Silverknowes

I am still learning how to play with sunlight & considering that I am a slow learner, don't get to shoot often, the results don't turn up what I expected them to be.

Following are some of the pictures which I shot at the local beach shore, one evening. 

I walk alone

The joy of youth

The wisdom of foresight

In all the above pictures I was trying to shoot the patterns on sand. I wasn't successful, partly because of the harsh light of the sun(which insisted on giving burnt out & washed up colors) & partly because of my inexperience.

The Steel Colosium

The Colors of Spring

I liked the last 2 pictures because of their warm tones, which I was finally able to capture.

Shows, how much I still have to learn. The most important thing I learnt that day was one doesn't needs great locations to shoot good pictures. Its all in how you shoot them, not the equipment & not the locations.

Happy snapping!

Father

I was a bit irritated since I woke up, I don't know why.

I looked into the mirror, straightening my tie. Combed my fingers through my messy, still wet hair, trying to chalk out all the details of office today. I had this strange feeling, that I am missing something. I took my Jacket, dabbed on the after-shave on my cheeks generously. That always helps me calm down. Straightened my tie again & took a deep breath. Waiting for my nerves to soothe down! 

Didn’t Happen. Damn it!

I took my keys, cell phone from the chest & shouted “Kitty, Hurry up, you will be late for school.”

Kitty is my 12 years old daughter. 

She came down running. 

“I am surprised Kitty, you are ready on time.”

“It’s Papa’s B’Day Daddy. I don’t want to be the reason for you being late today” she beamed at me.

“See, I made you this card”

‘My Papa is the Best’ written in her tiny scrawling hand-writing all decorated in Green & Red. 

She remembers my B’Day. I was amused.

“Do you like it?”

“But of course, I do. I never knew my Sweetu could make such beautiful cards.”

“I ruined one of your pens, while making this, though” she said a little ashamed.

“Hmm. We can’t have that now, can we? I think you are late for school.”

“Why Dad? I think we can still make it on time.” 

“You see Kitty, I don’t feel like going to office. I feel like taking a day off, spending it with you. Give you piggy-back rides. Walking the parkways with you. May be watch a movie in the evening. You know what, we can even go & have a ice cream.”

“Can we really do that Papa?” she said all excited.

“Why not? That is of course, if you are not interested in going to school more” I teased her.

“No Papa, lets do it. But isn’t it like you are bunking office?”

“Hmmm… Point! But I think we can relax the rule for your Poor Dad once in a while. What say?”

“Will you relax the rule for me once in a while when I grow up older Pops” She chirped…

I took her by hand, & started towards the door “Come on, We better hurry up, you have a tiring day full of fun ahead”. 

So we did all the things.

I took her to an adventure Park, where she took me on terrible rides. She was trembling with excitement & I was being nervous. Finally, after a long long time, she got tired & I gave a sigh of relief. We strolled down the parkways gulping ice lollies in the evening. And I took her to a movie. She asked me end less questions after the movie.

“Why did the hero had to die? He was a good guy, Dad?”

“It happens sometimes Sweetheart. Life is not always fair, you know.”

“Well that’s wrong Dad. God should be seeing that it doesn’t happen. I bet he is not good as my Dad. Why isn’t the God as good as you Papa?”

“Would you like him to exchange places with me Kitty?”

“No Papa, I think I like you better.” She said with a thoughtful expression.

“So what should we do for Dinner?”

“Cheese Pizza Papa…. Please” she gave me her all time angel smile.

“Sure, why Not Sweetheart”

“I hope the day was good for you.”

“It was, Papa. It was one of the best. Why can’t we have Papa’s Day daily?”

“Hmm… If we have that, then I will have to do this daily. Consequently, you will miss your school. Now we cant have you growing into an illiterate girl, Can we?”

“Why cant we? Why do I need to study? You will always be there to look after me. Won’t you Dad?” she beamed.

“Of course, I would. Now give Papa a hug & say good night.”

“Good Night Papa. I love you”

“I love you too sweetheart.” I tucked her into bed & kissed her.

This was my 35^th B’Day. I felt young.

“Sweetu, you will be late. Hurry up.” I said, relaxing the wrinkles on my crushed shirt, & combing my fingers through my grey hair at the same time.

