I Don't Want Nirvana! I Want Great Food, Always! -- Part XXXV - An Evening At Chercher...

And the final meal in Washington DC had to be an Ethiopian. That was an obvious choice as the Ethiopians are a part of the biggest immigrant community in the city...

The Ethiopian-American relationship dates back to the 1950s, when the Ethiopian Emperor, Haile Selassie was the first Ethiopian emperor to visit the White House, where he met with President Dwight Eisenhower. In October 1963, Selassie returned to get to know John F. Kennedy. Less than two months later, Selassie was the only African leader to attend Kennedy’s funeral.

High level contacts between the leaders encouraged ordinary Ethiopians to head to the United States to study. And quite a few stayed back when the military took over, overthrowing the Emperor, and the wars that ensued brought quite a few migrants.

Today, the city has over 75,000 Ethiopians here who own businesses, restaurants and drive taxis, adding to the vibrancy of the District...

The restaurant is named after the Chercher province in Ethiopia, which is known for its fertile lands and abundant agricultural produce...

Waiting for my table to be ready...

...with a ginger ale for company!

The place was buzzing with only Ethiopians and Eritreans but also whites...

Scanning through the menu...

And here comes my injera with delicious spicy tuna...

I must admit that Ethiopian cuisine has much, much more to offer - a lot that I still have to try and I will live to have a lot more of that, and that's making me say "I Don't Want Nirvana! I Want Great Food, Always!"...

How Much Is Enough?

A few days back, on our Whatsapp group, Neeti's cousin posted a profound thought that instantly took me back to the 1980s, the time when we were in Africa.

The local kids, some of whom were from the lower strata of society used to roll up rags and tie them up with ropes to make footballs - series of games were played with these improvised balls. Their games were fast paced, thrilling, energetic and enjoyable.

While they would have loved to have a "proper" football, they still got the thrill of sport by their rag-tag ball.

The moral of the story is hard to accept - I keep reminding myself about this every now and then but I admit, it is hard to put into practice.

The moral of the story is there is no end to desiring, coveting but life begins when one lives fully in the moment, enjoying every bit of what one has....

The Taste Of Kenya, In My Cup...

A lot can happen over a cup of tea.... That's exactly what happened sometime back...

My parents were recently in Mumbai to spend the New Year holidays with us and they brought along a treasure of great food - a good mix of gourmet stuff from a food store close to their home and a lot of homemade goodies. That treasure trove included a few tea bags of Kericho tea - a tea that comes from the Kenyan county of Kericho.

Kericho is located  on the highlands west of the Kenyan Rift Valley - an area well known for its marathon runners. The climate and altitude of 6500 feet makes it ideal for tea cultivation. Kericho is said to be the tea capital of Kenya and Kericho tea known for its brightness, attractive colour, brisk flavour and fragrance. Such is the popularity of tea here that the central square of Kericho town is known as Chai Square!

Now these tea bags traveled from Kenya to Beijing - gifted to my sister by her friend... She shared them with my parents who were in Beijing last year...

And from Beijing the tea travelled to Delhi and then to Mumbai....

And then the taste of Kericho comes into my cup...

The taste was crisp and flavourful....

With each sip, I was in sense teleported back to 1980-1981, when as a kid, I travelled with my parents across Uganda and Kenya in our beautiful blue Fiat 127, passing by the lush green tea gardens of the Rift Vally in Kenya...

Till now those memories were a bit faint...

But each sip of Kericho tea made me relive the memorable roadtrip, vividly... passing by the Equator, stopping and buying bananas, having them right on the Equator... and then sharing them with a local man who passed by with a walking stick...

I longed to get back, to jump on to the next Kenya Airways flight, that I have so often see here in Mumbai, to head back to the land of my birth, East Africa, to relive those moments all over again.....

All this happened as I enjoyed the taste of Kenya in my cup....

I Will Always Miss You, Madiba!

This morning, I had just started for work and had just hit the road, when I received a mail from my parents on my Blackberry. The mail said that Nelson Mandela had passed away!

That was a devastating news! I wept all the way, as it was in many ways a personal loss. This was the toughest drive to office I ever had.

The Madiba, for me, was an immensely inspiring figure.

