Why I backpacked in Europe

So much has been said and written about Paris. The city of love, the city of romance, the city of lights, the city where you would fall in love...

Naturally anyone would be excited about visiting Paris. Specially if that person happens to be a 16 year old teenager who has been invited by his elder sister to visit her in Paris after his gruelling exams. My brother, Babin  (his pet name, he would kill me if I don’t mention that) could not wait to upload pictures of his month long vacation in Europe to make his friends jealous. I happened to be on my annual vacation at home so it was decided that he would fly with me to Paris and then we he would return home by himself. For a 16 year old kid who had not ventured abroad before, returning alone did give him the jitters or so he confessed to me. That was indeed a big confession coming from a 16 year old who would always behave like the elder brother which he was not.

 So, my apartment keys were with my friend as my roommate had departed while I was away. However, while I was in the cab on my way to my apartment in Paris, I had a gut feeling that something would be wrong. And you can always trust my intuition like a Swiss train. I dialled my friend who told me in a rather mellow tone that he found some else living in my apartment when he had walked into my apartment.  As much as my intuition had hinted something wrong, I had not probably imagined something of this magnitude.  I started crying in the cab itself while my little brother kept asking me questions as to what had transpired.

As I reached my apartment which I absolutely adored, my dear friend stood there to welcome me back to Paris. He narrated his whole encounter with this semi naked man in my erstwhile apartment. However, I had no time to sympathize with my friend for the sights he had to witness courtesy me.  I rushed to my apartment to see it did not resemble “my apartment” any longer. This stranger in my apartment told me that he had rented it out from my landlord and that my landlord had never mentioned that there was some other tenant in the apartment. Shocked and crestfallen, I had no other option but to take refuge in my friends place along with my brother. I cried and cribbed over the next few days mourning the loss of my apartment while my brother explored Paris and Barcelona with me and my friends. Ah, and inbetween he helped me move my luggage from my old apartment into my friends place. I was anyway feeling uneasy staying at my friends’ place and I had no idea when I could move out. As anyone would imagine, it is easier to get six pack abs than find an apartment in Paris . On the other hand, I had my brother as well for a month so that made it even more complicated. So my friend came up with an idea that me and my brother could go backpacking around Europe with the Eurail pass. That way I would not have to find an accommodation for myself in Paris until my brother’s vacation was over and my brother could see more of Europe that way. I thought that was a brilliant idea so I bought me and my brother Eurail passes, intimated my friends in France and Switzerland that I would be coming to see them.

Voila, I set out to meet my best friends in Metz, Lyon, Geneva and Zurich. Zurich was the only place which I was visiting for the first time and we had hostel acommodation.  It was also the city I had been desirous of visiting for a long time.  As if my brother was not shocked enough, he was further shocked to see several bunk beds in the same room and that we would have to sleep in a room inhabited by random strangers. I think that is the point where he totally gave up on his hopes from me as the elder and responsible sister.

However, every time I met my friends he was pampered to the hilt by my friends whose hearts went out for the poor little brother who was helping his homeless sister transport luggage by the tube all over Europe on what was supposed to be his vacation. By the end of the trip in Paris, he was more keen on meeting my friend in Paris with whom he could drink and chum with. So my brother got sloshed on his last day in Paris at yet another friends’ place and he left home with bagful of gifts for our family. I don’t think he could have asked for a more eventful holiday minus the initial shock and porter work that he had to do. After all, which brother could have boasted of a sister who was paying for his booze and gifts for his crushes.

So all this while friends who heard that I was backpacking used to feel excited and said that they were jealous of “my adventurous life”. The funny part is that I never had any wish to back pack as I am not a big fan of it. Having done it before in London on a previous occasion, I was not too keen on doing it again. Yet somehow, I find myself on backpacking trips at least once a year for some reason or the other. However, this time the reason that I was backpacking because I was homeless was an unheard of reason. Though it was not quite amusing for me, other people found it hilarious and interesting at the same time when I recounted the whole story. In retrospect, I have learnt some priceless lessons on my backpacking trips especially this one. Not to forget, I see new places and old places with new perspectives everytime.

