly anyone in the streets. Pretty sparse, if you get my drift. So, there we were biking along, engaged in some intense conversation when suddenly there was this blue blur and this lady cop is riding along side us. "Jongen", she said "Met de politie...". At these words, my heart slowly slid down and reached my stomach region. Quite possibly, the ol' stomach acids got to work on the cardiac tissue. I'm not too sure about this last bit though. I was feeling quite numb. The reasons for this were quite varied. One, I had no identification whatsoever, this being my usual practice when I go to the pool. I leave my stuff in the general area of the swimming complex and it is safe, but still, I never take my wallet and other unnecessary things there. Two, my bike lamps were off. It should have been on because it was still kind of dark. Bikes with dynamo's being such a pain and all that. The Swim Buddy was also feeling the same way as his predicament was pretty similar to mine. Except that his front light was on, but this tail light was off.
So, she directed us to the side and the Swim Buddy and me resigned to our individual fates slowly mounted the kerb, parked and dismounted. The Policewoman, zig-zagged around with her fancy bike and parked strategically in front of us, doubtless to prevent any hastily thought up escape plan. Not that we'd stand a chance against that sleek 18-gear monster she was riding.
She calmly let us know that we'd jumped a red light. The two of us simultaneously whipped around to check out the lights. But we couldn't really see the lights. (I mean, we just passed them). Besides, I don't really remember checking out the lights before we crossed the intersection, so she was most probably right. Once the Policewoman realized that I was a foreigner she spoke to me in English. Rather nice of her. She spoke to the Swim Buddy in Dutch and then said the same thing to me in English. Cops, this polite, back home? Forget it. I could have told her that I did understand a little Dutch, but I thought it prudent to clam up and let the Swim Buddy handle the conversation. She told us that she'd have to fine us sixty Euro's each and then asked for some identification. Increased stomach acid activity at this point. The Swim Buddy explained that we were on our way to the pool and therefore didn't have any identification. This is it, I recall telling myself, She's going to call for backup, we'll get hauled to jail and then I get deported. Bye Bye Holland. Well, she didn't do any of that, but she did tell us that the fine for not carrying an proper ID was fifty Euros. The stomach acids were having a party. I could hear the drums. We madly scrambled around in our bags for some form of identification, but really, there was no hope. I just had my sports card and that wasn't much. I think she noticed the condition of our bike lights, but she probably decided to give that a miss. Just as well. My stomach wouldn't have handled the strain.
She started to write the fine down and then paused, looked at us and asked us what time we had to be at the swimming pool. One of those "Whaaaaaat???" moments. The Swim Buddy said that we generally stayed there for three quarters of an hour. She promptly closed the book, took out her note book and asked for our names and addresses so that the police department could mail us the fines. Good Grief, I was thinking We don't have ID's and proof of address. Are you really going to trust us? Well, she did trust us. No idea why. Perhaps the honest face of.......Never mind, never mind.
Anyway, we gave her our names and addresses. Our real names and addresses. She told us we were being fined just for the red light bloomer and to expect the bill in six weeks. She also told us to carry a proper ID at all times. And you've got to keep in mind, the whole time she was talking in Dutch to the Swim Buddy and then repeating the same thing in English for my benefit. The whole time. Can cops get nicer than this? I think not.
Not bad for my first experience with Dutch cops. Ok, my second experience. The first time was when I was biking in a pedestrian zone, when presto, this cop comes out of nowhere and lays the law down. I escaped, unscathed, that time by pulling the dumb foreigner act. I sorry. Engels? Engels? It worked that time partly because he was a guy. You know what I mean. Guys tend to ignore these little things. Women, on the other hand will go to great lengths to make sure you pay for every tiny thing you did. In retrospect, I suppose, the Policewoman could have let us off with a warning, what with it being a deserted street at daybreak and all that. But that would have gone against every instinct of Womanhood. Still, she fined us just sixty Euros. Just. I guess I should be grateful, eh?
Like I was saying, Dutch cops are ...well...nice. Lots of other people have also told me this, based on their experiences. Lets just hope it stays this way.

