Sarawak Stories 2 : in which I discover the Orchid Seekers of Borneo

We reach Mulu to find a dazzling blue sky - no sign of the monsoons.  We step out of the one-roomed airport and see a line up of vans, rapidly ferrying passengers to their destination and returning.  How far is the rain forest from here?  We see the forest before we notice the signboard at the airport.

The van screeches to a halt in front of a long bridge, drops us off and promises to return to collect us on our departure.  We get down, drag our bags noisily over the bridge and enter the visitors' information area.  There is a wooden counter in front and before long, someone materializes and beckons.  It is a young and efficient lady.  She gives us a set of brochures and maps, snaps little paper visitor bracelets onto our wrists which indicate our day of departure and explains about possible expeditions.  We make our payments, leave our luggage in our rooms and head for lunch.

The Gunung Mulu National Park lies sprawled all round us.  We are still to get used to the foliage, the insects, the incessant jungle noises.  There is life, sound and colour at every step.

Before our eyes, the sky starts clouding up.  Large grey balls of water vapour glide in effortlessly, seemingly from nowhere.

We walk swiftly to the cafeteria - there is only one which caters to all the staff and visitors, and it is remarkably efficient.  They serve local and Western food; by and large we stick to the local fare.  Everything is served steaming hot and it all looks very appetizing.  Jungle ferns, local fungi, fresh fish from the river and slightly sticky Borneo rice.  Who could ask for more?
It has been a long morning and we tuck in, gratefully.

After a little nap, we contemplate stretching our legs and getting a feel for the place.  Immediately there is a roll of thunder,followed by sheets and sheets of rain.  We sit on the wooden verandah, watching the rain, sipping tea and waiting for the weather to clear.  We sit for three hours, waiting.  It doesn't really matter, for we are on holiday.  We see people rushing to and fro, completely drenched, but we are not quite ready for this as yet.  The air feels cool after the heat of Singapore.  The rain gradually lessens, we grab our umbrellas and run towards the cafeteria.  It is now dinner time and though we haven't done anything so far, we are hungry once more.

After dinner, we walk into the store next to the cafeteria.  This sells basic food (snacks, chocolate, rice and a few cans) for camping, some local clothes, rain ponchos and T-shirts, postcards, handicrafts and books.  They also sell wi-fi cards, in twelve hour slots.  Each of us heads to a different section.  My husband checks the wi-fi, our friend Madhu looks at the sharp local knives that can slash small branches (and undoubtedly other objects as well) to shreds in seconds and I gaze at the books.  There I find 'The Orchid Seekers of Borneo' - an adventure story first published in 1893, written by Ashmore Russan and Frederick Boyle. It has been recently reprinted by the Natural History Publications (Borneo).  I read the introductory note (see footnote) and I am entranced.  I can't wait to read more - and to venture deep into the forest, looking for orchids (amongst other things).  When we return to our rooms, I sit in bed and read a few pages before dropping off to sleep.  Tomorrow we go into the forest, up into the limestone caves, beyond the river.  Tomorrow...

Footnote:  I quote, from the introductory note:

"Some of our boy readers may cry, on seeing the names of the two authors on the title page, "What!  A couple of 'em?"  And at any point they will be likely to ask themselves, "Now, I wonder which of the two wrote this?"
   The public in such cases is commonly left to wonder, but circumstances here are unusual.  When Mr. Ashmore Russan formed a project of writing a story upon the subject of orchid-collecting for the Boys' Own Paper, he applied to Messrs. Sander, of St. Albans, the great importers of orchids, for special information.  They referred him to Mr. Frederick Boyle, as one who had travelled in many lands where those plants flourish, who grows them, as an amateur, with unusual success and publishes much about them.  Mr. Boyle had no time to take an equal part in writing the story, but he consented to advise, direct, and in general to lend his assistance.  The outline of the tale is his, and for all statements therein, historical, local or scientific, Mr. Boyle is responsible.  It naturally happened, since he was treating of scenes he had himself beheld, of peoples and individuals he had himself known, that he found it necessary to take the pen from Mr. Russan's hand and write a few lines here and there.  But in general he confined himself to his functions of director and critic.  It will be understood, after this explanation, that the tale rests on a solid basis of fact all through."

