Book review: “River of Smoke” – Amitav Ghosh

Why do we call sugar “chinee” in Hindi? How did we ever land up with “post-cards” and ketchup? Did you know that we Desis were called “Achhas”? Achha, so the origin of the word chinee is because in the late 1700 and early 1800 the Dominion of India imported sugar exclusively from China. Ketchup, brace for this, is apparently a Chinese export from the 1800’s. At least the concept of Ketchup. And well, post cards were more or less a manifestation of Europe’s questionable obsession with “authentic” Chinese porcelain. Mr. Ghosh peppers his vivid description of the events in Canton (now Guangzhou, China) leading to the opium war in China with these pearls of “wisdom”. Speaking of pearls, do you want to know why the murky and definitely pearl-less river flowing through Guangzhou is called Pearl river? Haha, I won’t tell.

Mr. Ghosh starts his narration on the islands of Mauritius, which, if you’ve read the Sea of Poppies will recall was the final destination of the Ibis. The scene rapidly shifts to the South China sea where the script erupts into apparently disconnected, yet gripping threads of parallel narration. Very Pulp-fictionsque. The vivid narration effortlessly transports the impressionable reader back in time to Canton of 1838 and lets him experience the unraveling of the story as an active participant.

One thread features Neel, disguised as a Munshi of an Indian Tai-pan. One takes the form of the colourful correspondence of a gifted and seemingly gay Anglo-Indian artist looking to step out of the shadow of his famous father. Yet another takes the form the Indian Tai-pan stumbling in an opium laced haze of his own creation, or perhaps he attempts to navigate through his own river of smoke. The threads converge towards an event which sows the seeds of the opium war, and in this convergence I suspect Mr. Ghosh has planted the seeds of the next volume. Perhaps cricket and theater. Perhaps.

Mr. Ghosh makes a statement which could as well reflect today’s state of the economy:

That is correct, Your Majesty. Since the middle years of the last century, the demand for Chinese tea has grown at such a pace in Britain and America that it is now the principal source of profit for the East India Company. The taxes on it account for fully one tenth of Britain’s revenues. If one adds to this such goods as silk, porcelain and lacquerware it becomes clear that the European demand for Chinese products is insatiable. In China on the other hand, there is little interest in European exports – the Chinese are a people who believe that their own products, like their food and their own customs, are superior to all others.

Except that these days the Chinese people have an insatiable appetite for all that is remotely European.

If you have read James Clavell’s Tai-Pan, then I must urge you to read the River of Smoke. As an impressionable teenager I read Tai-Pan, and fell instantly in love with Hong Kong. And the two times I’ve been to Hong Kong, those feelings clouded my judgment and yours truly could not help but warming up to the place. (Forget that it is humid and hot like my other beloved city – Bombay) I confess, I don’t remember the story anymore, but this book reminded me why I was fascinated by Hong Kong. Tai-Pan narrated the story of the south china sea territories post the opium wars, and the river of smoke the story before.

I have never waited so eagerly for a book as I have for this one, that I was surprised by my own behaviour when I was presented with the opportunity of picking up a copy in Hong Kong earlier this year. I must admit, I was caught unawares of its publication, until I accidentally saw it on the book shelf. Having seen it on the bookshelf, I resisted temptation with the logic that I could pick up a copy as easily on my return to Bangalore. It was at best misplaced prudence, for on returning to Bangalore, I discovered to my utter dismay that the book was yet to be released in India and that the bookshops were very cleverly allowing eager readers to “pre-order” the novel. What is with that? huh? Anyways, I got lucky, and could finally lay my hands on the much awaited book a couple of weeks ago. The other book I was reading was unceremoniously retired to my ever increasing backlog of “to-read” books and this book received my undivided attention. I swear, I didn’t keep it down unless I absolutely had to. My one regret, is that now in hind sight I wished I had picked up this book in Hong Kong. It would have been a little bit more special than it it is now. However, now I eagerly await the last of the trilogy, whenever it is published – my bet sometime in 2014 or late 2013.

Book review: “River of Smoke” – Amitav Ghosh

Agashiye, Ahmedabad: Restaurant Review

Ahemadabad is situated on the banks of the river Sabarmati, and every time i set foot in Ahemdabad I am reminded that I am but a lesser soul treading this earth. But then, remembering Gandhi and his legendary Sabarmati ashram can be quite humbling. The abject poverty of his countrymen made the man embrace austerity and urge the rest of the privileged “class” to do the same. Today’s Ahemdabad is a spectacular contradiction to his ideas, and Agashiye is the perfect example of the excess he preached against. Not that we are complaining. No. Never.

The restaurant is located on the top floor of the heritage hotel - “The house of MG”, bang opposite the exquisite Sidi Saiyad Jali, definitely worth a visit, near Lal Darwaja in the heart of the old city. Now do not be confused by the “MG” in the name, it has nothing to do with Mahatma Gandhi. By some coincidence the late owner of this “haveli” was a one Mangaldas Giridhardas. Not that the present management is trying to milk the other “MG” “brand value”. No sir. Never.

