Japan : Through the eyes of a maverick - Part one

I was told that I had to go to Japan, a month back. Glad I obviously was, but I wasn’t particularly keen on visiting a land which no one told me was interesting or exciting. The perception of the country that I had in my mind was that of a tiny and developed island with automatic (electric and electronic) everything. I visualised button eyed miniscule white geeks whose noses were on the brink of extinction. I was told that all they do is tinker with the keyboard for the whole day, with soldering nano-electronics under a microscope as their favourite pastime. The people who enlightened me about Japan as a country also revealed that producing those super fast machines needed a degree of clinical commitment, and while riding/driving them might be an interesting affair, the people responsible for producing them are extremely dull and boring.

Perceptions, however, are much different from the truths of this world, and I was soon to discover a parallel reality. All the apprehensions were to be melted into nothingness and I was soon to witness the most wonderful and the most remarkable human beings alive on planet earth. I realized that the idea of having a completely mechanised world with a human face is not a farce. I discovered that machines don’t essentially kill sentiments and electronics don’t have anything to do with the dignity of labour. It was an incredible universe out there, surreal, unrealistic and just too rosy to be true. It did exist though, and I found that a world which we Indians would so love to be a part of, maybe after some centuries, does exist in today’s date.

Here then, I have for you a phased description and visualization of whatever I got to see, live and experience. I’ll keep posting about the extraordinary things that I came across, and how it helped me grow astonishingly - both as an individual and as a professional in a mere span of six days. Hope you like and enjoy it…

A COUNTRY INTRODUCING ITSELF – THE PARADOX

Bangkok International Airport, Air-India’s flight lands onto the strip, the five over-enthusuastic Punjabi youngsters stand up and start taking down their luggage from the overhead luggage compartments, even as Captain Ranvir keeps requesting the passengers to not to do so. They are somewhat tired. It’s been an exhausting journey for them. They have drained themselves out of the last Joule of energy left in their bodies in making sure that every single person in the plane has pathetic stories to tell to his people about Indians once he reaches his own land. Lessons in indecency have been imparted to everyone aboard. Snide remarks in the loudest voice possible have been passed onto everyone who apparently didn’t understand Hindi and Punjabi. While the tiny Jap who sat beside them had to bear it all in his face, the two German girls who were sitting behind were lucky, as it was not so easy for the hunks to stand up, turn behind and bring some more shame to their country. They made sure that their journey was as adventurous as it ever could be, by doing (or at least trying to do) everything that was prohibited in the safety manual. They reclined their seats at take-off, used digital cameras and mobile phones at critical junctures, shouted aloud and argued with the air hostesses at the drop of a hat. Everyone else, however, maintained a dignified silence, while our Punjabi Mundas kept rocking the floor, stamping the seal of their machogiri over everyone else in the flight. An illiterate, derisive laugh for one of the lady officials at the Bangkok airport, and their job was done. They had clicked and distributed the dirtiest picture of their country across the world. They made sure that we Indians have even more problems in attaining Visas for any country and they are treated with even more disrespect the world over henceforth.

Bangkok International Airport : It's Thailand slightly disguised

The air-hostesses too, on their part were not to be left behind. From throwing the food (plates) onto the retractable table rather than serving it, to sneering upon the innocuous Indian guy who unknowingly stuck his leg out of his seat while being asleep. They even called him an idiot! These women acted like how the wife of a minister in the Central Cabinet would if told to serve passengers in an airline. Apparently, what they were doing was too demeaning for their high stature. Wonder why they chose this profession if they had such swollen egos. There was a clear hint of pretentiousness in that doctored smile. It appeared as if it was a veneer to shroud the contempt within, there wasn’t the slightest hint of friendliness or intent to assist. The passenger, on his end, doesn’t feel happy or content for being served, he instead feels guilty for corrupting the dignity of the noble ladies.

The facilities at the Bangkok International Airport are pretty much in line with the best in the world. Made me feel bad though, as we are a bigger economy and the government could definitely do better

I was so ashamed by the time I got off the plane that I can shamelessly admit now that I was. You could see the disappointment and anger in the eyes of the fellow passengers, especially foreigners, and you just have to admit that they’re properly justified in looking down upon us, since what has just happened is plain pitiful, simply pathetic.

From Bangkok, I had to change flight. JAL (Japan Airlines) flight 710 (I guess) was supposed to be the next plane for the rest of the journey. The transition in treatment and the level of professionalism was apparent from the very moment I presented my boarding pass to the personnel at the boarding gate. Genial smiles, thoroughly genuine, on the faces of people who actually, authentically want to assist you, make you feel comfortable from the very first moment.

