should’ve

Probably the easiest phrase to say to someone in the English language but one of the hardest to listen to. After all, you cannot change the past, but learn from the choices made and continue living with it and improving yourself. That is the problem with fourth dimensional movement – it is only in one direction – forwards. Our existence means that we cannot simply go back and press the reset button, or nudge ourselves earlier on in the course of our lives to take a different path. What we have done is done and one of the certainties in life is that we will always lament the decisions we have made in the past.

Of course, it does not make it any easier to listen to the incessant wailing and whining of those who are supposedly near and dear to you, telling you that you should have done this and that when you were younger. True, but I also see that their own lives are not as rosy. They will also protest the loudest when it comes to highlighting the merest deficiencies in their own existences, usually referring to the weakness of their ’spirits’ or some other mumbo-jumbo to throw you off course.

But I do look back and think maybe I should’ve done it in this way or that. Call it the human condition, but I can’t help but look back and think, sometimes with a lot of regret about the amount of time I have wasted in my life. But this path is myriad in its ways and tugging away at the edges could unravel the tapestry of my life. However there is very little to sing and dance at this moment in time…

Upgrade? Hell no!

I have two computers. A five year old laptop, still going strong with the original operating system installed on it. It is pretty bare in terms of ad ons and other apps on it, but it is functional. It works as a writing implement and as a way to show vids (via the HD or the DVD drive) on the go. I also have a newer, flashier desktop, just over a year old, with all the original bits, plus lots of funky ad ons. It really is a souped up machine.

Anyhow, switched on my laptop this morning to do my blog and when logging into gimpspace, (that link will soon no longer work) I got this message:

All good things come to an end. My computer is no longer cool enough to hang out with the hip young things and Tom. So sod it, I can no longer be bothered with myspace. It looks like another ‘bye-bye’ alongside my facebook exit. But unlike the facebook drop out, this has been forced upon me by myspace itself. I was quite happy to keep the account ticking over and to copy and paste my blog onto my profile but as I have no urgent need to upgrade my laptop, then my hand is forced and I must say toodles to ‘Tom & Co’.

Interestingly, ‘myspace’ gave me my first outlet online. Long before I actually ‘made’ my own websites, or even got blogging seriously, my outlet to the wider world was via myspace. It is with a slight twinge that I am deleting this account, but with regards to the bigger picture, who really cares? My laptop has outlived my gimpspace account. Let us see what else it outlives…

Traveling somewhere?

I am of fleeting interest to this world. In about 45 years, if I go by the average lifespan of the British man, I will be dead. About ten years before that, my body would have lost all usefulness. So the pressing question is not ‘who am I?’ but rather, ‘where shall I go next?’

I enjoy travel. It has bugged me that a major European airline has decided to cancel my flight, but with the cash refunded, I am feeling lucky. So where do I go next? Domestic or international? Back to India is certainly a possibility, but how about somewhere more exotic. The suicidal in me is plumping for Columbia, but I really want to see the mystique of West Africa before I pop off. Then there are relatives to see in far flung places, but it has been a while since I have set my eyes on a desert, forcing me back into the West African mindset.

Questions, yet to be answered, but all in good time. Let me have a cup of tea and mull over my options and my bank balance…

The Black Hole of Europe

(Date: 26th December, 2009)

Our top headline today, Switzerland is no more. The Large Hadron Collider has actually worked.

It produced a black hole and swallowed up the tiny mountain state in Western Europe, cuckoo clocks and all. At the time all the investment bankers, lawyers and tax dodgers of the western world were holidaying in their chalets in the country formerly known as Switzerland. They all got sucked up and vanished too.

Spontaneous celebrations are occurring in cities around the world as ordinary people take to the streets in order to mark the passing of the most reviled people on Earth.

The scientists behind the project are being hailed as heroes as they singlehandedly have wiped out centuries of nepotism and injustice in the flick of a switch. A spokesman for the group of doctors and professors behind the LHC told this blog:

‘I love it when a plan comes together’.

