Mallus, Mallus everywhere...!

There is the hackneyed old joke that when Armstrong landed on the moon, he was greeted by... yes maybe you heard that before.

Malayalees flock together  - like birds of a feather - they tend to sense each other from a distance.

In the Maldives when I was standing on the queue at the immigration counter on arrival, I heard Malayalam chatter behind me, presumably Malayalees employed in the hospitality sector. I had small talk with one of them and he turned out to be working in the hospitality sector in a far away Maldives island. The receptionist of the hotel at the isolated Maldives village where I stayed turned out to be a young Malayalee lad.

In the smoking area at Kuwait airport I heard someone who said he was a Maritime engineer boasting in Malayalm about his exploits around the world to another of his brethren as he took swigs of brandy from a flask.

Kuwait was Malayalees everywhere - the hotel attendant was Malayalee, the office driver was a Mangalorean Anglo who spoke Malayalam, the food delivery person was a Malayalee - he lamented sorrowfully as he compared his cramped quarters with the luxurious apartment where we stayed. On my flight to Germany, the elderly Mallu gentleman seated behind me got into an argument with the air crew on his quota of brandy.

The UK was not any short of Malayalees either.

Far away in Nottingham, while on the tram I heard a young lad speaking on the phone in Malayalam about his part time job and how happy he was able to manage it in his free time outside college. I heard Malayalam chatter by young women, obviously nurses as they headed out for their late shifts while on my way to office. The corner store near my apartment run by the Andhra guy had a young Malayalee apprentice lad who actually was willing to trust me with a few pounds when I was short of change.

The thrift store in London where I went to buy an international charger was run by a Malayalee which I was quick to infer from his accent.

The taxi driver who drew me to London from Nottingham on my way back was a long time Malayalee resident in the UK. The list would have been endless had I joined any of those loosely organized Malayalee societies.

Some more random thoughts on Life in the UK

I had the chance to talk to this elderly White Brit neighbor, who I used to see occasionally in the summer cycling outdoors on his bike. He  was apparently what I term a "gold digger" for the reasons coming next. He lived on a UK pension (and maybe his retirement savings) but spent time in countries such as Sri Lanka and other South East Asian nations, where obviously his pounds got more bang for his buck and he could live a much more comfortable life than he could expect to in costly UK. He excitedly told me why he liked Sri Lanka so much and how he managed to deal with the hot weather there. There are quite a few people like this in the West - modern day hippies, who prefer to stay outside their country of citizenship to live a modestly luxurious life in a country where the purchasing power parity is more favorable. Notably the backpackers who you will see in places such as Goa, Dharamshala and of course, Kerala..

The UK media I noticed is heavily biased, almost similar to the Indian media. Prince Harry is universally despised and after his misadventure, Prince Andrew has also fallen into the bad books. The Queen (and the other immediate royals) are held in high regard and every small action of theirs (including body language) was noted, analyzed, praised to the skies and glorified. Speaking against the monarchy is akin to treachery, though though a minority of modern Brits, do not believe in the continuation of the monarchy. The press is prejudiced in some way similar to India and are sometimes have a parochial outlook, which actually surprised me as I expected the media to be more liberal and open minded in what is considered a developed country..

There are a lot of homeless people in the UK as well. You will find them huddled in a jacket and a blanket on a cold winter evening by the street curb. They are not as despised or looked down upon as you would expect in India or in fact the US. They are the street clowns. When begging, they will request you in very polite English for a few pennies. And they are always in a mood to haves some silly banter with passersby. Some of the regular small town people are familiar with these homeless and are actually on first name terms with some of them. I even saw one shabby beggar come for a regular checkup at the NHS, because health care is universal in the UK under the NHS. It seems that the general public decided that these people have chosen that particular way of life of their own choice and there is nothing more to it..

In certain shabbier areas parts of town you will find drunk tramps, some of them quite young chaps asking if you could spare a few pennies, because their "mother just died. You know my  mother, she died!".

There is a special tax on products containing sugar in a bid to combat obesity which is pandemic in the UK. So you will find that the can of beer you just bought from the corner store is only slightly expensive than the Coca Cola can you bought instead..

Most Singular Experiences

I really wonder whether I should blog anymore. Whoever reads a blog nowadays when the average attention span is said to be less than forty seconds? ChatGPT can write a blog for you nowadays where it is difficult to tell if it was written by humans or AI. ChatGPT can write your homework, but can it have experiences? Can it show emotion and empathy to describe a real-life experience? Point to ponder.