A Boeing 747

A trijet plane with one of the jets on the tail at the Bangkok Inetrnational Airport

It was a technological shock that I withstood the moment I stepped into the plane, no, even before that actually. It was a Boeing 747 – and I hadn’t seen a moving piece of machinery so gargantuan in my entire life. Other planes like the one that carried me from Mumbai to Thailand lay scattered in the field around it like toys. Inside, it was expansive, tastefully lit, and equipped with features in the economy class which are absent in the business class of India’s national air-carrier. You could choose to watch a movie on the LCD screen from a list of around 300 choices, listen to a wide variety of songs, watch how the world looks like from the plane through an on board camera located outside, track your journey with detailed mapping, play games, use the remote as a phone, call the hostess, buy jewellery and do scores of other things. The plane that took me to Thailand, in contrast, just headphones to listen to music, the only glitch being, there wasn’t any music to listen to. These headphones were some sidey make with the cheap quality of materials easily perceptible – the ones on JAL flight, however, were SONY. Bewildering enough for a newbie like me.

You feel snugly cossetted and properly served in most international airliners. The picture is that of the economy class of JAL. IA and AI flights simply dont match up.

The route tracker : Outside temperature, altitude, distance, time, maps....you just have to ask for some info, and you have it at hand.

There was a dignified silence in the plane; except for the occasional, careful whispers, I couldn’t hear a word. There weren’t any naively amplified laughs or inconsiderately high decibel conversations. The air-hostesses kept visiting every ten minutes, repeatedly asking for how they could assist me. Even when they know very little or no English, the communication barrage never translates into the slightest hint of frown on their face. They’ll refuse to buzz off till the time they’ve made sure that you are happy and content. They’re young, pretty and polite - unlike the middle-aged, emotion-proof and almost deaf hostesses on Indian planes who more often than not appear to be sleepwalking. With the Japs, you could see that there is an intention to serve, an inherent urge to prove that the money that’s being paid to them is worth every Yen of it, unlike the Rupee that gets mercilessly wasted. You have an assortment of wines, beers, soft drinks, crackers, snacks and meals to choose from and the crew will insist you have it, to drive away any inhibitions that you might have breeding in your head.

While I prayed for the plane to land down as early as possible for the time I was in the AI carrier, I wanted the journey to last forever while being aboard the JAL aircraft. Honestly, had I been from a neutral country, I would have loathed India like a scary nightmare and would have vowed never to try set foot again in the country. I am so sorry and ashamed to say that, but that’s exactly the way I felt.

Airports are the face of a country – to a foreign traveller who’s on the airport only for transit, airports represents the whole of the nation; and this fact becomes so very palpable when you travel abroad. All the impressions about a country that a transit foreigner takes home have their roots connected with the airport in some way or the other. From the way the officials and the people behave with you to the cleanliness and the facilities, every single thing paints a picture of how good or bad you are as a nation. Going by that yardstick, the state of the Indian Airports is pathetic. The official at the customs told me to not to declare any possessions since it meant more trouble and work for him. He even sneered at me when I took a little long in filling the form. The security officers almost snatched the bag from my hand to check what was inside while the immigration officials seemed utterly uninterested and uneducated by the way they talked.

The road under the bridge that connects the airport with Hotel Amari Apartment. Tourists are insulated from the harsher realities.

A railway station under the same bridge.

Bangkok as a country-on the streets that is, might be as backward or as pathetic as India, but tourism is a big industry, and these guys have made sure that their airports at least are in line with the best in the world. The facilities are A-class and all the officers talk with you in a thoroughly professional and polite manner. On the streets it might be as nightmarish as our own country, but then, transit passengers are bound to take home a very good impression. Till the time I got out of the airport (which happened on my way back), even I had an immaculate impression about Thailand. Obviously, the airport was Thailand for me.

And this, my friends is Thailand on streets - looks much like India eh?

Talking of two-wheelers, Thailand is primarily a scooter and step-through market. These things look puny, but are packed with technology. For valved engines (which are yet to be seen in India) coupled with ultra-slim tyres mean that these puny-looking things go like a stink in a straight line!!!

Tokyo is leagues apart - an exponent of foolproof systemization. A miracle realized by man. More on it, however, in the next post…

Jaipur and its motoring Janta

If ‘Pulsarasm’ like orgasm­ - was a word in a dictionary, it surely would have meant ‘a state of mind where one strongly believes that anything in name of Splendor, Passion and Glamour is a mirage, a non-entity’. Sad that the word does not exist, it’s gladdening that the state of mind definitely does for some. You’ll find a thousand youngsters vrooming around in Jaipur streets, having defied their father’s insistence to go for a 100cc trundler and opting for a proper bike. People riding econo-misers are either uncles with punctured mouths having a set of dentures to puff things up, or they are the modern day 'Forrest Gumps' whose mom told them that ‘Life is like a Hero Honda CD 100, you should never expect anything above 80 Kmph or anything less that 70 Kmpl until you die’.