 Some snaps from the trip...

Subzero temperature in Paris: First time my brother witness subzero temperatures

Metz, the most gorgeous place in France

 @ Barcelona

 Outside our hostel in Barcelona

Teaching Anurupa how to cycle :)

The exquisite La Sagrada Familia

 Alma mater @ La Martiniere, Lyon

@ Zurich

Lac Leman, Geneva

How I missed a train in Switzerland and met Raj...

So it has been a long time since I have penned down my thoughts on an online medium. I have meaning to commence my travel blog series for while now. Here in my first travel blog I plan to reminisce about the “Europe trip” I undertook with my mom and sister on the pretext of my graduation ceremony.

More than me being excited about seeing my friends and my graduation, my family was excited about the picturesque Europe which has been celebrated over the decades in Bollywood and Hollywood. And indeed our trip was no less than a Bollywood movie. After all it had all the ingredients of a movie – losing luggage, running after trains, missing a train in Switzerland and then actually meeting a guy called Raj in Switzerland among other dramatic incidents. As my sister pointed out “only your name is not Simran.” For those few who do not follow the above reference, please watch the movie Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge fondly called DDLJ.

Oh how I suck at following maps

So the trip started with me and my sister handling the tickets and the itinerary while my mom followed us as a lost kid. There were times when we would discipline her for speaking too loudly for Europeans for fear of raised eyebrows in the trains and there were times when she would haplessly ask me for directions or translations. Obviously, nothing trumped the amount of irritation and uproar she caused among us by constantly asking us to multiply all the prices by 85 for the 14 days that we were in Europe. (Note: the current exchange rate is 1 euro=85 INR). In the first part of the trip, my mom was refusing to even consume food keeping in mind the exchange rate but she acclimatised and that too pretty fast. By the end of the trip she was on a shopping spree and consoling herself by saying, “ We live for once and I am indulging  only at this old age” Note she is only 46. So by the end of the trip 3 things happened – we had memorised the table of 85, ruined my dad back in India and managed to inform all the shopkeepers in Italy, Germany, France and Switzerland that my mom is buying things to furnish her new home. Yes, in hopes of getting a good bargain she provided that explanation to every shopkeeper irrespective of whether they were selling bags, jewelry or exquisite lacework. And man did she bargain- she offered to pay 5 euros to a black hawker in Venice for a bag he quoted for 55 euros. Me and my sister ran away from the hawker while he chased us with the bags in the dark alleys of Venice in the rain while calling my mom “you crazy woman.”

My agenda on this trip was to visit Italy and Germany which I never had the opportunity to visit while I lived in Europe. This trip was luxurious compared to my earlier wanderings in Europe which were on shoestring budgets (read: not funded by dear daddy.)  So I stayed in hotels instead of hostels and we had guided trips instead of aimlessly wandering around in tourist spots trying to figure out the significance of a particular monument and then eventually clicking pictures because you did not understand much or having a nutella warm crepe seemed easier. Even last year when my brother came to visit me in Europe, we had a very different experience when I found myself homeless in Paris and we spent the rest of his holidays carrying luggage by the ever efficient public transport system of Europe. (About that in a different blog- it was an experience of a different level altogether so it merits a blog)

The Opera @ Paris during the day.

Infront of the Opera again.
Paris by night, intoxicating!

 Paris and Lyon were whirlwind trips with the graduation ceremony, work and some leisure thrown in. We were lucky enough to benefit from the gorgeous weather that Paris rarely witnesses. Mom and sister were blown away by the beauty of this beautiful city of beautiful people

Garlic served fresh.

The only disappointment that my mom faced was the food. Sadly there was no “aloor chop and moori” for her (a Bengali’s favourite evening snack – fried mashed potato dumplings and puffed rice.) In an Italian restaurant in Venice she wanted fresh onions to spruce up her chicken. Much to my agony, she requested the kind waiter get her onions and the waiter looked perplexed as could not understand why someone would ask for raw onions as that is as ingredient for food to be used in the kitchen and not on the dining table as per European culinary standards. After a lot of waiting, guess what he brings from the kitchen- fresh garlic.We could not stop laughing for the next 30 minutes at the language and food crisis.

