I just throw waste in a bin...

After all those perfect snaps from the land of mountains lakes and chocolates..a minute detail that cannot be left unmentioned... Waste Disposal - The Swiss way!!

Have you worried about what to do with the fish bones after a hearty meal? I had not till I traveled to this land. Have you worried about where to dispose your empty bottle of Scotch and Liqueurs and the cans of beers after a party? I had not...until I traveled to the alps. Phew!!! I had an inkling that India had spoilt me silly when I landed in Muscat and had to do most of the household chores by myself without the support system that's abundantly available in India.

But the waste disposal/recycling concept that's prevelant in Switzerland is a thing which was beyond the wildest imagination of my illiterate and non recycling brain! Here's just the tip of the ice berg...

No plastics period!! Highly commendable..but ohh so difficult!

Recyclable plastic bags of different colours have to be purchased from the supermarkets to dispose different types of waste, categorized as follows:

1. Green bag for waste including vegetable and fruit peels, seeds etc
2. Blue bag to dispose fish bones, chicken and mutton bones or any other non vegetarian left overs
3. A separate bag for papers
4. Another one for disposable plastic plates, cups and spoons or any such items they feel is non recyclable
   
5. Five different sub categories of bins for five different colour of glasses available..meaning that a green bottle has to be disposed off into a bin that is precisely for green bottles and a blue in a bin for blue bottles..so the scotch bottle and the beer bottle cannot go together, and the cans , definitely need a totally seperate bin..
6. burnt oil that we so easily and mindlessly dispose off through the kitchen sink..cannot be done! No blocking of the arterial pipes by fat!!Only pure water allowed please!
7. Batteries and other inflammable objects, I think need to be hand delivered to the town hall!!
   

There were even others which my brain could not assimilate, am sorry to say. So these are the only ones that I can share with you. There is a terrible irony here, the Indian community that lives in this country though small religiously follows these rules to the T. I being what I am..tried to put ideas into their brains..saying , " Night ... dark.. lots of streams... plonk it in!!" They were scandalised to say the least.."What are you talking about! Absolutely not done!!" I just hoped they have the same conscience in their next visit to the homeland!!

I cannot imagine living like that, I would never know what to throw where for one and secondly, my reducing grey cells would run haywire every hour just doing waste management!! I am not against recycling but this is too much, really!!


I wish I had taken pictures for this post..but sorry, I was just too overwhelmed by it all to take the camera and click and the official photographer was busy doing the course on waste management..so no pictures apart from the one I took courtesy the net!

Picture Perfect...

Edelweiss is the national flower, the country has more lakes than can be counted, the cottages are quaint and the landscape like a story book. Switzerland has always been home of Heidi to me, A book that I loved and re read many many times. Once again yesterday took it out from my daughter's collection to read. We did pass the village of Dorfli on our way to Engelberg, the village where Peter lived.

Here are some landscape picture postcards taken on our way around...

Zurich Lake as seen from a suburban village..

Boats anchored in the calm waters of a lake...


One of the many lakes scattered around this country


A waterfall, a small hamlet and the railing of a bridge..

The sleeping Lion of Lucerne..built in memory of the brave soldiers who fought and died during the World warII..

The Rhien falls..

The city of Lucerne...

The chapel bridge..

A village somewhere in that country..
The Rotairs to Mount Titlis..

The city of Muren at the foothills of Schilthorn..

Pretty flowers everywhere...
The fountain in lake Zurich..a monument of love..showing that love is not static..
Picture perfect postcard from the Matterhorn trail...

Once again thanks to the official photographer.. the last shot is by another tourist who took the same trail with us..

Danke Schon Swiss Railways!!

To give credit where it is due... Swiss railways is synonymous with perfection. The days spent in Switzerland began with their website , we marked our journey plan and it gave us the options of trains available including the changes required if any, the platform number onto which one train would arrive and also the platform number from which the connecting train would leave a particular station. The time that was put on this website for each train and even for the inter city buses did not vary by even a second. With that plan in hand and a back pack we started our day and even ended it. "We don't wait for any body even if you are Barrack Obama..we will leave as per schedule..We keep the Swiss time" The pride was palpable as the guard spoke these lines to me.

The one flat ticket namely the Swiss pass, which is given out for tourists and can be bought at any of the railway counters or even the airport from where we bought ours is the ticket for any surface transport throughout this country.. be it rail, tram, road, or boats.

