<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434</id><updated>2012-02-16T12:34:23.349+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Jhingalala Tales &amp; more</title><subtitle type='html'>me :: my experiences</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>26</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-2426735838089333429</id><published>2009-08-10T17:31:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T17:38:27.843+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Why??</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;There are times when I have given a thought to the way events unfold in the world at large. Why do things happen the way they do? Why do people behave like there is no tomorrow? Why are there two sides to a coin? Why???&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, to tell a white lie&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Asked to be honest, we just don’t comply&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Why is it so easy, to do a bad deed&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Asked to do good, Oh! Very difficult indeed&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, to tread the path wrong&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The path of the right, more difficult than a song&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, a person to hurt&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why can’t we be, a bit more curt?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, selfish to be&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Caring &amp;amp; sharing, well, that’s life, you see.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, our neighbour to hate&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Were love could be flowing, we build a large gate&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why, so easily do misunderstandings arise?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we flame the fire, which would never subside&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, a friendship to break&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To form a new one, years will it take.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why is it so easy, to speak out our mind&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When asked to listen, we act as if blind.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Why do we repeat, these ‘easy things’&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shame &amp;amp; sorrow, that’s all it brings.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;So, take a vow, &amp;amp; take it now&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hard &amp;amp; strong, that’ll ring a gong&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We will change the way we walk&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And become a better flock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-2426735838089333429?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/2426735838089333429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=2426735838089333429' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/2426735838089333429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/2426735838089333429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/08/why.html' title='Why??'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-2270627294058388640</id><published>2009-07-22T11:13:00.010+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T18:45:16.980+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging on the go</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Nagpur &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gadchiroli&lt;/span&gt; went by in a flash. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Dhule&lt;/span&gt; &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Nandurbar&lt;/span&gt; seemed a bit longer. Maharashtra &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;darshan&lt;/span&gt; seemed likely on the cards. Delhi &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gurgaon&lt;/span&gt; was the longest. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Bellary&lt;/span&gt; &amp;amp; Bangalore were the best. Each of these trips have been a revelation. The first four names are districts of Maharashtra which i never expected to visit. On all these visits i came across the fickle weather, (in)different people with matching cultures &amp;amp; attitudes, wonderful hospitality and am loving every bit of it. And now, sitting in the departure lounge at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Bangalore&lt;/span&gt; airport looking back at the fruitful travel over the past 10 days... &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ahh&lt;/span&gt;... bliss :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Delhi was an oven at 36 and compared to that the weather in Bangalore was amazing at 25. We arrived at the Bangalore airport and drove down to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Davangere&lt;/span&gt; where we halted for the night. Early next morning we left for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Huvinahadagali&lt;/span&gt; and this is one trip that i will remember. The wind mills here, unlike in Maharashtra, are situated on hill tops. A pathway had been created for jeeps, trucks, etc to reach the top. The view from the hill top, considering the recent rains, was simply awesome. Greenery was visible all around. Water logged fields with farmers tending to them dotted the surrounding area. Dark clouds were visible near the horizon as if it were raining at a distance. (Check out the snaps &lt;a href="http://www.orkut.co.in/Main#Album.aspx?uid=14157277745285269191&amp;amp;aid=1248575983"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SmwsW5u4S5I/AAAAAAAAAcc/n0xBA1HE5RY/s1600-h/06.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SmwsW5u4S5I/AAAAAAAAAcc/n0xBA1HE5RY/s400/06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362710028257610642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The part that i enjoyed the most was the strong wind. Its been a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;looooooong&lt;/span&gt; time since i came across a situation like this. The wind was so strong that i literally had to fight to walk against it. Am very sure that, if my weight was a few grams lesser, i would have been blown off the hill top. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flight seems to be delayed and the hungry feeling is reminding me of the South Indian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;plantain&lt;/span&gt; leaf lunch that i enjoyed at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Kamats&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;enroute&lt;/span&gt; to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Davangere&lt;/span&gt;... &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;... Am off to catch a bite.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-2270627294058388640?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/2270627294058388640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=2270627294058388640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/2270627294058388640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/2270627294058388640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/07/blogging-on-go.html' title='Blogging on the go'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SmwsW5u4S5I/AAAAAAAAAcc/n0xBA1HE5RY/s72-c/06.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-3928634135957409319</id><published>2009-06-28T16:31:00.011+02:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T21:33:14.993+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Here begin my travels again...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I have been born &amp;amp; bred in amchi mumbai, but thanks to my cousins, education and work I have traveled to some parts of this huge country and seen little of the outside world too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started with visits to my native place - &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Mangalore&lt;/span&gt;. - One visit a year, that too during the hottest months: April &amp;amp; May. Trips to ideal ice-cream were the highlights of those visits. If i remember correctly, the first place outside Bombay i would have seen is Mangalore. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Bangalore&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Mysore&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Madras&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Pune&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;were next in line, again thanks to my cousins. Bangalore was the first place i flew to as a kid and the excitement just to get onto that airplane is something i will remember. Another incident that will stay with me forever is my fall from the topmost sleeper of the train, en route to Madras. I was so insistent on sleeping on the top, that i was allowed to do so. I was so short then, that i managed to roll through the two supports that hold the sleeper to the roof of the train and managed to wake up quite a few passengers from their afternoon siesta. It took an ice-cream &amp;amp; a cup of coffee to stop me from howling. Am not sure if the bump i sustained on my head has something to do with how i am today. Anyways, your guess is as good as mine. Visits during school days were limited to these places. But the next 7 years was just the opposite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between my 12th and my engineering a CM camp took me to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Rishekesh&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Haridwar&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Uttarkashi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Gangotri&lt;/span&gt;. The drive from Delhi to Uttarkashi through Rishekesh &amp;amp; Haridwar is just amazing. Aarti at the banks of the Ganges at Haridwar, Dips in the hot water springs en route, evenings spent on the banks of the freezing cold Ganges at Uttarkashi and the dip at Gangotri (I still don't believe that i actually took a dip!!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent my engineering days at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Surathkal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Mangalore&lt;/span&gt;. My stint with HAL saw me spend a month in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Bangalore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;again. I just love this city. I saw more of the beautiful state of Karnataka during my trips to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Sringeri&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Hampi&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Bellary&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Coorg&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Kudremukha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;etc. The search for shoes &amp;amp; slippers for my feet - which are a foot long each - saw me search the shops of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Kasargod&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/span&gt; in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Kerala&lt;/span&gt;. Praises to the almighty that size 12 footwear are easily available today. I saw a bit of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Thrissur&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;during my 3 days visit for the CHYK conference. Baikal fort was another place that i saw in Kerala. Traveling in the local state transport &amp;amp; private buses in Karnataka &amp;amp; Kerala is an experience by itself. I would love to see more of Gods own country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Untill this period most of the places i had visited was south of Bombay. After my engineering began my association with the north &amp;amp; the north east. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Bhopal &lt;/span&gt;was the city where i spent 2 wonderful years at the Indian Institute of Forest Management. For my field work i was attached to the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Chattisgrah&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;forest department, with whom i spent a month. This is where i got the first feel of  the vastness of a forest. Night drives into the Barnavapara Sanctuary; cycling in the Kanger Valley National park; visits to the underground limestone caves; night stay in a tent on the outskirts of the park with the sounds of tribal drums at a distance though the night, royal treatment of the forest department... the list could go on. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first internship took me to the beautiful state of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Assam&lt;/span&gt;. In my wildest dreams i had never thought that i would see the north-east. Two months during the beginning of the rainy season was an amazing experience. The incident one night at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Nalbari &lt;/span&gt;is something that i will write in another post. I learnt the meaning of the word 'fear' here. I don't think i have heard my heart beat any louder... ever. The warm hospitality of the people that i interacted with will stay with me forever. I was always made to feel at home. I wish i could see those people once more. Tea gardens, bamboo grooves, open fields, fish curry, the pond behind my room., morning cold water bath with one bucket of water, the evening milking of the cow, chicks &amp;amp; ducks.. are my memories of Assam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My second internship as well as DSDS 2008 took me to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Delhi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Gurgaon&lt;/span&gt;. With Swaroop as company during those two months, it was just awesome - we ate in almost every restaurant in Defence colony market &amp;amp; South Ex; Saravana Bhavan at Connaught place; Kathi rolls at Khan Market and Back to back movies at PVR Saket. The trip to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Chandigarh&lt;/span&gt;, late night show of Saawariya at some run down theater in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Ambala&lt;/span&gt;, Goldemn Temple &amp;amp; Jalinawala bagh at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Amritsar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Wagha Border&lt;/span&gt; was an amazing experience. Swaroop, lets make another trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first job after IIFM took me to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Africa&lt;/span&gt;. After a transit at&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Adis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Ethiopia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; a two day halt at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Dar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Tanzania&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;i finally reached Mozambique where i spent 10 months. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Nampula&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Quelimane&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Maputo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Pemba&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;was like Mangalore, Bangalore, Chennai and Delhi duroing those 10 months. My return trip was made via &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;South Africa&lt;/span&gt; with a 6 hour halt at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;JoBerg&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;United Arab Emirates&lt;/span&gt;. I spent three days in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Dubai &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Sharjah&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;My memories of Dubai would be the time spent with my dear akka &amp;amp; the Nikon D90. Not to forget the food that i hogged on... my my.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that i am finally back in India and back to work, here start my travels again. And this time i am happy that i will be seeing more of India. I leave tomorrow for &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Nagpur&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);"&gt;Gadchiroli&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-3928634135957409319?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/3928634135957409319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=3928634135957409319' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/3928634135957409319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/3928634135957409319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/06/here-begin-my-travels-again.html' title='Here begin my travels again...'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8305304765462087463</id><published>2009-03-30T21:06:00.013+02:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T13:09:55.472+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Catching up... with myself</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;For a start, its great to be back. Home sweet home... Its been quite some time now that i wanted to pen this post but the constant travel and the excitement would not permit me to do so. I started writing this when i was in Bhopal and now am continuing it even after i have reached Mangalore. If i look back at the last 25 day, all i can say is "Its been great!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have traveled to 4 different countries in 3 different continents; almost got into an accident before i started this journey; completed a road journey of over 2000 km; have flown 4500 miles; traveled a distance of 1000 km by train; shopped at African origins in Johannesburg; finally purchased the cool D90 for which i had been saving for 10 whole months; spent an awesome 3 days with my sis in Dubai; savored some Lebanese cruizine along the way; devoured some pav bhaji,sev puri, bhel puri on the streets of Bombay and as i write this post sitting in Bhopal.... (to be honest i don't want to end this loooooong sentence) :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exploring my D 90 has been a real pleasure. (Check this &lt;a href="http://www.orkut.co.in/Main#Album.aspx?uid=14157277745285269191&amp;amp;aid=1238673185"&gt;link&lt;/a&gt; for some snaps) Morning walks on the beach, ideal ice-cream, kori-rotti, birthday parties, meeting family &amp;amp; friends... The list could really go on and on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its nice to know the feeling of being free, with a suitable bank balance, splurging on things &amp;amp; in amounts that i would normally think twice about, no deadlines to meet, no assignments to complete and no reports to be filed. But yes, lots of questions to be answered on my '&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;state of being&lt;/span&gt;' (I am not being philosophical here ;-)).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope to blog more often, take loads of snaps and yes, get back to doing something meaningfull pretty soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; white-space: pre-wrap;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; white-space: pre-wrap;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8305304765462087463?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8305304765462087463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8305304765462087463' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8305304765462087463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8305304765462087463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/03/catching-up-with-myself.html' title='Catching up... with myself'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-1227490960816542417</id><published>2009-02-03T21:12:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T09:11:59.754+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictorial Pemba - Part III - Office &amp; Pajero</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This is where i spent my office hours in Pemba. The little room from where i used to manage the branch operations. For the Africa skeptics - yes i had everything an office requires. Printers, scanners, a 3 in 1, an internet connection, good cushioned chairs, etc etc&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7cDfhhI/AAAAAAAAAUg/VdncZ8TnTvY/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7cDfhhI/AAAAAAAAAUg/VdncZ8TnTvY/s400/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298654208023561746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The intricately carved wooden file rack belongs to the owner of the place. If i could, i would have brought it to India.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7beKE9I/AAAAAAAAAUY/6V4QqugBf_I/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7beKE9I/AAAAAAAAAUY/6V4QqugBf_I/s400/Picture+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298654207866966994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;And this is the wonderful creation from the Mitsubishi stables, my Pajero, which has been with me like a faithful dog. It followed me from Quelimane to Pemba, withstood the 500 km journey i made to Montepeuz and brought me back in one piece from the 12 hour journey i made to MDP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7KwPgRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/y6Xwow9GD08/s1600-h/pajero.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7KwPgRI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/y6Xwow9GD08/s400/pajero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298654203379417362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gentleman in the background is Niraj Joshi - my Indian friend in Pemba, about whom i have made a mention in some previous post. Its is at his place that i used to enjoy some home cooked food.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-1227490960816542417?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/1227490960816542417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=1227490960816542417' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/1227490960816542417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/1227490960816542417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/02/pictorial-pemba-part-iii-office-pajero.html' title='Pictorial Pemba - Part III - Office &amp; Pajero'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiZ7cDfhhI/AAAAAAAAAUg/VdncZ8TnTvY/s72-c/Picture+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-850785982907742024</id><published>2009-02-03T20:47:00.008+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T22:15:11.651+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictorial Pemba - Part II - Landscapes</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The lovely beach is what Pemba is known for and draws tourists to to its numerous islands. Below are some landscapes taken from various places in the city. The sight of the water in its hues of blue is simply mesmerising.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiR6y0DQGI/AAAAAAAAATo/qKAlUvPQT-s/s1600-h/01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiR6y0DQGI/AAAAAAAAATo/qKAlUvPQT-s/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298645400859918434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Go to any place in Pemba at a height and this is what you shall see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVVsGuqhI/AAAAAAAAATw/kugYuJjFaoU/s1600-h/02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVVsGuqhI/AAAAAAAAATw/kugYuJjFaoU/s400/02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298649161450564114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The snap below portrays the heart of Pemba. In the huts below is where the common man stays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVV56ucuI/AAAAAAAAAT4/HVatP6xmj_Y/s1600-h/03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVV56ucuI/AAAAAAAAAT4/HVatP6xmj_Y/s400/03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298649165158314722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The sight of the sun setting reminded me of the view at sun set point at IIFM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVWLIpG1I/AAAAAAAAAUI/wKnIxAzWK_8/s1600-h/05.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVWLIpG1I/AAAAAAAAAUI/wKnIxAzWK_8/s400/05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298649169780087634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I see the sun set everyday but never get tired of admiring a snap of the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVVwVTUTI/AAAAAAAAAUA/IFYO7190Bo0/s1600-h/04.