She came down 20 minutes later still talking on phone.

I held the door open for her, waiting her to hang up.

“Dad, why are you dressed so casually today. Where is your tie?”

“Hmm… I felt like skipping the office today. So may be when you are done at College, I can pick you up & we can go for a ride, shopping, a movie & dinner.”

“No Dad, not today. I already have plans for today. Me & friends are going for bowling today.”

“How about in the evening then Sweetu?”

“Sorry Dad, I think I will be late.”

I unintentionally crushed the movie tickets in my pocket.

 “And Dad please stop calling me Sweetu. It sounds odd now, you know.”

 “Yes, of course Kitty.”

“Better grab your Jacket & your tie, Dad” She said while walking out.

I dropped her to college & came back. I had already taken a day off, but I thought of going to work anyway. 

The day just went through, uneventful. I returned home at the usual time. 

I pressed the answering machine.

"No messages" It beeped. 

"Who am I kidding?"

"She is just a kid, she might have forgotten it."

I tried to stop my mind fighting with itself. I opened the fridge & opened a can of Beer. 

I relaxed on the couch, took a sip of beer & dozed off to sleep. I woke up sometime later. I again took a sip of beer. It had turned warm. 

My eyes glanced through the black dial of the wrist-watch & I realized that it was already 8. I went to the kitchen, & started preparing the dinner. I finally finished in an hour. I was about to open another can of beer, when I saw the first one lying on the table, warm & almost untouched. I left the second one alone.

I switched on the TV & flipped through the channels, waiting for Kitty to come Home. The evening was getting late & me anxious. The father in me took over at 10:30 & I called up on her cell phone. She didn’t pick up. I couldn’t think of anything to do, except waiting.

She came back finally at 11.

“So how was your day Sw…. “ I paused, remembering what she had said in the morning ”Kitty.”

“Was Ok Dad, The movie was pretty boring though.”

“Oh Ok." I thought of the movie tickets which I had crushed in the morning.

Anyway, change quickly & come for dinner. I have made your fav. Boneless chicken.”

“But I already had my dinner Dad, I thought I told you I would be eating out today. I wonder why didn’t you get married after Mom left.”

“Good  Night, Dad.” she said climbing up the stairs.

I didn’t feel like answering. I couldn’t think of anything to answer.

I ate alone. Things have certainly changed in the last 7 years, I realized.

This was my 42^nd B’Day. I felt old, much older than my age.

I looked in the mirror. My grey hair was not messy today. It looked neat. I looked like an ideal Father. I straightened my tie. My nerves were jittery, but I was happy. Today was the biggest day in my life. 

Kitty was getting married today. The last 8 years had rather flown quickly. I tried to remember the last 25 years, when the only apex of my life had been my daughter, & failed. I doubted I had been a good father. I stepped into the hall & got surrounded by the guests immediately. 

There she is, I thought, beautiful as her mother & sweet as an angel. She looked happy. I put a smile on my face & stepped towards her. She saw me, smiled & started to say something.

“I know Kitty. You don’t have to say it. I hope you are Happy. I will always love you. Things will never change between us. This is just a new chapter in your life.”

She smiled & a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Our lives Papa, our lives” she sobbed.

“Life will never be same without you, I can not imagine myself without you Dad.”

“I am sorry for all the hard times I gave you. I hope you forgive me, Dad”

“Shhh… Kitty, Smile. Lots of people clicking pictures, We don’t want you to be snapped teary faced with red nose, Do we?” I kissed her.

She beamed a smile & I turned back to look after other things.

“Dad…”

“Yes Kitty” 

“I know why you never married after Mom left. 

And Dad I think I prefer Sweetu.”

I smiled.

I was 2 days short of turning fifty. I could feel my life turning around, turning around in a complete circle, to me.

I felt young.

P.S - I wrote this for the only child who thinks I write & tell wonderful stories.

Kabuliwallah & Memories

This is a story which most of you would have read in your 6-7 Standard text books.
I read it again today, after a long time, & it bought back a wave of nostalgia. Its an amazing story, which floods you with emotions & memories from childhood. I still remember how much excited I used to be on getting promoted to the next standard, because that meant I would get to read new stories from my Hindi & english text books.

