Maximum City (Dos)

Well, I wouldn't want to call Madrid Maximum city, the original title being taken and all, but I must say the city is alive, pulsing with life and bursting at the seams with all sorts of activity. But, before all that, let me start at the beginning. The flight was uneventful, no mishaps, nothing. I expected the typical crap, so I did the usual split-underwear-between-bags trick. But...nothing. I was traveling with one of my friends, the Planner, but blow me down if there weren't a whole bunch of characters from Delft. All of 'em heading to Madrid, some for the exchange program and others for vacation. A nice little reunion was had before we boarded the craft.
The landing at Madrid was smooth. Have I ever mentioned how much I like smooth landings? Our hostel was situated in downtown Madrid. The old historical downtown, not the new downtown with all fancy buildings. And the best way to travel in Madrid? Metro, baby. Sheer pleasure, if you ask me. That was officially the best metro network I've seen. Criss-crossed the whole city and made every location accessible. We bought the one week tourist pass which means you can use the metro innumerable times for one week. A pretty nifty deal if you plan to do plenty of touristy stuff. But since we were here for a course it would have made more sense (economically) to pick up the ten-rides ticket. But heck, not that I'm complaining. Just telling you.
With all the pickpocket stories I heard before I got here, I went into India mode as soon as I stepped out the airport. My wallet was in my front pocket of my scraggly jeans and the thumb of my hand was hooked nonchalantly into the same pocket. Of course, a professional would have ripped out my pockets without me knowing it. Still, we all gotta do what we all gotta do.
At the hostel we got to our room and it was occupied...by a Greek girl no less. One of those 'holy-moly' moments. The worst part was the rooms had some sort of annoying electronic lock system so we were trying to open the door for a good five minutes before we finally got in. Making a ruckus the whole "what's-wrong-with-this-door?" time, I might add. Wonder what she was thinking, on the inside. Because she sure didn't come and open the door for us. Anyway after we popped in, we all adopted the customary shocked-frozen-statue pose, then we exchanged mutually confused looks before we launched into introductions. Of course we didn't stay long there. The Planner and me took off to explore the surroundings. Before you all die of curiosity, let me tell you, we were moved from that room to another room. Presumably the girl told the hostel chappie about the situation and everything was resolved. Darn awkward it would have been otherwise.
The first night out in Madrid was pretty interesting, mostly because the place was bustling with activity. Buildings were lit up and city squares were chock full with middle aged diners.
We tried the fancy Spanish wines. Brilliant stuff, absolutely brilliant. You've got to do it. Don't leave Spain without trying them wines.
With the wines we also had Jamon Serrano, which is a sort of ham, typical of Spain. Apparently the pigs are fed one specific type of nut the whole time. No normal pig food, just this nut. Ay caramba!! To be honest I wasn't so gung-ho on the ham. It had large bits of fat on it and I don't like fat. Uuugh!!! To top it off we had Tortilla Espanola, which is a pie type thingy with potatoes and egg. (Yeah, yeah, I know its called a Spanish omlette, but I still can't get myself to call it that.)I was instantly hooked and over the coming days I would be shoveling large chunks of the stuff down the hatch with nary a care for my arteries.
After all that, we strolled here and there but nothing else blog-worthy happened except of course for the bikes being hauled to impound. Heh heh....whaddya know, it happens here as well.
That's it for now. Adios!

Long time no see

I've been terribly remiss about this blog, now haven't I? Well, its been a real busy month, this. I finally got back to Delft last Sunday after a solid 9 days in Madrid. Yep, Madrid. Eat your heart out, chaps. But seriously, now that I'm back I need to tie up all loose ends related to academia. About time I started to churn out those results and things, otherwise I'll end up spending more time at the university and that's not so light on the ol' wallet. Settling back into the Delft routine wasn't tough. In fact it rained while I was on the way home from the station and soaked me to my socks. Not that I'm ticked off or anything. It was the most appropriate Welcome-Back gesture. Holland, baby.

In other news, the sixty Euro running-the-red-light fine arrived. Only it came with a six Euro administrative fee. I feel the pinch lads. Ouch.
Also, I've got to add, Family Guy is officially on my crap list. I mean, did you watch that recent episode? An absolute travesty lads. Totally disgusting. What are they trying to do? Test viewer loyalty? Well, they've lost me for sure. Or did the talent all get up and walk away? Even Stewie and Brian don't seem to be doing anything remotely funny. In fact, the only thing I was doing while watching the last episode was desperately clenching my fists and restraining myself from rushing to the sink and scooping my brains out with a soup ladle. Gaaah!!

Anyway, the next few posts are going to be about Madrid, the one week exchange program (of course, why else do you think I went to Madrid? Holiday?) and other general student madness. Just thought I'd let you know.