The trains that travel through the cities, the villages, the bridges, the snow and up the incline of mountains..the steepest cogwheel train that took us to Mount Pilatus is at an incline of 46degrees. Certainly for a person like me, for whom maintaining time is meditational.. Swiss Rails were Demi God.

A few pictures...

Zurich Haufbahnhoff or Zurich Rail Station
The Glacier Express on a Bridge


The World's steepest cogwheel to Mount Pilatus

Carrying us through the snow to Mount Jungfrau Hoch



Drizzling..but anything for a snap!!

With friends! Less people, cleaner trains..

All pictures courtesy Husband..who is always the official camera man! This is part of a short series on picture perfect postcards from the Alps!!

I am happy to be back!!

Ten days in Switzerland. Traveling the length and breadth of a country in the world's best rail service. The breath taking views of hills and lakes, valleys and chalets, the snow covered alps peeping at me from the corners of my vision. The highest point of Europe..Jungfrau hoch, Titlis, Pilatus, Schilthorn..all covered, all registered, the gushing streams, the beaming blooms, the green vineyards, the dot on time trains, the motor free zones, the battery operated cars and buses, the cycling people, the skating kids. cheese and bread, wine and chocolates, tap water that is pure and ice cool. I had a good time. And yet...

This country made me smile and it made me sad too. Why at the most beautiful moment in this place when my husband was praising the country and my kids were rolling in the greenery, was I lost in my thoughts from back home? Why did I miss India? The highest peak of Europe that lies in the Swiss alps, and that we felt proud to climb..is just half the height of the Everest.. India has it all and yet we travel abroad for vacations.. I felt guilty admiring Switzerland when I had not admired Kashmir.

The shops close at 6. People though friendly are distant and quiet. Its a land of beauty but its two dimensional...its picture perfect..and like all pictures its two dimesional! I am not discouraging anybody wanting to hit this alpine country.. just my perception!

It feels great to be back home!

away from blogging for a while...

Hey friends,

I will be offline for the next 10 days or so. Leaving you all with a new look to my blog and one of my favourite posts that was keyed in the day I started blogging. Hope you like it. The post is called 'Roots'

Also came across a portugese proverb that I liked immensely, sharing it with you here :

" the mirror reflects perfectly because it does not think"

Will be back shortly to read all your posts. Have a good time and be safe!



ROOTS



To look back and cherish - a place called home..a place that saw you grow from a precocious child to an adult and enjoyed all the phases in between.. a place full of friends, of laughter and tears, loss as well as victories.. of impulsive moves and secrets shared.. adventures and joyrides, rebuking and encouraging pats - a place we all leave behind..

We travel far and wide in search of our destinies and at times ridicule the peers who stay behind.. we are enamored by wealth, glamour, and the jet set world, and believe me, none of it is wrong.. and yet the best memories are always from back home.. Our minds and egos get satisfied (if ever they know the meaning of the word) as we reap the harvest of our hard work, but the soul's nourishment is from the fields we leave behind.

Does that mean we stand still? Not take a path of our desire and find a place under the sun that is rightfully ours? Definitely not..but the wings of our flight need to have the strength of our roots. Alex Haley, probably introduced us to this meaning of the word "Roots" and by now it has become quite a cliche.. we keep hearing of the European in search of his roots.. but this search is within all of us maybe in differing scales of priority.

As expatriates we all know that the best journey is always the journey home. The heart gets parched like the dessert sand over the year long wait and is only drenched in joy once the flight lands to the place of our origin..for a month we replenish stocks, get busy in buying things, refuelling our wardrobes and larders.. as we go about fulfilling our physical needs.. our inner eye is clicking away familiar landscapes now hurriedly passed by, but to be relived at leisure on the return flight.. Bitter sweet memories of Home is what we essentially carry back to see us through another year of deprivity.

Life goes on and we grow with it and follow paths that have been determined for us in an unknown script.. the strength always drawn from the reservoirs of purity and innocence of our roots. As we all know roots do not grow in a day or a year or even a few years..to live in a place and get to know it and develop a bond that is healthy and fertile takes time..most of us were lucky enough that our parents gave us that time..gave us a place to look back upon and smile..Are we doing that for our kids? are we giving them roots? In our strife towards material gains and prosperity at the shortest possible time are we sparing a thought towards the next generation.. "to look back and cherish..." a blank for them.. or a series of everlasting, nomadic journeys.. lots of mere acquaintances formed.. but no childhood friend..houses of brick and cement..but never a home to build memories on...is this our gift to our children? ..for just a few pennies more...