The Art Of Social Kissing

I suppose its about time I tackled this subject. This Social Kissing thingy is quite common here in Delft. The first time it happened to me? Well, it was a little weird. Downright ghastly actually. But it was totally my fault. Honest. Anyway, the procedure is pretty simple. You greet the girl, then lean forward and tilt your head to the right. In the meantime, the girl also does the same thing, but she tilts her head to the left. This direction of the tilting head is not really a hard and fast rule. But its got to be mutual. So if the girl tilts right you have to tilt left. Eventually, your heads should meet (unless one of you is doing it wrong) and at this time you land a kiss on her cheek while she lands one on yours. That's about it. Pretty simple, eh?
Nope. Not for me anyway.
I still remember the first time. The only time. I was in a crowded pub, with a bunch of friends. This Greek girl comes along and goes "Hiiiiii" with a customary big smile. (For Greeks, big smiles and "Hiiiiii's" are customary.) Then she leans forward. My super fast brain goes into smart mode. "Ah" I think, "She wants to tell me something. Obviously, she doesn't want to strain her vocal cords in this racket". She tilts her head and I tilt mine....... positioning my ear perfectly for her to speak her piece.
I tell you lads, I've never seen a smile drop so fast and a look of abject confusion come up in its place. But being Greek and being sweet she valiantly tries to land a peck on my cheek...and succeeds. My super fast brain finally gets it. I try to return the greeting, but by now its a clumsy and gawky movement. By the time the whole awkward scene is over she looks at me, the surprise in her eyes and face slowly giving way to enlightenment "Ahh..You don't kiiiisss." This said in a matter-of-fact voice.
That was one of them painful, squirming moments. Now, when girls see me, they stretch out their hand, keep maximal distance and then shake my hand. Thinly veiled sarcasm if you ask me. Well, at least they have a sense of humor.
Almost everyone here does the social kissing thingy. Can't think of anyone who doesn't. But not everyone gets it right. This gives me some evil satisfaction, knowing that I'm not the only socially inept chump in Delft. The best of the lot are the Greeks. They make sure its a warm and friendly gesture and there's got to be lip-to-cheek contact, otherwise it doesn't count. Chalk up another notch for the Greeks. The worst of the lot are the air kissers. Flamboyant, pretentious, (dare I say, Indian?) and what not. An air kiss is totally annoying to watch and those loud 'mwah's are an assault on the senses. But interestingly, I find out that air kisses are meant to be fake and are reserved for people who can't be tolerated. Does that explain the Indian connection? Hmm...let me mulch over that.

October

The cold and rain are here. Time to trade in my loafers for shoes, use heavy jackets and gloves and things. I've forgotten how cold it can get because of that uncharacteristically warm (or so my Dutch friends tell me) summer we had. The heating in my room is now on, another reminder that winter is near. Soon we'll be resetting our clocks as Daylight Savings comes to an end. It'll become darker earlier and that means I can jog in the dark. Well, its the only pleasure that I derive during this time, so don't begrudge me that.
The spaceboxes are full of new folk. Not that I've met them or anything. Its just that the high pitched whining of the smoke alarms assault my ears every five minutes. Guess, they'll learn how to deal with it. Just like we did. I also overheard an interesting conversation where this fresher was telling some other freshers about how 'it seems impossible to complete this course in two years'. Lousy kid. This is just the beginning. Wait until you get to the sleepless nights and eat-food-out-of-the-vending-machines phase.
When I got here last year, I was thinking of the honours track and a cum laude and extra credit and the whole works. But now (suitably humbled by the course), all I'm thinking off is finishing with a decent grade. Unfortunately, this quarter,I think I bit off a tad more that I can chew.I'm loaded up to the eyeballs with work. Unnecessary work, I might add, because I had obtained all the credits I was supposed to have obtained the previous year. All this with the sole purpose of concentrating on my thesis for the whole of the second year. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. If I get out of this mess unscathed, I'm not going to do any more hero stuff. I promise.
Dutch classes are picking up. Yep, I now take Dutch at the university. We're a diverse bunch -Chinese, Iranian, Colombian, Spanish, Australian, Bangladeshi, Greek, Mexican and Brazilian. Wonder if I've missed any nationality. Nope, don't think so. I'm the only Indian in class. And in case you're wondering, there are only about fifteen of us in the room. Couple that with an incredibly enthusiastic Dutch woman, who enjoys imparting knowledge, and you get some amazing dynamics. Apart from the course, meeting all these folk is interesting. A Chinese girl actually talked with me. I mean, imagine that. Normally they shuffle their feet, avoid all eye contact and steer clear of my path. Guess I should stop stereotyping, eh? Ok, wait, that's just one Chinese person out of the many in Delft. If there are three others who have a normal, relaxed conversation with me, then I'll stop stereotyping for sure. This one even got my name right. Most Chinese and Korean people (to my knowledge, anyway) can't pronounce 'n' properly when it is in the middle of a word. It comes out sounding like an 'r'. So, instead of going "Anish" they go "Arrish". I gave up trying to correct that a long time ago. Quite a scene it used to cause.