Some random experiences in the UK -

Visiting the supermarket: I cross a lovely marina every weekend to shop at Sainsbury's which is one of the high-end supermarkets in Nottingham; we have a Lidl which is more economical but since it has less variety than I need, I stick to Sainsbury's. Imported edible items are remarkably cheap. Locally produced milk, egg and meat however are expensive. For coffee that is grown in Ethiopia or Brazil, processed and flown, shipped and sold in the UK, the prices are still competitive to what you would buy locally in India or for that matter, Germany. Good quality apples are thankfully cheap and I make the most of it. No wonder I read about the cost-of-living crisis in the UK now. It is definitely a market correction. The Brits had it coming for a long time.

The white maintenance people from the rental agency who come my apartment once in a while to check out the equipment, proudly talk about high British standards. And that is a good thing. Quality Control is something we shockingly lack in India. Your salt shaker rusts or the pin of the electrical equipment you bought just does not fit the socket. But when I buy a mattress on Amazon in the UK to last a year's stay, I am dismayed to learn it costs more than half the cost of a two-way ticket from London to San Francisco. No wonder Elon Musk did not agree with his girlfriend on replacing their mattress when it developed a hole. Sometimes I just wish there were some cheaper items available, of usual quality, to just get on with.

On one visit to Sainsbury’s, I see an elderly, presumably Pakistani gentleman, hand holding a severely mentally challenged young man who keeps shrieking incoherently at regular intervals, unmindful of the public around him. Seems like their usual weekend supermarket visit. I read this disability is common among Pakistanis in the UK, because of the limited genetic diversity caused by marrying within a limited genetic pool - read close relatives, primarily because of familiarity or to ensure that assets remain within the family. Genetic diversity in Pakistanis.

I am in London at a mall near Victoria Coach station on my way to the airport. Two East European looking girls approach me and beg me for money for food. They are young and smartly dressed. They say they have not eaten anything the whole day. Are they soliciting sex? That reminds me of the incident in Nottingham where I was approached by a lady speaking in an East European/ Hispanic accent asking me for 49 cents she desperately needs to make a phone call. 49 cents? You cannot buy anything for 49 cents. A Maggi at an Indian corner store costs way more than that. Quote: The exchange of sexual services for money is legal in the UK - you can pay for sex. But soliciting sex (trying to get clients) on the street or other public place is illegal.

That is tricky - puts them in a tough spot where they do not know which side of the law they are on.

I get a weekend off and I decide to visit nearby Birmingham. The whole city is full of more than century old buildings but still in good condition, but I doubt whether they retain the heat in the winters or cool down in the summers. Many of the rentals (mine included) and homes are not fit to stay. Insulate Britain. The British have decided to preserve these ancient constructions (and hence so to speak, culture) instead of demolishing them and replacing with more modern structures. The British look back towards their past with pride, while every other country looks forward to the future. I hardly take any photographs. I want to be in the present and experience the moment rather than preserve it for the future.

I see a lot of Pakistanis and Indians on the streets. Some of the Pakistanis are in so much of a comfort zone that they have taken to wearing their traditional Kurta- Pyjama and talking amongst them in native Urdu. I see a lot of young South Asian immigrant teenagers, smartly dressed, oblivious to their surroundings, taking selfies. They are living for the moment - a momentary flash of teeth as they smile for the camera and then back to browsing social media. Totally ignoring the man made and natural beauty around them, totally immersed in validating their self-worth.

I catch a city bus to travel visit the Birmingham branch of my Indian bank. The bus is almost empty. An elderly Sikh gentleman in traditional Punjabi attire complete with turban croons a Punjabi folk song - from what little I understand of that language, he is singing of the glory of Punjab, the land of the valiant, the generous, the land that knows no hate.

I take a trip to Liverpool by the seaside. From Nottingham there is no direct bus, so I have to take a train which takes a circuitous route first to Birmingham, then on to Liverpool. Liverpool seems to have less of the South Asian/ immigrant types. It seems to me a city of the elite White. And brags of a cultural heritage that includes The Beatles and of course Liverpool FC.

Trains in Europe are costly and not made for the masses. They are meant for the wealthy elite while their poorer cousins have to make do with the bus for a tenth of the price. Trains in Germany were expensive as well. I understand how vital cheap and subsidised railway travel is for India. It has enabled integration of the country and the masses, allowing people to travel long distances and seek work or stay in another place without spending a fortune in the process. I am proud of that, in spite of the dismal state of the railways in India.

There are artifacts dating back over centuries all over the roads - in Liverpool, in London, in Birmingham. On the banks of the river Thames in London you will find the most notable cultural symbols appropriated from the colonies hundreds of years back - Cleopatra's needle from Egypt, and local treasures such as the Big Ben, the Cutty Sark. You cannot ignore them. On my trip to London, I avoid the museums and historical sites. They bring an unpleasant, uneasy feeling, reminding me of UK's dark colonial histories, which however the Brits do not seem ashamed of flaunting.

