A Tale Best Forgotten...

My stint at Kapchorwa Hospital in 1970-71 was an experience of a different kind. Kapchorwa is situated in eastern Uganda, about 65 km. from Mbale, the nearest 'big' town. Kapchorwa sits at an altitude of 5,900 ft. above sea level and is akin to what we would call a hill station in India. The hills of Kapchorwa -- even today -- have a certain unspoilt beauty, and the air is crisp and cool. Kapchorwa is close to Mount Elgon that sits on the Uganda-Kenya border. Just outside the town after a sharp bend in the road, one can see the famous Sipi Falls, a majestic sight of three waterfalls that plunge down the mountains at the edge of Mount Elgon National Park. Kapchorwa is also home to the famous Bugisu tribe. 

Back in those days, Kapchorwa was the district headquarters, even though it was a very small place. Our district hospital was also a small one -- with about 60 beds and a single doctor (me). This was small-town Africa in the early 1970s. There was no electricity in the town those days, but the hospital did have a generator (strictly for hospital use only). I was the only expatriate in the town. In contrast, the nearest town, Mbale, had plenty of Asians and other expatriates as well.

I was new to Uganda, and often felt lonely in Kapchorwa, where I was in the midst of complete strangers. I looked forward to my occasional visits to Mbale, where I would go for shopping for groceries and vegetables once a week.

Though occasionally I would have Indian visitors in Kapchorwa. They were welcome indeed. I looked forward to such visits -- it was a rare opportunity for me to interact with people from my own country, and may be converse in Hindi or Punjabi. 

One fine day, a Punjabi friend of mine based in Kampala, came over to stay with me. He was establishing a saw mill in that region and hence, was a frequent visitor. On one of his visits, he had brought along a patient, a sardarji, working for him. That is how we became friends. After that, he would drop in whenever he came to Kapchorwa. 

On one occasion which I remember very vividly for reasons best forgotten, he visited my house with his wife. I was delighted as usual to meet one of my kin. We chatted for a long time over cups of tea. After a while, my friend's wife used the toilet. Then they said goodbye and left. 

Later I discovered, much to my disgust, a nasty piece of turd floating in the pot. I felt nauseated and all the happy feelings of spending a pleasant evening with fellow Indians evaporated. I flushed the toilet several times, but the lump stubbornly, decided to stay put. I was at my wit's end. I was trained to deal with the most complex of medical problems, but nothing like this. I also had no intention of leaving this unpleasant task to my houseboy, lest he wonder what my visitors were like. 

I had tried every trick in the book -- and failed. Left with no option, I employed Plan B. I brought a big stick from the garden and got to work. Over the coming (and very unpleasant) 15 minutes, I broke the lump into several smaller pieces, struggled to keep myself from vomiting and after multiple flushes, I got rid of the damn thing.

I have many pleasant memories of Kapchorwa -- but this one is an ink blot.

"Tororo Or Toronto" - What Is The Difference?

Back in 1970, I was fresh out of medical college and had just arrived in Uganda to work with the Ministry of Health as a doctor. Uganda was called the 'Pearl of Africa’. It was a very beautiful country and everything was so different. The climate was salubrious, even though Uganda is on equator. Uganda is at an elevation of about 3,000 ft. above sea level. It is home to tropical forests and sits on the shores of the great Lake Victoria, the largest freshwater lake in Africa. The people were simple, straightforward and happy-go-lucky. I loved the place and its people.

All these early experiences were novel to me, a young man who had stepped out of India for the very first time. I would write long letters to my folks back home describing the beauty of Uganda and its people. Those were the days when we heavily depended on our age-old postal system. That was the age prior to the advent of cell phones and internet which have transformed communication drastically today. Even the phone was a novelty in India of those days, and trunk calls were extremely rare. Handwritten letters were my only connection to my people back home. Unlike today, I was a very prolific writer of letters to my friends and people at home. 

I was posted to a district hospital in Tororo in eastern Uganda, bordering Kenya. Tororo is famous for a strange rock formation, known as the Tororo Rock, and back in the day, there was a vibrant Indian community in the town. 