London Diary (4)

It was night time, and the river lapped against the embankment. Two lovers kissed as the Autumnal air swept past them from up the estuary. Not that they noticed, enticed as they were by the rapture in which they held each other. Millions of couples have done this before, under Waterloo Bridge, dancing the dance of the twosome. But of course, for them, like every couple before them and for every couple afterwards, this was their moment, this was unique to them. It was a clear night, despite the wind, as their lips locked.

And then they stopped. They took a look at each other. Despite the passion, despite the intensity, they could see into each other’s souls This moment, was as empty as it could get. Just another moment by the Thames, but in each other’s hearts, they knew that this would be a fleeting moment in each other’s lives.

But the kissing continued. Who cared if this was a fleeting moment. It was ‘their’ moment together…

Is this the world’s sh**tiest article?

I do not often criticise what I read/watch/listen/taste. I write too and I am attempting to become a film maker, so I am sensitive to the criticism that I dole out, as there is enough negativity in this world. But this is truly awful:

‘My Girlfriend’s Unusual Birthday Present‘

I don’t know what is more depressing, the fact that this guy is getting paid to write this drivel, the fact that I have just written off forty precious seconds of my life by reading this or that it was actually on the front page of this newspaper’s website when I clicked on it.

The only good thing is that this was free, but if newspapers want to know why we readers don’t buy them anymore, this is a good place to start looking.

The comments are far more interesting and informative than the article itself.

Even the London Lite was more inspirational than this.

But you know what the really s**t thing is. I can’t stop reading this article, it is truly that awful. It’s like some awful car crash, I can’t stop looking.

Mission Istanbul?

That’s annoying.

My flight back from Istanbul to LDN had been cancelled.

Now I have a choice.

To rebook my return flight or to get a refund on the entire trip (out and inbound journeys).

I actually wanted to rebook my flight, but, here is the rub.

There was a choice. However it was not presented free and easy, but more like a shotgun wedding.

Now my preference was to find an alternative return flight. The free transfer. That would have been the easy solution.

But given the fact that I was not allowed to browse the return days before choosing, I decided to plump for the refund.

Silly airline. Sometimes, we like to see what the alternatives are before committing ourselves.

But if you put a shotgun to our head, maybe we might just press the trigger…

So there it is, a little bit more in my bank account. Always handy before Christmas.

Still, I would have liked to have seen Istanbul. Maybe not this year.

And next time, airline, don’t behave like some playground group. We are all adults here, capable of making ‘informed’ decisions.

Ultimately, you are the ones that have missed out…

Sugar and Slavery

I vowed to revisit the Museum in Docklands at a later date. Originally I went there as part of my series on Thames Crossings and my investigation into London Bridge. While I was at the museum, I pretty much headed for the exhibitions and artefacts related to London Bridge and skirted the rest. But there was one gallery that got my attention s I wandered through this wonderful building, and that was the gallery on Sugar and Slavery. The only permanent exhibition in the UK that takes a look at this country’s role in the Transatlantic Slave Trade. You could see that the Slave Trade went far beyond London’s Docks and was woven into the fabric of the city itself.

It is a sobering thought, especially on entering the gallery and seeing numbers on the list, and even more frightening to see the amount of ‘unknown’ numbers carried on the ships. Slavery did not stop with the various abolition acts of 1807 and 1833 as vast numbers of mainly Indian and Chinese labour were taken to the same colonies to replace the slaves as indentured labour. Even today in the UK, there is masses of Human Trafficking. Slavery is not a new phenomena, it is as old as humanity itself. But that does not make it right in the slightest, and it does take more than the collective will of the people to rid us of this curse.