Sarawak Stories 1 : in which I am introduced to leech socks

We flew from Singapore's busy airport into Kuching (capital of the state of Sarawak, in Malaysian Borneo) by Air Asia, a remarkably well run budget airline.  Kuching airport was smaller but busy as well.  All our baggage was x-rayed on arrival and then we found ourselves outside - in the bright tropical sunlight, looking for the hotel taxi.  We didn't have very far to look.  There was only one man with a large sign - a jovial, chatty driver (Mr. Soh) who effortlessly loaded the bags and us into a large, gleaming white van.

Our destination was the Lime Tree Hotel - a zesty little hotel, done in white and lime green, perched at the edge of Chinatown, about two blocks away from the river.  By the time we reached, it was already afternoon.  The sun was blazing down from a partly cloudy sky.  We strolled around a few streets of Chinatown, trying to get our bearings.  Cats of various shapes and sizes - real and models- stared at us.  Kuching (which means 'cat' in the local language) is full of fairly well-kept cats.

We ate some steamed buns for lunch and drank an iced coconut milk drink, which was quite refreshing.  After a little rest, we decided to walk towards the river front and buy some things for our forthcoming rainforest trip.

Malls are a big deal in Kuching.  The first thing everyone tells you about is the latest mall that has come up and where it is located.  Kuching is a city of about one million people and it looks, on the whole, quite clean and prosperous.  The only hazard here is trying to cross roads, but coming from India, it was a relief to feel that one could actually attempt to cross roads without getting run over or horned out.  The traffic moved swiftly and silently.  We also discovered, over time, that though this is one of the larger cities of Malaysia, it is also an incredibly friendly, relaxed and honest place.  "Everyone knows everyone else," a shopkeeper told us one day, "We cannot afford to cheat our customers."

We had only one evening in this city before we left for the rainforest, so a little checking on the internet provided the name of a mall which might have - leech socks.  Leech socks, which we had been looking for in Singapore and India, had eluded us so far.  This mall was not far from our hotel (in fact most places of interest were walking distance), so we headed there.

The mall, like many parts of the city, was Christmasy and busy (Sarawak has a large tribal belt and most of the local tribes have been converted to Christianity.  The Muslim population here is much less that in other parts of Malaysia).  Within the mall, there was only one shop which stocked leech socks - Greek's Outgear's Discovery.  A visit to this shop (which was fairly well stocked with outdoor gear) revealed that there were indeed leech socks available - in two styles.  We went up to look at what these might be - and they turned out to be large, shapeless green stockings with bits of elastic.  We could easily have got them off some of the Christmas trees, had we but known.  The style we preferred had only one piece left and my friends generously allowed me to buy this.  They purchased the second, inferior model, wondering all the time whether this would work at all.  Only time would tell..

We then proceeded to the basement, to a supermarket, and bought an array of small snacks to keep us going - fried local beans of different kinds, fried anchovies (very popular here), shrimp wafers, rice and sesame seed crackers - and from a fruit seller, a big bag of Mandarin oranges, all the way from China.

We walked down the river front, which was cheery and festive - full of smells of food, sounds of hawkers and sights of bright lights, prettily strung.  We ate in Hong Kong Noodles - a restaurant close to our hotel, which served delicious Chinese (or Malaysian-Chinese) food - stir fried greens, large prawns with a buttery curry flavour and a fish curry that was chunky and spicy.  Then we walked back to the hotel and I fell asleep almost immediately, dreaming of the rainforest that we would see the next day.

