It's that time again. Summer heat is here. And so the comparisons begin from my folks in Dubai & Bombay thinking that they're the only ones suffering the from the heat and that it's just exclusive to them. Just so y'all know, Cayman is just as hot as Dubai & Bombay. How do I know this? Check out the weather map on the left.
Earlier in the day I had updated the Weather Buttons on the blog to now feature weather from Toronto, Dubai and Bombay, especially since I frequently seem to write about all three of my former places of residence. It's now a quiet Saturday night. I was just looking at the weather comparitively and just about did a double take when I saw Mumbai (Bombay)'s description. Take a look! They way we're running this planet into the ground, pretty soon this will be the forecast for all cities all over the world.
Christmas celebrations in the Middle East can vary depending on where in the mid east you are. Some are, believe it or not, a little liberal than most. Saudi Arabia for instance, does not tolerate any other religions. My uncle, TigerBeer often watches Christian services on TV and will on seperate occasions also sneak in some liquor to celebrate the holidays or just any weekend. Alchohol is not permitted in the Kingdom.
But like I said, not all Muslim countries are that conservative. Growing up, most malls in Dubai had Christmas trees, lights and Christmas décor. We were not allowed, however, to put up any stars. In India, having a lit up paper made star hanging off the balcony outside one's home is an integral part of Christmas décor. These Christmas stars really are beautiful, one more elaborate than the next, some even depicting the Nativity scene. This was something I missed during all those Christmases in Dubai. The reason it was taboo was not because it was Christian but because of the fact that the star also represents the Star of David. The Star is to the Jewish people, what the cross is to Christians.
Back in those days my mother worked for a government institution. Every time we'd call her at work, and were put on hold, a lovely little tune played, probably preselected by one of their phone tech guys. It's a tune that has been ingrained in our brains, because that's how often we'd call Mom while she was at work – and that's how often we were put on hold, especially when we kids were misbehaving. Time out was a tune we had to listen to. Of course, back in the day we didn't know the name of the tune, nor the words.
Fast forward to many years later and much older, and rifling through a hymn book at Church where I turn to the required tune and as we begin to sing it, it hits me. THIS IS THE NAMELESS TUNE!!!! Oh! I looked over at my mother with eyes wide open with recognition, then delight and finally satisfaction and began talking.
This nameless tune now had a name and the lyrics went like this:
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Oh satisfaction indeed. Dubai is not the kind of place where it's completely anti-Christian, there are many churches, schools that have been named after Christian godheads and saints. And I believe that all places should be tolerant of all religions no matter where. And not being allowed to put up a Christmas star took something away from me all those years. But while I'd imagine many many Arabs would call in for Customer Service related queries all the while being oblivious to the fact that they were listening to a Christian Carol about Christ the King while on hold – now that's giving me something back.
I wonder if that tune is still played while people are put on hold...
Bombay is where I grew up and where I spent 10 years of my life. I didn't think I'd be so affected when I began to see the utter chaos cause by the terrorist attacks that was televised on CNN and BBC. It was paralysing, not knowing what to do. As I hastily emailed everyone I knew that lived in Bombay, and later called my grandparents to ensure they were safe, I got word that one of my friends narrowly missed the attacks TWICE! Here's what she had to say:
Things are quite bad... I can't believe I just missed the whole thing - It's a miracle.
A few of us were dining next to Cafe Leopold just an hour before the shootings took place.
I also travel home from Victoria Terminus (now known as the Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus). Usually the crowded trains do deter me to wait for another. I took a train at 8:00 and the shootings took place around 9:00...
Can you imagine gunmen opening fire at a cafe or a restaurant in an area that you were in just a mere hour earlier? Or the train station that is on your route as part of your everyday commute? Yes to have escaped TWICE in one night is nothing short of a miracle. Her guardian angel must have been working overtime that night.
Here in Cayman the news continued to shake the island and many grappled with the fact that this could even take place here. One of the waiters at Cayman's Gateway of India Restaurant, sadly announced on Friday morning that he lost a friend who worked as a waiter at the Oberoi Hotel in Bombay.