I first heard about Mandela in the mid-1980s when newspapers in Zambia, almost on a daily basis, carried stories on the anti-Apartheid struggle in South Africa. Being a frontline state, Zambia had sheltered ANC activists and the President, Kenneth Kaunda was at the forefront, campaigning against South African policies. 

That consciousness, naturally, seeped down to Zambians, including those we interacted with. Schools too had discussions on the struggle, that's how I learnt about Mandela!

Much later, I bought his book The Long Walk To Freedom in 2009 and till date, I have read it twice, both the times with great interest. 

It amazed me on how could there ever be a man like him! He was pragmatic and not dogmatic like the guys we had in India. This pragmatism endeared him to not only South Africans, but also the world!!

His wrinkled and gnarled, yet ever smiling face spoke of a pain of the past yet optimism for the future. His persona was quite like an aging Banyan tree - strong, wrinkled yet firmly grounded, and ever ready to provide shelter, hope, inspiration and comfort to lesser mortals like me!

Perhaps he couldn't have lived much more, he was already 95. He lived well, accomplished what he had set out to achieve and had inspired an entire generation, all over the world!

Indeed we should thank God he was amongst us. Perhaps, remembering him fondly and learning from his ideals and inspiring personality would be better than mourning his demise!

Still, I will miss your presence in the world! I will always miss you, Madiba! And yes, I will indeed miss the smart Mandela shirts you used to wear!

Rediscovering The Joy of Reading

Just today there was an article in one of the dailies on the decline in the habit of reading. But nowadays, for me, books have become my routine, my recreation, my everything - an hour of peace and solitude before I call it a day.

Given my fascination for all things African, which is quite understandable as I spent an invaluable 11 years of my impressionable years in the equatorial and savanna belts of this great continent, I went on an Africa book-shopping spree on Flipkart.

The first book I picked up was The Rain Goddess, a fascinating account of the Rhodesian bush war that started way back in the 1960s after the Unilateral Declaration of Independence. Written by an officer in Rhodesian police force, Peter Stiff, the story covers the life of an ambitious young black Rhodesian, Kephas, who was studying to be a doctor, who had a pretty girlfriend.
But with a twist of fate, Kephas is indoctrinated and gets so intoxicated by power that it gets the better of him. He unleashes his fury of terror on village-folk with his AK-47, survives on bushmeat and  takes shelter in the veld, where the monotony of the landscape is interspersed with the kopjes that regally rise up above the landscape.

Perhaps, the loss of reason, unscrupulous guile and an infinite lust for power in brilliant youngsters like Kephas explains why the once prosperous Rhodesia has deteriorated into the pitiable state that Zimbabwe is in today.

Sara Dunn's Appointment In Zambia is an exciting account of her journey, alongwith her husband, Ross, in the early 1970s from Edinburgh to Chingola in Zambia, in their brand new Hillman Hunter. They covered 20,000 kilometers in nearly 8 weeks, braving the Sahara, crossing the war-torn Biafra region, and transported their car across a tributary of the Congo River on a raft cobbled together with canoes. I could very well identify with their journey beyond the Sahara into equatorial Africa and Savanna grasslands. It was heartwarming to read about Sara and Ross' experiences in Kampala, my birthplace - a place they found extremely pleasant and pleasing! Their drive along the Rift Valley was refreshing - my family traveled on that route several times and we felt that way too - it was rejuvenating.
And then getting to Chingola in the Copperbelt was such a relief for  Sara and Ross - this area was so familiar, so much like home, once, for us!

Another interesting book I read recently was Harnessing The Trade Winds. The book, written by Blanche Rocha D'Souza, gives a fascinating account of India's links with Africa, which date back to the Vedic Age. East African highlands (Mountains of the Moon) were called Chandra Giri, the White Nile was called Shvet Ganga and the Blue Nile, Neel Ganga! Gold from Sofala (today's Mozambique and Zimbabwe) fed ancient India's insatiable hunger for gold!

The book then goes on to describe how seafaring Kutchis and Gujaratis developed intricate trade relationships with the East African region, specifically Zanzibar in the medieval ages. Their ingenuity was  a boon - not only did they profit from trade  but also gained prominence in local administration. Their sea-faring skills were "exploited" by the marauding and pillaging Portuguese, under Vasco da Gama to "discover" the sea-route to India, something that our Gujarati bhais had known for centuries prior to the Europeans!