Arunabho - The glow of the Sun!

She had always liked the name 'Aditya'. It brought images of a warrior, of a chariot blazing with the gold of sun. It was an image of an invincible, uncompromising man who was powered by the courage of truth. Who stood tall without fear in the battle of life. It was also the closest image to her childhood sketch of Karna- her favourite mythical character.

A soft and shy girl, she got married with ease to a fairly good looking boy, from a decent family. There was no sparkling fireworks that she felt on seeing him, but that was ok, she had not expected any. The boy was educated, earning well, living not far from her city. All in all good husband material, somebody who would prove to be respectful and caring towards her parents and affectionate towards her younger siblings. A far cry from her warrior of the sun, his name was Soumya, meaning gentle, mild, a steady glow. She accepted the steadiness of a candlelight to that of the blinding blaze of the sun.

Life was smooth and easy. She liked his sense of humour, his soft spoken nature. She respected his meticulous habits, his penchant for cleanliness, his warmth was infectious and genuine, he was adored by her parents and her siblings, and she started falling in love with candle lights.


They planned their future amidst coffee and excel sheets. She offered a vision and he detailed it, He built the dream and she coloured it. They lived comfortably, enjoying small pleasures. An evening spent at the beach, a movie at a multiplex, a dinner out once a month, A rocking chair for a particular corner, a lamp shade for another. He bought home flowers every week. A few years passed and the stork came visiting.

Their joy was unbriddeled. They took all the guidance offered by the elders and bought Dr. Spock's book as well. They read the pages together and marveled at the miracle of life. The morning sickness, the pigmentations, the moods were accomodated happily in the larger picture of their baby coming to life. Monthly visits to the doctor, the sound of a heart beat for the first time, the first sonography were all milestones in this journey that brought them even closer together.

As months progressed, there came the issue of naming the child. At once she said ,"Aditya". The image she had stored away came in front of her eyes full throttle. The golden chariot, the fearless and strong warrior of the sun, the power of courage, all these images filled her to the brim and she said once again,"Aditya, thats what I will name my son." "And what if we have a daughter, what will you call her then?" asked Soumya, smiling gently. She had never considered a daughter, and after these images, she didnt even want to. So she feigned tiredness and turned on her side saying,"You think about that, I will sleep for a while."

A daughter, such soft and tender emotions the word can evoke. A smaller version of the only girl he had ever loved. The same eyes, the same dimple. Soumya stayed with this magical thought throughout the night, comparing his image to every name the internet sites offered, No name did justice, it seemed to his mind's image, but his practical and steady mind plundered on. His goal was to come up with a name by dawn.

'Abha' is the name he liked the most. It seemed to convey all the qualities he felt his daughter would possess. The warm and soft halo of light that softens all rough edges. His gentle nature evoked images of a shy and soulful girl and the name went with this image perfectly. Over tea the next morning he introduced his wife to 'Abha'. It was decided then and sealed with a loving kiss of the parents who were now counting days for their image to come to life! A boy would be named Aditya and a girl would be named Abha. They kept the names to themselves and did not encourage helpful relatives to come up with names for their baby.

Finally the day dawned and Soumya drove his wife to the hospital for the delivery. Things went as per his meticulous planning and he tried to make it as comfortable for his wife as possible. He stayed with her througout the long hours of labour, wiping her forehead everytime it filled with drops of sweat, encouraging her and calming her alternatively. As the final push came into play his ears were numbed by the cry of his cherished dream and also by the shrill ring of his mobile. Years of habit made him take the call as his eyes looked at the radiant boy that was born to them.

The news on the other end was shattering, His father in law had succumbed to a major heart attack. In the labour room the doctor was cleaning his son as his wife lay drained on the bed. His mind was reeling under both the emotions. The caller on the other end was saying a name.. he didn't get it first.. again after a few seconds the caller said, "Dad had thought of a name for didi's son. he was sure she would bear a son. He wanted the child to be called, 'Arunabha'(pronounced Arunabho meaning the glow of the sun)."

