Guest Articles >> C for Confusion, C for Chaos, C for Coventry
Author: Krishnan Ganesan
This is what I kept thinking for almost a month. All I could C was myself being drowned in a C of thoughts.
It all started in the winter of Dec 11th when I left for London with a heavy heart topped with a tinge of excitement. I was on my way to United Kingdom and I never paid any heed to the nonplus future ahead of me. The flight was good, and as for the air hostess they were good too, drinks were there, movies, and music, now you might be thinking what else does a 23 year old guy need in life? I got news for you - Stop Thinking and Start Living.
The moment of truth had arrived finally. Touchdown was at 18:30 hrs. Finished my regular grilling of - how long are you going to stay sir? May I have your address please? Do you know poodles are not allowed in Plane? After furnishing adequate information which was asked by the polite officer behind the desk - right, let me put it this way the officer behind the desk was a good looking woman - now you know why I patiently answered all her questions. When I gingerly went on to collect my baggage, I followed a bunch of nonplussed wearied passengers to finally reach the gate, I could see my green suitcase slowly turning around a bend on the conveyer belt. The first thing I noticed was "Where on earth is the handle? I remember having one when I left Mumbai!!". The cargo handlers had damaged my luggage. Now I gotta carry this bag which weighed a back breaking 18kgs . As the cliché goes ‘No Pain No Gain'.. Wait a minute, what am I gaining here? I needed to contact somebody.
I immediately went to the office of the airliner, explained to them the situation and promptly flashed the damage they had caused to my suitcase, which was lent to me by a dear friend of mine. Without any further question, they compensated (Out of pity I guess.. my face was so bloody pale they almost decided to paint it with a better color) me with £50 and a coke. Now I needed to find my own way to Hammersmith, it was suggested to me that I should take a Tube (in Mumbai it's a train in London it's a Tube and in Tibet it's a Lama!!) from Heathrow to Hammersmith. I went ahead to take the Tube equipped with - a Map, a broken suitcase, a water bottle and not to mention a desolated piece of grey matter supported by my shoulders (my head).
On my way out I bumped into this guy who asked me whether I was 'Michael Hamilton'? All I wanted to ask him was 'Do I look like Michael Hamilton'? It seems he had a ginger beard. I went up-close to him and asked him if he could find what he was looking for in 'Michael Hamilton'. This was the moment when I lost my nerves. I was tired, my baggage was damaged and upon that I'm being confronted by a guy with a mistaken identity.. what else can I ask for ?
I burrowed my way to the Underground and got into the Tube (at least something went right). My next stop was Hammersmith. As I sat there contemplating, there was an unequivocal air about the emptiness around me I was unable to stop myself thinking about what's going to happen next? This question never left me it kept taunting me time and again. At last Hammersmith.
I took my broken baggage waiting for my next phase of development to take a distinct shape. Now I needed to find this hotel Novotel. Frankly speaking I was a bit sceptical about asking directions coz I know how directions are given back in our country and I didn't know how this is going to be like in London. So I cautiously approached this lethargic looking guy leaning against a wall, told him where I need to go and he immediately sprung to his feet walked 2-3 phases and pointed towards a building which read ‘NOVOTEL' gave me a wink and said ‘there you go mate'. I thanked him and headed towards the Hotel.
With big strides I walked towards the reception. I needed to hit the sack early . I went up to the front desk and asked for reservation made against my name and to my utter stupefaction the lady behind the desk said there was no reservations made on my name. I asked her to try again but it was unavailing. Then my grey cells were back at work. I took out my ID card and asked her to type the name as shown in the card, now the catch here is they had made a reservation on my last name (which I didn't realize), the moment she got my name right, she said "Sir, You have a message". First they couldn't find my name, once they got me on the screen, I have a message "Can Somebody tell me what's happening here?"
12th December
I couldn't find the office previous night. I had ventured out to find where the office was and as predicted I froze my gut out, lost my way, and I needed to free out something which in India can be done anywhere at any point of time. I reached the hotel and called it a day.
Coming back to office. This security officer refused to allow me since I didn't have a swipe card. Now I needed to do what I'm good at. I sold him scrap which he gladly accepted and allowed my to pass through. With a sigh of relief I went ahead. When I reached the 2nd floor I realised I needed a card to get into the office. Since it was 9:30 am there were hardly anyone around, I went to the 3rd floor knocked on the door, waited for a while then gave two loud thumps with all my might, then a figure appeared on the other side and opened the door.
13th December
Coventry - the calm, serene, picturesque country side (phew !!!). The moment I got out of the train, I felt the chill run down to my spine. It was cold, very very cold. I reached office by around 1:00 pm and by the time I got into the office my ears, nose and which ever part of the body was exposed to cold had become numb. I couldn't speak properly either.
I went on to the famous drill "Let me introduce you to some people". After the introductory escapades we went for lunch, well on our way to the canteen there was this guy who raised a question. He asked "so Krish, why are you shaking man? You feelin' cold?". Now of course it was cold and he can see it and feel like. Inside, I wanted to scream out loud saying "Who do you think I'm, a Polar Bear?'. But outside I politely told him "Yes it's cold compared to place I come from" (In Mumbai we have only one season right?… Sweat!!)
Coming back to Coventry, this place is an hour's drive from London. It is in the Midlands. This place was severely damaged after a bombing raid back in the WWII by the Nazi's. (Why can't someone bomb it now??) This place has no significant tourist attraction except for Marconi office.
I'm still in the Cowentry (the reason I have renamed this place is so far I have seen more of Cows than anything else) still reaping the hay. I cannot write anymore. The more I write the more I feel myself being engulfed in an ever raging fire of patriotic temperament, I don't want to compare my country to this….
One thing I have felt is that ALL THAT GLITTERS AIN'T GOLD.