This story was written by Rabindranath Tagore.
I hope you do enjoy reading it, as much as I did.

My five years' old daughter Mini cannot live without chattering. I really believe that in all her life she has not wasted a minute in silence. Her mother is often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle, but I would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, and I cannot bear it long. And so my own talk with her is always lively.

One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst of the seventeenth chapter of my new novel, my little Mini stole into the room, and putting her hand into mine, said: "Father! Ramdayal the doorkeeper calls a crow a krow! He doesn't know anything, does he?"

Before I could explain to her the differences of language in this world, she was embarked on the full tide of another subject. "What do you think, Father? Bhola says there is an elephant in the clouds, blowing water out of his trunk, and that is why it rains!"

And then, darting off anew, while I sat still making ready some reply to this last saying, "Father! what relation is Mother to you?"

"My dear little sister in the law!" I murmured involuntarily to myself, but with a grave face contrived to answer: "Go and play with Bhola, Mini! I am busy!"

The window of my room overlooks the road. The child had seated herself at my feet near my table, and was playing softly, drumming on her knees. I was hard at work on my seventeenth chapter, where Protrap Singh, the hero, had just caught Kanchanlata, the heroine, in his arms, and was about to escape with her by the third story window of the castle, when all of a sudden Mini left her play, and ran to the window, crying, "A Kabuliwallah! a Kabuliwallah!" Sure enough in the street below was a Kabuliwallah, passing slowly along. He wore the loose soiled clothing of his people, with a tall turban; there was a bag on his back, and he carried boxes of grapes in his hand.

I cannot tell what were my daughter's feelings at the sight of this man, but she began to call him loudly. "Ah!" I thought, "he will come in, and my seventeenth chapter will never be finished!" At which exact moment the Kabuliwallah turned, and looked up at the child. When she saw this, overcome by terror, she fled to her mother's protection, and disappeared. She had a blind belief that inside the bag, which the big man carried, there were perhaps two or three other children like herself. The pedlar meanwhile entered my doorway, and greeted me with a smiling face.

So precarious was the position of my hero and my heroine, that my first impulse was to stop and buy something, since the man had been called. I made some small purchases, and a conversation began about Abdurrahman, the Russians, the English, and the Frontier Policy.

As he was about to leave, he asked: "And where is the little girl, sir?"

And I, thinking that Mini must get rid of her false fear, had her brought out.

She stood by my chair, and looked at the Kabuliwallah and his bag. He offered her nuts and raisins, but she would not be tempted, and only clung the closer to me, with all her doubts increased.

This was their first meeting.

One morning, however, not many days later, as I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talking, with the great Kabuliwallah at her feet. In all her life, it appeared; my small daughter had never found so patient a listener, save her father. And already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor, "Why did you give her those?" I said, and taking out an eight-anna bit, I handed it to him. The man accepted the money without demur, and slipped it into his pocket.

Alas, on my return an hour later, I found the unfortunate coin had made twice its own worth of trouble! For the Kabuliwallah had given it to Mini, and her mother catching sight of the bright round object, had pounced on the child with: "Where did you get that eight-anna bit? "

"The Kabuliwallah gave it me," said Mini cheerfully.

"The Kabuliwallah gave it you!" cried her mother much shocked. "Oh, Mini! how could you take it from him?"

I, entering at the moment, saved her from impending disaster, and proceeded to make my own inquiries.

It was not the first or second time, I found, that the two had met. The Kabuliwallah had overcome the child's first terror by a judicious bribery of nuts and almonds, and the two were now great friends.

They had many quaint jokes, which afforded them much amusement. Seated in front of him, looking down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny dignity, Mini would ripple her face with laughter, and begin: "O Kabuliwallah, Kabuliwallah, what have you got in your bag?"

And he would reply, in the nasal accents of the mountaineer: "An elephant!" Not much cause for merriment, perhaps; but how they both enjoyed the witticism! And for me, this child's talk with a grown-up man had always in it something strangely fascinating.

Then the Kabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, would take his turn: "Well, little one, and when are you going to the father-in-law's house?"