However, her fast paced acclimatisation skills showed up again and she started appreciating the croissant and the cheese.  Not only did she start appreciating the typical European breakfast but also packing them for the rest of the day lest we feel hungry and starved on the way to some peak or some lake in the middle of nowhere. There was a point where we thought we had more stock of food in our handbags than a cafe. In fact, in a cafe in Venice we had ordered 3 cups of tea but when we left we had filled up their dustbin with empty  packs of chip, biscuits, croissant and fruit peels. As my mom pointed out, “we could have easily invited 4 more people for a tea session and fed them well out of my bag.”  However, my mom’s dietary woes came to an end in Rome. So the thing about Rome is that you don’t need a word of Italian if you can speak in Bengali. She found Bangladeshis to seek directions from and Bangladeshi restaurants to buy dinner from. She did not need me anymore in Rome.

As much as I was excited about Italian men, weather and food, Italy proved to be a disappointment with its weather. The 5 days that we travelled across Italy, we witnessed heavy downpour and strong winds.  There is a stereotype that Italians give lousy directions which was quite true in our case. In Venice and Florence, we got lost and missed out on boats and buses thanks to confusing directions from local people.  Italy, I shall return. And so shall my mom who fell in love with the Murano glass artefacts. She still dreams of them probably.

Costumes for rent in Venice

Masks galore in Venice, reminded me of plays by Shakespeare where masks were used frequently.

The awe-inspiring Colosseum in Rome.

Sister in Black Forest.

Again, I have always been fascinated by the Black Forest of Germany and after several failed attempts to visit it in the past 3 years I was resolute about visiting it this time. However, for people who have seen the pine covered peaks in Northern and North Eastern part of India, Black Forest will be quite a disappointment. It is not even half as high and not even half as black as the hills of Darjeeling.  So why is the Black Forest called Black Forest in the first place had been my question all these years. For the simple reason that the dense growth of coniferous trees prevents the sunlight from reaching the hilltops and then therefore the hilltops are pitch dark. So if I were to advise you, I would ask you to skip Black Forest unless you are really hellbent on having the authentic Black Forest cake in Black Forest. Now that is worth it. 

Cute Baden Baden.

An hour from Black Forest is the town of Baden Baden which is an absolute example of beauty untrammelled by onslaught of tourism.

Train to Jungfrau @ 3454 metres

And then let us talk about my favourite country- Switzerland. I have lived and worked in Switzerland before and strangely enough I have been to almost all the cities except the mountain peaks which is what Switzerland is famous for among Indians. 

In fact, there are instructions in Hindi in the canteens and washrooms on top of Mt Titlis. It goes to show how far reaching the effects of DDLJ has been. Switzerland should probably pay a royalty to the Yashraj’s or the Indian government for one tenth of their tourist revenues. And it also shows how the story of Raj and Simran has been entrenched in the minds of romantic fools like me and my friends who kept complaining all these years that we never met a Raj inspite of the countless times we took a train or plane and waited at stations in Europe. However, thanks to some design of god and my mom, I actually accomplished that. I actually met a guy called “Raj” after missing a train in the quaint city of Interlaken.  Who says life is an imitation of art and not vice versa?

Sun bathing on top of Mt. Titlis.

On a rather very philosophical note, I have always believed that if you want something badly it always happens eventually. In fact, I can vouch for it from my own life so far be it personal or professional. Some dreams come true quickly and some take forever to realise but they do realise if you keep the faith.  Sometimes you get more than you seek.  This does not mean that I have found “Raj” but it probably means that my childhood fantasy has been realised. I cannot crib anymore that DDLJ is a scam like I collectively used to complain with my best friend. And as for romance in Switzerland, god only knows how much I love that beautiful country which has been home to me and given me some precious friends. My romance with it is pure and shall continue forever.