It would take about a week to send or get a letter from India. One day when I got home from work, I discovered to my pleasant surprise that I had got an airmail letter from one of my cousins. Funnily though, when I saw the date stamps, I realized that I got it after a month and a half. I was stumped. Unlike today, the postal service was pretty efficient back then. 

I looked at the stamps closely, and made a startling discovery. The reason for the delay was that the letter, instead of coming straight to Tororo, Uganda, was mistakenly dispatched to Toronto, Canada! Who knew that the names were so similar! When the error was realized in Toronto, it was redirected to the correct address, as second class mail (via sea mail). And that took a long time to reach my new home in Uganda. 

Similarities in the names led to this faux pas. And it also gave me a cause for amusement.

A Tale of the Twin Towns!

How the towns are evolving and taking a particular shape or pattern over the years is a matter of great interest and excitement. It does provide a good background of the history and topography of the place. It also tells us the path “civilisation” has taken so far, whether in the right or wrong direction, and how we could have done still better.

Yamuna Nagar and Jagadhri are two small twin towns located in the north of Haryana on a railway line connecting Punjab in the west to Uttar Pradesh in the east. The towns also abut Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh to the north. These twin towns assumed prominence only after 1947, when settlers, mainly Hindus and Sikhs, from West Punjab (now in Pakistan) made the twin towns their abode, to begin their lives all over again, from a nought. My family was one such example.

Back then, the two towns were about 6 miles apart and the intervening part was uninhabited, a jungle, and a journey by tongas was a nightmare after dusk. The present Yamuna Nagar was a very small place about 65 years back at the time of independence. It was called Abdullapur. Soon after Partition a new name, Jamna Nagar was given and as the time passed it took on its present name, Yamuna Nagar. 

The first high school of great repute at that time established by a great philanthropist, Seth Mukand Lal of Radaur, was established here in Yamuna Nagar and named after him, as Mukand Lal National High School. Though the school has undergone several changes with the time, (sadly decay is one of them), and till date, the main building bears the original name of the school with Abdullapur and Jamna Nagar on its face. The school building was a great structure of those early days soon after independence. Realizing the need for a college, the school gave away half of its northern wing to start the college in 1955. These institutions played a great role in imparting education to the children at very nominal fee in the post partition era.

A few months back, I visited the school and I was surprised to see my name on the “honour board” for securing 679 marks, in my matriculation examinations, way back in 1958, along with my more illustrious friends. It was really nostalgic seeing this.

The other two important industries in the town were a paper mill of Thapar Group and a sugar mill which are thriving till now and doing very well. With these major industries already there, an industrial area was developed for other ancillary factories. In fact Yamuna Nagar became a small industrial town of great significance in Haryana after Faridabad.

Jagadhri, located about 6 miles in the northern direction, with the courts and a missionary hospital also had and an industry of brass utensils, which has thrived since the Mughal era. With the passage of time brass has given way to steel. As we observe the progress of Jagadhri has been sluggish in comparison to that of Yamuna Nagar. However, the intervening land between the two towns has undergone a sea change with industry, schools, hospitals and residential colonies. As the development proceeded, the breathing spaces, like parks for greenery and to cater for small children were neglected. Now, it is difficult to discern where one town meets the other one. These have mingled in each other. 

As children soon after independence we saw a narrow gauge railway which used to ply between Jagadhri and Yamuna Nagar to ferry goods to and fro, popularly called chhoti line. It was discontinued after a few years. Interestingly, it finds a mention in the memoirs of the retired Director of CBI, Joginder Singh, who landed in Jagadhri soon after Partition and did have a joy ride in the same train.

The areas surrounding Jagadhri had been a thriving hunting ground for centuries with thick vegetation providing the right habitat for wildlife. It is said that the Mughals and medieval aristocrats used to hunt for Nilgai and wild boar over here, in the jungles of Kalesar. It is also believed that the great Birbal, a courtier in the imperial court of Emperor Akbar belonged to these parts, from a village called Buria, a few kilometres out of Jagadhri!