Me: Err...It's Anish, by the way.
Random Chinese Person: Ok, Arrish
Me: No, no...Annish.
Random Chinese Person: Ok, I know, Arrish.
Me (with exaggerated lip movement): Annnnish.
Random Chinese Person (with exaggerated lip movement): Arrrrish.
Me: Siiiiiiigh.

Coming back to Dutch, I must reiterate, progress is good. At the beginning of my tenure in Delft, I used to say "Ik kan niet spreek Nederlands (I can't speak Dutch)". Now I've upgraded to "Ik kan spreek Nederlands maar niet zo vloeiend (I can speak Dutch but not so fluently)". Hopefully, the next time, someone asks me for directions or whatever, I can launch into a nice soliloquy without making excuses.
Tot later.

Brussels

Brussels. Well, the main reason I wanted to go to Brussels was because of its association with Herge. Who is Herge, you ask? Good Grief!! Go look it up on Wikipedia. Now. That Saturday chanced to be my birthday. A word about birthdays. For starters, I'm not a birthday person. I get depressed on my birthday. I know, I know, I'm weird, freaky, blah, blah..But the truth is, birthdays remind me of how much time I've spent on the planet and how old I've become and how little time I have to do the things that I've always wanted to do. Last year was different, though. I was in Delft. I mean, I was in Europe. That was quite something. At least I wasn't griping. But that old feeling of uselessness and un-accomplishment was still present somewhere at the back of my head. So this year, I resolved, it was going to be different. And what better way to celebrate than in Brussels, comic city. Around twenty years ago (I'm old, lads, I'm old), I started my journey into the world of comics. Haven't looked back since and its been a blast thus far. The reason I bring this up is because my first Tintin comic (twenty years ago) was Explorers on the Moon. (I know, I know, I should have read Destination Moon first and then read Explorers on the Moon. But I was a kid and the cover of Explorers on the Moon was ..well, you remember, those cheesy Orange spacesuits and the even cheesier red and white checkered moon rocket in the background...How could I resist? For that matter, how could you?). And now here I was..in Herge's town.