And then came in the English, who brought in indentured labour from India to build a railway link into Uganda in the 1800s. And the rest is history...

With three books on Africa done, I have headed "home" and am now reading Khushwant Singh's The Sikhs on another industrious and affable Indian community

Chorizos Or Five Centuries Of History?

A few months back I had written about how food travels. This post is about exactly that.

Recently, on my weekly rounds to Haiko, Powai, I was pleasantly surprised and rather overjoyed to see Goan sausages in stock.

Goan sausages or chorizos as they are called, are of Iberian origin, Portuguese, to be precise, and were brought to this part of the world by the Portuguese pirates in the 1500s when they assumed control over the sea-based spice trade routes.

The brutal colonisation of Angola, Mozambique, which was then known as the Portuguese East Africa and Goa (Estado da Índia as the Portuguese called the place) in the 1500s brought about a swift imposition of religion and alien customs in these lands. The natives had to comply or face brute firepower or torture. That explains why Konkani Brahmins adopted Christianity and took to eating pork, which was unusual for Indians then.

And the art of Goan Chorizo making (which has vinegar as a preservative) tells a tale of conquests, wars, explorers, a tale of travels of the barbaric pirates from the Iberian peninsula through Africa into India.
The Chorizo tells us how India has been a melting pot, a sponge that soaks in all influences, a story of how alien cuisines have been adapted by locals with Indian spices, something, that is uniquely "Indian" or "Goan" and that's how, today, it found its way into my plate.

(The Chorizo also travelled into Orient as well - the Portuguese posession of Macau too adapted the Chorizo in its unique way.)

Instead of having the traditional sausage-pao, I had a smorgasbord - sautéed Chorizo with onions, herbed mushrooms, fried egg and toast make for a hearty breakfast. That's a good piece of history on my plate!

Wonder what more secrets do other culinary delights hide?

Smell The Coffee!

Even though I have largely been a tea-drinker for the last 15-odd years, I do occasionally enjoy a cup of very strong coffee with a hint of cream and just about a pinch of demerara sugar.

Coffee for me has this amazing ability to "wake me up", to heighten my sensory faculties, to leave behind that amazing bitter after-taste in my mouth that keeps me "high" for a few hours. And the aroma of coffee is  nothing but simply magical.

Coorg was the place where I discovered the best coffee. I cannot forget that day in January 2011, sitting in the veranda of that 100-year old colonial plantation bungalow and sipping on an amazingly aromatic thick black coffee liquor. It was a lazy day, bright and sunny with a rather cool breeze blowing. All around were sounds of silence, green plantations and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air.

That was sheer bliss for me!

More recently, Bru introduced premium world coffees in the market, Bru Exotica - coffees from the Killimanjaro, Brazil and Colombia. I could not resist picking up a bottle of Killimanjaro coffee despite its steep price of Rs. 300 a bottle, simply because this coffee supposedly came very close from my motherland, Uganda.

Talking of Ugandan coffee, which has been very prized for long, during Idi Amin's reign of terror, the economy had collapsed and the Shilling crashed alongwith the onset of spiraling inflation. In those trying times, coffee was the unofficial currency for Ugandans in the countryside. The resilient Ugandans used to risk their lives carrying coffee in their canoes all across Lake Victoria to Tanzania or Kenya for some money that was worth more than wads of Ugandan Shillings. (My Dad has lucidly described the resilience of Ugandans in his blogs). That's how they survived. Today, however, Uganda has regained its prestige in the world of coffee, but climate change does threaten it.

One coffee that I would really love to try is the one from ancient land of Ethiopia. The Ethiopian civilization is quite old. It predates Christ and goes way back to age of Solomon the Great, who supposedly was madly in love with an Ethiopian queen, the Queen of Sheba. (Indeed, Ethiopian women are really pretty - ask me, I recently saw the flight crew of Ethiopian Airlines in Mumbai - they were all lissome and sharp featured!)

Legend has it that Ethiopia has been the cradle of coffee. A sheep herder once saw his flock chewing on some berries and getting high. Those berries, with time, came to be known as coffee berries!