Now most small Bengali maidens have heard long ago about the father-in-law's house; but we, being a little new-fangled, had kept these things from our child, and Mini at this question must have been a trifle bewildered. But she would not show it, and with ready tact replied: "Are you going there?"

Amongst men of the Kabuliwallah's class, however, it is well known that the words father-in-law's house have a double meaning. It is a euphemism for jail, the place where we are well cared for, at no expense to ourselves. In this sense would the sturdy pedlar take my daughter's question. "Ah," he would say, shaking his fist at an invisible policeman, "I will thrash my father-in-law!" Hearing this, and picturing the poor discomfited relative, Mini would go off into peals of laughter, in which her formidable friend would join.

These were autumn mornings, the very time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. At the very name of another country, my heart would go out to it, and at the sight of a foreigner in the streets, I would fall to weaving a network of dreams, --the mountains, the glens, and the forests of his distant home, with his cottage in its setting, and the free and independent life of far-away wilds.

Perhaps the scenes of travel conjure themselves up before me, and pass and repass in my imagination all the more vividly, because I lead such a vegetable existence, that a call to travel would fall upon me like a thunderbolt.

In the presence of this Kabuliwallah, I was immediately transported to the foot of arid mountain peaks, with narrow little defiles twisting in and out amongst their towering heights. I could see the string of camels bearing the merchandise, and the company of turbaned merchants, carrying some of their queer old firearms, and some of their spears, journeying downward towards the plains. I could see--but at some such point Mini's mother would intervene, imploring me to "beware of that man."

Mini's mother is unfortunately a very timid lady. Whenever she hears a noise in the street, or sees people coming towards the house, she always jumps to the conclusion that they are either thieves, or drunkards, or snakes, or tigers, or malaria or cockroaches, or caterpillars, or an English sailor. Even after all these years of experience, she is not able to overcome her terror. So she was full of doubts about the Kabuliwallah, and used to beg me to keep a watchful eye on him.

I tried to laugh her fear gently away, but then she would turn round on me seriously, and ask me solemn questions.

Were children never kidnapped?

Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in Kabul?

Was it so very absurd that this big man should be able to carry off a tiny child?

I urged that, though not impossible, it was highly improbable. But this was not enough, and her dread persisted. As it was indefinite, however, it did not seem right to forbid the man the house, and the intimacy went on unchecked.

Once a year in the middle of January Rahmun, the Kabuliwallah, was in the habit of returning to his country, and as the time approached he would be very busy, going from house to house collecting his debts. This year, however, he could always find time to come and see Mini. It would have seemed to an outsider that there was some conspiracy between the two, for when he could not come in the morning, he would appear in the evening.

Even to me it was a little startling now and then, in the corner of a dark room, suddenly to surprise this tall, loose-garmented, much bebagged man; but when Mini would run in smiling, with her, "O! Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!" and the two friends, so far apart in age, would subside into their old laughter and their old jokes, I felt reassured.

One morning, a few days before he had made up his mind to go, I was correcting my proof sheets in my study. It was chilly weather. Through the window the rays of the sun touched my feet, and the slight warmth was very welcome. It was almost eight o'clock, and the early pedestrians were returning home, with their heads covered. All at once, I heard an uproar in the street, and, looking out, saw Rahmun being led away bound between two policemen, and behind them a crowd of curious boys. There were blood-stains on the clothes of the Kabuliwallah, and one of the policemen carried a knife.

Hurrying out, I stopped them, and enquired what it all meant. Partly from one, partly from another, I gathered that a certain neighbour had owed the pedlar something for a Rampuri shawl, but had falsely denied having bought it, and that in the course of the quarrel, Rahmun had struck him. Now in the heat of his excitement, the prisoner began calling his enemy all sorts of names, when suddenly in a verandah of my house appeared my little Mini, with her usual exclamation: "O Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!" Rahmun's face lighted up as he turned to her. He had no bag under his arm today, so she could not discuss the elephant with him. She at once therefore proceeded to the next question: "Are you going to the father-in-law's house?" Rahmun laughed and said: "Just where I am going, little one!" Then seeing that the reply did not amuse the child, he held up his fettered hands. " Ali," he said, " I would have thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands are bound!"