Undoubtedly, this area is dripping with juices of history, only if we care to enjoy that sweet taste of heritage!

One interesting incidence happened in 1989, when I was working in the Christian Hospital. One of the newly qualified doctor from CMC, Ludhiana, Dr. Lovina Bhatti, was posted to our hospital in Jagadhri (she is now married with two children and working in UK as an eye surgeon).  She boarded a train in Ludhiana, headed for Jagadhri and got down at the station and took a rickshaw to go to her destination. Little did she realise that Jagadhri railway station is located in Yamuna Nagar and town called Jagadhri is far away. She wondered why it took so long for her to reach her destination. With a great laugh she narrated the whole story of her arrival in Jagadhri.

No Love Greater Than The Love Of Eating!

While in Mumbai, we thought of enjoying or indulging in some exotic food, and decided to go to the Britannia and Company, an Parsi-Iranian restaurant, located near New Custom House in the Ballard Estate area of South Mumbai. 

Founded in 1923, the restaurant has maintained its popularity over the decades. Though Britannia is not a very posh or sophisticated one, their clientele is quite modern and "up-to-date". The rush was quite unprecedented. Inside all the tables were fully occupied with a lot of noise, that excited conversation and friendly banter, as is the usual practice in such places. 

The manager noted our names and asked us to wait outside for the turn. On asking how long  it will take to get a table, we are told it could take upto one hour. As we were waiting outside, hungry people were scrutinising the menu card and trying to decide on what to eat when they got their tables inside, without  wasting any further time. The good thing was that the clients - tourists, office-goers and college-crowd, were waiting very patiently and were being called in as and when the tables were being vacated by the satiated customers. 

Despite being told that the waiting time would be an hour, we were able to gain entry in 25-30 minutes. 

The menu card is very specific and emphatic in certain instructions, like, "We do not serve beef or beef products; chicken and mutton served boneless; order once placed cannot be cancelled; take away parcels available; all bank holidays open, ten minutes to serve; credit/ debit / food coupons not accepted. Mode of payment; strictly cash INR."

An instruction worth mentioning was "please vacate your seat after receiving the bill and customers are requested to pay their bill to the waiter and please understand that others are waiting". 

It was quite evident and understandable that Britannia's intention is to improve the services and security of the clients. 

Another interesting instruction said "Any individual or article will be checked on suspicion." 

This instruction reminded me of the terrorist attacks on the German Bakery in Pune and the 26/11 attacks on  Cafe Leopold, including the Taj Mahal Hotel and the Trident Hotel in 2008. The sole reason for an attack being the heavy rush of the clients due to the popularity of these eating joints, hence an extra care and caution has to be kept in mind.

The restaurant is being efficiently managed by two octogenarian Parsi brothers - the Kohinoor brothers (again as Google told me). One of the brothers, Boman Kohinoor, kept moving around the tables talking to their patrons, ensuring that they were all well-served and returned back happy. 

All said and done, the food served is Parsi and Iranian. Our order was for chicken berry pulao, vegetarian  Dhansak, salli chicken, fresh lime soda, raspberry soda and caramel custard. In a few moments we were told that the kitchens had run out of vegetarian  Dhansak, so we opted for mutton berry pulao instead. 

The berry pulao served in Britannia is a variant of the popular Iranian dish - zereshk polow.

Our order was attended to within a reasonable time as promised. It was delicious no doubt. It is understood that the berries, known as Irani zeereshk berries, are purplish-red in colour and are especially imported from Iran. At home, I check out Google, which told me that the berries are barberries - a species called berberis vulgaris. The berries have unique medicinal properties to ward off certain diseases. 

The berry pulaos were especially delicious, not excessively oily or spicy, with unique blend sourness and sweetness that comes from the berries. We enjoyed the pulaos with raspberry soda - a very traditional Parsi drink, which is usually had on special occasions.

Indeed, the wait at Britannia was worthwhile, and justified its motto, "there is no love greater than the love of eating".