How I went for a meeting and almost ended up adopting a tortoise

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Yes, you read that right. A baby tortoise. And of all places at that…a business meeting!

Well, it just so happens that I had been hankering our new distributor for months to notify me when his senior would be in town so that I could have a meeting with him and discuss our expansions plans (Yes, that is a part of my work for which I get a pack of Nutties as tokens of appreciation from my father. I think that this is what they mean by “poor talent management.” Hmph!

The other day my dad almost barked at me when I called him up for some pricing problem I had run into and that was when I decided I will resign from such a thankless job but my “inner voice” obviously forced me to back the next day. (I had to vent this out somewhere,guys.Hope you understand)

So ,I was talking about this meeting which cropped up at short notice of one hour. So Mr.Bangalore was here in Kolkata and geee- I get to discuss my pet project with him.

Okay now, I had this notion that all South Indian men are more or less identical to those men whose mere sight on SUN TV had made my Tam-Brahm friend make up her mind that she would never marry a South Indian the reason being as she put it “I can never get attracted to a South Indian man!”.

And I thought Mr. Bangalore would be just another version of those Sun tv men.

But boy I was not prepared to meet this prim- and- proper towering- tall personification of the “suave and smart manager”. I was really impressed by the homework he had done and he was spouting the jargon which I had read in Brand Equity all these years and I had always aspired to use in my career sooner or later . He had the numbers ready and was talking pure business which is something greatly amiss from the other “managers” I had been trying to work with all these days. Professional Bliss, I say!

I don’t know why but I asked him “Are you a Tamilian?” To which he replied “ I am Kannadiga. I am from Karnataka”

My mom was talking to Mr. Kannadiga in Bengali while he tried his best to wear the look of “Yes, I can comprehend, ma’am.” I was obviously amused by the half –someone-please-translate, half I-can-comprehend-look on his face. In one such translation session I sadly noticed his marriage ring.

By the end of the meeting I had realized that this guy is quite tactful and would soon make his company richie-rich. We had a meeting with the local manager too who was more interested in telling us about this tortoise which had accidentally landed at the warehouse during unloading. We went to have a look at it. There it was…a cute little baby tortoise in a bucket.

Now, tortoise smuggling is rampant and this cute little soul had managed to escape and hide in the truck which was transporting them. Then the truck had then come to the warehouse to deliver other commodities where the cutie was discovered. The office staff were wondering what to do with it and the legal ramifications when my mom was up for adopting it as a pet.

Me said “Mom, we don’t know how to take care of tortoises. We can ,of course, google and find out but where will we keep it and all?”

Mom said, “Your brother is very fond of animals.He will love it.We’ll keep it in our aquarium”

Me said, “I hope you are not taking it home as a toy for bro. Do you commit yourself to taking care of it ?”

My mom said “ I do” and I started conjuring up names for our future pet.

I was quite excited at the thought of seeing my entire family’s reaction to the rather unexpected guest. So the hapless tortoise had found adopters within few hours.

We were carrying it to our car when some of the staff members whispered something about the police holding us up in case they spotted us with the tortoise in the car. That is when my mom decided to not mix business with pleasure any further and abandoned her plans of adoption. I was disappointed but also relieved in way as one major reason I stay away from having pets is that it is quite difficult to part with them later on.

So that was just another day in my life. And now you know what “just another day” means in my life It just cannot be devoid of something out-of-the-ordinary

P.S Latest update : Baby tortoise has been christened Babloo. Babloo is being taken to the zoo.

A letter to dad and grandpa after 18 months in a B-school

Dear Baba and Daadu,

I am sorry I have not been writing as much as I would have liked to but I thought its time that I do.
So I am living the quintessential Indian middle class dream seen by many – business school student climbing up the corporate ladder (only in my case, still gazing at the ladder ahead of me scratching her head in confusion).