In 1981, our family did pass by Addis Ababa for a few days. I was 5 then - too young to have coffee. But today, I am a big boy(!) and I would love to go back to Ethiopia, smell and drink Ethiopian coffee and also visit the great heritage of this ancient civilisation - rock carved churches at Lalibela, monasteries at Axum that are believed to house the legendary Ark of the Covenant and tablets of the Ten Commandments, the Blue Nile monasteries of Bahir Dar, castles of Gondar and the grand Rift Valley! Ethiopia also has a rich culinary heritage - injera (much like our Indian dosa), fit-fit, wat and many other delights!

It isn't hard to understand why they say "Smell the Coffee". But for me, smelling the coffee right in the morning is a big NO. I would rather wake up saying to myself something I adapted from a dialogue from one of favourite films, Jerry Macguire - "I have rolled with the punches, but today is another day!"

That does keep me going, till about afternoon, when I sometimes indulge in literally smelling the coffee!

Deja Vu in Orissa

Earlier this week, I was in Orissa for a couple of days. After landing in Bhubaneshwar, we traveled northwards towards the coast at Paradeep, back to Bhubaneshwar and then to Angul and Dhenkanal and then back to base.

Orissa has a reputation for being a very warm and humid region, the weather this time around was amazing. Despite the golden warmth of the Sun, the temperature barely touched 30 degrees Celsius. In fact, we were happier putting off the air conditioning in the car.

The route to Paradeep is very beautiful. Green paddy fields on either side of the road made the drive an intensely pleasurable experience, a treat for weary urban eyes gone sore by the sight of concrete all around.

Paradeep is lovely port town. Life in the town centers mainly around the port and a few mineral processing industries. The town itself is well managed by the port trust - wide neat roads and a lot of greenery. A self-contained town, Paradeep has all facilities, including schools, hospitals, markets, hotels and yes, a golf course!

We stopped by at a local hotel to grab some food before our return back - Empires Hotel, which belongs to a local Oriyan business group. The hotel caters to the shipping crew who stop by at Paradeep, and that shows in the tariffs. The hotel itself is very well located, has an inviting decor and is quite compact. The lunch buffet had an amazing variety of Oriyan delicacies. There were a number of local Oriyan delicacies on offer. There were a few vegetable preparations - greens etc., which were delectable. I attacked the Oriya style baingan bhartha, which was more like babaghanoush, aloo bhartha (spicy mashed potatoes) and tomato bhartha (to me that was a lot like Mexican salsa).

And then my Oriya friend pushed me to take bowls full of crab curry, mutton curry and fish curry. The crab was the best - extremely spicy with a generous helping of garlic. The crab was so fresh and succulent - the only hitch was the mess I was afraid of creating, cracking open the shells! Dessert followed - all typical Oriya delights!

On the way back, my friend (and colleague) got me a box of local pedas from Cuttack. Mildly sweet and fragrant, the pedas were too soft to dig into, alongwith a warm cup of Assam tea.

The next day, early in the morning, we set out for Angul in the interior of Orissa, passing through Dhenkanal. Unlike the route to Paradeep, this area is not cultivated. Instead, there are quite dense forests on the way, alongwith rolling hills, grasslands - a varied landscape. And the bright blue sky above, with a few clouds floating around in gay abandon. This reminded me of Zambia! It was almost like deja vu, as though I was back in Zambia!

Adding to the sense of deja vu, I came across a number of anthills and mud huts with thatched roofs! This was it! And as I was seeing all this, Miriam Makeba's song "Africa is Where My Heart Lies..." was ringing in my head!

Ubuntu - "I Am Because We Are"

I picked this up from Neeti's newsfeed on Facebook. The piece goes as follows:

An anthropologist proposed a game to the kids in an African tribe. He put a basket full of fruit near a tree and told the kids that who ever got there first won the sweet fruits. 

When he told them to run they all took each others hands and ran together, then sat together enjoying their treats. 

When he asked them why they had run like that as one could have had all the fruits for himself they said: ''Ubuntu, how can one of us be happy if all the other ones are sad?'' ('Ubuntu' in the Xhosa culture means: "I Am Because We Are")

This is so true, "I" is defined by the people around me, my surroundings and my environment. Ironically, there would be no "I" without them.

An interesting fact is that Nelson Mandela belongs to the Xhosa tribe. Perhaps it was this Ubuntu spirit that has laid the foundation of the post-Apartheid South Africa!

Such is the spirit of my homeland, Africa!

An African Morning at CSIA

As chance would have it, I am flying to Bangalore right now - a 6.30AM departure, which necessarily meant waking up early.