Journey To Liberated Uganda

The  fall of Kampala on  April 11, 1979, led to the ouster of dictator Idi Amin and his seeking refuge in Libya with his fanatic companion, Col. Gaddafi. Restoration of peaceful conditions in Uganda, made displaced people, like us, think of returning to Uganda. 

In the mid May, we started our journey for Kampala, along with two other vehicles - those of the Sehgal and Uppal families. Mrs. Murad, a Lecturer in the Zoology Department of Makerere University, along with her daughter and son accompanied us in our car. 

We thought of having a halt at Webuye with the Sachdev family, as it may be too tiring for the tiny baby - the two-week old Neelima. The Sehgal and Uppal families proceeded straight to Kampala. On our arrival at night in Webuye, we heard the sad news of Mr. Sachdev having lost his father in India. The family was in mourning. We were so sorry to learn that and offered  condolences. However we continued our journey next morning and reached the Uganda border. The stern soldiers guarding the border were greeted by Rajeev with jambo, habari , majuri and asanti sana. They were so amused having been greeted by a three year old child in Swahili, and waved us to proceed on without any check. That was the first welcome change for us.

We were still very cautious and careful , but the rest of the journey from Tororo to Kampala was uneventful and smooth. Travelling in your own car with the constant fear of your vehicle being snatched away at gun point had gone. Indeed a beautiful and  pleasant experience in those dreadful days soon after the  dethroning of murderous regime of Amin.

We entered Makerere University campus in the afternoon and soon met our neighbor Mr. Mugambe, a Lecture in Physics whom we had handed over the keys to our  flat before we left for Kenya.. He assured us that our flat was safe and most of the household effects had been shifted to his house for safe keeping to avoid looting by the unruly goons during the last days of Amin. It was a sheer delight to be back in our apartment with the goods intact courtesy Mr. Mugambe, and had a refreshing cup of tea  from them. We were very pleased with the noble gesture on the part of the Mugambe family having looked after the safety of our apartment in Quarry House. 

A few days later we  presented him with a wristwatch (procured from a duty free shop in Kampala), as a token of love for his kindness. He refused to accept it as he didn’t want the price for whatever he did for us. He relented on our explaining that we can not pay back for his generosity. It was just a small  token  of love on our part. He informed us that his wrist watch was taken away by soldiers sometime back. One can imagine our relief of finding our household intact as we had reposed faith in our Ugandan neighbours. On the contrary those of us who locked their houses and left, returned to find their houses  ransacked  and devastated. Such was the kindness of our Ugandan friends, like Mr. Mugambe, who would live forever in our hearts!

Years later in 2010, Neelima visited Kampala and happened to meet Mr. Mugambe - he was just same, he had hardly changed. We too look forward to meeting him and other friends, when we visit Kampala. God willing, that day should come soon!

After returning to Kampala, it was time for us to start our work in our respective places.  It was again a period of shortages in Uganda. We somehow managed to procure milk and foodstuff for kids  and ourselves.  During that trying period  we did our best to run the household and help our Ugandan friends as well wherever we could do. 

Neelima  and Rajeev were very  beautiful and sober kids and were growing up and learning things at a quick pace. As parents we did not face much difficulties in rearing them up. It was a beautiful  and rewarding  experience to cherish. In fact they were a great source of joy to us. 

We thank God Almighty for those little and unexpected joys!

Turmoil in Uganda, Ouster of Idi Amin & New Beginnings!

The beautiful country of Uganda was undergoing many upheavals under the murderous regime of Idi Amin and trouble was simmering underneath. Uganda was in a “State of Blood” – a term used by Henry Kyemba in his book on Uganda under Idi Amin, with the same title.

Outwardly, people were going about their businesses as usual and everything seemed to be normal. One could sense the deep-rooted disquiet and frustration amongst the populace going about mechanically with their duties in their places of work. Discussion on the prevailing situation at that time with anyone was fraught with the grave risk to their own lives as well as that of their kin. No one would venture to open their mouth to complain about all the problems one was confronted with in those hard times.