Well, anyway, we started from Leuven, the school chum and me. Leuven was where he stayed and that was the base of operations, so to speak. We breakfasted at small joint. Chocolate soaked pancakes and good coffee. I ask you, how can a day go bad when you start off like that? Eh?
A twenty minute train ride and we were there. A short walk and we were at the city center. The tourist office is situated at the city center and we needed to pick up the 'Comic Strip Trail'. The center itself is quite quaint.The Comic Strip Trail leads you through Brussels showing you all the murals painted by famous Belgian cartoonists. There are about thirty murals in all, but I didn't need to see them all, just the ones belonging to the cartoonists whose comics I'd read. There was a beer festival at the center. "Best to try the exotic stuff", the school chum told me. Seemed like a good idea indeed, but unfortunately, we didn't try anything because by the time we got back it was too late. Drink the stuff in the morning? Then, lads, we would have been staggering through the Comic Strip Trail, and that, wouldn't have been very nice.We did the Trail, and a darn good trail it was. The best murals were the Herge murals. Brought all those pleasant memories of bright colors and New-Comic-Book smell flooding back. That's right, I'm a book-sniffer. And a proud one too. Of the Herge murals the best one is in Brussels Zuid Station. You can't miss it. Its enormous.
We visited other spots as well. The flea market which featured in Secret of the Unicorn was exactly like I remembered from the comic, right down to the models of ships. Or, maybe these flea market chaps were keeping it that way.
We missed Herge's inspiration for the house in The Seven Crystal Balls and we also couldn't dine at the Tintin themed restuarant. Also missed the Herge mural at the underground station. Ah well, another time.
Another thing which you can give a miss in Brussels is the Mannekin Pis. But you'll feel compelled to see it anyway, because of all the legend surrounding it and because of everyone telling you that it represents the spirit of Belgium. Big hype, if you ask me.
The best stop was the Belgium Comic strip museum. I took a gazillion photographs. I also forced the hapless School Chum to take a bunch of pictures with me in them. Very uncharacteristic of me, but heck, I needed this. I posed with Herge's bust, with Herge's potrait, with the cheesy orange spacesuits, with the Moon Rocket, with my favourite characters, the whole works basically. There were replica's from some Tintin books. King Ottokars scepter was there, so was the fetish with the Broken Ear, and The Cigars of the Pharoah. Didn't find the Castafiore Emerald though. Heh heh heh.....
The souvenir shop attached to the museum had some delightful stuff as well. But expensive, lads, very expensive.We spent the rest of the day finding and admiring the other murals. The Bob and Bobette mural was good. Very typical of Willy Vandersteen and the comic, of course. Just flip to the first page of any Bob and Bobette comic. You'll know what I mean. The Lucky Luke mural was colossal. So was the Asterix mural, but the cruddy part of the Asterix mural was that it was inside a locked courtyard. I mean, why?? Jeez.....After the trail was done, we headed back to the centre and picked up some Belgium chocolates. Belgium chocolates are exquisite. Absolutely fabulous stuff. Put 'em on your must-taste-before-I die list. And when the lass at the counter asks you what kind of chocolates you want, say you want pralines. Ok, ok, say what you want, but make sure you try a praline or two. At least. So t'was a memorable end to a memorable day. The tickets to the Belgium Comic Strip Museum make nice souvenirs. They're pinned up over my desk right next to the unused Italian stamps.

Leuven

The fourth of September, 2009. I found myself on the train to Leuven , Belgium to visit a friend from the old days. Its been a year since I first arrived in the Netherlands and I should have made the trip sooner. But things like assignments and examinations kept popping up. Ah, better late then never.

I reached Leuven in the evening and the School Chum met me at the station. Leuven is a pretty small town. "The railway station is on one end of the town and my place is at the other end. It's just a twenty minute walk", the School Chum informs me. And indeed that's how small it is. Leuven is quaint, calm almost rustic. But no countryside. At least none that I saw. Unfortunately at that time, the student population were just returning to the university, so it was quiet. Not that it was a damper or anything. The evening was spent in Metafoor, one of Leuven's many pubs. Probably the roomiest pub I've been to in Europe. This time I don't worry myself with all those difficult beer-related questions. ("Hmm...I had a dark beer last time, maybe I'll have a blond one this time. Hmm...Do I have a triple or a dubbel? Hmm...a fruit based beer?") I let the School Chum and his friends do the ordering. The beers didn't disappoint. Pretty good stuff. Let me reiterate what I read somewhere. Belgium is to beer, what France is to wine. Quite true, that statement. But you needn't take my word for it. Best if you visit and find out for yourself. The company at the table included an Indian who had studied a bunch of languages. It was his actual study, not a hobby or something. Quite refreshing, eh? I mean, nice to see that not all Indians fall into the doctor/engineer stereotype. But this chap was brought up in Leuven. That probably helped. Also, at the table was a Greek girl, although I scarcely could believe it, for she was the quietest Greek that I had come across. So very different from the Greeks in Delft. But, she did roll a nifty cigarette...and at light speed. That was enough to convince me. Its in their genes, I tell you, its in their genes.

Another mighty fine pub to visit in Leuven is the Blauwe Kater. It translates to Blue Cat. They serve a fabulous house beer called (what else?) the Blauwe Kater. But the atmosphere is the best. A place very similar to Pecos (except for the Beer Menu, of course). A dimly lit place where ancient posters adorn the walls. (Its more like the posters are holding up the wall.) The place is packed with patrons. A yellowed A-2 sized sheet of paper (read: makeshift poster) announces a Jazz concert. August, 1997, the date on the poster announces. The patrons chatter away like the world's going to end tomorrow. Getting to the bar to order a drink is an exercise in itself. Stepping on empty chairs and squeezing between tightly packed tables is perfectly acceptable. Heh heh heh....totally loved this place. The School Chum and me did a bit of catching up. It had been a while, after all and my whetted curiosity in regards to various other old school chums was satisfied. I returned the courtesy and we get back to quaffing our beers.