Like everyone, I too am saddened by the attacks and while there are accusations and justifications flying around every which way, there is nothing that will justify the loss of the innocent lives that were taken with this terrorist act. Our world is becoming such a dangerous place to live in and one never knows when something like this will hit so close to home. Many living in Bombay feel that the city will never be the same again and it's true. We are living in a new age - the age of terrorism that can literally take place anywhere, anytime. No place is safe. No one is safe and it's very scary.
Is it just me or does everyone think up of scenarios that could possibly go wrong when certain details are revealed while conversation with a loved one back home. Is this a sign of growing older, knowing full well that being cautious does not necessarily mean that you're wiser? Or is this something that expats feel more so, when they're cut off from their family back at home? Like as if our presence back home would somehow lend to a 24 hour case of protection of that particular loved one, ironic when you wonder how they managed to stay out of harm's way when you both lived in the same city and yet had different daily agendas. Am I making sense?
Well, let's see, of late, my parents in Toronto could tell me a certain something and WHAM out of now where I am thinking of all these scenarios that could go wrong, which follows up with me telling them to be extra cautious, without saying too much, in the event I'd freak them out. I'd like to point out that I am not psychic but these thoughts inevitably occur at times. Is it just me? Am I on edge? Am I losing it? Wanting to have a sliver of control in this highly unstable world. Maybe it's not a question of control but a question of peace of mind. Or maybe it's just a question of protection, or safety. Safety. That's it! We all just want to be safe. Feel safe. Safety for us, our families, no matter where we are, no matter how far the divide. Feeling safe! Just like everyone in Bombay would like to be feeling right now. I hope my friends & family in Bombay are staying safe. I hope the hostages are set free and this is all resolved with justice rightly served. This is much too sad and much too worrying.
Maybe it's just not me at all...maybe you've been feeling it too. All my expats, all around the world, care to weigh in? I love to know what you think just so I know I'm not going crazy!
Right before I moved to Cayman, I was warned about mosquitoes. Since in Bermuda, these pesky creatures are practically non existent, something we both loved, many Bermudians warned me about Cayman, asking me how I was going to handle it. I would have liked to know how it was that they knew so much about it. We did like the freedom from those mosquito bites in the three years we were in Bermuda and I would have like to have that remained the same here in Cayman. Not so! When you first get here you will notice that you do get bit frequently by mosquitoes, a lot. Something about new blood. It was horrible because I hadn't experienced bites and the itching it brought on since I was a child in India. I was told the application of rubbing alcohol and an antiseptic itch cream alleviates the effects of a mosquito bite. It does seem to work. Eventually though the mosquitoes tend to leave you alone as they move on to newer 'fresh off the boat' folk. But when you go away on a holiday and return, the cycle starts all over again.
If you're visiting me after the sun has set, you'll often find me ushering you in through the door fairly quickly with my Hey how's it going? Quick, get in before the mosquitoes get in too. Of course I'll usher you out just as fast, not because I want you to leave, but because I just don't want to deal with the mosquitoes after. Piglet's 12 year old brother knows the routine by now. I've heard him tell Piglet, Quick get in before the mosquitoes get in too. Piglet can walk so slow sometimes. I joke! 
How much of a problem are mosquitoes here in Cayman? Well, a big enough one. Mosquito repellent is sprayed everyone so often by a low flying airplane, and while I have to wonder how environmentally safe this is or how safe it might be if you're outside while this plane whizzes back and forth, just the noise generated by the plane is enough to drive away the mosquitoes, I think.
How much of a problem are mosquitoes here in Cayman? Well, a big enough one. This past Pirates Week Float Parade actually had a float on the history of the mosquito and its effects on the Cayman Islands, complete with a couple of giant stuffed mosquitoes. Have a look at the collage and you will see what I mean. The sign has been retyped below and along with some interesting facts, my thoughts are in italics.
To this day, I have never been able to understand sibling rivalry. I have just one sibling, my younger brother, Newt and there is absolutely no sibling rivalry between us, never has been. As a child he'd always copy me and thankfully he hasn't continued this trend into adulthood because he is way more successful than I. Not only can he solve pretty much any darn computer problem, he's a wiz with math and not to mention his writing style can kick mine out the window anyday. I've mentioned numerous times how he should blog but that's never going to happen.