Breakdown in the civic amenities was very frequent. To get piped water on the first floor in our flat in Quarry House and elsewhere became a very constant problem. It was an exercise we had to undertake, almost every   morning, to fetch water from our neighbours on the ground floor for our daily needs. Our good and helpful Ugandan neighbours always offered their help in this daily ritual which went on for quite some time.

The Ugandans abroad, self-exiled, were organising themselves as one cohesive force. This was especially true on the southern front with the tacit support of Tanzania. They organised and collected their resources and formed a formidable group to stage a fight against the illicit regime of Idi Amin. Towards the end of 1978 and the advent of 1979, these rebels had gathered the determination, resources and the force to take on Amin. They mustered enough courage to move northwards and were bent upon liberating the country from the shackles of the dictatorial regime in Kampala. These forces galvanised under the command of well-organised leaders were firmly determined to uproot the callous and blood-thirsty forces of Amin. The stage was being set to overthrow the regime. The people of Uganda, fed up with the atrocities of Amin, were all for the rebels to remove the oppressor with force. The southern front became a hot-spot and these liberation soldiers entered from there and confronted the government forces loyal to Idi Amin. Casualties were bound to happen, but were limited as the government forces unwilling to fight, found themselves on the losing front - they were on the run and were retreating as the liberating forces advanced towards Masaka.

As the liberating forces advanced towards Masaka and later to Kampala, the government soldiers were retreating without putting up a fight. Unwilling to face them, these undisciplined soldiers started looting civilians, snatching their vehicles at gunpoint so that they could flee the battlefield and head home. The liberating forces were steadily and cautiously heading northwards. They were not hurrying so that there would be minimum casualties. They captured Masaka, and took time to reinforce and regroup themselves to march forward and for the final assault on Kampala, the seat of authority. In the process, Masaka suffered a lot. Most of the buildings in the town were destroyed including the hotel, Tropic Inn (which has been recently resurrected).

As the forces moved towards Kampala, we started hearing occasional gunshots on and off.  With these developments, tension started mounting amongst the civilians and the expatriates like us. Madanjeet Singh, our Indian High Commissioner in Kampala, became very active. He along with his staff took great personal risks in protecting Indian expatriates there. His First Secretary, Bhoj Raj, being on leave to India, Deepak Mishra, the Commercial Attache, gave a great helping hand in assisting him in his endeavours to evacuate Indians to safety. On March 29, 1979, the first convoy of Indians led by the Indian High Commissioner left Kampala. Some of us on the Makerere University campus decided to stay put in the safety of our homes there. Our reason for staying back in Kampala was simple: my wife, Meenakshi, was expecting our second child towards the end of April, and we were of the opinion that the long travel to Kenya under those circumstances won’t be without grave risks. We had somewhat decided in our minds to be ready for the emergency delivery at home, in case it was dangerous to  venture out,  even though Mulago Hospital was only 10 minutes drive from our residence.

As most of the Indians on the university campus and many others in the town had chosen to leave for a safe haven in peaceful Kenya, the few left behind on their own will, had very strange feelings of loneliness and were prone to the grave dangers looming large on the horizon. The next morning, High Commissioner Madanjeet Singh with his Indonesian wife, Kiki, and Mr. Mishra were there in Makerere to persuade the remaining Indians to leave. He talked to all of us and tried his best to convince us to leave for Kenya. He was very kind and offered to let Meenakshi travel in his official Mercedes, which would be much more comfortable than in our small Fiat 127. Meenakshi politely declined the generous offer for she wanted to travel with Rajeev and me in our own vehicle.

We had to pack all our valuables, emergency drugs, etc., to meet any eventuality on the way. The valuables included our passports, our degree certificates, clothes to be used for the coming baby, and just a few dollars equivalent of 80 Kenyan Shillings. As we left the campus for the High Commissioner’s residence in Kololo, we came across unruly and frustrated soldiers who were trying to grab vehicles at gunpoint in order to flee the scene of action. We had to accelerate in order to escape their attempts to loot. We got a sense of great relief after reaching the high commissioner’s residence. A Sri Lankan took a ride along with us.