As for Leuven itself, well, its really nice. The city hall in the center is quite majestic and the flower carpet in front of it was elaborate.

I don't know how often they do this flower carpet thing. Guess, I was lucky it was there when I was there. The School Chum also took me through the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, by Castle Arenberg (which is on the university grounds), to University Library, to Begijnhof (Leuven), which is like a monastery for women whose husbands were claimed by war in the old days, and to the site of the Giant Upside-Down Impaled Beetle, which apparently is the symbol of knowledge in Leuven. I was also privy to a cycle race. Pretty good that was, unfortunately my camera didn't do such a good job capturing the moment. (Or perhaps it was me. Hmmm...).
Food in Leuven is pretty impressive, I must say. A tad injurious to the ol' wallet though. I didn't try out any of the typical Leuvenese fare simply because I couldn't. Most establishments are closed during the summer months because there are no students in town. Did I mention that Leuven is entirely a student town? Well, there are some other 'normal' people as well, but really, Leuven is probably the best embodiment of a student town. The best one that I've come across, anyway. I'm sure the good folk from Leuven will agree with me.
As for drink, O yeah......I've already covered that. Belgium=Beer Capital of the world. (I don't care what anyone else says.)
A damn good weekend if I say so myself. Also, the eve of my birthday , (the day I arrived) was spent in Metafoor with good company and my birthday itself was spent in Brussels. So, being an anti-birthday person and all that, really, I couldn't have asked for more. But tales of Brussels will follow in another post.
Take care.

Zwemmen

Today was the day I was supposed to beat all odds at the swimming pool. Today was the day I was supposed to complete one entire length of the pool without pausing or floundering. Today was the day I was supposed to shift from the slow lane to the fast lane. But, today was also the day I saw the still body of a swimmer by the side of the pool. Dang!
Before your heart rate crawls to a dull pace, let me assure you that they got the chap out breathing and moving and all that. All thanks to well trained emergency personnel.
I remember entering the pool complex, with my heart thumping with gusto and adrenaline pumping through my veins. All pumped up, is the feeling I am trying to convey. But, one look at that near lifeless body lying there, curled up in a fetal position, with uniformed folk peering at it, and that was enough to knock the wind out of me. My thoughts at this point were "Anish, ol' boy. No laps today. No frontier conquering bravado. Stick to the usual swim-to-the-start-of-the-deep-side-and-come-back." Geez, I was so sick of that. Anyway, it was a man. I couldn't make out at first, because he was all wrapped up in silver foil. Yeah, you read it right. Silver foil. It's the first time I've seen that been used. I suppose its better than blankets, though I'm really not sure. He stirred about while the emergency personnel hoisted him onto the stretcher and wheeled him away. The good Dutch folk in the pool waved and said their good-bye's. Something that I found weird but familiar at the same time. Dutch folk always make it a point to say 'Hello' and 'Goodbye'. No matter what. The poor chappie blinked twice, looked around hazily and tried to return the greeting as the stretcher rolled out of sight. Needless to say, swimming was forgotten and everyone in the pool was engaged in curious chatter. The dutch friend I was with picked up some of the conversation and he informed me later that it seemed like the poor guy had a brain hemorrhage.
But we did swim that day. I, to the slow lane with my cautious swimming style and he to the fast lane with his own brand of swimming. I still remember coming here the first time. It was a tad weird being the only brown skinned chap in a pool with all the white folk. But I wasn't hassled or anything. Being dutch, all the folk in the pool decided to adopt their typical NIMBY attitude. Don't know what NIMBY is? Well, it stands for Not In My Back Yard. Thus far it seems to have served the Dutch people well and I think (personally) this is what has led to general tolerance in the Netherlands (tolerance for soft drugs, the innumerable foreigners, that sort of thing). I mean, its nice and all that, but after a while you begin to wonder if that's the way things should be done. But that's a discussion for another time. In this case of the pool, Back Yard would mean "small space where I(=dutch person) can perform my swimming moves" By the way, Back Yard is kind of a metaphor. What's that? You've figured that part out yourself? Ok, smarty-pants.
My reputation quickly dropped from foreigner-in-the-pool to floundering-foreigner-in-the-shallow-end-of-the-pool. Kinda humiliating. Indeed, I've had people come to me and ask gentle questions such as "What are you doing?", "Do you know how to float?" and other such queries. But apart from that there was no typical Anish-esq incident designed to bring the house down with laughter. I generally stayed out of people's way and they in turn appreciated it. It was, of course, the right thing to do. I mean, you wouldn't like it if some noob swimmer started splashing around while you were doing some serious laps now, would you? This brings to mind a typical stunt a good friend of mine from Bangalore used to pull when he was surrounded by noobs in the pool. He'd switch to the breast stroke while passing the noob he'd decided to punish and then use the frog kick to inflict maximum damage to the hapless victim. Obviously, the whole thing is meant to look like an accident.