Although, we'd fight a lot growing up (and sometimes still do), it's all forgotten in the next five minutes. We can never be angry at each other for very long, which is a good thing, because he'd be bored out of his mind. Just a few days ago, I was discussing this post with him, since he rarely reads my blog. And as predicted, he pitched a fit about pasting our online conversation on the blog, but thankfully followed that up with a 'Oh but I liked how you called me a lean mean teasing machine.' (!?!?!)
It's his birthday today and even though we are a year and a half apart, I can't believe how old he is now. I cannot imagine what it would have been like growing up without him, because all his daring boy antics (stupid at times) and all the ridiculous tricks we played on each other made things so much fun. I post this picture of us (him in his leather jacket and all), taken sometime in the 80's. I love this picture because it always reminds me of how much he looked up to me at that age, not to mention how he'd always come running to me to solve his school bullies of a problem. This was also the age where he'd stick to my side as we traveled unaccompanied between Dubai and Bombay, afraid that I might lose him at any moment at the airport or during the transoceanic flight. Stuck to my side, I tell you. So many memories, so little time. Besides, I'd better stop because he hates it when I get all emotional.
Happy Birthday, Bro! I'm so proud of you!!!
Now just by the title, I know you've already got that song in your head. When I was younger...way younger, I was obsessed with that Beach Boy's song. You know the one. KOKOMO! I'd sing along to it whenever it was on air (Dubai had the best FM radio station in the world!) and even went further and taped it to play it back when I was in India, because back then in India there was a lack of FM stations with the latest music from the West. Anyway, I still remember singing along to the chorus TO BERMUDA, BAHAMA, COME ON PRETTY MAMA...never knowing that one day I would call Bermuda my temporary home for three years, never knowing that I'd get to explore that island, be a part of its workforce, meet its people and forge relationships that I'm sure will last a lifetime. Here I am some 20 odd years later, having moved on from Bermuda and now residing in Cayman and although it didn't make the cut into the song, it's an island very much like the rest mentioned in that song.
During my recent trip to Bermuda in June to wrap up our move, I got some awesome shots (taken with my new Olympus Stylus DigiCam) from the plane on my way back. The first shot you see here is of Clearwater Beach, where baby turtles roam during the hot summer month. Following that are shots of various sides of Bermuda, that my window seat could afford me.
Now I've included bits of the aeroplane wing in the shots, because the LAST TIME I took aerial shots, there were some disbelievers out there, doubting that those shots were actually taken from a plane, by me! Yes you know who you are...
And then later as we inched closer to the Caribbean, for some reason we were circling the air. In an effort to keep us occupied from the fact that we were going to be late touching down, the Captain kept diverting our attention to what was below us and actually give us a run down of what island we were passing by. It was a little treat (at least it was for me). And so introducing the Bahamas by air, the only way I've seen it yet. Now I've never set foot on the Bahamas but hey you never ever know...
All Images are copyrighted.
I don't know what it is, but I have always been drawn to fish markets. Perhaps it all started way back when, as a child in Bombay, my paternal grandmother would take me to the Kalina fish market with her. It was not too far a walk from where we lived and I loved entering the market, ready to discover what was in 'stock' for the day. I remember the dim incandescent lighting, the blue crabs in weaver baskets (and my grandmother haggling for them), the many rows of and the smell of fish. This continued in Dubai as well, where we were not too far from the Sharjah fish market or the ocean. They say to involve your children in the grocery shopping process - I can see why because back then, a trip to the fish market was always exciting.
It's no surprise then that my very first on island picture of Cayman was the makeshift permanent fisherman's stall. Located by the harbour in Georgetown, this is the place to go if you want to get the freshest catch of the day. Unlike in Bermuda, where the fisherman sell their catch by the roadside all over the island, where you have to watch for signs, because they're not there everyday, Cayman has one designated spot. And this is it. Look at the size of those red snapper suckers!