As it happened, some Pakistanis, Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans also joined our convoy of  over  20 vehicles or so, led by the High Commissioner’s car with the Indian flag fluttering in front. The Pakistani and Bangladeshi missions did not care much for their citizens, while Sri Lanka which did not have a presence in Kampala had requested India to help. These nationals were allowed to join the convoys led by the Indian mission for evacuating the Indians to a safer destination. Hats off to our mission which undertook such a heroic task at grave personal risk and even extended the facility to others who wished to join. Imagine Pakistanis travelling under the Indian flag today? It would be sacrilege!

The convoy was stopped at various checkpoints manned by Amin’s soldiers who were told that the Indian mission in Kampala had organised the safe evacuation of its citizens to Kenya and hence the movement went unhindered to the border with Kenya. Indian High Commission officials based in Nairobi were there to take over the further march to Nairobi. We were given a warm welcome in the Kenyan territory and offered refreshments. Children like Rajeev were particularly jubilant to get Coke, a rare commodity in Kampala. There was a sigh of relief on safely crossing to the border.

I must mention that High Commissioner Madanjeet Singh recently wrote a book - Culture Of The Sepulchre, in which he elaborately documented some of the events of those times.

It was a sheer luck that one of my acquaintances, Mr. V.B. Sachdev, a chemical engineer working with the Pan African Paper Mills, a Birla Group concern in Webuye (formerly known as Broderick Falls), was there at the border looking for me. The convoy moved ahead to Webuye where a night halt was organised for all of us and food was served. A Hindi film, Charas, was shown to entertain us, so called ‘refugees’ from Uganda and divert our minds from the unpleasant events of Uganda.

The convoy was to leave the next day for Nairobi. Of course, we stayed back with the Sachdev family, who didn’t allow us to proceed further in that condition. It was here in Webuye that I removed the sutures on a lacerated wound that Rajeev had sustained over his chin about eight days earlier in Kampala when he dared to ride his tricycle on the stairs of Quarry House!

Again, it was here that we learnt of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s hanging in Pakistan. While we were there, we explored the possibility of the ensuing delivery in Kisumu Hospital, 60 kilometres away. It did not seem like a very safe proposition. After gratefully enjoying the hospitality of the Sachdev family for about two weeks, we decided to proceed to Nairobi for better medical facilities.

In Nairobi, we stayed with the Gill family, whose daughter, Pammi, was Meenakshi’s classmate in M.Sc. (Hons. School) at Panjab University, Chandigarh. Our first and foremost task was to register her with the nearby Aga Khan Hospital, which was close to their home at Parkland in Nairobi. Mrs. Gill, or Aunty as we called her, was away to London at that time because of a bereavement in the family there. Our stay there was quite peaceful.  Mrs. Sandhu, a neighbour and friend of the Gills, was a very helpful lady and took care of us in the absence of Aunty.

Our daughter, Neelima, was born on April 27, 1979, and there was a great relief and joy on the safe and normal delivery after so much of turmoil in our lives at that time. It is difficult to imagine how we surmounted all those problems coming one after the other, perhaps the Almighty God wanted it that way. That is why we could cross those hurdles easily with the grace of God.

And soon after that we were to return back to Kampala, as Uganda was in the throes of a new beginning after the regime change.

Tianjin - An Interesting Blend of Influences

Our journey to Tianjin earlier got postponed as we were not able to get the right reservation for the bullet train. This time we booked in time and boarded the 9 o’clock train from Beijing South Railway Station (Beijing Nan) to be there in time and have a good amount of time at our disposal to see various places of interest, and return home in the evening.

The railway platforms and booking counters in Beijing are well organised, spic and span and the young officials, mostly girls, are very efficient. The language barrier though does become a stumbling block in our interaction with them. Unlike India, one doesn’t have to struggle to board the train. The whole system of people getting off the train and others boarding is done quietly and efficiently so there is no panic on the platforms. 