Noob Swimmer: Owww!Hey, that hurt!
Evil Friend: Eh? How do you mean? I'm just swimming here.
Noob Swimmer: Oh, ah. Carry on then.
Evil Friend: (Swims away, chuckling evilly underwater.)

Of course, a frog kick to the crotch would mean manslaughter/attempted murder charges. Ghastly we Indians are, eh? Well, nothing like this happens here but still, I'm wary of these frog kicker swimmers.
But there was actually one time when I did the entire pool length. It was the second time I visited the pool, I think. I bucked myself up no end and took off like a shark. The thing with these shark-like starts are that their pace generally slows down to that of a middle aged crayfish. So I floundered on bravely...until I decided to grab some air. Now, I'm one of these heavy chaps, whose floating equilibrium in water is incredibly delicate. You know the - head comes up, feet go down - type. So my head went up and..... Gosh, the sheer panic that rippled through me was one for the memoirs. And the crappy part was, all my floundering wasn't helping in any way. I was stuck, my head bobbing just below the water's surface. I couldn't go up to grab some much needed air, nor could I go down to the bottom and do the Superman lift off trick. Just frigging stuck. It would have been a lousy way to go. But I did make it to the side of the pool and did pull myself up just in time to grab some sweet, sweet Oxygen.
Well, I guess, the only thing to do is wait for the next time. And the next time I'm gonna touch the opposite wall of the pool.

Ctrl+Alt+Delete

Thus begins a new academic year. Mixed feelings, lads, mixed feelings.
On one hand, sweet summer is all but over. Occasionally, the sun peeps in between gray clouds, but really, there's no hope. The sky is overcast most of the time and the rains threaten to fall. In fact, it should be starting anytime now. I see quite a number of dead leaves in the parking lot. Autumn heralds her arrival.("One more month, one more month",I yell."Autumn starts in October". But no one seems to be listening).The cold wind has already started to pick up and pretty soon we'll be shifting to the winter hours. That means shorter days and longer nights. Ah, well. I guess there's nothing to do but bite the bullet and plunge on till June next year. Good Grief!!! That is a long time indeed. Why June? Well, that's when the weather becomes nicer and everything is bright and sunny again, with longer days and shorter nights, and fun times and less stress and....siiiiiiiigh. You get the picture.
On the other hand, academics should bring some order and discipline into my life. My brains have pretty much turned into tapioca. I remember my examination for a Aerodynamics related course last month. It was a one-on-one with the professor. I knew I was in for it. I just didn't know how bad. I spent forty five minutes in there with the good professor, the gears in my head spinning weakly as he fired away with his questions. It was obvious to him as well that I hadn't prepared. But he was a really nice guy. He gave me some easy ones, shook his head sadly, gave me the passing grade and said that he hoped that I would try again. (Oh yeah, I definitely am.)
Apart from this, its the standard fare in Delft at this time of the year. New folk moving in , old folk moving out. Departments getting spruced up and the campus teeming with students. Good ol' Delft is back to normal.
Just thought I'd sneak a quick post in here, before I scoot back to the books.