But then I received a message from Jet Airways, last night, that since our aircraft was parked on a remote parking bay at the international terminal of Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport (CSIA), we would need to report 90 minutes prior to the scheduled departure time. That is a real pain in the ass.

My cab did not turn up at 5AM and Neeti so sweetly agreed to drop me. I suspect that the cab played truant because of the Bharat Bandh proposed for today. Luckily, our building's security guard got me a cab from the fuel station next door. I was happy that  Neeti could steal a few more winks!

At the airport, I bought an Assam tea as a salve for my throat from the Cafe Coffee Day outlet at Terminal 1B. With my tea cup in hand, I boarded the bus to take us all to the parking bay.

The best thing about this short 10-minute ride is that you end up going all around the periphery of the airside, around Runway 14-32, getting a full view of Runway 9-27 with all magnificent carriers from exotic lands taxiing, landing and rotating!

A little smart boy, about 5 years old sat next to me - he was nattily dressed in a red t-shirt and was clutching a smart bag with cartoon characters on it. (I don't even know some of these characters - blame it on the generation gap!) It was evident that the smart young lad and his mom had flown in from the United States on a red-eye as they were carrying United boarding passes.

The boy's eyes widened, to what I imagine would be a diameter of an inch on seeing massive aircraft parked on the international side. There was a majestic Air-India Boeing 747-400 royally parked on the left of our bus. The boy innocently asked "Mumma, does this big plane really fly?"

I was so reminded of my days as a toddler, when I used to fly with my folks. Those early days of flying kindled my interest in aviation to such a burning passion that I so badly wanted to become a commercial pilot. As fate had it, my myopia stopped me from going that way. But I do get massive goose bumps, the size of adolescent pimples, when I steal a glimpse of the cockpit while boarding or disembarking! I am a great believer in Karma and I hope God grants me my wish in my subsequent births.

Just at that moment, a Kenya Airways Boeing 767, which had touched down, from Nairobi, moments before, taxied right beside us toward its parking bay. The boy looked amazed to see it beautiful green-red-black livery on the tail! 

Man! This beauty, "The Pride of Africa", as the fuselage of the aircraft so boldy said, comes from so close to my motherland, Uganda! The very sight of this beauty made me so badly want to go back there that it hurt! I hope I am able to do that soon - fly on this Kenyan beauty to Nairobi and onward to Entebbe! I tried grabbing a quick picture of this pretty Kenyan jet on my BlackBerry, but it turned out to be far too grainy to be uploaded here.

It seemed to be an African morning at CSIA - an Ethiopian Boeing 767 was pushing back for its departure to Addis Ababa - nostalgic again for I was there in Addis Ababa, way back in1981!

All that nostalgia made me teary eyed, as our Boeing 737-800 rotated on full throttle towards Bangalore!

Mile-High, No Quads?

A few days back, I happened to see a BBC documentary on the now defunct American carrier, Pan-Am, titled Come Fly With Me - the Story of Pan Am. The documentary traced the evolution of the airline from propeller aircraft to the jet-age heralded by the Boeing 707.

Instantly, I was taken back to the 1980s. That is when I took my journey on a quad-jet - the Boeing 707, of Uganda Airlines, probably between Entebbe and Nairobi. That was an amazing jet, with a splendid livery in the colours of the Ugandan flag - a crested crane on the tail and prominent yellow, red and black band that stretched along the fuselage.

Then followed journeys on Boeing 707s of Air-India and Zambia Airways. The Centaur on the Air-India Boeing 707 tail always looked smart. I still cannot fathom why Air-India dumped the Centaur.

The first Zambia Airways Boeing 707 I saw was at Lusaka Airport, in October 1984, at twilight, with its tail, an orange Z stylised as an eagle, set on a green background. We flew on that beauty to Bombay, in what was my most memorable intercontinental flight.

As we approached the Indian airspace, dawn broke and we woke up. It was enthralling to see two engine nacelles hanging from the wing, against the backdrop of the azure Indian Ocean. What ensued was a quick visit to the cockpit, led by an eager stewardess. The flight crew were Zambians, and were happy to show off their smart cockpit to me, a precocious 8-year old, before they commenced their descent. Those were different days and innocent thrills of seeing a flight deck at work were easy to come by. Today that's unimaginable, for obvious, security reasons.