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiVVwVTUTI/AAAAAAAAAUA/IFYO7190Bo0/s400/04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298649162585428274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-850785982907742024?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/850785982907742024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=850785982907742024' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/850785982907742024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/850785982907742024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/02/pictorial-pemba-part-ii-landscapes.html' title='Pictorial Pemba - Part II - Landscapes'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiR6y0DQGI/AAAAAAAAATo/qKAlUvPQT-s/s72-c/01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8930882869674512643</id><published>2009-02-02T19:53:00.014+02:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T22:11:44.265+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictorial Pemba - Part I - The road behind my house</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Finally, i could get my hand on a camera thanks to my friend Mr. Niraj Joshi and here is the output. The best part about photography in Pemba is that, since the town is small &amp;amp; situated in a bay, any landscape snaps taken from a wee bit of a height will definitely capture some of the beautiful blue water too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first two snaps that you see below are on the road which is a block behind my house. The road is lined by houses on one side and a row of coconut trees on the other side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiD3fcKgNI/AAAAAAAAAS4/1iRptAe7Snc/s1600-h/01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiD3fcKgNI/AAAAAAAAAS4/1iRptAe7Snc/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298629950957060306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This stretch of road is good for an evening walk or even a short drive to the Italian eatery down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiIcfOgxyI/AAAAAAAAATA/fv3ld0bLedE/s1600-h/02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiIcfOgxyI/AAAAAAAAATA/fv3ld0bLedE/s400/02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298634984601470754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beyond the coconut tress &amp;amp; the edge of the road lies the clear blue waters of Pemba bay - the next snap. The sight just awesome. Especially the various hues of blue that are visible in the sunlight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiKkJQ6iqI/AAAAAAAAATI/A5g7WI96H5A/s1600-h/03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiKkJQ6iqI/AAAAAAAAATI/A5g7WI96H5A/s400/03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298637315168176802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Further down the road lies the old city of Pemba as you see in the snap below. Once upon a time what used to be residences, today houses warehouses &amp;amp; wholesalers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiOey_TpQI/AAAAAAAAATY/0Xh9zzENPvM/s1600-h/04.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiOey_TpQI/AAAAAAAAATY/0Xh9zzENPvM/s400/04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298641621335909634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Neighbouring the old part of the city is the tiny Pemba port which can berth one ship at a time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiQH_dWrJI/AAAAAAAAATg/VOyTQcCdE8Y/s1600-h/05.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiQH_dWrJI/AAAAAAAAATg/VOyTQcCdE8Y/s400/05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298643428569427090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Interestingly the major cargo that is carried by this port is not timber but cotton. Plexus, the UK based leading supplier of raw cotton, worldwide is the biggest client of the port. Most of the concrete structures that you see around the port are Plexus warehouses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8930882869674512643?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8930882869674512643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8930882869674512643' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8930882869674512643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8930882869674512643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/02/pictorial-pemba-part-i-road-behind-my.html' title='Pictorial Pemba - Part I - The road behind my house'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SYiD3fcKgNI/AAAAAAAAAS4/1iRptAe7Snc/s72-c/01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8103293526401242179</id><published>2009-01-20T09:39:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T10:43:29.027+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The power of a confident word</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;For the past 2 weeks the suspension of my Pajero has been creating a racket. I mentally blamed this on the fact that this is a second hand vehicle and the condition of the roads here are simply awesome. A few acquaintances of mine also had some comments to make on the rattling noise. I was getting a feeling that the car would break down any moment. The only thought that used to run through my mind when i was travelling in the vehicle was, "What if this gave way now?" And till i got back home, my mind would not be at peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made some time today to visit a garage. The owner was a Portuguese. An elderly gentleman with a wrinkled forehead and greasy palms. He asked my driver to describe the problem to his assistant, while he came to me and said, "Lets go for a drive." He drove the vehicle and listened carefully to sounds that it was making. On getting back to his workshop, he asked his mechanic to take the Pajero up the ramp and inspected it from the bottom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he delivered his final diagnosis. "The moving parts need to be cleaned &amp;amp; lubricated. The rear shock absorbers have lost their effect and need to be replaced. Otherwise your car is in good shape. Come back tomorrow morning at 7 and take it back by evening." As i drove back home i was conscious of the rattling sound coming from the car but i was not perturbed. "It will be gone by tomorrow" was all i said to myself with a grin on my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8103293526401242179?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8103293526401242179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8103293526401242179' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8103293526401242179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8103293526401242179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2009/01/power-of-confident-word.html' title='The power of a confident word'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-7168763403770375993</id><published>2008-12-25T22:20:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T22:21:25.440+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I have all the time to stand &amp; stare...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;What is this life if, full of care,&lt;br /&gt;We have no time to stand and stare&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time to stand beneath the boughs&lt;br /&gt;And stare as long as sheep or cows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time to see, when woods we pass,&lt;br /&gt;Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time to see, in broad daylight,&lt;br /&gt;Streams full of stars, like skies at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time to turn at Beauty's glance,&lt;br /&gt;And watch her feet, how they can dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time to wait till her mouth can&lt;br /&gt;Enrich that smile her eyes began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A poor life this if, full of care,&lt;br /&gt;We have no time to stand and stare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have loved this poem 'Leisure' by Henry Davies because it always called out to the laziness in me. The one which wants to look out of my window at the cars on the road, look at people walking on the road as they go on with their daily chores, the branches of the trees swaying with the wind &amp;amp; eagles gliding high in the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reminded of this composition as an anticlimax to the situation that i am in at present and this is what i am singing "I have all the time to stand and stare..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-7168763403770375993?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/7168763403770375993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=7168763403770375993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/7168763403770375993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/7168763403770375993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-have-all-time-to-stand-stare.html' title='I have all the time to stand &amp; stare...'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8971080358684610869</id><published>2008-12-19T19:30:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-19T20:42:45.253+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Cadbury Dairy Milk</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I have always been a fan of Cadburys Dairy Milk and the 9 varieties i found here in Mozambique  has made me love these delicious eats even more. I would love to know how many other varieties are there but for now, lets just get right into it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Cadbury Dairy Milk - The plain brown one that we are accustomed to seeing in India.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Fruit &amp;amp; Nut - This is another offering that's easily available. Its just wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;White Chocolate - I somehow don't remember seeing a white chocolate bar of cadburys  before i saw this one. Anyways, i found one here. Reminds me of the Nestle white chocolate bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Top Deck - This is a combo of the dark &amp;amp; the white chocolate. The white part is the top half of the bar thickness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Turkish Delight - This is the rose flavoured one. There is a jelly like filling inside the chocolate bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Mint Crisp - In this one the mint in the form of small crystal dots are embedded into the chocolate bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Bournville - The dark stuff. The dark chocolate offering from the dairy milk stables. The actual chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Whole Nut - I will not really know the difference between this and the 'Fruit &amp;amp; Nut' variety till i taste this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;With Biscuit - This is the next one i am going to buy at the supermarket along with the 'whole nut' one.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt; And now, i am going back to my mint crisp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8971080358684610869?