Thursday, April 13, 2017
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Jew town of Mattancherry
This is the Jew Town of Mattancherry which until 1953 was home to about 100 hews whose descendants had made this neighbourhood their home over the centuries.
Today hardly six of them remain. The youngest Yael Halleguan is in her mid forties. She is the care taker for the Synagogue which charges five rupees as the entry fees. The money goes in maintaining the synagogue.
It is an ornately decorated synagogue. Its tiled floors were imported from China in 1762, the handknit Oriental rug from the last emperor of Ethiopia and the cadle lamps from Belgium.
Sadly though, there is no Rabbi to sand at the bimah, the Pulpit. The place itself is a small museum that is visited by travellers specially Jews from all over the world. Services are held only when there is a minyan - a group of 10 Jewish men needed to form a prayer service. It is now only possible with the inclusion of Jewish male visitors. So the beautiful Synagogue is usually empty, save for tourists who some to marvel its beauty.
|Sara & Jacob Cohen on their wedding day|
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Irish whiskey taster
The lady next to me was coaxed into being a volunteer and she wriggled out saying she thinks she may be pregnant.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Sniffed out in Hong Kong
It was relatively clean ( considering what you are used to if you have lived in Indian cities) and extremely safe even in the middle of the night ( although the over cautious traveller in me refuses to take chances)
It was extremely modern and commercialized. What with Louis vitton, Cartier, Dior, Chanel, Versace, Prada and Jimmy choo outlets it felt like Champ de elysees of the east.
It felt very foreign in a sense since people on the streets hardly spoke or understood English. But it felt very much like home since the street smart locals put their gadgets and their mastery over sign language to good use and communicated to make up for the lack of mastery over that arguably universal language.
Ah ... but I have digressed a lot.
I clutched my bag close to my chest. That is when it struck me.
It was the Durian.
To say it was embarrassing, would be an understatement . I look up and down the train trying to avoid other people’s gaze. And this is what catches my attention.
If it was a fine I would have gladly paid. Ok, may be I would have grudgingly paid.
Now I cannot even plead ignorance. I get into my room and I am still holding my bag close to my chest. It does not help much.
It was an orgasmic moment.
What the nose smells the tongue does not.
The sweet, fleshy Durian pulp, almost melts into my mouth.
My taste buds ejaculate in sheer ecstasy.
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD SMELL AS SWEET said Shakespeare .
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