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 ....