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8971080358684610869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8971080358684610869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8971080358684610869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8971080358684610869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/12/cadbury-dairy-milk.html' title='Cadbury Dairy Milk'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-5474547641336768797</id><published>2008-12-15T15:02:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T15:16:06.132+02:00</updated><title type='text'>9 Chinese, 1 Indian &amp; an authentic chinese dinner</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This post was long overdue and after i penned the post about the eating joints in Pemba, i was tempted to write about the Chinese dinner i was invited to during my stay in Quelimane. I just hope i get invited to another such dinner when i make a second trip there (fingers crossed!!). This dinner happened 3 months ago and i was treated to some authentic Chinese cuisine, after years of tasting an 'Indianized' version of the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The venue was the residence of a Chinese friend i came in contact with during the course of my work in Quelimane. I was invited along with a Chinese colleague of mine and to my surprise i found 8 other Chinese who were invited by my host. Not for a minute during the entire duration of the 4 hour long dinner was it ever quiet. Boisterous would be the word to describe the crowd which was talking &amp;amp; laughing non-stop in their local lingo since they spoke no English. The solitary Indian was yours truly. (Just imagine what i was going through!!) My colleague took the trouble of translating some of the stuff from time to time. And then came the perfect solution to all this - the food. The Chinese were busy talking &amp;amp; i was busy eating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 10 of us were seated on 2 foot tall stools spread around a 2 foot tall table. At the center of the table was an electric hot plate on which the soup was continuously kept simmering. Crab and chicken pieces were in the soup. The remaining menu consisted of masala peanuts, chicken - both steamed &amp;amp; fried and coke. As the chicken and crab pieces were consumed from the soup more was added to it. After that some leafs from their local garden and some stuff (no clue what it was) they brought from china was added to the soup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a 'help-yourself' dinner. Pick up a bowl, chopsticks and help yourself. Noticing that my skill at using chopsticks were like that of a novice, my host was kind enough to offer me a spoon. Words will fall short to explain the feeling that i experienced while enjoying my dinner, so i leave that to your imagination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is one dinner i will remember for everything that it is worth - the place, the people, my kind host and, but obviously, the food.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-5474547641336768797?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/5474547641336768797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=5474547641336768797' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/5474547641336768797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/5474547641336768797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/12/9-chinese-1-indian-authentic-chinese.html' title='9 Chinese, 1 Indian &amp; an authentic chinese dinner'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-3193361648163707389</id><published>2008-12-12T09:12:00.009+02:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T18:29:34.585+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Mouth Watering Matters</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This post is dedicated to Shail, Srey &amp;amp; Sunil - the 'Rice Bowl' gang. Boy!! I miss those trips. Spicy fish red chilly, butter prawns, dragon tail &amp;amp; the schzewan rice had become familiar words in our vocabulary. Anyways, i have carried this love for some good grub all the way to Mozambique. Quelimane was a bit of a dampener in terms of eating joints but Pemba turned out to be otherwise. A choice of eating places but yes most of them a tad expensive. Let me pen down some of these for my hungry memory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets begin with &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;CLUB NAVAL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;. The best and most expensive among the lot. This joint is attached to the Pemba Beach Hotel, the best &amp;amp; costliest hotel in Pemba with the cheapest room costing only $250 per night. On placing the order they initially serve you bread, butter and a 'chutney' which tastes like its made from fish. This combination (bread+butter+chutney) is just awesome - simple but tasty. The chocolate milkshake here is the best i have ever tasted.The Sea food salad is something that i will always remember. This dish reminded me of those huge prawns i had on sticks at rice bowl. The difference here was that the stick were much longer and it addition to prawns it also had three varieties of fishes roasted in some sauce. The seafood pizza too is wonderful. The best thing about this place is that the tables at on the beach. The shore is just 10 feet away from where you sit and enjoy your meal. I never even dreamt of eating at such a place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next favourite is the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DOLPHIN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;. This place too is situated by the sea. The fish fillet they serve here is what i enjoyed the most. This fish delicacy is a dish of roasted boneless fish served with fries &amp;amp; salad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NAUTILUS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt; is another prominent lodging &amp;amp; boarding place in Pemba. It is the whites who are found here in more numbers compared to the locals. The service her is bad but the food is ok. The fish fillet with prawn sauce is what i tasted here. Hmmmm... The only reason this place gets some crowd may be the live music they play regularly and the fact that this is one of the few restaurants in Pemba!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The South African owned &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;556&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt; is another delightful place. I found a large number of families dining here and all of them were white. (Not sure if there exists some sort of a racial divide out here) Kids running round the place and having a ball. The official colours of quite a few football clubs were hung around the bar. The presence of a TV also suggested that this might be the place where people hang out to watch some popular matches. This country is soccer crazy for sure. The roasted chicken here is great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;RUSSEL'S PALACE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt; is a Portuguese owned place and has a buffet system. You pay at the counter and then go to the table and help yourself. No coupon system and stuff to keep a track of what you do. You are supposed to be honest!! Mutton curry, rice &amp;amp; salads was what i had here. This place is locally known as  a boarding house for the poor tourist. Tents are available for them to crash for the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ravioli, pasta &amp;amp; the best pizza in town is served at the only&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ITALIAN RESTAURANT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt; here. The thin crusted pizza topped with fish and prawns is served steaming hot. I still remember this so clearly as if  i have just eaten it. I discovered this place quite late all thanks to an Indian friend Niraj Joshi. There are some items on the menu that i definitely have to try before i get back to India.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;PASTELERIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt; is a fast-food joint very close to home. Burgers, pizza, cake as well as a typical meal - you can have all of it here. An overpriced joint but closest to my place which i visit only if nothing else is available&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last option that i always have is the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chinese Restaurant&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;'&lt;/span&gt; around the corner. Ok food at reasonable prices. The prawn curry with rice is amazing and so is the roasted chicken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now its 6:10 pm and going out to eat. Which restaurant, you may ask. Well, i am going to none of the above mentioned places. I am off to a friends to to have some hot rotis made in ghee and khichidi with brinjal &amp;amp; potato - all made in the Indian style. Happy eating!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-3193361648163707389?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/3193361648163707389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=3193361648163707389' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/3193361648163707389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/3193361648163707389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/12/mouth-watering-matters.html' title='Mouth Watering Matters'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-6869376164868924660</id><published>2008-10-20T18:07:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T18:52:03.514+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Quelimane - Nampula - Pemba: The drive</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SPy2jLnXRjI/AAAAAAAAAQM/L8rEzk1kwJs/s1600-h/mozambique-map+Provinces+arrpow.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SPy2jLnXRjI/AAAAAAAAAQM/L8rEzk1kwJs/s400/mozambique-map+Provinces+arrpow.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259279180391466546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those having an inclination towards knowing new places the map alongside shows the various provinces of Mozambique and the arrows indicate the the journey from my first place of posting, Quelimane, to my present location – Pemba.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The drive from Quelimane in the province of Zambezia to Port Pemba in the northernmost province of Cabo Delgado with a stopover at Nampula, the third largest city of Mozambique, in the province of Nampula was my longest road journey in Mozambique. This 1000 km drive through three provinces in northern Mozambique and the wild African outback gave me my first experience of rural Mozambique.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left Quelimane at 6 am on the 2nd of October with a packed breakfast of bread, cheese &amp;amp; eggs (courtesy Mauricio) and not to forget, some roasted peanuts too. We filled the Pajero tank at the nearest fuel station, checked the tyre pressures and off we were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quelimane to Nampula was a 7 hour drive. For half the journey the roads were awesome. And I really mean awesome - Center divider with reflectors, yellow lines marking the sides of the roads lined with reflectors &amp;amp; railings on the sides of the road at certain intervals just like the ones on the Mumbai-Pune expressway. We touched a top speed of 160 on those stretches. For the other half of the journey I was wondering where the roads were!! Long stretches of the road were under repair and I am sure that a few years down the line this country will have wonderful roads. The landscape during the entire journey was dotted with scattered hamlets. The countryside seemed sparsely populated. The earth was black from the fire that it had endured.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We reached Nampula at 2 in the afternoon and went straight to the hotel rooms booked for us. Lunch was aloo parontha and roasted fish. (yummy… I just love the food here) In the evening I visited Shoprite along with my colleague who wanted some tea powder. It reminded me of the shoprites we have back in India. My stay in Nampula lasted 2 days more than I expected. The timber meet lasted one whole day (3rd October) and the next 2 days were spent servicing my Pajero. I spent these two days at a colleagues place (who also happens to be an alumnus of my institute) and was treated to some lovely idli, rasam and stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was finally on Monday, the 6th of October that I left for Pemba. It was 5 hours later that I reached the place where I would be taking charge of the branch office. I will definitely write about Pemba later preferably accompanied with snaps because this is the place that is considered to be the tourist destination of Mozambique and is especially for its beaches. (It’s been 2 weeks now but I am still to pay a visit to the beach)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-6869376164868924660?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/6869376164868924660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=6869376164868924660' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/6869376164868924660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/6869376164868924660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/10/quelimane-nampula-pemba-drive.html' title='Quelimane - Nampula - Pemba: The drive'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SPy2jLnXRjI/AAAAAAAAAQM/L8rEzk1kwJs/s72-c/mozambique-map+Provinces+arrpow.