He wanted to breathe the same air as Kafka did while his friend was intent on capturing some of Europe’s fine castles and churches on his Canon.

But mostly all of us wanted to have a jolly good time.

So we went to Prague. The ‘the mother of cities’ which serves up a unique feast of art, architechture, religion, history and touristy kitsch within a fairytale medieval backdrop complete with shiny cobbled pavements and shimmering spires.   

First stop:Culture

A quick perusal of the guide book and a short walk – we were already in the thick of Prague’s cultural past and in front of an  imposing Gothic structure, the Powder Tower. We checked our guide book to read out the significant portions about the 14th century structure before climbing all the way up to see the numerous spires, domes and stretches of cobbled paths and orange-tiled roofs of the Old Town.

“Great view!” I exclaimed.

We promised to return and rushed past the nearby Municipal House, a store of art work and the most ‘happening’ concert venue, to the Old Town Square and its Astronomical Clock.

We hurried through our photo sessions of the majestic Church of Our Lady Before Tyn, the striking monument of religious reformist Jan Huss and the Salon where Albert Einstein ‘played the violin and met his friends, famous writers, Max Brod and Franz Kafka’.

But we still misssed the Clock’s main attraction – every day as it strikes an hour, the pint-sized twelve apostles appear in a small window while the figure of Death waves an hourglass.

Quite eerie, but the ‘it’ sight in Prague that draws people in droves.

“Will return,” we consoled each other before calling it a day.

Kafka quest

That became our refrain as we missed the Clock drama the next two days in a row by a whisker.

“‘No more missing important stuff,” we decided, strengthening our resolve for an early morning trip to Kafka’s grave. Other places associated with the writer were thoroughly researched and maps and train tickets bought.  

At the New Jewish Cemetry, we breezed past the caretaker and diligently scanned the head stones. After a good 15-minutes intense scrutiny, we spotted the one with the writer’s name.  All the tension slipped away as we stood in sombre silence with the kippah in place.

Hitlist

From then on it became easier to cross off items from the ‘To Do List’.  With one solid hit in the kitty, we glided through the 4-hour-long tour of Prague Castle, Europe’s oldest, biggest and probably most forbidding!

Next on the list is St. Vitus cathedral, inside the palace premises. Yes. It is crowded.

But all that pushing and shoving is worth as you get to see glittering silver, intricate stained glass work, gothic wonders and religious fervour of the place. 

Other hits include, sculptor David Cerny’s Sigmund Freud figure, literally ‘Hanging Out’ by his fingertips above a bustling street corner; never mind the sniggering locals, it is a good photo-op even if you don’t get the Freudian hanging.

The same artist has a cheeky ‘Piss’ sculpture where two men pee out famous quotes into a Czech Republic-shaped water body. Again, we went ‘click click’ while others stood shuffling and giggling.

And of course, the Lennon wall filled with graffiti, memories, poems and a small bust of the musician whose death caused an ordinary wall to transform into the city youths’ diary of grievances during times of political turbulance. Now you just pose for photographs. 

We also remembered to catch the Black Madonna building in Old Town and a Cubist lamppost right next to a Bata showroom near Wenceslas Square.

But the greatest hits of all was the live jazz concert by a local Czech band at the underground pub at U Maleho Glena in Mala Strana. We loved their riffs and sections; but mostly the honest-to-god performance by the group unmindful of the small, tight crowd around them.

Crystals were also bought and soveneirs carefully packed. And, of course we caught the Clock. In all its full glory, in the company of a much amused crowd of visitors.

Yes, cycling can be as addictive as watching a pink and purple sunset horizon from Alum Bay, the westernmost point of Isle of Wight in southern England in the English Channel. Especially, if you cycle your way up to see the sun, sea and squat chalk-formations in the horizon, curiously called ‘The Needles’.

I was gasping by the time I reached the clifftop but surprisingly felt quite strong and self-aware; almost like a Jedi on a cycle.

The place’s geological history was itself overwhelming to start with. I didn’t understand much of it except that all the ‘folding’ led to dramatically multi-coloured sand cliffs and very vertical white ‘Needles’ against a surreal-looking sky. The feeling was made all the more intense because I hadn’t been near even an exercise bike in the last two decades and yet managed to cycle/mostly push the cycle to that clifftop.

I felt the Force was definitely with me.

Thus ended the first day at the Isle, often called ‘England in miniature’ for its downs, bays, rivers, wildlife, farmlands, quiet towns, Queen Victoria’s summer house and some significant dinosaur fossils. Of course, I didn’t see all of it because I was busy cycling, ever since we reached the Isle by ferry from UK mainland.

The next day I felt the Force slipping as I struggled to catch up with my companions, who were pedalling away with ease. Me and my cycle were, infact, getting uncomfortably close to thorny hedges and rough pavements. Not to mention, some serenely parked cars.

Before I could leave permanent marks all over the countryside, my kind companions caught up with me. As I pushed uphill and then held on to my dear life during the numerous descents, the landscape changed from rolling meadows to amusement park brouhaha. From our comfy B&B in Totland Bay, we had cycled up to the The Needles Park on clifftop to get close-ups of the Needles rocks. We parked our bikes and got onto the chair lift that took us past deceptively deep gorges and valleys to drop us at the beach.