And speaking of fish, if you're ever in Bombay you have to try the local fish, available ONLY in Bombay's waters, compared to the rest of India. It's called the Bombay Duck, or bombil and it's the tastiest fish you'll ever sample. Try it fried though - no other way is better. And if you're reading the article in the above link, pay no mind to what it says about the smell or odour of the fish. They exaggerate!
A tribute to my beloved maternal grandmother who passed away 10 years ago, this day.
Lenny P.
Nurse, Feminist, beloved Mother & Grandmother
Feb 9, 1924 - June 21, 1998
A woman with gumption, who could see right through anyone and was not afraid to tell you like it was. Word is that this is where Ms Cute Pants gets her sassiness from.
Loved hard boiled eggs and was often heard saying that she'd come back from the dead just to eat one.
An ambitious woman, she was the first woman in her family to go out and work.
Caught my Grandfather's eye one morning as she was on her way to work. They were married shortly after in 1945.
A nurse who moved to Dubai in the mid 70's to work as an expat and was often sent into interior areas due to her Nursing skills. (Pictured here with a Lebanese baby she helped deliver back in the day).
Had the best bargaining/haggling skills you'd have ever seen. Ms Cute Pants has seen and learned.
Loved her grandchildren dearly and was not afraid to show it.
Was an occasional smoker and so in an effort to mimic her, as kids, my brother & I would buy candied cigarettes, pop 'em in our mouths and pretend to smoke, saying: "Grandma, look we're smoking too." It is perhaps for this reason that she eventually stopped smoking (at least I'd like to think it was).
An absolute no nonsense woman and a firm believer in the adage: Spare the rod, spoil the child.
Would watch many Hindi movies (each a standard 3 hours long), only to proclaim at the end of each one: ah bundle, no? Which basically translated into: 'What a load of crap!' This never varied, even if it was a movie she liked.
Had the funniest phrases ready to use at a moment's notice which I'd not dare repeat here. My mother would disown me. (But if you're really interested, email me).
The best mother-in-law there ever was (and we all know how rare that is).
Was always fun to hang around with.
Suffered a stroke while in her 60's but came back with a bang and better than ever, not surprising given the kind of woman she was.
I dedicate this song to her. She'd blast it on the boom box and sing it to me when I was a wee toddler, complete with hand motions always telling me: 'This is our song'.
It sure is Grandma, which is why I have it on my playlist & think of you every time I hear it.
UPDATE:
A note from my Godmother:
That was a very beautiful tribute indeed to your grandmother. for your list i would like to add one more string of roses by telling you what a generous heart your grandma had. your mom who was (and is) my friend would tell her mom that I never liked the breakfast served in the convent, and I would go to school on an empty stomach. so your grandma would send additional toast cookies with butter for your mom to share it with me. your mom has inherited this noble quality. i do not know if your mom remembers it, BUT I DO. i never forget the kindness of people. we may not write often but your mom is always in my prayers.
I am back in the land of narrower winding roads some with breathtaking views of the ocean, minimal bugs (unlike Cayman) and Michael Jackson mixes on the 5 'o' clock drive home. Bermuda is all these things. This week I realize how much I missed driving on those winding narrow roads as they dip and turn, going as fast as I dare to. For that I am my father's daughter - we're always talking about the curviest roads in Toronto that we like to drive on at super high speeds - like the DVP for one. Cheap thrills, that is, until someone gets pulled over for a speeding ticket. And speaking of my dad, I mean to post this on Father's Day, but as usual, I missed the deadline. So, here's me at the age of probably under a year or so, with my Dad in Bombay. I only post this picture because, once again you probably won't recognize me from looking at it.
As tagged by my childhood friend and fellow blogger, here are seven random/weird things about me, MsCutePants:
Frequent elections are such a waste of financial resources that could be better spent on education or health care, as has been the case in Canada in the past few years. This is the only country that I can relate to personally, since it's here I reached the legal age to vote. And vote I did. At the Federal Election, no less. I was so pleased. I had cast my vote for the party that, I believed would do the least damage, all plotted beforehand by a process of elimination, for isn't that how things go in the political world. I had even rounded up the family, insisting that we all HAVE to vote. My brother stoicly refused, which angered me so. Arguments ensued. His reasons were absurd. Such passivity. I was not pleased about that.