I visit Madam Tussaud's at Baker Street, Marylebone. As I step out of the London Tube at Marylebone station, I feel awe looking at a statue of the legendary Sherlock Holmes in front of me. Takes me back to the countless Sherlock Holme movies I have seen, the novels I have read. Madame Tussaud's has all the usual characters, plus Modi. The only Indians visiting seem to be Malayalee and they keep away from Modi. Was any Indian PM known outside India after Nehru? I guess not – but Modi is well known across our borders and hence he is a modern-day icon for the Indian diaspora. I try to take a snap of Modi's bust when a elderly white lady almost photo bombs me, exclaiming "Modi!" and proceeds to admonish him like an angry schoolteacher scolding a truant schoolboy. A Hispanic looking foreigner makes an obscene gesture as he takes a selfie. I am amused.

If you know English, navigating London is a piece of cake. The sign boards on the London Tube are so strategically placed that your chances of getting lost are next to impossible. I hardly take any cabs in Central London. From my hotel stay bang in the middle of London I can walk to all the places on my itinerary. Staying in the City Centre beats paying for expensive taxi. The roads are straight broad and well designed. I feel lucky to have been to the legendary Park Lane, Mayfair, Marylebone, Baker Street. King’s Cross Station and Euston Street, places familiar to me from the Monopoly Board Game.

From Nottingham my bus travels through Leicester City (pronounced Lester) which is so South Asian in identity that I cannot believe I am in the UK. Hotels, barber Shops and eateries - all with nameboards flaunting Indian and Pakistani names and design. Pakistanis and Indians everywhere. The famous golden mile where so many businessmen of South Asian origin have set up shop. London seems to have very few White Brits. Oriental people (Korean/ Chinese?), South Asian (Indian/ Pakistani?) and Middle Eastern characters constitute the bulk. Immigrants seem have pushed the Whites out of London. Barber shops are exclusively Asian owned. I get my hair trimmed at a barber shop run by two Afghan brothers who have a strange sense of humour and speak a ridiculous brand of English.

Healthcare is free in the UK, which is funded through taxes. I had a ridiculous experience with the NHS which is the government operated and funded sole provider of healthcare in the UK. One night I was slicing some cabbage with a sharp German kitchen knife. My schedule on weekends was erratic, so it was around 2 am at night when this occurred. By accident I sliced off a small bit of my finger resulting in small but deep wound that bled for almost half an hour without clotting. Unfortunately, I was not stocked with a first aid kit or bandage. Unaware of how I could access health care to get my wound dressed at that late hour, I did the only thing that I could think of. I called the NHS helpline on my mobile. NHS is known for their ridiculous waiting time both on phone, online and on a visit. After a considerable amount of time, a nurse from the NHS connected with me over the phone.  She said that she was sorry but she had to make some mandatory inquiries in spite of me already having told her the extent of my cut and all the other details, and that the wound was not serious but profusely bleeding. She asked me if I could see the bone? Was I feeling pain? Was there numbness? My medical history. Did I have a bandage? I guess she was noting down all this information. I asked her if I could visit the nearest NHS hospital (mine was nearby Queen's Hospital at Nottingham) and get the wound dressed. She informed me that I would not be attended to unless I came over in an ambulance. Which was to me an impossible prospect. I gave up. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to ask me to cover my wound with several layers of tissue paper and then tie them up with torn strips of plastic. Thankfully that worked, and sometime later the bleeding stopped. But I guess the UK is not a good place to be in case you have a medical emergency.

The NHS is in poor shape in the UK. It is funded pretty well by the government, but nobody knows why the NHS finds itself chronically short of funds. It is a pride of the UK social support system, but now in total disarray as the recent NHS strikes have highlighted.

Lastly, I cannot close the narrative without mentioning Scotland. Scotland had been on my bucket list before I landed in UK. However, shortly post the covid era, I found hotel rates in Scotland had increased exorbitantly due to significant increase in tourism, so I decided I to call the grapes sour, comforting myself by these lines by the famous Englishman - John Keats. :)

There was a naughty boy,

And a naughty boy was he.

He ran away to Scotland,

The people there to see-

Then he found ....

Skin deep!

I do not wish to generalize an entire nation but I am talking about Karen and Ken.

Trevor Noah was right- the UK is racist! 

I should not be complaining on this one. We Indians are pretty racist as well. Every country is xenophobic. I have seen Malayalees giggling at the saib and madame on their exotic tour in India, when they are actually considered privileged. :) I have seen blacks being beaten up black and blue in India.

Well, I had this experience, how it feels to be in a foreign land where you are an immigrant - an outsider. I had experienced the eye goggling in Germany too, but the visit was too short to make me give a second thought about it.