We flew on a trijet, McDonnell Douglas DC10 after that, which was again pretty smooth, but not quite like a quad - the thrill was lacking.

My last flight on a quad was on the Air Mauritius Airbus A340 from Plaisance to Bombay in October 2005. That was a pretty interesting flight - seeing the slim red nacelles hanging from the wing was a sight to behold.

In the last few years, I flew largely on Boeing 737s, Airbus A320s, Airbus A330s and Boeing 777s. But these flights were completely devoid of the thrill that one has of peering out of the window and seeing two nacelles hanging underneath the wing!

The era of quad-jet airliners which started with the Boeing 707 in the 1960s, seems to be ending now, with twin-jets being deployed for the job. Last month, Airbus announced that it was discontinuing the A340 line. With this development, the choice of quad-engine aircrafts reduces to just two - the Boeing 747-8 family and the Airbus A380. These Jumbos are niche products, which would not make much sense for most airlines. With limited flexibility of operations, these Jumbos can operate only from a limited number of airports around the globe, as a result of which we'll see fewer and fewer quads with each passing year.

A lot has been said about the efficiency and reliability of the twin-jets, which have been extended operations certified or ETOPS certified for non-stop intercontinental operations. For a few years now, they have been deployed for non-stop operations from India to the US East Coast, overflying the the Arctic. This cuts the flying time, bypassing a stopover in continental Europe.

The twin-jets, Boeing 777, Boeing 787 and Airbus A330 have specially designed engine with a diameter exceeding the quad-engine nacelles by a factor of over 1.5. The higher diameter provides for the increased airflow through the engine for the required lift.

But twin-engines lack the redundancy that the quads provide. I dread to think of a situation on a twin-engine overflying the Arctic and one engine fails. Where would the aircraft land?

But an aviation enthusiast would lament the loss, the excitement of being mile-high (pun unintended) on an intercontinental flight and peering down upon two engines!

Invictus And The Madiba

One great leader who had always fascinated me is the Madiba, Nelson Mandela.

The reasons for the fascination are many. For one it is the Africa connection - I had known of Mr. Mandela since 1984 or so, when the anti-Apartheid struggle was at its peak. At that time I was barely 8. Newspapers in Zambia were full of news on the anti-Apartheid struggle and Mandela. One just just could not miss that.

The second was the way Mr. Mandela maintained his dignity and guarded his sanity despite 27 years of his incarceration, which is in no way a small achievement. He came out of the Robben Island prison and literally took his nation from isolation to the center stage of the world.

Thirdly, and certainly, not lesser in importance, Mr. Mandela passed on the baton after a single term as president of the Rainbow Nation. How many world leaders have actually had the guts to do that? Our own stalwarts, in India, desperately clung on to power till they died, little did they concentrate on building systems and structures to serve the country. However, Mandela created a system that was independent of him, that lives on, despite his not being active on the political front.

Fourthly, the Madiba envisioned a nation of unity, not a nation divided by sectarianism. He walked the talk, when he supported the Springbok rugby team in the face of severe opposition. He selected the Day of the Vow, which was celebrated to commemorate the victory of the Boers over the local Zulus in 1838, in the Battle of Blood River, where over 3000 Zulus were massacred. The majority had long viewed the Day of the Vow as an oppressive celebration. However, the Madiba prevailed, and today, the Day of the Vow is celebrated as the Day of Reconciliation to foster national unity.

A few years back I read the Madiba's autobiography, The Long Walk to Freedom. More recently I saw Invictus that captured the journey of the Springbok rugby team - a symbol of Apartheid from the lows of ignominy to the heights of winning the World Cup. That was all because the Madiba rallied the Rainbow Nation's support for the Springboks. The Springboks, thanks to their skipper, Francois Pienaar on the other hand, matched the trust the nation, and the Madiba had reposed in them. Imagine how well can Indian politicians leverage use cricket to harmonize India, but I can trust them for never doing it. It's rather sad we, in India, never had a Madiba.

The Madiba's nature came out very well in an interview Francois Pienaar gave on Invictus, on how he developed a deep bond with the family.

The Madiba has had his style-statement - the Madiba shirt - shirts printed with African motifs, in the pan-African colour combination of black or green or yellow or red. He broke out of the mould - the conventional, stiff dressing style of world leaders.