This common bunch of mortals also includes the relatively prosperous farmers belonging to rural areas around Jaipur who still don’t have a clue about what the word ‘motorcycle’ means. They simply want a ‘Hero Honda’ as a dowry-item for their son’s marriage. One must pay a visit to this small village called Bassi near Jaipur, where every bike is called Hero Honda irrespective of its make or size, and booking a Hero Honda on the engagement eve is simple indispensable.

Jokes apart, every bike has its own set of virtues and vices, but the youth of Jaipur has a great penchant for speed and power and bikes like the Pulsar have been instrumental in providing them with the required arsenal. However, I feel sorry for these youngsters who’re muddled in their mind as to what to do with this newfound passion of theirs. There’s nothing much on offer for the enthusiasts in the cty except some sidey biking clubs. All they do therefore is to twitch their way dangerously through the traffic at high speeds, or race around big round-abouts like the Statue Circle to land their own as well as other commuters’ life in serious jeopardy. An over-spirited exhibition of not-so-honed skills therefore often results in broken legs and busted heads.

Interestingly, helmets are a compulsion in Jaipur. However, young revolutionaries with pretty faces and bulging biceps have declared a war on the unjust governance which’s told them to put their lids on whenever they ride. They have transformed themselves into a band of outlaws who are on a mission against this barbaric government that has deprived them of showing their beautiful faces to the fairer sex. They don’t mind treading narrow, crowded, stinky and potholed streets, or hiding behind smoke spewing trucks and buses, or halting 200 meters before the red traffic light to beat the vigilant cops, but helmet is not to be worn. End of discussion. Shelling out a couple of hundred bucks to the policewallah or a trip to the local court is a price too low they pay to celebrate their freedom.

The streets in the city are well levelled and neatly finished. There isn’t much for the hardcore throttle-basher who likes to bend it like Rossi, but just step your foot out of the urban jungle and you come across a sidewinder of a snake in tarmac. Leave for New Delhi without taking the bypass and take the first left as soon as you start your ascent in the Amber valley. What you’ll come across is what we Jaipurites call ‘Motorcycling Nirvana’, a poem written in coal tar, sheer bliss for the two-wheeled petrol head.

The road to Nahargarh Fort

Start devouring this 9 km long feast and once you’re done, you are sure to be baffled for a couple of days about what was more fun - getting up, or rolling down. Riding an RD350, or Karizma or a Pulsar 180 on these yummy switchbacks is perhaps the most ecstatic experience that a middle-class motorhead may ever have. One needs to be born and brought up in the city to know what it feels like being with your friends on Nahargarh on a rainy day, with a bottle or two of beer. Jalmahal, the old palace surrounded by a beautiful lake, now reduced to rubbles, sets the picture right in the distance for you to savour the spirits in the best of err - spirits.

The JalMahal Palace

Though average performance bikes like Pulsars, Karizmas and Fieros are visible aplenty on city streets, absence of other big and classy bikes of global repute often leads to a sore heart. I still remember the chaos that ensued when the Yamaha Drag Star was launched in India and was put on display at one of the company’s showrooms. People wanted to get inside the showroom and have look at the bike, no matter whether there was space inside or not. For the week that the bike was on display, the staff at the showroom talked to thousands of ‘prospective customers’ who were interested in and admired the beautiful bike. The company, however didn’t manage to sell even a single machine. No wonder, I haven’t been able to spot anything worth description except a Honda CBR 1000 Fireblade, a couple of RD350s, some old BSAs, and a Harley Davidson Fatboy for the 22 years I have spent in the city. Sometimes, you may also come across the ‘Saahas’ guys riding their dirt bikes on road, but more or less, this is all the spectacular stuff that you get to see on two wheels.