The call ended and he saw himself sitting beside his wife. The bundle in their joint arms. He held them both to him and said in a steady voice, "Our son will be called Arunabha. This was what your dad wished, and we will honour that." Nothing more was required to be spoken as the enormity of the moment where she had lost one and gained another dawned on her.

Arunabha grew up to be a warrior of the sun who fought to soften the rough edges of society with his courageous fight against the system and his compassion for his fellow countrymen. He shone like the glow of the sun!


A complete work of fiction, with shades of personality traits taken from people I have known. The story developed on an idea of naming kids given to me by my friend Amrit.

Did he really take her away??

There is something about being young and having a wedding in the family! The year was '92 and my cousin was getting married. The rest of us were at the threshold of ending our teens, feeling the excitement of planning our wardrobe for this wedding. Bengali weddings done in the traditional style have around four to five days of festivities. And each day requires at least two change of dresses, if not more .That in turn requires lots of sessions of ransacking various wardrobes, even the bride's!!

The older and already married cousins proved to be God's gift. They not only let us trample through their kanjeevarams, but even helped in resizing their blouses for us. There was a lot of preening in front of mirrors and taking in opinions, both wanted as well as unwanted, from various members of the family. Comments like,"Ohh!! That colour makes you look so dark!!" or some light hearted flirting from the older brother-in-laws saying," Uff!! had I seen you in that Saree before, I would have married you instead of your sister!" The week before the actual wedding day was filled with nervous tension for the bride and agonizing stress for us cousins who had yet to accessorize their sarees with jewellery!

Late nights saw the bride holding a 'Let- us- get- to- know- each- other' conversation with her husband to be, while we sat in the same room at our wit's end trying to organize our stuff. Often the groom to be, was left dangling at the other end of the std call as the bride helped us reach a decision. And it also happened that the most romantic sentence uttered by the groom went unheard and thus un-responded to, because the rest of us were squabbling about colour choices.

The excitement was palpable as the day approached. Informal sessions of songs and dances have always been a part of this family. The day before the wedding everybody gathered and sat around singing Rabindrasangeet, Bhatiali(Bangla folk songs), as well as popular Hindi numbers. The Hindi hits were supplied endlessly by the bride's best friend, who had herself been married just a month back.We danced to songs from 'shohag chaand bodoni dhoni naacho to dekhi' to 'main sasural nahin jaungi doli rakh do kaharo'. It was a family that was together, a family that loved songs and us sisters who were most uninhibited in this environment.


The wedding day arrived and saw us all trooping in to a parlour to dress our hair. It was a daunting task for the poor lady as there were 7 of us and all with highly unmanageable hair. She was still at her task when somebody hollered from outside," what are you girls up to? You've been gone since ages, and now the borjatri (baraati)has arrived and you are still dressing up??get on with it right now" looks of dismay were passed as we identified the voice to be that of our most stern brother in law, who we knew would not think twice before literally dragging us from the parlour in our various stages of undress. We finally just thanked the lady, brushed our hair and made a quick exit looking sheepish and silly.

That was '92 we were just stepping out of our teens and one amongst us was getting married. Today 17 years have passed. The rest of us have also got married. We have grown from borrowed sarees to self bought ones, from worrying about accessories to worrying about getting leave to attend weddings. The next generation has started taking their vows. Yet it seems like yesterday that she got married and we spent a teary night in our nightgowns discussing how awful it would feel to sign her name differently, to have to ask for permission to visit her own parents. It seems like yesterday that DG took her away in a white decorated car amidst a deluge of tears and the sounds of conch shell.

And today ... I am not sure where she ends and DG starts. To me they are one today and always!

PS:
This is part of my chat with her today when we accidentally discovered that both of us were writing on the same subject

sujata:

suggest a heading for my post

Aparna:

i was about to ask you to suggest a heading for mine

sujata:

yours I haven't read

you were saying 17 and still not dead

or murdered

Aparna:

mine is how i met my future husband and said yes

sujata:

ok

think of a song

Aparna:

you think of a song

i am thinking of murder

sujata:

the song from murder

bheege hont tere

Aparna:

hahaha

pyaasa dil mera

sujata:

hahahha

more like aa dekhe zara kisme kitna hain dum

Here's wishing both of you a very happy anniversary and many many joyous years together!