'Day of the dead' or 'El dia de los Muertos'

Or rather, the day of the dead party. But lets face it, that title caught your eye didn't it? Have I mentioned how good Latin American parties are? No? Well, take it from me, they sure know how to have a good time. The day of the dead is officially on November 2nd, but the Latin American crowd in Delft decided to kick it off this weekend. What happens on the day of the dead? Apparently its something like All Souls Day, where people remember the dead folk. Just wiki it or google it. You'll get all the gory details. But, as a good Mexican friend of mine aptly put it, yelling in my ear over the loud music, "Its just another reason to party". No reason to argue with her.
Anyway, the scene at the place was complete with the altar and skulls and candy and poems and the works. No Catrinas though. Latin American lasses with jet black tresses mingled with shiny-shirted Latin American chaps, laughing and yelling the whole time. Too stereotypical, you think? You don't hear me complaining now, do you? Of course, no Latin American party would be complete without the fancy salsa stuff and it was there, all right. Oodles of it. This dancing stuff is in their genes. Their hips move fluidly with the music and their feet are ever so light. Even their foot tapping is amazing. Gosh, its times like this that makes you think about the unfairness of it all. I mean look at us Indians. All we've got is some movie-esq, vulgar pelvic thrusting. Sensual, forsooth!! Its only a matter of time before some poor viewer gets his eyes poked out.
This time I resolved not to be a party wallflower. I dove resolutely into the crowd and tried shaking a leg. The end result was predictably unfortunate. As patient and as nice as my good Latin American amigo's were, I ended up looking like there was a two by four stuck in my butt. Ach, well, always a next time, I suppose. The music alternated between the fancy salsa stuff and anti-establishment songs. Anti-establishment songs are good in the sense that I can at least tap my foot to it. Of course when you feel the frost-bite in your toes mere foot tapping will not help. In which case there's nothing to beat jumping about in a crowd, pumping the air with your fists and repeatedly yelling Puto! in tune with Molotov's song of the same name. And before you go bananas let be repeat here what a Mexican chappie told me. Puto is apparently a very common thing to say in those parts of the world. It doesn't mean any offense and apparently blends seamlessly with the local language. So there. But now that I've told you this don't go spouting the stuff at meetings and other social occasions. I won't be held responsible if you get the stuffing kicked out of you because of some clever Puto related joke you cracked at the last party you went to.
The other highlight of the evening was the chappies coming up to me and speaking Spanish. And when I say "Sorry, nada espanol" (I know, i know, its bad Spanish), they do a double take and go "Ah, sorry, how was I to know? You looked like you were from our parts." The grin on my face on these particular occasions nearly split my head in half. I typically respond with a "No problemo. Gracias." And if you think that total strangers are doing this to make me happy, well, then I'm just going to have to ignore you. Although this does make me wish I'd learnt some Spanish by now. All in all a good time, lads.
Enjoy the official 'Day of the dead'. While you're at it polish some gravestones. Also, whack some stuff from the altars. It makes the good folk believe that the spirits of the dead people came back for some of their favorite thingys. Go on, now. Quick, while no one is looking.

Some R & R? No, not really.

Have you ever had these mind numbing headaches at times? Coupled with an accelerated heartbeat? And then the vein in your forehead does this weird dance, shifting and sliding everywhere to the point where you have to use one finger (or two) to hold it in place? Yes? Me too. And has it happened that one day while you were at the supermarket, Angelina Joile meets you at the check-out counter and explains that this is because you are a gifted person, with a heightened sense of perception, one of the very few in this world, and that she needs your help? And then she takes you in and trains you to be a deadly assassin, teaching you fancy skills like train-jumping, bullet-curving, getaway car-driving and the like? No? Me neither. Siiiiiigh. I guess until that happens I'd better find a way to deal with these blasted migraines and the bulging forehead vein.
In other news, I just finished the toughest three credit course I have ever taken. (Of course every three-credit course I take is the toughest....until the next three-credit course comes along). But this course was a nifty one. It involved camping out at the University, eating food out of vending machines, drinking gallons of coffee and working with the Perfectionist. All in all, a good experience. The Perfectionist had to do everything incredibly....well...perfectly. Don't know how he does it or where he finds the time. He says he's Dutch, but I'm pretty sure there's a connection between his birthday and the day planet Krypton exploded. And I'm too bushed to do any investigative journalism, so the only thing you can expect from me are these tabloid like statements. A perfectionist in the team is a pretty neat thing actually. The only problem is, it makes my work look very sloppy. Ah well, can't win 'em all. I'm just hoping for a decent grade. The course ended with drinks at the Waag, the unofficial haunt of the Offshore Wind Turbine group (as I like to call them). This is one of their traditions, and a darn good one if I may say so. As one of the profs explained to me over a glass of frosty beer "As important as it is to finish assignments and meet deadlines, its just as important to make contacts and develop a good network. Also, the perfect way to unwind after a stressful course" Pearls of wisdom, lads, pearls of wisdom. If only I could import some of this back home....
Now, all I have left to look forward to are the upcoming exams, my project report submission, my thesis proposal submission, the actual thesis work, Dutch lessons...good grief. The list just doesn't stop. I guess its still not time to wean myself away from my caffeine addiction. That and my cravings for heavily salted snacks. The legacy of my camping-out-at-the-university days.
Anyway, gotto go. Maxwell's equations beckon. Take care now.

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.