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-1258748346215309973</id><published>2008-10-18T12:04:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T12:24:57.314+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Long time... No write :-)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Yeah, its been quite a while that i have not penned down anything on this blog even though i have a lot to write about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An authentic Chinese dinner in the company of 9 Chinese yapping away in mandarin (I was the only Indian in  the group); I've had my passport confiscated by the immigration department; dealing with the police has been another &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;wonderful&lt;/span&gt; experience; a 1000 km drive across three provinces in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pajero&lt;/span&gt; and the one that surprised me the most -  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Navaratri&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;puja&lt;/span&gt; &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Garbha&lt;/span&gt; in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Nampula&lt;/span&gt; as well as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Pemba&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its been 2 weeks since i came to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Pemba&lt;/span&gt; and things are more-or-less &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;settled&lt;/span&gt;. Now i am looking forward to spending some time writing... :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-1258748346215309973?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/1258748346215309973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=1258748346215309973' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/1258748346215309973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/1258748346215309973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/10/long-time-no-write.html' title='Long time... No write :-)'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-2116789390233215981</id><published>2008-09-08T15:59:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T17:21:39.540+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The beach</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SMUwwGnDkSI/AAAAAAAAAOk/SO8qnX-uY8s/s1600-h/Beach+II.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SMUwwGnDkSI/AAAAAAAAAOk/SO8qnX-uY8s/s320/Beach+II.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243650944109089058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ever since i came here i wanted to make a trip to the beach and it finally happened yesterday. The best part about this trip was not just the destination but the journey too. It was a 30 km drive and this was the first time that i drove out of the town limits and got a little taste of green &amp;amp; rural Africa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One very distinctive feature during the drive was the abundance of coconut trees. Lots and lots of them. Reminded me of the typical rural south Indian setting-Narrow roads; open fields on either sides of the road - as far as your eye can see; thatched roof houses &amp;amp; coconut trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we neared the beach we got off the road and drove down a sandy trail which led us closer to the water and a large number of casurina trees. here were  quite a few cars parked along with some mini-vans and some pick-ups. Leaving my floaters in the car we started walking towards the water. We walked from among the trees into the open patch of sand between the water and the tress. I stopped and looked back only to see a massive wall of casurina along the shore parallel to the water. Amazing sight. The wall-like structure that you see in the snap is the casurina that i am referring to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being a Sunday, i expected to see a large crowd. But a majority of the people seemed to be concentrated at the&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SMVADIS_8AI/AAAAAAAAAO0/l8yPdwp39T4/s1600-h/Sudeep+I.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SMVADIS_8AI/AAAAAAAAAO0/l8yPdwp39T4/s320/Sudeep+I.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243667763653767170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; exit of the trail leading to  the beach. A group of guys were playing volleyball, some were enjoying a game of football, parents trying to handle cranky kids; but the scene that stood out was that of a 4 or 5 year old kid on a mini 4-wheeled motorized vehicle merrily zig-zagging through the people present at the beach. along the shore away from the crowd. At a distance, towards the horizon, i could see some small boats with sails. Other that that it was just waves and waves crashing into the shoreline.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was this sort of thrill that i felt as i walked barefoot on the sand and into the water, watching a sight that i was accustomed to seeing throughout the four years of my graduation. I walked slowly into the water as we walked along the shore. The best part about the beach was the gradual incline. I walked almost 75 meters into the water and it was barely upto my knees. The waves dashed against me and drenched my shorts and water splashed onto my glasses. I loved this feeling. I put my hands into the sand, digging a bit into it, to look for clams - and i sure did find them there. By the time we left for the beach i had a handful of clams which i gave to my driver who said he'll have them for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall a wonderful evening; i enjoyed it and am looking forward for more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;NOTE: For all those who have already asked me "Why no photos till now?"; well i still don't have a camera. The above snaps were taken form my colleagues camera-phone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-2116789390233215981?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/2116789390233215981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=2116789390233215981' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/2116789390233215981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/2116789390233215981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/09/beach.html' title='The beach'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jmaxUp6rFlM/SMUwwGnDkSI/AAAAAAAAAOk/SO8qnX-uY8s/s72-c/Beach+II.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-6232871164302098776</id><published>2008-07-13T20:01:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-13T20:02:22.233+02:00</updated><title type='text'>2nd impression</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;My first impressions of Africa had more to do with the place, the people and the culture. But my second impressions went beyond that. They were the result of the questions i asked myself. Questions that arose as a result of the life i live out here. Questions that arose from my interactions with people and because of my job itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its been two months since i came to Quelimane and these two months have definitely made me wiser. (I am not talking of white hair :-) ) When i first came to Africa, i was excited. A new place; new people; new culture. But this fascination slowly wore off as i got accustomed to the place. I settled into a routine. Life revolved around work and home. An occasional meting with an Indian family with whom i have made an acquaintance. A one off party. Trips to the market to make my purchases. Internet. Television. This is what life has been for the past two months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now i have begun to question this life. Fine, agreed i came here to work. But is this what i want?? Is this the combination of work &amp;amp; life i have been dreaming about? No way. I love my work. I love what i do because of the freedom and responsibility that i have. I have learnt a lot in the past 2 months and am sure this experience will be handy as i grow in my career. But i want to enjoy the journey as much as i enjoy the destination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine this - Its 6 pm and the roads are deserted. Very few people are walking on the road. An odd car passes you by. You get a feeling that curfew has been imposed in the town. You get home around 6 every evening and stay at home till you go to office the next. Going out of your house is not a comfortable feeling. There is a part of your mind thats scared every time you step out of the. You cannot just walk around the streets after work. You are advised to travel by car wherever you go. Socializing is nil. No friends around to have a cup of coffee.- So how does this sound??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the materialistic front i have everything i could ask for as a bachelor. An independent house, a cook, a chafuer driven car, a dollar salary, my clothes get washed &amp;amp; ironed, my house get cleaned, etc etc. But is all this worth the description mentioned in the preceding paragraph? I still dont have a definate answer to this question, but i surely will have one pretty soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would not want this to be taken as a cribbing exercise undertaken by me; but just as an outburst. If this place is in a certain situation today, there is a reason for it. Also, I would not want to generalize this situation for every place in Africa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This, is not the end. Impressions change with time. And now i want to see what the future has in store for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-6232871164302098776?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/6232871164302098776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=6232871164302098776' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/6232871164302098776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/6232871164302098776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/07/2nd-impression.html' title='2nd impression'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8883035063185528030</id><published>2008-07-09T21:56:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T22:23:48.372+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The mystery of the burnt onions</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;My man &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Friday&lt;/span&gt; Mauricio is just amazing. He does the dishes, cook food, cleans the house, washes &amp;amp; irons my clothes and also folds them (EXACTLY the way i want them folded). The best thing about this chap is that he does things the way i want them to be done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to cook and do try my hand in the kitchen whenever i feel like. I also showed Mauricio a few dishes, both veg and non-veg. One of these dishes was Pepper Chicken. A simple chicken dish prepared with onions, ginger-garlic paste, salt, chicken (obviously), pepper and some coriander for garnishing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One fine day i showed Mauricio how to prepare this dish. And whenever i wanted it, i would simply point out to the chicken and pepper. He understood what i wanted. Its been 2 months since i have been here and he must have prepared this dish around 5 times; Each time preparing it EXACTLY  the way i showed him. The first time he prepared it, the onions were burnt. I did not tell him anything assuming that it might have happened by mistake. The second time he prepared it, the onions were burnt again. I decided to mention this to him but forgot to do so. The same burnt onions appeared when he did it the last two times. Now i would have to talk to him about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around this same time &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Rishi&lt;/span&gt; was leaving for India and was instructing me about how to handle these guys. He said that these guys are like robots. If you show them how to do something they will do it EXACTLY the same way. As he continued this explanation, i suddenly burst out laughing. "What happened?" he asked. "No wonder the onions were burnt." i replied. He looked at me quizzical expression on his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It struck me that the first time i cooked pepper chicken in front of Mauricio, i accidentally burnt the onions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8883035063185528030?