The Sugar and Slavery gallery at the Museum of Docklands is a magnificent example of the slave trade in London. How the wealth of this city was built on the back of millions of people brought in chains halfway round the world. It is a reminder of what is one of humanity’s greatest crimes, and how we are still living with those effects today. It shows the intolerable cruelty of humanity, and how easy it is to dehumanise a person on the basis of their origins and beliefs. We should also not forget that slavery will continue to exists as long as the laws of supply and demmand continue unabated with a restrictive migratory system. You only have to walk down a London street or take a ride on a bus to see it for yourself…

Sales Pitch

I am a pretty lousy consumer. First, I have zero brand loyalty. For example, I will buy whatever toothpaste is cheapest, not the one with the stripes or the extra mint.

Adverts do not impress me, no matter how much sex appeal they may have.

The flashy ones really turn me off. What, all those computer graphics and expensive sets just to sell me a hunk of metal on four wheels.

You see, if I want to make a large purchase, it is not a flash advert that will make me buy the product, but research on what it is. I will know the advantages and disadvantages to those products before I buy it. After all, why spend a few thousand pounds based on the whims of an ad.

For the cheap purchased, forget it. Unless you are advertising how cheap that product is. Then it is a different matter altogether! Brand loyalty does not exist with me.

So if you come to my home, the only breakfast cereal I will buy is the economy oats (because, let us be honest, how flash do you want your porridge?), my computers last me for years (as I do the research on them) and I watch the films that I like, not the ones splashed across billboards.

But if there is one place that I spend like a drunk, it is on my holidays.

Riding the Jeep…

On arriving at Jorethang, I treated myself to a couple of Samosas and a deep fried boiled egg. Trust me, it tastes better than it sounds, especially when dipped in a bit of chilli soy sauce. Andhow, I needed to get back to Darjeeling. And the sun was setting fast, had I missed te last bus. Well, the bus service does not really run in this part of India.

Okay, a little explanation is needed ere for anyone who is unfamiliar with Asian travel. This is the world’s most populated landmass. Six in every ten people live on this continent. They need to get around. Of course, buses will ply the major routes, the densely populated areas. But Sikkim, and other ’sparsely populated areas’ do not have regular bus services, there is no money to be made. Plus the roads are almost impassable. We are not talking about long straight highways, or even metalled surfaces. We are looking at twisting hairpin bends in the Himalaya. So, there is a plethora of options available to supplement (and even surpass) the local bus service in most of Asia. Unregulated, untaxed and infinitely more fun, for those that travel regularly in Asia, hanging onto the back of a moving vehicle is not some unique thrill, but a way of life.

Being India, there was a cartel. Or a ‘taxi driver’s’ association that controlled the route between Jorethang in Sikkim and Darjeeling in West Bengal. Some guy in a booth (in this case, a man with a pony tail) would take your money. This was one of the few times that I pretended I was from India (I can get away with it). I did not feel like getting conned and I was too tired of answering questions about where I was from. So this time I was a native of Cochin, that could speak Tamil, Malayalam and English. I do this in a lot of countries, pretend I am from a neighbouring region, just to get better prices or sneak in and out on local transport. We waitied, the other passengers and I. Oh, this is another thing to expect with travel (especially road travel) in Asia. A lot of waiting about.

Eventually ‘Humlae’ appeared. That was not his real name but our driver really looked like the character of Humlae from the film Ong Bak (the locals in this part of the world have exotic looks). The best way to describe our driver was easy. He was ‘the dude’. Quite simply, he was one of the coolest people ever. Shaking hands and chatting loudly as he approached our vehicle, everyone knew him, and he knoew everyone. He said hello to me, easily seeing that I was not a foreigner, and leaped into the driver’s seat, ready to take us back to Darjeeling. Any kids reading this (why?) do not worry about careers or cash, just be the coolest person you can be. And this person was definitely cool.

And we were off. Jolting up and down in the jeep, you must realise that any time spent waiting about is not in vain. It gives the driver a chance to floor it. Of course, ‘flooring it’ means no more than 40km/h on the roads of the Himalaya, and that is at a push. But this was Humlae’s turf, as he greeted the border guards of Sikkim (more on that next month), he knew every bump and pot hole on this road, every twist and turn. Well, most of them. The sun was setting fast and there are no street lights in this part of of the world. You needed a guy like Humlae, you needed a cool person at the wheels.