Humdrum though, is not the only word that describes motoring in Jaipur. The moment your focus turns to four wheels from two, the state of affairs changes drastically. X -series or 7-series Beemers, Porsche 911 or Cayenne, S-class Mercs or astonishing Astons of yore - you name it and there’s a good chance that you might spot it. Once it gets late in the night and the cream of the city populace pours on to the city streets, it's time for all the car aficionados to draw their binoculars out and get ready. The stars from the sky step down to grace the roads in their respective exotics so as to tickle their taste buds at the famous paan-joints of the conurbation. You could have a look at these beauties which otherwise are seen in motion only on TV or in car flicks. You may pose against them or perhaps even touch them if the owner doesn’t have a problem. Besides, don’t be too surprised if you spot one of the paanwalas stepping out from one of those exotics. Known for having varieties of paans that may cost as much as a thousand bucks apiece, these Paan shop owners are no less opulent than their customers.

Talk about cars, and the city doesn’t stutter behind anywhere. Several times in the year, the rich collection of city’s vintage and classic cars is exhibited to present a grand salute to the old times. From Studebakers to Buicks to the grand old grannies of modern day Mercs, you’ll find most of those gracefully aged beauties that you ever wanted to see. All of them in an immaculate state of being. And when these cars line up to pose against historical monuments like the Albert hall museum, the hearts of people like me start pounding with pride and respect for this royal, classic, opulent and yet so humble city called Jaipur.


The Albert Hall Museum

S for Smitten

The E-Class, the Audi A4 and the C-class - luxurious, expensive and feature packed. Known to be good cars, all of them. It’s a different experience they say to get your hands behind the wheel of one of them. My personal thoughts were different though. A drive in a ubiquitous Honda City VTEC was as fortifying, both as a driver and a passenger, as it was in a much coveted and hyped Audi A4 - perhaps even more as a driver. As a passenger too, I never felt too cocooned for hefty price tags of the luxo-barges to be justified.

I therefore had my own set of apprehensions before I entered the so called ‘best car in the world’. I gave it a good look all around. I figured that it’s enormous, but it’s moulded in such a manner that it very subtly conceals the fact till the time you get really close. As I got in and dug myself into the wide, plush, perforated beige leather seats, I wasn’t expecting anything out of the world. I had been betrayed by the Germans a couple of times earlier, and I wasn’t to be trapped this time around.

Look at the central console and you won’t witness a thing that shouts aloud of being a part of a car that spells opulence. It’s plain, simple, uncluttered – neat and sophisticated. There is an element of class, grace and dignity about it. While the dashes and central consoles of all the other ‘Classes’ and the ‘4s’ and the ‘6s’ of the world have the maximum possible buttons peppered liberally onto them, this one scares you. For once you start thinking whether you have been fooled, as there barely are any buttons. The central console comprises only of a big screen with a row of 9 silver coloured buttons under it with a round knob protruding under the armrest. That’s it. Genuine hand-stitched leather over the instrumentation cluster blends seamlessly with every other component of the interiors. It’s an airy, comfortable, friendly place to be in which lets you breathe. It’s very unlike the wannabes which attempt to match up in vain, ending up intimidating you. You don’t have to be scared before you press a button just because you are sitting in the world’s best car. The technology is there, and it works in the most understated manner possible. You don’t have to press any buttons since most things get to work automatically when required, you just have to sit back and enjoy your lucky self. The gates will be sucked in, if you forgot to close them in properly with a thud, the vipers will get to work the moment the first drop of rain hits the windscreen, head lights will turn on by themselves much before it actually gets dark enough to get dangerous to drive.

When you buy an S-class, you don’t have to worry about the features. If there’s a critical safety or stability feature, you just know that it’s installed somewhere under the bonnet, between the door walls, below the floor or somewhere in the boot. It’s equipped with electric everything - from the moonroof to the rear window blinds to the RVMs to everything that needs to be that way. The OE list of this car is as liberal and contemporary as it gets, and if you want to have a peek into the future, you have an endless list of incredible options to both amaze and impoverish you. In a nutshell, there doesn’t remain any ambiguity about the fact that the future of the automobile starts from the options list of the Mercedes Benz S-class.

The S-class, as I reckon then is a class act. It won’t ever try to impress you from the moment you get in - it rather grows onto you - slowly and delicately. From the air suspension that cuts you off entirely from the jarring realities of the world, to the wide, supremely comfortable seats which can be warmed or cooled at your will, to the amazingly easy to operate COMAND (Cockpit Management and Navigation Display) system that needs you to be just English-literate to operate it, this car cossets you, pampers you, spoils you without you having to ask for it. It gives you a reason to fall in love with it every time you demand something of it.

While I had my own set of apprehensions while I got in the car, I was completely smitten by the time I stepped out. The hair on my arms bristled up for the first time in my one-year stint as a motoring journo. There isn’t an atom of doubt in my mind that if I had the money, this would be the car that I would buy for a day when I was not in a mood or situation to drive - for there couldn’t be a better place to be in on four wheels for the money.