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8883035063185528030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8883035063185528030' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8883035063185528030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8883035063185528030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/07/mystery-of-burnt-onions.html' title='The mystery of the burnt onions'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8582985985589483814</id><published>2008-07-09T21:31:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T22:29:24.914+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A glimpse of the other side</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The other day, I had an interesting conversation with a colleague at work which was a result of a  chap in my office asking me for an advance in salary.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;It was the morning of 4th of July. I had just walked into my office. Into my room walks this chap and with a bowed head requested if i could give him a certain amount as advance against his salary. I asked him, the reason for the advance. He replied with a long face, that his mother expired in the morning. He wanted money for traveling to the place where his mother was residing and for performing the last rites. There was no question of denying him the advance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he left i pondered. "Today is the 4th of July. We just distributed staff salaries 10 days ago. And he's already asking for an advance??? Hmmmmm..... The amount that he requested for was almost two thirds of his salary. So what?? He must have had some savings and that along with his latest salary would be enough to cover his expenses. But then why still the advance??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned to my colleague, who is a native, and put across this thought to her. Instead of answering my question directly this is what transpired in the next few minutes. This lady asked me, "Sir, my monthly salary is 3500. Could you please make a list of my possible expenses and prioritize them for me? I'll help you with it." I picked up a paper and started with the list. The first ones that struck me the basic necessities first - Food, clothing &amp;amp; shelter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; line-height: normal;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;This is how my list initially looked like:&lt;br /&gt;1. Food&lt;br /&gt;2. Clothing&lt;br /&gt;3. House: (Rent + Water + Electricity)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking at this list, my colleague commented, "I also go to school. I have to pay my fees." This added another point to my list and this is how it looked.&lt;br /&gt;1. Food&lt;br /&gt;2. Clothing&lt;br /&gt;3. House: Rent + Water + Electricity&lt;br /&gt;4. School: Fees + Books + Other expenses&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at this list and was wondering if i had missed out any point. At this juncture my colleague added, "I have three kids aged 5, 3 and 3 months." Imagining the expenses that are incurred while raising kinds i blurted out "No way. There is no way you are going to manage all these expenses within your salary. Its not possible." And then my colleague fired the final salvo, "I have not put savings on the list yet, sir."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what my list finally looked like:&lt;br /&gt;1. Food&lt;br /&gt;2. Clothing&lt;br /&gt;3. House: Rent + Water + Electricity&lt;br /&gt;4. School: Fees + Books + Other expenses&lt;br /&gt;5. Children: Creche + School + all other expenses that you can imagine&lt;br /&gt;6. Savings / Reserve&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at the list and said myself, "3500 and so many expenses!!" I thought I had received my answer regarding the advance when it then struck me that this lady was married and her husband earned too. On telling her this she smiled and said, "That's why I can manage my house." I was still wondering what this lady was getting to, when she pointed to another young lady colleague and asked me, "Do you know that she is a single mother of 3 and supports a family of 4?" All i could exclaim was, "What!!". My colleague went on, "Now imagine the same expenses &amp;amp; responsibilities on her with a salary of 1700, which is half of what i get."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got my answer.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Sudeep, welcome to the real world...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8582985985589483814?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8582985985589483814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8582985985589483814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8582985985589483814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8582985985589483814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/07/glimpse-of-other-side_09.html' title='A glimpse of the other side'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-8999339535080033284</id><published>2008-06-05T07:11:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T12:18:55.151+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The local taxi...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Two weeks ago, i came across a local chap during work and had to give him a lift in my car from his place of work to where i had to go. For his return journey he requested me to pay for his taxi fare. He asked for 5 units of the local currency. I gave this chap the 5 bucks he requested. As soon as he left i turned to my accountant and asked him, "5 bucks for a taxi??" He replied in affirmative. I did not ask him anything more and assumed that traveling in a taxi must be very cheap here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday evening, i was on my way back from office and noticed quite a few ladies traveling on a cycle. The point to be noted here is that, they were not riding the cycle but were sitting on the carrier behind the cycle. I closed my eyes and thought to myself, "I have been see this scene almost everyday." I opened my eyes and looked carefully at the cycle that was coming towards me on the opposite side of the road. It was a simple cycle with a carrier. I wondered how these ladies managed to sit at the back of a cycle - on a metal carrier - and travel through the pot-holes filled roads. I looked at another cycle traveling in my direction and for the first time noticed something different. Instead of the carrier, there was a cushioned seat at the back. I saw another cycle and noticed the same. I smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mind immediately ran back to the 5 bucks that i had given for a taxi ride two weeks ago...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Please note:&lt;/span&gt; Cars are very much used as taxis here. The 'cycle taxis' are used as a mode of transport by those who cannot afford traveling by car. It is also a source of income for some of the local guys.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-8999339535080033284?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/8999339535080033284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=8999339535080033284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8999339535080033284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/8999339535080033284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/06/local-taxi.html' title='The local taxi...'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-4375346871028501678</id><published>2008-05-31T17:58:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T21:43:58.433+02:00</updated><title type='text'>How lucky can i get...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;What i am going to narrate is a real life incident that happened today evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I live in a 5 room kitchen independent house in a quiet neighborhood of Quelimane. My house boy cum cook and guard stay in the outhouse in the same compound. Today, being a Saturday I work till noon. I got back home from office, polished off the delicious lunch and preceded to my room for a siesta. I watched a French Open tennis match for a while and then put off the television to take a nap. An hour later i woke up. I walked out of my room to wash my face in the bathroom. On the way, i unknowingly pulled the door of my room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wiping my face I walked back to my room to find the door shut. Following the force of habit my hand reached out to the keyhole where there should have been a key - Yeah, i said "There should have been a key." I looked down at the floor to see if the key had fallen down somewhere. On seeing no key it hit me - boss, the key is inside the room and you are outside. (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;An interesting point about the 5 rooms is that mine is the only room, the door of which, locks automatically on closing and it then needs a key to open. And there is no duplicate key - i came to know about this today&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked to the outhouse and called out to Mauricio (my cook!!) only to find that he had gone to the market. I looked towards the guards room, only to see it locked. That reminded me, my guard too had gone on leave just yesterday. "Wonderful", i thought to myself. I went back to my room and tugged at the door hoping that some miracle would open the door. For a moment i wondered i should do. I could not even call anybody since my phone was in the room. I walked out of the house to the window of my room. Two of the three windows were half open with a latch holding it to the frame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I managed to open the outer window only to find that the inner window was shut. With a groan, i pushed it and to my surprise it was not latched. (This window is normally latch.) I peeked through the window wondering how i could open the door. I thought i would put a long stick through the window and open the door from the inside. I went around the house and located a 6 foot wooden stick and the mop (which Mauricio uses to mop the floor). I tied the two together and was just about to put it through the window when my eyes fell upon the table, which i had moved just yesterday, close to the window and my bunch of keys lying on it. With a 'thank you' on my lips i grabbed the keys through the window, picked up a coke from the fridge, got back into my room and with a smile on my face, started watching the IPL second semi-final.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well well... So this is the situation i found myself in. A sleepy, sweet little boy (that's me!!) in shorts and a T-shirt locked out of his room in which lies the room key, specs, mobile phone, land line - and in the background all i could hear was the sound of the AC and some commentary on the TV. Inspite of all this, i was able to get my key, through the outer window (which was open by chance) and through the inner window (which again was unlatched, but should have been latched). The key was lying on a table which, just yesterday, i had moved near the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think i could get luckier than this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand, if the outer window was not open and the inner window was not open and the table was not near the window and the keys were not on the table... For sure, my room would have needed a new door...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-4375346871028501678?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/4375346871028501678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=4375346871028501678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/4375346871028501678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/4375346871028501678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/how-lucky-can-i-get.html' title='How lucky can i get...'