In Dubai, well, the UAE, as expats, my parents & maternal grandparents had no right to vote. Besides, it was just a mini parliment. In actuality, the country is still ruled by seven Sheiks, one for each Emirate. Nevertheless the parliament exists to....well, actually, I don't know why it exists...
But India, well I remember while living in Bombay, when my paternal grandparents would get ready to vote. One of my friend's mother was a very active member in the political arena. If she wasn't running for that particular term, she'd bring around who she was supporting. He like her, like us were Catholic. Funny how I remember thinking: Wait, so you're going to vote for him cause he's of the same religion as us? Never mind that in hindsight this actually did work out. My friend's mom was actually quite the doer and it was whom my grandparents identified with, who they knew could produce results, when things needed to be done. I'm sure my Hindu & Muslim friends' parents felt the same and voted for whom they identified with. Anyway, the yellow voting cards would come in & off they'd go to vote. They'd return back with a permanent ink dot on their thumbnail right near the cuticle, of proof that they had voted. The nail that would not loose its mark until a month or so later, the spot would reach the fingertip's edge, only to be trimmed off. This marking process was to prevent people from voting twice. Your thumbnails would be checked. That was how it was done back then. (I was actually disappointed when I found out they didn't follow this process in Canada. I was really looking forward to my thumbnail being marked with that black dot). Anyway, when my grandparents would return back from their voting session, it was all hush hush. They wouldn't tell me nor each other whom they had voted for. They probably thought I'd reveal it to my friends or their parents. They were and probably still are firm believers in privacy when it comes to politics. And although I did have an inclination that it might be my friend's mom or her friend, I never did find out.
Come Tuesday, Dec 18th, Bermudians will be lining up to cast their vote for their preferred political party. It's election time. Now, while I won't go into too much detail here, as much as I have been keeping up to date with the news, I do have a couple of things to say. Bermuda does things differently where politics are concerned. The gloves really do come off and sleeves are really rolled up. And politics is very much a topic of discussion on the radio. A couple of weeks ago, an irate caller phoned in one of the radio shows to let the host know that she, along with the rest of Bermuda did not need to constantly have his political choice shoved down their throats at every opportunity, especially since this was not a government radio station. His retort was that he has been fair and has defended actions of both major parties, regardless of his personal party of choice. Her answer therein was that everyone knows where his loyalties lie and it seems like he's influencing his listeners with his political opinions.
The deal is this: In many countries, politics are not discussed on air, unless it's on government radio, or unless it's a specific debate between representatives of both or all parties involved. It's always just the facts that are reported because unintentional as it may be, it's a challenge not to cross that fine line, which inadvertently does get crossed, when said discussions take place on air. These discussions are formed opinions that many times blindsides the population into voting for someone just because they like the on air personality (as an example). That's my take on it, which by the way went through my mind the very first time I, in disbelief, heard this host rendering his political opinions on air.
Alright, enough said. I now end this post on a comical note, says a Bermudian landlord to his expat government employed tenant:
You work for the government, they must have told you who's going to win the election!
!?!?!
Weather permitting, Bermudian fishermen advertise their FRESH BERMUDA FISH sign in the morning by the road side and then go out way yonder to eventually return back to shore with all kinds of fish. Customers trickle in at around 4:00 pm, but not before the fishermen have completed the process of fillet'ing & divvying up the fish. Unfortunately, because of this method, the discarded remains, in my opinion, are a waste, that could ordinarily be consumed. (Unlike in South America and many other countries, it's very rare to have a whole fish served up to you, here in Bermuda. This is probably because fillets are what's in demand at the restaurants. They are the fishermen's top buyers, fetching them quite a pretty penny per pound.