We passed another checkpoint. It seemed that this part of West Bengal had its own unofficial, private police force. Unlike the Sikkim border gaurds, Humlae was more coy with these people, more fawning. They let us pass and onward we went. We went through our first village, dropping off a couple of passengers and on meeting another jeep coming towards us, it was Humlae who stormed through! We were the winners, and Humlae had the wheels to prove it as we raced through tea plantations and forest upwards towards Darjeeling.

Dusk was upon us, as Humlae decided to stop the jeep in the next village. he engine (unusually) was kept running as Humlae jumped out of the jeep, cigarette in hand, and took a bag with him. He lifted the bonnet and took his bag into someone’s house. There, Humlae started chatting with the locals, and flirted with all the chicks of the village – hey, who can blame him – they’re cute!

Humlae then came running out of the house with ONE jug of water and poured it into the radiator. Cap closed, he went back into the house and we could hear the lively conversation taking place alongside the illicit consumption of beer. Prohibition, whether enforced by the unofficial police or the real Sikkim border guards is useless. The village became a party zone and Humlae was at the centre of attention. Jovial and in his element, it seemed that everyone (except for the passengers in the jeep) knew his name. But Humlae was only there to kick off the party. He had brought the booze along, stayed for a drink, but he had a job to do! Off to Darjeeling we went!

Into the next village we arrived and Humlae knew everyone there too! As a jeep driver approached in the opposite direction, Humlae engaged him in some witty banter that put a smile on his face. Smiles abounded and we were off. And then we stopped! An old woman leapt out in front of us! Screeching to a halt, the old woman ran over to the driver’s window and gave Humlae a letter. He was not just a transporter of goods and people but also the local postman! Whatever task you needed to get done, Humlae would do it. They chatted for a bit, Humlae as always, respectful to his elders before he floored it. And agan we stopped! A few more needed to squeeze in. We were probably the last jeep of the night, and obligingly, Humlae let them one, and we squeezed together, Humlae himself giving up his driving space to accommodate the extra passengers. Humlae was no mere taxi driver, he really was the dude, a pillar of the local community.

Kids, remember this, be cool, just like Humlae. Never have I seen a man more content in life, than our driver. It may have been the beer, but he was happily driving along. And his love was infectious. Whenever he passed someone by, he would stop and chat with them, putting a smile on their face too, before driving off. Forget about those crooked bankers, or idiots in suits that seem to be proliferating in this world. It is people like Humlae who keep the world going round. He may not have much, just the jeep and his wits, but he knew love, he knew how to spread it, and even though we were running well late, no one seemed to care. Hey man, this is India! Enjoy it, this type of thing won’t be around forever…

And so, Humlae continued. By now it was pitch black outside. The bends were sharper as we climbed up towards Darjeeling. Vehicles were coming the other way, the road got rougher (a legacy of the monsoon) and Humlae concentrated on the journey ahead. But alas, we got stuck. We grounded ourselves on one of the bends. Now, travel in Asia, is not always smooth. It’s the terrain, its pretty rough. And so we all jumped out, and all the men helped push the vehicle back onto the road surface. That was about ten minutes of revving and muscle, but at least I got to stretch the legs. Then we were on the way. Back through Lebong, the road that I had taken earlier that day looking familiar in the dark as we screamed towards Darjeeling.

And finally we arrived, in the lower part of town, where all the markets and stalls were located. Dusty from a full day’s hike, where I got to saw a world few other outsiders get to glimpse at, I stumbled out of the jeep. I wished Humlae goodbye, and he warmly shook my hand. I do not know who he is, what is his history or personal life. But he was a cool guy. He was the dude. Like many other journeys that I have taken on this magnificent continent, he provided with memories that were far more special than the destination itself. Ad you know what kids, spread the love. Be like Humlae. You may not be as wealthy as you had hoped, but you will be a lot happier. And that happiness is infectious!