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-4411049861748836016</id><published>2008-05-30T19:13:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T00:21:07.110+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Chief Chef</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The 'Rice Bowl' gang will definitely appreciate my voracious appetite - If i may call it so!!- (Looks can sure be deceiving) and liking for some good wholesome (&amp;amp; FRUITful) food. Back home in India, it was never a problem when it came to food. But the day i flew out, i was wondering about the type of food that i would come across in Africa. I had no clue there was a surprise in store for me in the form of a 4 footer named Mauricio (my wonderful cook).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would not mind taking him on in a bout of boxing but in the arena of cooking he definitely packs a punch. He's got this subtle understanding for taste and boy, he's a quick learner too. The first day he cooked for me there was enough food to feed two people more. Two days later, there was not a grain of rice that was wasted. Yes, it took him just two days to get used to the quantity i eat. And from that day onwards he has surprised me with his skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did know where to start from, so i gave him a free hand for the first few days. But i did poke my nose when he made a verrrrrry spicy curry and so i had to place the chili powder under lock and key. The first two days were spent eating vegetables since, firstly, he was not too sure if i ate non-vegetarian food and secondly, there was no non-veg food at home. The third day onwards, its been a roller-coaster ride. Chicken, fish, shrimps, mutton... hmmmmmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was really surprised, when one fine day on returning from office, Mauricio took me to the kitchen and showed me some cabbage, potato, beans, carrot, shrimps and eggs; and asked if he should prepare dinner using them. I wondered for a moment. "What a combination for dinner!!" My curiosity got the better of me and i asked him to go ahead. I was watching television when he walked in with a sizzler sort of dish with the above mention ingredients,  and even some sauce. Well well, this is something that i never even imagined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love fruits and Mauricio has learnt that too. He now cuts an apple and a sweet lime after every lunch and dinner. He keeps stopping the fruit vendors who pass by my house and call me to see what they are selling. And yes, he keeps getting these sugarcanes from somewhere for which he does not even take money from me. He peels them, chops them into small pieces and keeps it in the fridge for me to eat. My my, he sure knows how to pamper me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This chap has taken good care of me (my tummy, i mean) and am just waiting to see what more he has in store for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Eating to me,&lt;br /&gt;Happy Eating to me,&lt;br /&gt;Happy eating, happy eating&lt;br /&gt;Happy eating to me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;For the uninitiated; 'Rice Bowl' is a chinese &amp;amp; sea food restaurant in Bhopal which serves delicious Butter prawns, Spicy fish red chili, Dragon Tail, Roasted Thai prawns on looooooooong tooth picks... I think I'll stop here :-)&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-4411049861748836016?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/4411049861748836016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=4411049861748836016' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/4411049861748836016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/4411049861748836016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/chief-chef.html' title='Chief Chef'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-729667182472362278</id><published>2008-05-16T18:25:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T22:25:16.884+02:00</updated><title type='text'>A multiethinic dinner &amp; a fire extinguisher</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The day i arrived in Nampula (my first stop in Mozambique), i had no company for lunch as well as dinner. I ate alone at an Indian owned restaurant and tucked into some prawns &amp;amp; mixed fried rice. My first taste of local crusine. Little did i know that on the next day, in addition to some delicious food, i would also be treated to a few bouts of laughter, thanks to the subtle sense of humour of (lets call them) Mr T &amp;amp; Mr M. (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mr T is a Mozambican &amp;amp; Mr M is a Zimbabwean.&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met Mr T &amp;amp; Mr M in the afternoon, on the second day. We did not get too much time to get acquainted as Mr M &amp;amp; i had some official work. It was only at the end of the day, when we got back to the hotel that we got some time to get better acquainted over dinner. It started off with some brief introductions of ourselves and, since we were at dinner, it carried on to food. Mr T expressed his liking for some spicy Indian food while Mr M had an opposite opinion. He had one bad experience with Indian spices and was not willing to take a second chance. His expressive narration of his experience gave me the feeling that the spices set off a fire inside him. But, on the repeated insistence of Mr T, Mr M finally agreed to taste some of the spicy stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After going through the various Indian items on the menu, Mr T finally settled for an &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Aloo Parontha &lt;/span&gt;and some &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;chicken masala&lt;/span&gt;. Mr M would not budge from some tried and tested local food. The waiter took down our order and left. Mr T was still looking at the menu in a very serious manner. Mr M and i looked at each other wondering what he was looking for. Without looking up from the menu Mr T commented, "I don't see a fire extinguisher on the menu." We looked at each other for a moment and then, suddenly burst out laughing. Well, i did not know that Mr M had such a bad experience... :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was just an indication of what was to follow...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Football is a craze in Africa. With the upcoming league final &amp;amp; Euro 2008 our talks also drifted towards club football. Mr T was casually dressed in a jeans and T-shirt with 'FCP' printed on the shirt. Mr M interpreted it as 'FC Porto' a Portuguese football club and asked Mr T, "Did you play club football in Portugal?" Mr T was in a very jovial mood and winked at me as he replied back, "Yes. I did. Don't you know that i am a Portuguese." Mr M wondered for a moment and then realizing that Mr T was trying to pull his leg quipped back, "Then, you are the dirtiest Portuguese i have ever seen." And all three of us started laughing. (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Portuguese, i learnt later are generally very fair.&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, this was a dinner i would remember for quite some time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-729667182472362278?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/729667182472362278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=729667182472362278' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/729667182472362278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/729667182472362278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/multiethinic-dinner-fire-extinguisher.html' title='A multiethinic dinner &amp; a fire extinguisher'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-870598289223554378</id><published>2008-05-16T18:23:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T11:23:21.640+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids will be kids</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This is based on a conversation - in hindi - that i overheard during my flight from Nampula to Quelimane. The conversation was between a family - Mom, Dad and their kid. This kid must be around 5 years old and spoke  a lot. This conversation, i thought, brought out the innocence in a kid (and a smile on my face).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me set the surrounding first. I have already boarded the flight. Other passengers are still getting in. This family of 3 is in the row behind me. They settle in and wait as the passengers are still boarding the flight. Kids, impatient as they, are cannot sit in one place - quiet. And the same goes for this kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before any announcement is made in a flight a beep is sounded. Three to four beeps were sounded but no announcement was made. Our kid comments, "Papa, plane ghanti mar rahi hai, lekin kuch bolti kyon nahi?" Apparently this kid has traveled quite a bit by flight and know how things are. When he made this remark i did not give too much thought to it and maybe missed out on the reply given by his parents but i did get the next thread in the conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flow of people boarding the flight had stopped, but there was no sign of the plane taking off. No announcements nor an indication. Our kids goes again, "Mummy, sab log aagaye hai, plane udti kyon nahi?" And papa replied, "Niche jaakar dhakka marna hoga". The kid quipped back, "Main dhakka maroonga to yahin pe reh jaoonga. Plane to ud jayegi". And now mummy dear adds to this, "Tum dono uttarkar dhakka maro." At this point the place started moving. I turned back and looked at the kid. He had excitement written all over his face as he looked out of the window. I wished the plane hadn't started moving. I wanted to know what the kid would reply!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plane started moving and taxied to the runway. It positioned itself for takeoff and halted. The halt happened to be too long for our kid. And he had another question, "Papa, plane kyo ruk gayi?" And dada replied, "Red signal." I smiled to myself as the kid acknowledged what his father said with an, "Ooooo". My my... what innocence, if i may say. I was just wondering about the way they accept things so readily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally the plane started moving and it took of. It reached cruising altitude and the seat belt signs were switched off. And the kid asked his parents, "Khana kab denge??" I stretched my legs and smiled to myself as I closed my eyes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-870598289223554378?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/870598289223554378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=870598289223554378' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/870598289223554378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/870598289223554378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/kids-will-be-kids.html' title='Kids will be kids'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-1789341194495390033</id><published>2008-05-12T20:05:00.007+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T11:23:21.640+02:00</updated><title type='text'>1st impressions</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Addis Abba was a transit point during my journey and hence my movement was restricted within the airport. It was Tanzania and the city of Dar Es Salaam that gave me my first taste of Africa. I was trying hard to fight the notions in my head about what i would see. I still don't have the words to describe what i was feeling - Excitement (my first trip out of India), anticipation (what i would see), eagerness (to see a new place), relieved (to get out of the plane after the long journey!