Kofi Annan (1938 – 18th Aug 2018)
Kofi Annan a man,
not UNloved, no longer lives,
now history
Death of a statesman
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A poet of Gujarat
A famous poet from GUJARAT
Another excerpt from “Travels through Gujarat, Daman, and Diu“, soon to be published by Adam Yamey:
[In JUNAGADH]
We went from the station to a busy road that borders the eastern edge of an almost circular lake named in honour of Narsinh Mehta (1414-81). He was a poet of Gujarat, who is revered like a saint. Born in Talaja (near Bhavnagar), he moved to Junagadh, where he lived until just before he died (probably in the town of Mangrol). We had come here to reserve coach seats at the agency that specialised in journeys to our next destination. We had tiny cups of tea nearby, before visiting a remarkable building…
… Without being asked, our driver took us to another of Junagadh’s landmarks, the Narsinh Mehta Choro. This place is built on the site where, during the 15th century, the poet/saint Narsinh Mehta used to conduct bhajan…
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She found a strange object…
Barkly East (Barkly Oos in Afrikaans), South Africa 2003:
The museum curator met us. She gave me a list of the eleven Jews who had been buried in Barkly East’s cemetery. She told us that although Edelsteins was a smaller store, that it acted as a rival to Seligmann’s store. Mrs. Van Wyk related that the last Jewish family to live in Barkly East was the Bortz family. Lazer Bortz had come out of Russia to South Africa with his sister (? Or wife) and both had been employees of Seligmann’s before Lazer set up his own business, as a fuel (i.e. oil and coal) supplier. The business still exists, with new owners, under its original name of “L. Bortz” but the family has long left the town. They went to Bloemfontein. Lazer had a son. The curator used to teach him when he still lived in the town. She then asked for our assistance.
Long after the Bortz family had left Barkly East she noticed something attached their house – she prized it off the wall in order to keep it safe from vandals. She did not know what it was.
It was a mezuzah*, complete with its prayer scroll.
[ * These are always mounted on the right hand side of entrance doors in traditional Jewish homes]
Gallery haiku
A highway haiku
Clouds roam silently
above a noisier
western Wiltshire highway
I hope that you will also enjoy:
Books beneath a bridge
In AHMEDABAD (Gujarat, India), booksellers seek shade beneath a bridge!
Another excerpt from
“Travels in Gujarat, Daman, and Diu” by Adam Yamey
To be published very soon!
We were in Ahmedabad when…
… we passed the now disused Indian Picture House, a cinema, and reached the bridge that carries Gandhi Road over Tankshal.
The road beneath the bridge is lined with booksellers’ stalls piled high with textbooks.
There are also bookshops around the bridge in yards leading off Tankshal Road. Outside their premises, there are tables which are overflowing with books, new and used. These precarious piles of books reminded me of my favourite bookshop in Bangalore, Mr Shanbag’s Premier Bookshop, which closed some years ago. In that great establishment, only the foolhardy customer would risk creating an avalanche of books by attempting to extricate a book from the piles of volumes reaching from the floor to the high ceiling.
We visited Mahajan Book Depot, where we had…
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Three haikus
Two forts and a river, much Portuguese heritage: that is Daman.
Daman
Gujarat: land with colour, history, and warm personality.
Kutch Mandvi, Gujarat
Oh! Did you know Diu was once a colony of the Portuguese ?
The fort at Diu
To discover more, visit: https://gujarat-travels.com/
Explore Gujarat soon…
Good news!
Kutch Mandvi
I am awaiting the first proof copy of my new paperback “Travels through Gujarat, Daman, and Diu”. Soon, I will also upload a Kindle version of the book.
Baroda (Vadodara)
To whet your appetite, here is a list of places that get a mention in the book.