On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmun was sentenced to some years' imprisonment.

Time passed away, and he was not remembered. The accustomed work in the accustomed place was ours, and the thought of the once-free mountaineer spending his years in prison seldom or never occurred to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed to say, forgot her old friend. New companions filled her life. As she grew older, she spent more of her time with girls. So much time indeed did she spend with them that she came no more, as she used to do, to her father's room. I was scarcely on speaking terms with her.

Years had passed away. It was once more autumn and we had made arrangements for our Mini's marriage. It was to take place during the Puja Holidays. With Durga returning to Kailas, the light of our home also was to depart to her husband's house, and leave her father's in the shadow.

The morning was bright. After the rains, there was a sense of ablution in the air, and the sun-rays looked like pure gold. So bright were they that they gave a beautiful radiance even to the sordid brick walls of our Calcutta lanes. Since early dawn to-day the wedding-pipes had been sounding, and at each beat my own heart throbbed. The wail of the tune, Bhairavi, seemed to intensify my pain at the approaching separation. My Mini was to be married to-night.

From early morning noise and bustle had pervaded the house. In the courtyard the canopy had to be slung on its bamboo poles; the chandeliers with their tinkling sound must be hung in each room and verandah. There was no end of hurry and excitement. I was sitting in my study, looking through the accounts, when some one entered, saluting respectfully, and stood before me. It was Rahmun the Kabuliwallah. At first I did not recognise him. He had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the same vigour that he used to have. But he smiled, and I knew him again.

"When did you come, Rahmun?" I asked him.

"Last evening," he said, "I was released from jail."

The words struck harsh upon my ears. I had never before talked with one who had wounded his fellow, and my heart shrank within itself, when I realised this, for I felt that the day would have been better-omened had he not turned up.

"There are ceremonies going on," I said, "and I am busy. Could you perhaps come another day?"

At once he turned to go; but as he reached the door he hesitated, and said: "May I not see the little one, sir, for a moment?" It was his belief that Mini was still the same. He had pictured her running to him as she used, calling "O Kabuliwallah! Kabuliwallah!" He had imagined too that they would laugh and talk together, just as of old. In fact, in memory of former days he had brought, carefully wrapped up in paper, a few almonds and raisins and grapes, obtained somehow from a countryman, for his own little fund was dispersed.

I said again: "There is a ceremony in the house, and you will not be able to see any one to-day."

The man's face fell. He looked wistfully at me for a moment, said "Good morning," and went out. I felt a little sorry, and would have called him back, but I found he was returning of his own accord. He came close up to me holding out his offerings and said: "I brought these few things, sir, for the little one. Will you give them to her?"

I took them and was going to pay him, but he caught my hand and said: "You are very kind, sir! Keep me in your recollection. Do not offer me money!--You have a little girl, I too have one like her in my own home. I think of her, and bring fruits to your child, not to make a profit for myself."

Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper. With great care he unfolded this, and smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of a little band. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. The impression of an ink-smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of his own little daughter had been always on his heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta, to sell his wares in the streets.

Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Kabuli fruit-seller, while I was--but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father. That impression of the hand of his little Parbati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.

I sent for Mini immediately from the inner apartment. Many difficulties were raised, but I would not listen. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, with the sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned as a young bride, Mini came, and stood bashfully before me.

The Kabuliwallah looked a little staggered at the apparition. He could not revive their old friendship. At last he smiled and said: "Little one, are you going to your father-in-law's house?"

But Mini now understood the meaning of the word "father-in-law," and she could not reply to him as of old. She flushed up at the question, and stood before him with her bride-like face turned down.

I remembered the day when the Kabuliwallah and my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she had gone, Rahmun heaved a deep sigh, and sat down on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him that his daughter too must have grown in this long time, and that he would have to make friends with her anew. Assuredly he would not find her, as he used to know her. And besides, what might not have happened to her in these eight years?

The marriage-pipes sounded, and the mild autumn sun streamed round us. But Rahmun sat in the little Calcutta lane, and saw before him the barren mountains of Afghanistan.

I took out a bank-note, and gave it to him, saying: "Go back to your own daughter, Rahmun, in your own country, and may the happiness of your meeting bring good fortune to my child!"