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On arrival at the Julius Nyerere International Airport in Dal Es Salaam I filled my visa application form, and got talking to a Gujarati gentleman from Bombay, who runs a greeting card business in India, while i was waiting for my visa to be issued. I was called to a counter with a pigeon hole on which was mounted a tiny camera connected to a computer and a printer. The lady at the counter clicked my snap, the monitor displayed the visa with my photo on it; she printed the visa on a sticker paper and pasted it in my passport. "Welcome to Dar Es Salaam", said the lady at the counter as she handed my passport back to me. Now i was legally entitled to step into the city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I collected my baggage from the conveyor belt and started walking towards the exit. I was stopped by a customs agent who asked for my passport and told me to open my bags. On seeing the transit visa the agent asked me what was in my bag. "Books and clothes", i said and she waved me on. I started moving towards the exit again. As i looked out through the glass paneled door I could see a man holding an Olam placard waiting for me. I was a feet away from the exit when a gentleman waved out to me from my right and directed me to come to him. "Now what??" I wondered. He has a stern face and an official looking badge around his neck. He asked for my passport, had a look at it and gave it back to me. I wondered if i had any formalities to complete here. "Can i go??", i asked him with a quizzed look on my face. "Yes" he said. I muttered a thank you and walked out of the airport. "So this is Africa", i thought to myself and smiled. Anybody looking at me might have wondered if i was crazy!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Francis was the chap holding the Olam placard, i learned, as we drove out of the airport parking lot. We reached the junction where we would get onto the main road and there, Francis stopped the car. He looked to the right. He looked to the left. A few vehicles drove by on the main road. A few cyclists went by. People crossed the road. Everything was moving. Everything, except us. We were still waiting to get onto the main road. I looked at Francis and wondered to myself, "Is this chap an extra-careful driver??" (I'll come back to this point regarding 'driving' later in the post. I believe we Indians have something to learn from this.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finally got onto the main road and my eyes wandered along either side of the road as we drove towards the guest house and what did i see - A TATA Motors showroom, a Toyota showroom, Tanzania Tobacco Company, SHOPRITE, a cement factory... The tar roads had quite some sand on them. I reasoned that this must be due to the proximity to the sea shore. The roads seemed well maintained. Broad footpaths bordered the roads. The divider also was pretty broad and lined with trees here and there. After a 30 minute drive along the main road we turned into an arterial road which led towards the center of the city and, the guest house. As we drove on i could see more and more people on the road. Houses and apartments also became visible. The shutters of majority of the shops were down as it was a sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first this that came to my mind was - This feels just like India! The roads, the traffic, the atmosphere...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to imagine the same situation with Indians in the picture. Believe me, you would get the feeling of being in India. What stands out among the people here is firstly their dark hued skin. Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all. And the mirror replied, "Sudeep Kodialbail". The second thing that caught my attention was their clothing. The men were casually dressed in loose fitting jeans and T shirts. The young ladies were dressed in typical western clothing while the elderly ladies were traditionally dressed and stood out with the bright coloured patterned cloth that they wore around their waist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing that appealed to me and something that i will always remember is the cordial and courteous nature of the people i came across. A smile always on their face as they greet you irrespective of whether they know you are not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could not help noticing the number of Toyota cars on the road. Every second car is from Toyota&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And something that really stunned me - the traffic sense. Whenever you meet someone who has just returned from the US or Europe you will always find them praising the way the people drive. They will talk about how when a car approached a junction, it will come to a complete halt, irrespective of the crowd on the road, and will allow cyclists &amp;amp; pedestrians to cross the road first before they move on. This is the way they drive here too. Its simply amazing. I made a reference earlier in the post about an extra-careful driver; Well it just that all drivers are the same. I saw this in Dar (Tanzania), Nampula (Moz) and in Quelimane (Moz) too. Its something that i could not digest initially. Someone who is so familiar with the way we drive in India. This is something that i have learnt till now during my short stay here and i believe there will be lots more for me to learn from Africa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-1789341194495390033?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/1789341194495390033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=1789341194495390033' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/1789341194495390033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/1789341194495390033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/1st-impressions.html' title='1st impressions'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-7675075013682407386</id><published>2008-05-10T19:13:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T11:23:21.641+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Journey :: Mumbai - Addis - Dar</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Finally the D-day arrived - 4th of May 2008. After galloping around (i mean it!!) to complete my documentation i finally found myself at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport early in the morning (2:30 am). I was booked on the 5:50 am Ethiopian airline flight from Mumbai to Dar Es Salaam via Addis Abba. I walked into the terminal, got my baggage screened, moved towards the check-in counter and put my luggage on the conveyor belt beside the counter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Mr. Sudeep, you are overweight"&lt;/span&gt; said the lady at the Ethiopian airline counter. I immediately remembered Shail and felt like quipping back "He!! he!! Me and overweight!! Wow!! Wish i really were". I am sure you guys must have already guessed that the lady was referring to the baggage that i was carrying which was 20 kgs in excess of the stipulated limit of 40 kgs. I looked at her, waiting for her to tell me that i would have to pay for the excess baggage. Instead she just  kept punching the keys on the keyboard, issued my boarding pass and said "Have a nice flight." Heaving a sigh of relief i walked through the customs and immigration. Having completed all formalities i walked into the departure lounge for an hour long wait before my flight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Hungry me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did some window shopping at the duty free shop &amp;amp; hungry (as i always) i headed for the snack bar. On the way to the airport, dad told me to eat at the airport without having a look at the price. Now, that made me even more curious. I glanced at the snacks on display and then my eyes went looking for the cost -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Sandwich, samosa, pizza, puffs&lt;br /&gt;          The cost of it made me eat my cuffs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- When i initially saw the cost of a sandwich i wondered if there was a decimal point missing somewhere. It said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Sandwich.............................................. Rs. 100&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait... stop... before your imagination runs wild thinking about the fancy 100 buck sandwich, let me have the honour of describing it to you. Ingredients - 2 slices of bread, tomato &amp;amp; cucumber ONLY!!!! No salt. No pepper. No butter on the bread. Nothing. I believe i can make a better and more economical sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;@ Addis Abba&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The five and a half hour flight to Addis was on time at 5:50 am. After the hot sultry weather at bombay, Addis was a complete anticlimax. It was cloudy and wet with puddles of water on the airstrip suggesting that it had just stopped raining. The weather was simply amazing. A cool breeze blew across the open airport lands. Did someone say it was summer??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The airport at Addis was well maintained and spacious. I notices people of various hues waiting for their flight. Addis apparently happens to be a transit point for several destinations in Africa. There was this group of around 20 people who were waiting to board the same flight i was taking and  they were make a lot of noise chit-chatting. Just before they proceeded for the security check-in they formed a circle, held hands and with heads bowed they maintained silence for around 2 minutes. This silence was infectious. They were the biggest group around making noise and when they stood in silence it was as if the entire airport became silent. This was a sight to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My flight from Addis left on time and around 3 hours later i landed in Dar Es Salaam. Another country... another place... What lay ahead, i wondered...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coming up...&lt;br /&gt;1. 1st impressions&lt;br /&gt;2. Kids will be kids&lt;br /&gt;3. A multiethinic dinner &amp;amp; a fire extinguisher&lt;br /&gt;4. For the food lovers&lt;br /&gt;5. Nampula&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-7675075013682407386?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/7675075013682407386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=7675075013682407386' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/7675075013682407386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/7675075013682407386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/journey-mumbai-addis-dar.html' title='The Journey :: Mumbai - Addis - Dar'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282545397660272434.post-6261001788495452471</id><published>2008-05-08T15:18:00.019+02:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T11:23:21.641+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Perspective</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What is the first thought that comes to your mind when you hear the word 'Africa'? Let me guess. Hmmm... Safari, Mandela, Diamonds, Poverty, ( sudeep ;-) )... Well, whatever it is, let it be. Read whatever you see below with no preconceived notions. I have come here with an open mind to see and experience for myself what Africa has to offer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The write ups that you will find here will deal with 'Me &amp;amp; Africa' - views, incidents &amp;amp; experiences during my travel and the time i spent in Africa. These experiences commenced right from the time i stepped into the international airport at Bombay and will continue till the time i reside here. Humour, satire, PJ's, facts, heart touching incidents - i think you will find everything here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So read on...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;DISCLAIMER&lt;/strong&gt;: The meaning conveyed though the assortment of words &amp;amp; punctuation marks wholly &amp;amp; solely represents the experiences of the author and should not be generalized to form an opinion.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CREDITS&lt;/strong&gt;: This blog is a result of the consistent nagging by Mr Srey and the idea for the title of this blog was unknowingly given by Ms Neha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7282545397660272434-6261001788495452471?l=jhingalalatales.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/feeds/6261001788495452471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7282545397660272434&amp;postID=6261001788495452471' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/6261001788495452471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7282545397660272434/posts/default/6261001788495452471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jhingalalatales.blogspot.com/2008/05/perspective.html' title='Perspective'/><author><name>Kodi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633932061567428294</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