Junagadh
The places listed are where we managed to explore to a greater or lesser extent during our two-month long trip to this part of western India:
Nagoa Beach, Diu
Adalaj, Ahmedabad, Alang, Baroda (Varodara), Bhavnagar, Bhuj, Bombay, Borsad, Champaner, Daman, Devka Beach, Diu, Durgapur, Fudam, Godhra, Gondal, Halol, Jetpur, Jinalaya Temple, Junagadh, Kandla, Keshod, Khamabalida Caves, Kutch Mandvi, Nagoa Beach, Pavagadh, Porbandar, Rajkot, Rajula, Sandipani, Sanjan, Sarkhej, Sevasi, Sihor, Silvassa, Simbor, Somnath, Talaja, Udvada, Una, Vapi, Varodara (Baroda), Veraval, Virpur.
Sihor
Indian Independence Day
HAPPY INDIAN INDEPENDENCE DAY
Gandhi in Porbandar
On the 15th of August 1947, India won its independence from the British Empire. Independence was achieved through the efforts of many men and women in the Indian sub-continent. The best-known of these is a Gujarati born in Porbandar, MK Gandhi, later known as the Mahatma.
Hyderabad, 2012
At the precise instant when India became independent, moments after the 14th of August had ended, Gujarat was still divided into many so-called Princely States, and the small enclaves of Daman and Diu were still Portuguese colonies. Through the efforts of the Gujarati Sardar Vallabhai Patel, the more than 500 Princely States of India were ‘encouraged’ to give up their autonomy to become integrated into the newly independent India. Daman and Diu only became part of India in 1961.
Sardar Vallabhai Patel in Ahmedabad
Independence Day is celebrated throughout India. I have been in India several times…
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Alone in Cologne
A few years later during my first year at UCL, 1971, I decided to travel overland to Vienna and Lake Neusiedl which shares its waters between Austria and Hungary. I believe that the shallow waters of this lake shift between the two countries according to which way the wind is blowing. Sometimes more of the lake is in one country rather than the other, and at other times the situation is reversed. The border remains the same, but the lake moves. This trip was made before I had ever ventured into Soviet Russian controlled Eastern Europe and I wanted to look across the lake from Austria into a country which formed part of this.
I had decided to stop en route in various places including Wurzburg, Linz, Melk, Salzburg, and Munich.
I was planning to stay in youth hostels on the way.
My mother insisted that my first night in continental Europe should be spent in a proper hotel rather than a hostel.
I planned to stay that night in Cologne in West Germany, but in order to comply with my mother’s wish I had to find a hotel there. By that time, I already possessed a large collection of pre-WW1 Baedeker guidebooks; I was not so interested in up-to date guides. I consulted the volume that included Cologne and discovered that the guide recommended (before 1914) a centrally located ‘Dom Hotel’.
In the early 1970s, there was no internet to look up the hotel’s telephone number.
The International Directory Enquiries service revealed that not only did the hotel still exist but it also provided me with its ‘phone number. I booked a room from London. My mother’s instruction was that I should telephone her as soon as I arrived there to inform her that I had crossed the Channel safely.
When I stepped off the train in Cologne, I found that the hotel was a short walk from the Hauptbahnhof. As I climbed up the grand establishment’s front steps, I told a liveried hotel flunkey, who descended to meet me, that I had a reservation for the night. Hearing this, he asked me for my baggage. I unhitched my old rucksack – it had belonged to an uncle of mine for years before it became mine – and handed to him. He carried inside, holding it as gingerly as a squeamish person might hold a dead rat by the tip of its tail. This man was accustomed to carrying polished leather valises, but not tatty canvas rucksacks.
At considerable expense I made the obligatory telephone call to my mother in London. After that, I was not required to make any further contact with home and could stay wherever I wanted. It might seem from this that once my mother had received this call from Cologne, she could stop worrying about me. But, I bet that she continued to be anxious until I reappeared in London. The youth hostels where I stayed subsequently were a lot less comfortable than the Dom, but much more fun.
Text from “Charlie Chaplin Waved to Me” by Adam Yamey (Available from Amazon, lulu.com, bookdepository.com)
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