Having made this present, I had to curtail some of the festivities. I could not have the electric lights I had intended, nor the military band, and the ladies of the house were despondent at it. But to me the wedding feast was all the brighter for the thought that in a distant land a long-lost father met again with his only child.

Movies that turn you inside out... Part I

Ok, Warnings before hand.

This is going to be a long series. So readers who hate long pieces, scattered across the whole blog on a span of long time(months, or perhaps years), please keep away.

This is my list of fav movies. But its not just that. It's more than that. 

This is a list of those of my fav movies, which give you inspiration, help you have get a reality check. Some of these, grovel your face against the cold brutal truth so hard, that you can taste the salt in your tears & the bitterness in your upcoming puke at the same time.

At the top of this list is my personal Fav "Remember the Titans". I can bet that this movie will be in the top 10 list of any serious Movie fan. & the same goes for any football freak.

This movie is a classic & Fav to me in more than one sense.

"Remember The Titans" was produced under the banner of Walt Disney & it was so well received by the public that the genre of Sport Movies" started flourishing.

Featuring Denzel Washington as coach Herman Boone, Will Patton as Bill Yoast, the story centers on the football team of 'TC Williams' high school in Virginia, Alexendria. 'The Titans' as the team is called is the only team in the state which has both black & white Players. The Coach's job is difficult not because he has to teach the players how to play football & make them better players; But because he has to teach them lessons in unity, team spirit, faith courage & brotherhood. The conflict of ideas & racial discrimination is portrayed by the continuous clashes between Gerry Bertier (Ryan Hurst) and Julius Campbell (Wood Harris), two players of equally outstanding athletic ability, but different ethnic backgrounds. When these 2 champions start treating each other with respect, love & brotherhood, Boone's ideas & faith turns from his most cherished dreams into reality. 

A poster of "Remember The Titans"

The movie is not only about racism, or football. 

No Sir, its not that. Of course, it touches those subjects too, but the movie is more about a man who has faith in his dreams. Herman Boone, in the entire movie, not even a single time thinks that his dream is unachievable; and that is the only reason why he gets successful.

So why is the movie named "Remember The Titans"? I was as puzzled as you till I heard this dialogue from Herman Boone in the Movie (This is just before a Game):-

"Tonight, we got Hayfiield. Like all the other schools in this conference they're all white. They don't have to worry about race.

We do.

But we're better for it, men. Let me tell you something. You don't let anything.. nothin'...come between us. Nothin' tears us apart. 

Greek mythology, the titans were greater even than the gods. They ruled their universe with absolute power.

Well, that football field out there tonight, that's our universe. Let's rule it like titans."

My fav Dialogue in the movie is again by Boone & again to the Titans, during a Practice season:-

"Anybody know what this place is?

This is Gettysburg.

This is where they fought the Battle of Gettysburg. Men died right here on this field, fightin' the same fight that we're still fightin' amongst ourselves today.

This green field right here was painted red. Bubbling with the blood of young boys. Smoke and hot lead pouring right through their bodies. Listen to their souls, men. "I killed my brother with malice in my heart. Hatred destroyed my family."

You listen...and you take a lesson from the dead. If we don't come together right now,on this hallowed ground...then we, too, will be destroyed. Just like they were.

I don't care if you like each other or not, but you will respect each other, and maybe... I don't know, maybe we'll learn to play this game like men."

My fav scene from the movie is the scene in which The Titans do their new Warm up for the first time. Here is one of the videos in You tube.

221-B Baker Street...Crime?

I have been a die hard fan of Holmes stories, since I was a kid, both as a reader who reads only for the plot of the story & as a scholar who wants to learn how to write better. One of the biggest reasons for the success of Holmes stories, besides the impressive writing style of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, was the attention to the details he paid when writing.

"221b Baker Street. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and his colleague John H. Watson, M.D., spent many years at this address in London, England, under the rent of Mrs. Hudson. Characters of every type have frequented the rooms of this place, calling on Mr. Holmes for help and assistance on mysteries only the finest criminal detective could unravel."
- 221 Baker Street Museum

Well, as luck would have it, I was in London last week. And by the virtue of careful, thoughtful & meticulous planning of my friend, I was able to fulfill my dream of visiting one of the most famous addresses of the world - "221b Baker Street"

These are some of the pictures I took at 212-B Baker Street in London:-

The famous address "221B Baker Street", named as Sherlock Holmes Museum.