The movie Invictus, as well as his autobiography did allude to the fact that Madiba drew the strength of his character from a poem, Invictus, written by William Ernest Henley, an English poet, way back in 1875. That shaped his attitude in the years after he left Robben Island.

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

If such powerful words could steer the Madiba to greatness, imagine what they can do to all of us!

The Return of the Natives!!!! Part 3

After The Return of the Natives!!!! and The Return of the Natives!!!! Part 2, the final part of Neelima's photographs from Kampala are here! I just hope I get to go there soon, very soon, with Papa, Mom and Neeti.

This where it all began, Rubaga Hospital, the hospital where I was born over 34 years back!

Another view of Rubaga Hospital! Wonder how it looked that Easter Monday?

Crossroads at Rubaga (Lubaga)!

Lubaga Cathedral, close to Rubaga Hospital! God blessed me when I was born!

The Sanatan Dharam Temple in Old Kampala! That's where I learnt about our richreligious heritage!

Swaminarayan Temple in Kampala. Am not sure it was there 30 years back!

The beautiful insides of Swaminarayan Temple. There is a stark difference between temples in India and those abroad. Temples abroad are congregational in nature, providing Indians with an opportunity to meet and socialise.

The Gurudwara in Kampala! That's where I learnt Wahe Guru (ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ) and Mattha Tekna!

The Langar (ਲੰਗਰ) at the Kampala Gurudwara! I had it many times 30 years back and will again, soon!

The beautiful Bosa family! Dr. Bosa was Mom's boss. And we became family friends over time. Mom told me that Mrs. Bosa once made a very smart shirt for me! We were pals with Sheba and Herbert! Estella was born after we left Uganda! They all have naughty but smart kids now, who love dancing to the tune of Shakira's Waka Waka! Speaking to all of them recently was like speaking to family. Yes, we have loved ones back home!

A lovely Ugandan treat laid out at the Bosa's! Can see lovely matoke laid out on table! I am hungry and I need matoke!

The Kampala Sheraton was home to my Nanaji, my Godfather!!!

Kaka Motors - a workshop that catered to our car's repairs! The Kaka family were friends. Sadly, Mrs. Kaka died recently. May her soul rest in peace!

Bank of Baroda has a major presence in East Africa, Uganda included. I used to visit this place often with Papa and Mom. They continue to be the bank's clients in India, 30 years on. That's called customer loyalty!

The Return of the Natives!!!! Part 2

Continuing on, from The Return of the Natives!!!!

We go alongwith Neelima's journey through my land, Uganda. The Natives returned (metaphorically) and they saw, eyes moistened, with emotion!

The Coat of Arms of Makerere University! The splendid crested crane stands for everything that is Ugandan, to me!
Makerere University was where Mom taught for a good number of years

The magnificent, colonial, administrative block of the Makerere University. That's where, I, as a four year old posed with Neelima, then a year old, for a smart photograph in 1981!

Makerere University's Faculty of Sciences, where Mom taught!!!!

Quarry House in the Makerere University campus. We called this place home!

The entrance to Quarry House!!!!

B 8, Quarry House, our home! So many memories, so little space to pen them down!

The balcony, where we all posed for photographs, with baby Neelima and Mom, when I animated the flight of plane. And again with friends, Sheba and Herbert, with me holding up a sketch of a plane. I remember running to the balcony when Papa used return back in his blue Fiat 127!
But some people move out, some move in, like this family, who graciously allowed Neelima to come in and click photographs!

That's where I used to play with other toddlers in the campus!

The Quarry House staircase. That's where I gallantly rode my tricycle down with a stunning result - I busted my forehead. Papa heroically rushed me to Mulago Hospital to stitch up my forehead. Bawling my guts out, I was pinned down by Mom, as Papa continued on with the task at hand!!!!

That gallant feat gave me the characteristic scar that I will have for the rest of my life. They say, everything happens for a reason! The scar will remind me of my home, forever!

Mulago Hospital, Papa's karambhoomi!

The hospital shot into the news internationally, when Dora Bloch, one of the hostages in the Air France Flight 139 hijack, was kidnapped from Mulago Hospital and murdered later.

Thank God, Papa wasn't on duty then!!!!

Mulago Hospital - Papa must have walked around here in his smart, white, doctor's coat, 30 years back!