A Short Visit To Singapore

We have been on the road for about two weeks, a journey that began and ended in Singapore.  Our main destination was Sarawak - a state in Malaysian Borneo.  Singapore is a convenient hub for low cost airlines that fly between the two countries.  Besides, we had friends in Singapore (our primary reason to visit this part of the world) and so we set out, looking forward to spending some time in this warm, wet clime.  The winter monsoon had set in but it rarely rains for more than an hour a day in Singapore.  The common joke here is that there are only two seasons in Singapore - indoors and outdoors.  This is really not funny when one experiences it, for most buildings are air-conditioned and are really cold and as soon as one steps out, a warm blast of air hits you; this constant change is very disconcerting.  I think the island could save a considerable amount of energy and money just by raising the temperature on their thermostat settings.

We spent our little time in Singapore mainly in the company of friends, catching up on work and news.  They took us to some very nice places to eat - food is certainly a highlight of this country.  The amount of tasty, fresh and affordable food here is incredible and unique.  We ate all kinds of things especially assorted seafood, which we don't often get in India.  Singapore is known for its 'chilly crab' and there is a string of restaurants along the coast that highlight this preparation.  We have never found this to be an exceptional concoction; this time however, we discovered 'pepper crab', which really was outstanding.

I also enjoyed eating the Chinese food, another cuisine that is hard to come by in India (except the Indianized version).  We had dinner one evening in a mainland China restaurant (part of a chain that actually exists in China) and it was so interesting to see and taste several of the things that I had only read about in books.  To me the food was very satisfying because, like Indian food, there was a range and diversity that covered seasons, tastes, styles and flavours.  There were delicate subtle dishes, strong, hearty ones and in-betweens.  Things were steamed, stir-fried, deep-fried, slow-cooked, smoked and one could select a combination that suited one's appetite or mood.  I also appreciated the high level of art involved in cutting, slicing, shredding different foods before they were cooked.  This is also emphasized in traditional Indian cooking, but not to these high standards, and I feel we are slowly losing this skill and knowledge in India.

Orchard street - the main tourist shopping area was packed, and not just with tourists.  Several of Singapore's large, famous malls are here and they had all put on a good show for Christmas.  The air was festive, the lights were strung, the roads jammed at all times of the day with shoppers.  I like to visit Takashimaya, the Japanese giant, for they invariably have an interesting set of kitchen appliances and often very unusual and usable crockery, from Japan.  This time I bought a small set of porcelain plates in a soft blue and grey pattern with matching chopstick holders.  Perhaps this will motivate me to try some more recipes from my Chinese cookbooks!

Holland village is another popular destination amongst tourists, expats and locals, but different people head to different sections in this area.  There is a bustling local market and a row of oriental restaurants on one side.  In another quieter lane are located slightly fancier restaurants, an Italian bakery and three stores selling kitchen equipment and supplies.  My interest, of course, lay in these shops, which stock an incredible array of equipment, ingredients, books and knick-knacks for the kitchen.  Much of it is not affordable or practical for me to buy but I like to look around and generally find something small that I need to pick up for my kitchen.

That is about all I did in Singapore on this visit.  Given more time I would have liked to visit the Botanical Gardens (especially their beautiful orchid section), see some of the museums, contact a few more people, but that will have to wait. We came in and left via Changi Airport - possibly my favourite airport amongst those I have visited.  They have an excellent hotel for transit visitors, advance reservations are required to book the rooms here and one can book a room by the hour.   There are lots of interesting shops, plenty of good food and a nice wine selection.  I have never come across any other airport where the prices of everything (all that I could make out) are exactly the same as the prices in town.  The official are helpful, immigration desks have bowls of sweets placed on them (and the immigration officer actually offered me one)!  A very tourist-friendly spot to relax, spend a little time - and money!

The only thing that saddened me was watching lots of elderly people hard at work, generally doing menial jobs.  There seems to be no pension system in place for the locals and traditional family set-ups seem to have disintegrated, leaving a lot of old people to fend for themselves.  This is perhaps a problem of recent origin (I do not know enough) and I hope the country looks into it in the years to come.