I swear to God, that I didn't posed like this willingly. Pooh & Harsh made me do it. Being the Simple & shy soul I am, it was too embarrassing, But then at the end I did enjoy it.

"The new Holmes" with Dr Watson.

Apparently, The new Holmes was also the manager for my entire London Trip, and I can say without any hesitation, that the trip wouldn't have been the same without her.

Some Nincompoop's have no respect for art & literature.

Harsh, bullying the bust of Sherlock Holmes. He was the stand-up comedian & non-stop chatterbox of the trip.

A letter from Holmes to Dr. Watson

"While there really is a Baker Street, there was no 221 Baker Street during the years of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Baker Street was very short, less than a mile long. The street ran north to south with numbered addresses ranging from 1 to 85.

In 1930 some of the surrounding streets were renamed, buildings were renumbered and Baker Street became much longer. At that point 221 Baker Street was a real address. Soon after this the building at 221 Baker Street was demolished. A new structure, Abbey House, took its place. Abbey House served as the head office for the Abbey Road Building Society from 1932 until 2002. Today the building is still one of the London offices of Abbey.

Because of the unique relationship between the company and Sherlock Holmes, Abbey commissioned a statue of Holmes. That statue now stands at the entrance of the Baker Street Tube Station. Abbey also has a person who deals with the cards and letters, as many as 30 a month, that come addressed to Sherlock Holmes."

- Chronicles of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I did get a chance to see the mentioned statue of Sherlock Holmes near the entrance of Baker Street Tube Station & I must say it is lovely. It is pretty well maintained, too. Well, much as I would have liked it, I could not get a picture of the statue, because of those shouting football hooligans!

This is an example of the kind of letters which the museum gets.

I chose this one, since it shows the light side of childhood, depicts the enthusiasm & the willingness to chase a dream. There were many more, some of them pretty serious, scholarly & even weird, but this one was among the best.

Overall, it was a nice experience.
The whole Museum has got a artistic feel. Artifacts like Holmes's Pipe, his violin, Dr. Watson's Pocket watch, the famous Poker bent by Dr. Grimesby Roylott, are all around. There are even some dummies depicting the original illustrations from the stories.

Besides, the museum, the central London based on either side of Thames is beautiful. I shot a couple of pictures over there too. I especially loved the Thames walk. It is very well managed, and is extremely beautiful. The Captain of the Ferry told me that Thames is the cleanest river in the whole Europe & no garbage is dumped in the river.

The Famous Big Ben!

Popularly known as "The Big Ben", most people don't know that "Big Ben" is actually not the name of the tower or the clock. The Tower is called "St. Stephan's Tower", and the clock is "Parliament clock". The name Big Ben is for the 13.8 ton bell which tongs hourly. There is a lantern at the top of the tower, known as "Aryton Light", named after Thomas Aryton.

A street sign near the Thames Walk.

You can, see the Street signs for Westminster Abbey, Embankment, White Hall, London Aquarium, Imperial War Museum & Thames Walk.

London Eye, also known as Millennium Wheel, is tallest (443 ft) Ferris wheel in Europe.

Richard Rogers said “ The Eye has done for London what the Eiffel Tower did for Paris, which is to give it a symbol and to let people climb above the city and look back down on it. Not just specialists or rich people, but everybody. That's the beauty of it: it is public and accessible, and it is in a great position at the heart of London."

The Captain of my ferry told me that "The giant wheel" rotates throughout the year, except on Christmas eve & on maintenance days. He even joked, that considering the profits earned, British Airways was thinking of closing its air line business and planning to open more of "The eyes" throughout the world. In 2006, Tussauds Group bought out the other two joint owners, British Airways and the Marks Barfield family (the lead architects) & now owns the 100 % of the wheel.

The downside of London is that its very huge, too crowded, & everything is in rush. It's a nice place to see & visit, but not a very soothing place to live.