I got exactly what I wanted for my first internship here: sector-automotive, function-strategic marketing. Ofcourse, there were times when I have wondered “Why the hell am I doing whatever I am doing?” However, it has been a great learning and I am excited about my new semester in school. With all the new found energy after returning from India, I embarked upon my new classes only to find that I am being bombarded with the same set of words irrespective of the course. Whether it was B2B, international strategies, marketing communication.


“Market penetration, gaining market share, conquering market, expanding business in emerging markets, personalize it to charge a premium, cost cutting.”
I hear not much about about providing solutions to consumers,sustainable development, finding out what the consumer needs or DOES not need. Maybe, it is the selection of courses which I have made that is marketing oriented or business today is all about well just that- business.
During group work, sometimes I talk like “To create scale of economy, we can enter and sell the products in the emerging markets .”
Or I hear friends say, “I don’t care about what the company does as long as it pays me.”


It saddens me when I hear educated, well-off people talk like that. It saddens me when I realize that I am one of them too.
Like any other marketing student with rose tinted glasses – my dream job would be in an FMCG company. The perfect job where you can orchestrate the look and feel of some toothpaste, soap or beverages brand and consequently have sell 2,00,000 more units of the toothpaste tube or the soap bar or the beverage bottle .
But the question is “Do those people I am targeting really need the products?” Maybe Kausani (sister) is equally beautiful and happy without the latest eyeliner on the market or Babin (brother) does not really need an Iphone as much as he need some sports. Maybe you are better off without their demands for the latest eyeliner and iphone.

Dad, you might be a businessman but not a capitalist. I used to always egg you on to expand the business aggressively, set higher prices for our products and you used to always say,” That is not how business is done, you have to keep in mind the interests of the poor farmers and distributors we deal with.”

I don’t know where the capitalist in me comes from. I think we can safely conclude that it’s from mom as she won’t be reading this. I used to be disappointed that you are not as aggressive as I had imagined all businessmen should be-like they show in those movies-global jet setters who are always negotiating deals on the phone.” Instead, you would spend hours on the phone finding out how the farmers in your native town are faring during rainless monsoons and visiting them. I thought you’d rather spend time meeting clients and sealing deals.

Now, I can imagine where you get it from. From grandpa, I guess.
Dear grandpa, I see why dad was your favourite. He propagated your values.
Now the only thing that remains to be seen is whether I can continue your legacy and continue to support and enhance the backbone of any civilization (as you called it)- agriculture. Or be just another marketer propagating imperialism of the 21st century which marketers often prefer to call globalization and expansion.
Would I make you proud and happy or would I make you happy?
Yours truly,
T.

My First Snowfall

Excited as I was about witnessing my first snowfall, I was equally apprehensive about the spine chilling cold which would descend upon us in our dear Ecully. The date was supposed to be 26th November according to forecasts and I could not wait for D-day. However, a friend supposedly had seen snowflakes on 25th night itself while I was engaged in a heated discussion with a friend regarding my December plans and hence did not notice the snow falling on Ecully. But my rather helpful friend offered to call me up next morning so that I would not miss out in case it snowed

Now it so happened that I had crashed by 11 and had set an alarm of 5.30 as I usually do. And then my landline starts ringing in the middle of the night. Deep asleep I get out of my bed to reach for the phone but the phone stops ringing by the time I reach it and then the next thing I realise that I am on the floor. I was so fast asleep that it took me sometime to open my eyes even after getting hurt and falling on the floor. Then presuming someone had called me up for watching the snowfall I look out of the window but alas there is no snow. And then I realise that my friend who had offered to call up did not have my landline number either. And then I see that it was only 12.30 in the night after I switched on my cellphone.It was only then I realise that Kota ( a neighbour cum friend notice the friend is second to neighbour and you will get to know why in a few more lines) who was supposed to call me back must have called me at that odd hour. Like he could not have called at a better time! And moreover, he expressed no apologies for making me fall and getting hurt .Aargh!