There are around 10 parking spots in the hotel – i mean the ones that I could see, may be there are others hidden somewhere else. I don’t know. The hotel also offers a valet parking service, so you really do not have to worry about parking – but you could worry about your valet parked vehicle in between dhoklas and khichidi. I mean that in a general anywhere in the world context, not just in an Ahemdabadi context. That said, as I was in Ahemdabad, the newspapers reported this curious case of a certain bank manager (or some non banking financial executive, what do I know about such things other than that he was, well, a suave conman like the rest of his ilk) stealing an Audi Q7 from the Ahemdabad Audi showroom. And, and, he used it for 3 months before he got caught. So, so, so, you know what i mean, right?

Once you are past the parking, you get to the cashier and request to be seated – ahem, yes, the cashier. You pay upfront. Before eating. I know! Like I was going to change my mind about paying after eating. No man. I am only known to walk out of restaurants after I see the menu, and before I order anything. How the hell did my reputation get ahead of me! dang. Anyways, after having confirmed to the clean shaven grinning face under the sparkling white Gandhi cap, that one would indeed dine at this fine restaurant, one is escorted in a lift to the upperest (I just invented that. We, upperest and me, will see you in the abridged Cambridge dictionary of the English language. Soon.) floor. I must admit, I was feeling like an out of place buffoon – I mean shorts, chappals, an old supersize and nearly torn t-shirt, no wonder they asked me to pay first. I was the perfect villager in a diamond shop.

At the top floor, one steps out into a terrace peppered with young palm trees and other greenery. The summer heat hit me. And then I realized that the hotel, obviously, is air conditioned. It did not feel like it was “chilled 15°C” air cooling, like it should be, but it was a very pleasant 24°C. This area is where the guests are entertained in the evenings (No. Not customers. Please. They are guests.) It was how the Indian National Congress met all those years ago, and how the Congress (Indira) meets today I guess. One is quickly ushered into another smaller, but air conditioned, room where the waiters in green kurtas, spotless white dhotis and smiling faces adorned sometimes with handlebar mustaches outnumber the tables and chairs put together. You do realize, that I did not have to navigate all by myself through the self explanatory maze. There was a staff member guiding me to my table all the time, least I get lost. I know.

We was handed over to a portly “Harisingh ji”, who took it upon himself to ensure that I would put on 5 kilograms in 20 minutes. First, “welcome ji” he said and presented me with a rose. I know. What the efff. Bali ka barka. I was waiting for the tikka ana arrati, but that did not happen. Thank god. Then the Aam ka panna and jal jera followed. The lunch comprised of unlimited helpings of “kadi”, “dal fry”, “avial” (yes avial, no kidding), and one more vegi dish which i do not know the name of, kachoris, rotis, parantas, kichdi, ghee, kulcha and jera rice. Every dish was promptly refilled the second you finished it. Even though there were more waiters than chairs, I never felt like they were waiting over my shoulder to refill my plate. I was reluctant to apply makkan to my kulchas, but Harisinghji insisted, “It is the only way to eat it sir. Belive me. Try it once.” and went on to empty one quarters of a cup on my kulcha. And boy. Was it heavenly or what?

After gorging on the yummy food for 20 minutes like a person from a famished land (attempting to do full paisa vasoolee yaar, come on!) my stomach was at its elastic limit, and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Harisinghji offered icecream – locally made mango icecream. “Totally organic sir. We make it here only sir. Very little sugar. Try a little bit”. I mean, really, you forgot that you paid money to be treated like a guest.

A very sleepy me then staggered to the overpriced handicraft shop on the ground floor to see anything caught my fancy. And they did. Overpriced. But still, the whole afternoon was one paisa vasool.

This is also a good place for those interested in the Ahemdabad night walk.

Ambience	10/10
Service	10/10
Food quality	8/10
Buffet price	Rs 450 + taxes

Website: http://www.houseofmg.com/agashiye.php?topid=Mg==

Ahemdabad night walk: http://www.houseofmg.com/nightwalk.htm

As the discerning reader would have no doubt deduced, yours truly is now diversifying his pointless blog to include restaurant reviews. Yay. How thrilling. Now let us all open a bottle of bubbly to celebrate this momentous occasion. As if sleep inducing accounts of his boring travels down the beaten path and book reviews of books which no one but him would dare to touch were not reason enough to… hmmm… well… you know, hurl a couple of rotten eggs his way while cursing him for wasting your valuable time. Well, now you have reason to collect some rotten tomatoes as well. Wow. How cool is that? Ha ha ha!

Agashiye, Ahmedabad: Restaurant Review

Pre flight check list

After a rather long break from "travelling" the road tripper returns with a new episode of travel stupidity. He spends 3 months "planning" a trip, buys the "rough guide", gets the visa, buys the rather expensive airplane tickets, buys the new language phrase book, and generally spreads the word around in the facebook world that he is off on a rather exotic destination. The works huh? Yeah, but then, he conveniently forgets to read the rough guide, knows not a word of the new language, and wait for the almost epic fail - manages to misplace his only camera on the eve of the journey. Gaddamn.

Hey mister, it could have been worse. So typical of you to overreact. Have you forgotten already the short trips you made in the meanwhile? You could have lost your passport, or worse - the dog could have eaten it. Get a life man. Look at the positive side.

Yeah, don't worry peeps, the boy is sulking in the deep recess of this empty cranium. He'll be alright after his vacation. He'll be back. Soon. Promise.

Pre flight check list