A Day Of Discoveries

Bangalore is changing so rapidly that one even forgets to lament for the loss of old Bangalore ways, so caught up are we in trying to keep track of which roads have suddenly become one-ways, which shops have shut down and what real estate is changing hands.  This week was filled with particularly nice discoveries - exploring some different, new places and finding nooks and crannies where old Bangalore still survives.

Some days ago, I had a lot of miscellaneous shopping to do, so I left home early that morning.  I was headed to an old part of  Bangalore that was once on the outskirts but has now become premium commercial property.  This is the area called Malleshwaram; it has several old shops selling food, utensils, clothes and knick-knacks.  I had to buy some traditional sweets and this time I visited not an old, well known shop but a relatively new place (Maiya's), founded by the younger generation of a famous family of restaurant owners.  This is a modern set-up - glass walled and air-conditioned.  Fortunately, all else remains old-style (including the quality of recipes and service).  This means that when you ask for some sweets to be packed, you are invariably handed a few pieces 'to taste'.  The person serving you rattles off a list of the entire store's contents, hoping to tempt you into buying some more.  He then carries your packets to the billing counter and 'hands you over' to the cashier.  Outside, a smell of freshly brewed 'filter coffee' permeates; customers always have time to stand on the pavement and sip coffee from steel tumblers before they leave.

Also on Malleshwaram's busy and noisy roads, stand some old houses where people still live.  Many of the houses are now rented to commercial establishments or converted into apartment complexes.  But the houses which still exist invariably have some old occupants and on early mornings one can spot them wandering around their gardens, exchanging news with other neighbours or vendors.  This is a sight one rarely sees as the day wears on - perhaps it is too noisy outside or perhaps people get involved in other work.  This morning, I saw several elderly people lingering around, happily immersed in conversation.  I especially enjoyed watching a feisty old woman peering over her garden wall, animatedly talking to an elderly gentleman on the street, who was nodding at periodic intervals, unable to get a word in!

My next stop was a new organic food shop (Buffalo Back) which has a small and eclectic selection of organic foods.  (Apparently Bangalore has the largest number of organic food stores in the country.  Fortunately, these are not chains but individually-owned stores, with a diverse selection of food.)  This particular shop keeps whole organic milk (which has only recently become available in the city), good organic spices and a particularly tasty popcorn.  The popcorn is made with a tiny, local variety of corn and is served without any seasoning.  It makes a good snack for those in between moments.  This morning they also had a basket of small custard apples which looked like they had just been picked.  Very different from the large variety one sees in the shops.  I bought a bagful of these as well.

The next destination was to an American grill store (Weber) - something very new for us and not unwelcome.  We have a long tradition of cooking with wood, charcoal and dried cow dung cakes, but this is no longer viable - environmentally or physically (given the small, enclosed houses of the cities).  While a lot of work has been done in changing the designs of wood fired stoves, these cooking units are mostly developed for industrial or rural markets.  Therefore, having one's own kit of things for home use (something Americans are very good at generating) is very welcome.

I meandered quite a bit while trying to find the store, as the Google map was not very accurate.  In this process, I discovered a tiny lane that led nowhere, with a pretty looking sign in cursive writing, 'Wedding Planners.'  Next to it was an obviously flourishing florist.  I turned back and walked along the parallel street (Haudin Road), which eventually reached the main road opposite Ulsoor lake.  At the corner was a pleasant old house converted into a restaurant (Naachiyaar's).  I stopped to ask for directions and was greeted in the typical Bangalore style of easy, polite familiarity.  I know an old Bangalorean when I see one, and the man in charge of the counter was one such soul.  He gave me clear directions ("Just here, Madam", which is the correct and unfailing answer).  I, in turn, asked what kind of food they made and how long it took to get a take out parcel.  On learning that most things took only ten to fifteen minutes, I promptly launched into a discussion about what I could order (there doesn't seem to be much point in pondering over menus in this kind of a place).  This is a Chettinad restaurant (serving food of the Chettiars - the traders of Tamil Nadu.  Their cuisine is rich in spices and influenced by places the traders would visit, especially eastern Asia).  The cook, who seemed to be hovering somewhere at the back, ambled up and explained what exactly they meant by 'thick curry' as opposed to 'thin curry' and 'dry fry' and I selected some prawns.  I ordered, settled the bill (a very small amount) and headed out.