Abusing Kota, I go to bed only to open my eyes at 4.30 (I don’t know why but my eyes just opened at that time) to see my first snowfall. And there it was …
Being swept by a gust of wind, white flakes appeared infront of my window against the blackness of the night.It had just started (it had not even covered the whole of my window ) . I ran to my window to see the cars getting parked infront of my house getting coated in it. After watching it for few minutes,I decided to go back to bed. As I curl into my bed, I hear some students laughing and playing around while the snow falls. I tell them (mentally ofcourse) to let me sleep.
And I slept again before jumping out of the bed again in another hour to watch the parking lot infront of my house cloaked in pure white snow.

And I soaked in the view of pure white snow in pure silence.

...And She Waits for Prince Charming

An image of a Prince Charming starts getting etched unconsciously in a girls mind from the moment she enters the fairy-tale like world of Rapunzel, Snow white and of course – the classic Cinderella.
In her teens she feels the need of a Knight in Shining Armour in her life who would understand her when her parents don’t seem to understand her,to share her problems when she has a tiff with her best friend and has no one else to turn to.
And then again there is this typical vision of Prince Charming on a horse galloping towards her… oft seen in movies and described in romantic novels.


Over the years that image transforms into something more realistic as she realizes that very few guys can indeed ride a horse :P Her world of imagination now fed by Mills and Boons, she imagines her Prince Charming as a cute boy who she acquainted in a school fest/elder bro’s friend / a family friend. If none of the previous 3 are able to meet the prerequisites of HER vision of her Prince Charmimg, then it’s the current heartthrob/sportsperson/rockstar
(By the way, when I was a teen the hot favourites were cricketers and Backstreet Boys /Boyzone band members.I had this huge crush on Md.Azharuddin. Now I wonder how.Yuck !)

By the time she steps out of school, she secretly prays that she meets her tall dark handsome prince in college (that is if she has not found one till now or has found a bf but not her prince charming!)

And by the time she wants to settle down the revised vision of her prince charming must possess a list of qualities and assets (tangible assets included.)
Brain
Brawn
Bank balance
…
Etc.

As she grows and evolves as a person with time , so does her definition of Prince Charming which exists only and only in HER world.
Irrespective of time and age, the fairer sex waits for her prince charming.
And the eternal wait does not seem to get over and that is why it is most cherished.

Death of Humanity

Shocked would be an understatement. I was appalled, horrified, disgusted ,scared by the inhumanity displayed by human beings.
It would be quite difficult to have faith in human nature after reading about this incident which happened yesterday.
My mom had gone to the esplanade bus stand to see off grandma who had come down to visit us from Orissa. Grandma was the last passenger to board the bus and my mom waited to see the bus leave. The gigantic tourist bus was just maneuvering its way out and had moved a few feet when it knocked off a person on the road and ran over him. It happened in a split second but what happened next was what was even more shocking. Few men quickly pulled out the run over man from below the wheels and signaled the bus driver to carry on. Just the way when we accidentally happen to stomp a cockroach or an ant and then carry on as if nothing has happened.

And within a fraction of seconds the man had been removed from the scene in such a fashion that the policeman who came after few moments from the opposite road had no clue of what had transpired.All that was left of the gruesome accident few minutes ago was a small pactch of blood. My mom happened to be the only woman present among a crowd of the men belonging to the bus union. Those men kept quite while being interrogated by the policeman but my mom obviously blurted out the truth and consequently got glares form the bus contractor who had hurriedly vanished the body.
Needless to say my mom was aghast by the sudden turn of events but was even more shocked by the complete lack of emotions and guilt shown by the bus people.She was the only one who shed tears.
Maybe they are used to such incidents in their trade…
Now, my mom was equally worried about the fate of the “ killer bus” and my grandma. She obviously thought that the bus would return but she was told by the bus contractor that the bus was well on its way to Orissa.By the time my mom left she saw that the policeman had retuned to his patrol position and was chatting with fellow policemen. Absolutely not bothered.

So the innocent man died a silent death. While I am writing this blog, probably till now the deceased’s family is not aware of his whereabouts.
All that was heard was a pained shout while the bus ran over him and cut his legs into half.
All that was left was a trickle of blood.

All that is left is disdain and remorse for human kind