I must start with my visit to the Cotswolds. Actually, it was serendipity that landed me in Cirencester in the Cotswolds. Landing at Heathrow Airport after a trip to the US, I got into the wrong bus and instead of heading towards London, I found myself going in the opposite direction towards Gloucester. After several hours when I should have reached London by then, I still found myself in the rugged countryside. At a road stop I enquired with the driver and he apprised me of the situation I had landed in and informed me as well that there were no return buses to London from Gloucester that day- Gloucester is a small town he said. I would have to wait for the next day to catch my bus to London!

I decided I would get down at that stop since I was dead tired after the long air and bus journey. I saw a board that said Cirencester- Capital of the Cotswolds. The Cotswolds, famed for its rustic charm, had always been on my bucket list so I decided to put up overnight somewhere.

A cheerful bearded man strolling on the road told me there was a hotel just several meters from the stop where I could stay overnight. As I was walking towards the direction of the hotel, I crossed a bridge when a young woman pushing a baby in a pram approached from the opposite side. Seeing me she froze and her reaction seemed something between shock, surprise, fear or bewilderment, I could not fathom. She went as white as paper. I might as well have landed from Mars!

I waved my hand with a friendly "hi" as I had seen people do in San Francisco from where I had just arrived, but she stood frozen, pursing her lips and only moved when I had passed her.

I did not think too much of that incident at that time, but later when I thought about it I felt there was definitely something unwelcome about her reaction. Maybe I was not supposed to be in the Cotswolds!?

The other incident I remember was on the bus I had taken from Nottingham to London on my way to London. There was an unruly black teenager on the bus who was singing and dancing and generally making merry at the back of the bus. He definitely seemed to be on weed since he did not pay any heed to the angry protests from the passengers in the front. A young white lady who was sitting just across my seat scolded him loudly with "Shut up You F**ing Jamaican!" The royal family visit to Jamaica recently had been in the news in the UK when the Jamaican government it clear that they were not planning to continue with the British Queen as head of state and there were wide public protests against the visit which they complained was a vestige of colonialism. The young black suddenly went silent and then he whimpered "I ain't no Jamican!" He was quiet rest of the trip.

Racist slurs, eye goggling, unwelcome stares, muttering at a stranger under the breath - they definitely told a tale.

I frankly was not too bothered by these encounters - I viewed these standoffs as a pure waste of energy on either side and pretty silly. One side taking pleasure at prodding the other, the other side aggrieved and feeling insulted. It would just make more sense to ignore such silly behavior. At the same time I should also add that while some Brits behaved like self-entitled snobs, there were another bunch who were overtly patronizing. Instances where people actually reprimanded the first kind of people in public for behaving the way they did - as if you needed to be handled with kid gloves, you were too fragile to take care of yourself!

Pakistanis for instance feel badly insulted when they and all South Asians in general are addressed as "Pakis" which they view as an extreme racist slur. I do not see a problem with that. If you are from Pakistan, nothing wrong in being called a Paki. Call a spade a spade! All this energy could be put to better use!

I must hasten to add that I still encountered some pretty friendly folks, but they were mostly working class whites - the plumbers who came to my flat, the electricians and the occasional neighbour who decided to have a short friendly chat with me.

Daffodils, Liquorice Candy and Starlings!

So here I am with my blog on my UK experiences. I may mention a few things that might make some people a tad bit uncomfortable including some of my friends in the UK, so I am writing this with some personal angst, because I do look back at my UK stay with a degree of nostalgia and fondness in spite of all its warts and hype.

The UK in my mind was not akin in anyway to the UK in reality. I had imagined a beautiful sunny country with lovely landscapes - hills and vales, delectable food as described by Enid Blyton and the daffodils described by so many British poets. In fact UK half of the time the UK is a cold, dark, damp country with very little sunlight and people stay indoors for most of the time once winter kicks in making up for it in the summer when it is pleasant weather - the bare foliage turning into all hue of colors - green, brown, red, yellow.

I landed in the UK sometime in late autumn and I was disoriented not hearing any sound at all  - evening or night, except for the wind whistling through the branches of leafless trees across my residence, its bare branches reaching into the sky. No mew of a cat, bark of a dog, or even a rat scurrying across to the recycling bins. Late winter when the days were longer, in the late night I could hear the the only sound outside of the melodic chirping of birds, maybe starlings? nightjars? I had no clue as I could only imagine them from the so many books I have read.

When spring kicked in I was delighted to discover daffodils in a public park, dandelions by the
side of a road and the usual glorious rose bush in front of every cottage - it seemed I was more familiar with the flora and fauna in the UK than the ones in my native land with so much diverse greenery.

The soft power of this small island with a remarkably low population is without doubt immense, having once ruled half the world and indirectly impacted the entire world, spreading English culture and language far and wide.

The nights seemed unreal. Locked in my room with all lights on, cooking my favorite Indian dish, I felt like I had crept under a thick blanket with a torch, doing my own thing, oblivious to the world, the world oblivious to me and inky darkness outside.