The grill store was interesting with helpful staff, but all those imported American things were only on display!  However, they reassured me that whenever I needed something, they would make them available at a suitably located dealer or deliver them to my house.  It was interesting to see some of the designs and the accessories and I handed them a small list of requirements.  Though I haven't tried the system yet, everything looks well made, so I hope to be able to grill and smoke and roast food outdoors, on my terrace soon.

I returned to the restaurant and, sure enough, a plastic bag lay waiting for me.  There was no one to check the receipt or ask who had come to collect the food.  The cook had presumably returned to the kitchen.  I took the packet home and opened it out.  There, lined with fresh banana leaves, was my lunch - soft parottas, still warm, and a large number of prawns in a ginger-black pepper ("medium hot", which was the mildest of their preparations!) masala with a bag of thin, ubiquitous gravy on the side.  The prawns were fiery and delicious and went down rather fast!  It was a relief to eat reasonably-priced food that was well cooked and not loaded with red chilly powder.

While I enjoyed these discoveries, I found later, after talking to people, that everyone has a different view.  As with most experiences, these are highly subjective and depend on who one meets, what one does and sometimes, even - the time of day!  But I had a wonderful time, and I will probably re-visit these places in the near future.

The Marvellous Maillard Reaction

One of the perks of cooking is being able to smell all the delicious smells that emanate as the food cooks.  This is often more satisfying than actually eating the food; one gets saturated after a few hours of just sniffing and tasting.  I recently discovered that several of the aromas produced during baking or roasting are caused by chemical reactions between amino acids and sugars, broadly classified as the Maillard reaction.  This array of chemical reactions was discovered by the French scientist, Louis Camille Maillard as part of his PhD thesis (discovered in 1912 and published in 1913).  The reactions describe how amino acids (components of proteins) react with reducing sugars (generally found in carbohydrates).  The catalyst is often heat (provided when we begin cooking foods) and the specific reaction depends on the kind of reactants, the pH, the temperature, the water and fat content etc.

The result is a browning (which is different from caramelization) and the formation of many different molecules which have specific aromas and flavours.  These molecules can break down into other smaller molecules (each with different properties of smell and taste); thus a gamut of flavours and textures can be created.  The Maillard reaction is partly responsible for the range of brown colours (formed by compounds called melanoidins) and roasted flavours of many breads, cookies, cakes, beers and popcorn.

I did not realize how important these reactions would become in my life until I began using my cast iron pans regularly.  Of course, these reactions have always been going on in the kitchen, but I did not give them much thought and never dreamt that so many changes would belong to just one family of reactions.  I began to pay more attention to the appearance and smell of food when I bought a book on artisanal breads by Peter Reinhart and began to experiment with a different kind of baking.  These breads are made with very wet dough that is fermented slowly overnight and baked at high temperatures in a moist environment, to give rise to a distinctive outer brown crust and inner open crumb.  The moisture in the dough, the surface tension and aeration are all important as is the temperature at which it will be cooked.  I had to experiment with several different conditions to get a good loaf.

Subsequently Smokey Joe (a small turquoise blue charcoal grill) entered my life and for a while I did not know what to do with it.  In order to understand the process of grilling and barbecuing, I bought a book written by an Argentine chef, Francis Mallman.  This book is titled 'Seven Fires, Grilling The Argentine Way' and it describes seven different ways of applying heat in order to grill foods (and improvised versions for people who do not have access to traditional Argentine grills and large open spaces).  Much of the cooking is done using direct heat of different kinds or in very hot cast iron pans.  I recently began with the simplest possible dishes - crusty potatoes and charred tomatoes, both of which tasted wonderful.  This was largely because while I was throwing in the ingredients, standing back and waiting, the Maillard reaction was doing its stuff - producing crisp, brown, delicious crusts on the outside and leaving the inside tender.