Another ride; this time a boat to the Needles rocks with a guide whose droll account of the geological churning momentarily distracted us from our furious photo sessions. He left us to our devices and we happily captured the magnificently coloured cliffs, a sturdy light house with a helipad, the remains of the old Needles Battery, and the soaring chalky outcrop or Needles that have seen many a shipwreck.

We came back to our bikes all energised after the oh-so-scenic boat trip. It was time to return our hired bicycles and catch the ferry.

With not much time to lose, I set forth on the last leg of the trip but the desire to recapture the enthusiasm weighed me down on the sharply rising and falling roads. Not to mention my slightly cumbersome overnight bag. It was again a brake-and-push affair what with speeding cars and SUVs frequently stopping me in my tracks like a scalded cat.

Finally, I gained momentum and with it, some of that old Force. I smiled broadly when I saw the last bit of the road – the cycle trail that was mercifully straight and free from traffic. I sped past tired tourists and curious dogs and finally, caught up with the rest of the gang. I hummed some old Hindi melodies, ate wild blackberries plucked from the roadside and cycled without a care in the world.

Alas I parted with the sturdy wheels and walked away from the ruggedly beautiful island with a heavy heart.

Maybe I will go back to the Isle to cycle more because I realised that I did cover a lot of miles and milestones in that two-day trip.

Feeling surprised!

I just heard a singer bend lyrics into a taut bow. And keep it there. No extra notes, no ‘ga ga’, just brimming with that pregnant power in her voice. Indeed, a surprising rendition from K.S Chithra of a soulful, romantic Indian movie soundtrack composed by Ilaiyaraaja.

I am talking about Chemboove from Priyadarshan’s Kala Pani (1996); the Malayalam version of the movie and the song to be precise. I don’t normally go for the super, high-pitched mellifluousness. You know, the cloyingly sweet melodies. But this lady took me by surprise by the way she controlled her voice. It was hers to let go or rein in. And, she did rein it in admirably; tempered the ultra-sweetness with her control and modulation to give it a seductive strength.

Why didn’t I get it all those years ago, I wonder?

The clip is here if somebody is looking to get surprised.

Chithra

(Click on the link and then hit ‘play’ or watch the video:

Another surprise has been Farhan Rock On Akhtar. I mean, I had already heard lavish praises (not just the ‘Farhan is so cute’) from some discerning friends about the movie and his music before I got around to watching it. But he still managed to surprise. And how!

As an artist you should be convincing, or at least, smart enough to let others think that you are convinced about your act. If that most important trick of the trade is not there, you fall flat.

This is where Mr. Akhtar scored. For me, at least. He looked, acted and sung the part with painfully sincere conviction. He also rasped his way into my head, which until now, never understood the squeals, screams and raw emotions of rock music.

Farhan, wife Adhuna

Now I am looking forward to what he would deliver next – a movie, a book, a poem, a song or, a more convincing outing as an actor?

Wait On…for

• Don 2 (2009) (producer-director; in production)
• Voice from the Sky (2009) (producer-director; announced)
• Luck by Chance (2008) (producer; filming)

1. “I know what I like. That’s the joy of art. It’s your own expression of taste.” – A random art collector.

Yeah. I totally agree. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have jumped out of the car and stood on the edge of this ghat road to drink in the light and greenery.

2. “If you add two ounces of vinegar to the washing machine, you will get rid of lint”!! – Free advice on lint-destruction from the Internet. Take it or leave the lint on.

Will keep the lint.

3. “When I look in the mirror, I see only imperfections.” – Martin Freeman, actor

Oh no! Not this even before I had a bath, I said to myself clutching on to the magazine. Relaxed the grip a few paragraphs down the page: “I hadn’t gone through life thinking I was God’s gift, but I always hoped I’d look great or have brilliant bone structure. Now I am happy being me, because no one else can do it.”

Ok. I still don’t know what ‘it’ is I do, but I think I do.

Two of them had an argument recently.

Story 1: “Do you ever think we will leave her intestines or whatever, Mr.?”

(There was a distinct churning in my tummy and I noticed the rumblings.)

Story 2 slowly turned around being an old story and all that. It looked at S1 with polite disdain and sighed.

“Why don’t you keep an eye on the new stories and maybe, help them find their way around. You see, the new ones need direction and we, space.”

S1, the aggressive She-Journalist, snorted: “YOU! You need to be buried. That’s what you need. Holding on to all that past around her large intestine like an old hag’s post-pregnant lower belly. I am the present and can’t be bothered about these bright-o-bright newbies.”

“Okay,” drawled S2, “so you think these ‘My Melancholy Loves’, ‘Sex Is Best’, ‘Wedding Woes’ and ‘Spiritually Safe’ know better than you?”

At this, She-J got confused. “Was the old thing trying to trick me?” it wondered.

“See,” it said aloud, “all I was trying to find an honourable exit from this..this place..huh!”

At this point, I ran to the loo and emptied the contents. Silence again.