After my trip to the Flatts Inlet (in the previous post), I made my way to Devonshire Bay, where I sighted a couple local fishermen. I always like to see their spoils and I think this stems from my young Bombay days when my grandmother would take me to the fish market. Spread out before me were Mackrels (Bangda), Kingfish (Surmai) and not to mention Bombay Ducks (Bombil) - which by the way is only available in Bombay and is the tastiest fish in the world. In addition to these, there would be racks of Prawns, Shrimps and Crabs. You know that fish market smell that most hate? Well, that brings back so many wonderful memories for me (yes, I know it's weird, but I don't care!).
Ordinarily, Bermuda's fishermen will in any given day, catch Snappers, Groupers, Breams and maybe a Spanish Hogfish or two. But this was no ordinary day. While I arrived a little too late, the catch for the day that had already been filleted was, get this: Barracuda! I glanced over at their discarded bucket and sure enough, there were Barracudas in there. While all I could see were their heads for the moment, one of the fishermen was kind enough to humour me and hold a couple up with part skeletal remains, so I could freeze frame him and the Barracuda forever. Well, I did ask him to and so, brace yourself. I have included this pic in the collage and it's not pretty, but what story is ever complete without including all the guts and glory. The fishermen also caught Barber Fish, which I have never seen. It was definitely out of the ordinary for these two species of fish to be caug
ht and readied for sale. My landlady, MsStopYourNoise, was skeptical of the whole thing, when I related the story to her. Only because she wasn't sure if many on the island actually eat Barracuda, especially if they knew what it was and was wondering if they (the fishermen) would try to pass it off as something else. I doubt it. Did you have a look at the Barracuda bait? It's at least eight inches long. Those fishermen were prepared, they were on a Barracuda mission. I'm sure its tastes just as good, although I have yet to remember seeing Barracuda on the menus here. I've had shark and it tasted pretty good to me, so Barracuda mightn't be all that different, right?
Last year on this day, Hubby & I were getting ready to watch V for Vendetta, a movie incidentally about the 5th of November. If you haven't watched it, I suggest today's as good a day as any. It's one of my favourite movies & on this particular day last year, it was all a coincidence really. We had some idea of what it was about but not the fact that it was about Guy Fawkes Day. I remember reading about Guy Fawkes as a child, fascinated with the fact that they'd in indulge a massive bonfire & burn a Guy Fawkes dummy. It reminded me of something similar, though set on a different day!
Growing up in Bombay, I lived in a neighbourhood of nine apartment buildings, with an apparent baby boom in the works during those days (must have been at least a 100 of us children at the time). And so because there were so many of us kids of varying ages, holidays & festivals of all religions were celebrated communally with much much fanfare. In India there are many festivals, as the government recognises quite a few religions which results in an abundance of public holidays. One of my favourites was New Years' Eve, where we children (under strict supervision) were able to partake in the largest bonfire every year & set atop it Old Father Time in the form of a dummy. Now I never knew where the dummies came from but I assume someone in the 'colony' would be kind enough to make it for us year after year. Old Father Time would crumple up in a blaze right before our very eyes, signalling in the New Year. The night also concluded with each of us receiving a party bag, filled with candies & mini toys. Ahh the memories! And while we'd get to stand around & watch the wood snap crackle & pop, we were hypnotised, for it was not often would we get to play with fire (literally speaking). Besides, what child can resist the lure of a flame. I know Hubby can relate - as a kid, he once set his carpet on fire. It was a small fire & easily doused when he realised what he'd done. However, explaining the burnt hole in the carpet to his parents when they got home was no easy feat. Kids & fire, especially bonfires, are like a moths to a flame.
And so! To my AN Colony friends...do ye remember those days? Thanks to the older guys for making it fun...You know who you are!
Guy Fawkes Day is still celebrated here in Bermuda. Not surprising, considering it's still a British Territory. I'm sure for many Bermudians, it's a chance to relive childhood memories & also to be able to pass the torch, so to speak, to their children. I'm sure I will get a whiff of one or two bonfires around the neighbourhood & I hope to scout the area for some photographic opportunities.
And last but not least, Guy Fawkes Day in our house is also known as Dad's birthday! My dad, of course!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD! Hope it's a fiery one!