For me, this is a new way of thinking about heat and ingredients - trying to get a perfect roasted or slightly charred surface without burning it, trying to gauge when food is ready by its smell and appearance, trying to retain the lightness and freshness of the food (that is so easily lost on overcooking even slightly).  Of realizing the wonders of high heat, when used in controlled ways.

I am indeed indebted to this wise French scientist and to many chefs and cooks who perfected this art over the years.  Of course, the process does not end here, one can create endless variations by tweaking these reactions.  Molecular Gastronomy is exploring these aspects in academic and commercial ways while home cooks like me are discovering a new way of enjoying the results of this chemistry.

I have no pictures of my attempts at grilling as yet.  I am attaching here some pictures of my experiments with different kinds of breads.  As I have mentioned in an earlier blog, it is unfortunate that I cannot attach the smells as well!

Do Yogis Dream Of Lycric Shorts?

This poem emerges after myriad experiences - reading the April 2012 issue of Vanity Fair (which describes new American yoga empires being set up in the name of famous Indian gurus), watching new yoga schools, styles and stores mushrooming in our neighbourhood and pondering over Patanjali's ancient Yoga Sutras.

This poem was written on the eve of the festival of lights and I wish all my blog readers a happy Deepavali (Diwali).  Interestingly, the word guru means 'one who leads you from darkness to light' (gu - darkness, ru - light).

The title of the poem is inspired by Philip K. Dick's novel "Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?"

Do Yogis Dream Of Lycric Shorts?

I read a hand-me-down issue
Of Vanity Fair, two-oh-one-two
Of Yoga schools, apparel new
From Texas down to Timbuktoo
And in my mind arose these thoughts,
"Do Yogis dream of lycric shorts?"

The Brand Ambassadors look so strong
Well tanned, with their hair rather long
"Try our Yoga," they all proclaim,
"Be part of our new branded name."
As I read this, my mind retorts,
"Do Yogis dream of lycric shorts?"

Neon signboards that glow next door
Announce a brand-new Yoga store
Urge you to stop and give a thought
To Yogic gifts that must be bought.
(The things that Yogis really sought
Did they include new lycric shorts?)

I took a journey in my mind
To try and see what I might find,
Dredged up a Yogi I had met
Asked him if he would like to get
A brand new pair of lycric shorts
He smiled at me and said, "Why not?"

"Really," I asked, "What would you do?
If I got a pair for you?"
"I'd give them to a needy soul,
This world is hard and takes its toll.
Creates the haves and the have-nots
Invents Yogis and lycric shorts."

A twinkle in his eye appeared
He stroked a non-existent beard
Said, "Dreams in dreams - they matter not
We aren't Yogis - and these aren't shorts.
We can but try and still the mind
Not hurt others and just be kind.

In our dreams or our wakened state
Hope that our thoughts may soon abate.
Our actions, guided by our souls,
Do not conform to chosen roles.
And when the mind is free of thoughts
There is no I, there are no shorts."

Aimless In The Airport

A late night finishing odds and ends combined with an early morning flight that is successively delayed without intimation, is enough to ensure surreal airport experiences.  No hallucinogenic substances are required to induce that feeling of free floating while still being on firm land.  I drifted through the check in counter with loads of time to spare, wafted gracefully through security without the customary alarm at seeing long queues, then found myself in Bangalore's relatively new terminal with several hours to kill.

It was not as difficult a task as it sounds.  Impaired abilities make it considerably easier to while the hours away.  One needs to look at everything many times over and then jog those neural connections to understand exactly what the eyes are seeing or the ears hearing.  Apart from resisting the temptation to curl up on one of the chairs and fall asleep, I had an easy time of it.  There was one difficult moment, I confess.  A casual glance at a giant wall clock gave me a sudden nasty jolt; I felt I had missed the flight announcement (and the flight) to Delhi - but soon I realized that that particular clock was set to Hong Kong time.  Pretty tricky, all this hi tech, free floating information.