The travel by a fast train, called bullet train was an experience worth enjoying. The train started exactly at 9 AM. Every 30 minutes there is a bullet train shuttling between Beijing  and Tianjin. It is very comfortable and the adjustable seats are just like those on planes. There are foot rests and folding tables, so you can comfortably work on your laptop, read or just relax during the journey. On both sides of the train above the seats there are shelves to neatly stow away bags. The washroom is spacious and surprisingly neat and clean. Everything in the washroom – from the door locking mechanism to the flush – is controlled by tiny buttons. 

In fact, the whole train is very tidy and very well maintained. The speed of the train and the temperature outside is constantly displayed on a screen in the compartment in both Mandarin and English. It is fascinating to see how the train gains speed within minutes. The temperature outside was varying between 14-16 degrees centigrade.

The train gradually gained speed and reached  a maximum of  293 km/hour. It didn’t exceed 300km/hour.  Sometime back it used to ply at 350 km/hour or more, but due to some mishap in the recent past, the speed was restricted to below 300km/ hour. Sitting in the train one is not conscious of the high speed as there are no jerky movements or high-decibel noise. Our journey of 80 km from Beijing South and Tianjin was accomplished in just about 35 minutes, and a very refreshing one.  One notable remark about the public toilets in Tianjin station is that these are not very hygienic. 

Tianjin, China’s third-largest city, is located to the east of Beijing near the coast. The streets of Tianjin are a curious blend of 19th century European architecture and ultra-modern steel and glass skyscrapers. China’s sudden economic rise is evident from Tianjin’s business district. Skyscrapers such as the 75-storeyed World Financial Center dominate the skyline. 

With rapid economic development changing the city’s skyline, the officials in Tianjin have had the foresight to protect the colonial structures in the city. We strolled around Wu Da Dao (loosely translated as Five Avenues), an area where different European communities lived in the 20th century and established their imprint with their own unique architecture styles. There are different sections where different foreigners used to live: Japanese, Russians, Americans, Austrians, British, Italians and Germans along the banks of the Hai River.

Chinese writer Feng Jicai, a Tianjin resident, once led a campaign to preserve the old city. He said: “Once a nation has lost its own culture, it faces a spiritual crisis more dreadful than that brought on by material poverty. If you regard a city as having a spirit, you will respect it, safeguard it, and cherish it. If you regard it as only matter, you will use it excessively, transform it at will, and damage it without regret.”

As we walked around Wu Da Dao, we came across a curious building which appeared to have been put together with broken pieces of porcelain, elegant vases and dinnerware. We stepped in out of curiosity. It turned out to be something called China House Museum. While the museum ticket says that it traces the history of porcelain (and it is covered by porcelain outside), the museum houses antique furniture. A collector named Zhang Lianzhi turned an old French-style building into this porcelain showcase. He has used more than 700 million porcelain pieces, porcelain vases and dishes, and a few stone sculptures.

Tianjin is also famous for a museum dedicated to Zhou En Lai, a contemporary of Jawaharlal Nehru. However we could not make it possible to visit the place. 

We had our fill of pasta and pizza in one of the Italian restaurants on the Italian Style Street is very interesting with its unique Italian architecture, food, plazas and fountains. You can even buy typical Italian curios like models of the Leaning Tower of Pisa right here in Tianjin! The local Chinese seem to be fun-loving people and they move about freely, shopping and enjoying a variety of cuisines, whereas we get restricted because of our food habits due to our cultural or religious beliefs. Interestingly, we saw three couples in their wedding finery (Western style) getting elaborate photo shoots done in the Italian Style Street.

We returned to Beijing in the evening. We got off the train and started taking photos alongside the bullet train. As soon as we got off the train, workers stepped in and rotated their chairs effortlessly towards Tianjin’s direction for the journey back! Outside the train, more workers started to quickly clean the train with large wet mops. We were very impressed to see how they maintain the train. This is in sharp contrast to the appalling conditions of our Indian Railways, one of the largest employers in the public sector. We have to pick quite a few lessons from the Chinese railway administration which is so efficiently managed. There is no shame in doing .that.

On the whole, it gave us immense satisfaction to have visited a new city of a different and interesting world altogether, not very far from us, so to say a the trip of lifetime for us!