Some of my time was spent browsing in the airport bookshop.  As I was taking so long at every shelf, the sales people offered me a stool, upon which I gratefully sank, and continued my perusal of cookbooks.  Fifty Favourite Karela Recipes - hmmm.  I wondered who would want to eat so much bitter gourd.  Of course, it turned out to be Kerala not Karela, but I had spent a few interesting minutes pondering over this.  The next shelf was labelled 'Self Improvement'.  How I longed to pick up a large number of these books and pass them on to the Air India counter.  But there were other things to do.  Thoughts of food had unconsciously made me hungry.  I surveyed the options.

I decided against the sandwiches and the ready to go meals.  There were two 'live counters' which looked promising.  One was a dosa counter and I peered over the edge of the wooden framework to watch the chef deftly pouring out the batter, which sizzled on the skillet.  Late nights have unfortunate effects on the digestive tract and the thought of eating this dosa with spicy chutney and sambar was not to my liking.

I moved on to the pasta bar which was making omelettes at this hour.  The chef there beat a couple of eggs effortlessly, swirled them into a pan, added onion-tomato-green chilly and flipped them.  A part of the mixture fell on the floor.  I watched with rapt interest.  As he made no attempt to retrieve the fallen out egg, I concluded that hygiene levels were good here.  (I also internally sympathized with him.  I have had my own flipping problems on days.)

I ordered an omelette without green chilly.  "Madam, choose your bread and toast it," the chef instructed.  My eyes widened - a choice of white and brown bread!  I toasted one slice of each.  My omelette meanwhile was ready (perfectly flipped).  I sat at a small table and surveyed it.  It was teeming with tiny slices of green chilly.  Oh well, just another of those tests of Life and Character.  I endeavoured to eat my omelette with relish (the mental kind) and, to a large extent, succeeded.  Physically, I ate it with Kissan's Fresh Tomato Ketchup from a small sachet.  The brown bread was pleasant.  The white bread was exactly the same as the Modern Bread of the seventies - the same tasteless, textureless slices that I remembered; this induced a tremendous feeling of nostalgia and thankfulness that I no longer had to eat this everyday.

I looked around at fellow passengers interestedly.  My mind roamed at random, making up possible stories about the origins of these people.  Hmm - software engineer, land owner, politician, Usha Uthup...  Here my mind came to a standstill.  Was that plump figure dressed in an orange and pink saree with armloads of silver bangles really the popular Indian 'crooner' (as she is called), who has sung in an amazing number of languages - or was it just a dream?  I looked carefully a few more times.  Not many people could carry off that saree - and also get through metal detectors with all those accessories.  Yes, it was indeed Usha Uthup (or a startling look alike).  I wondered if I should take a picture, then decided to be safe and desist.  There was a call for Kolkata passenegers and she drifted away.  I wondered what she was here for.  Perhaps she was promoting the next Super Singer Junior T.V. show. I thought of one of her popular songs - a new version of 'Dum Maro Dum' ; this only added to the general whacky atmosphere that had built up.  (Just for information, the link to the original song is given below.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_v9oQhVE2E

Next on the agenda - tea?  I debated this issue for a while then decided against it.  I had had enough previous tea thing troubles.  Decided to go on a longish stroll instead, from end to end of the terminal.  Left the white bread for the sparrows (Bangalore airport is perhaps the only one with sparrows living inside the terminal).  There used to be lots of them flocking to the restaurant area but now I just see them sitting on signboards.  Perhaps they are wary of passengers who try to feed them white bread.

I walked for a while until the flight was announced - the new Air India Dreamliner.  Sounded like just what the doctor had recommended.  I managed to make my way along with hundreds of others, into the gargantuan craft, to find someone sitting on my seat.  He obligingly agreed to get up after I had showed him my boarding pass.  I sighed to myself as I sat down.  It was reassuring that even with new aircrafts and airports, some things never changed.