I come back home completely tired but quite content and happy. I don't feel like cooking and so I decide to prepare some maggi (do you see that? I don't want to cook and so I cook maggi. Not I want to eat and so I cook maggi :) Growth I tell you!) and go for a walk later in the night.

Maggi is quite an interesting dish to cook - Actually, it's a lot like sex. You can eitherbe done with it in two minutes. Or if you are in the right mood, you can indulge in some foreplay (cut onions, chillies (and anything else you might find)), add more spice (like ginger, garlic paste) and make it more interesting than the bland original. Look at me talking :) I should write a book - I will call it Culinary algorithms for better performance or something like that - on whose cover I will be dressed in an apron and will be holding a frying pan. I am sure I will be a rage! After sometime, madisar mami-s in the neighbourhood will come home in the pretext of asking for a cup of sugar, to get some cooking tips from me and I will while away time by gossiping about daily soaps with them.

Oh my God! I should stop cooking.

When one walks through the Marketplatz next to Haupstrausse, crosses one of the oldest bridges over river Neckar (whose entrance is adorned with a lot of work. History has it that this was considered as an alternate entrance to the city), there is a narrow lane on the opposite side of the road that can be easily missed. At the end of that short lane begins the Schladenweg - It's a long, winding, uphill passageway - that is not too easy if you are averse to physical exertion, but is quite enjoyable. Parts of the passageway are dark, completely shut from the sun, while other parts have trees right on top which often drop fruits onto the passage way, fruits which in due course of time decay or are trampled beforehand intoxicating the air around with a strong and yet pleasant odour. At every turn, there's a way out of the tunnel into a small circular portico with a park bench right in the middle, that gives you a spectacular view of the famous heidelberg castle. The walk finally leads you to one of the most famous walks in heidelberg - The philosophenWeg (translated as the Philosopher's walk).

I went there last weekend, loved it so much that I went back again this weekend. The ideal place to start the walk will be on the other end (close to Bismarckplatz) because the way uphill is a trifle easier and once you reach the top, you are greeted by the well maintained philosopher's garden, an amazing place to sit with a book for hours, and enjoy the view of the whole city of heidelberg from there. Once you cross the garden, you find the walk fork into the upper philosophen weg and the lower one. It's when you take the lower one that you find the mouth of Schladenweg. The Upper one, Parmanu told me, was more interesting since it takes you right through the woods.

No book covers the question why this walk is called so - one obvious reason must be so many philosophers and poets have walked this way in the past, loved it so much and conceived thoughts and works of art at some point that I was walking past. There are inscriptions of poems, points named after philosophers all through the journey. But this isn't enough isn't it - an idle mind concocts much deeper analogies and hence these - The walk doesn't lead anywhere. You are not taking this walk to go from point A to B but because the walk in itself is the experience. At any point in time you can choose to turn around and walk back and the experience is still complete. Similarly, there is no one prescribed route - the upper and the lower philosophenwegs are complete on their own. Even as you take the upper philosophenweg, you see so many detours, forks where you make a choice and go along - there's no right or a wrong choice. All this is so much like the pursuit of truth (I will not insult your intellect by explaining them again). And the walk in itself is not sensational - there are no breathtaking views, no waterfalls, no steep slopes. You don't have to strain yourself to carefully watch every inch lest you should miss a rare breed of bird or an orchid flower. There's a sameness that is not boring, but is in a way wonderfully soothing, lets you lose your guard and leaves you undisturbed with your thoughts.

It was during this journey that I met Maria, a portugese philosophy student and an excellent conversationalist. Will write about her sometime soon.

Not that "Importance of being earnest" needed such an ambience. I loved the play and I am a great fan of Oscar wilde (one of the wittiest, funniest writers ever!). So, Watching a movie based on the play in english (I can't stand to watch a movie based on wilde's play in german!) with a cast as accomplished as Colin Firth, Reese witherspoon (and the other lady who was the queen in Shakespeare in love) was quite a treat. The movie is an ideal saturday movie. It is lazy, doesn't keep you hooked to the seat, is often funny and is sometimes outrightly stupid. You slip in and out of the movie, laugh for the right jokes and stare at the cinema's halls rest of the time :)

While watching the movie, I remembered that I had learnt the word perambulator for the first time while reading this play (It was part of our curriculum. I remember finding it utterly boring then!) - a very trivial detail but with it comes a truckload of memories of the school, the teacher and a very faint memory of having enacted the play in the classroom (was I jack worthing? I know two guys who can clarify that for me :)

I am here to see a movie. The movie starts at three but the cinema hall is closed. I ask the Sprakken-english-lady who's selling T-shirts next door whether the show is scheduled today and when the hall will open. Yes. The hall opens at three. And I am hungry.

Now, it is my humble opinion that in terms of culinary preferences, Indian tourists are of two kinds - the traditionalist and the neutralist. The traditionalist looks for the first indian restaurant as soon as he reaches a town (in heidelberg, it's in the end of the first right after the debitel show room) and devours only indian food even when he's in Timbukthu. On the other hand, the neutralist is the universal american dude traveler. He always has his pizza huts (haupstrasse), McDonalds (HaupBahnhoff), starbucks coffee shops where he settles with his mates and has aalo potato french fries. There are very few who would go to a place and try the local dishes (mostly due to vegetarian scares. but even otherwise too!).

So, in an effort to be more Ze-Zerman, I got into the first restaurant I could find. That turned out to be an Irish pub, where I had a chocolate croissant, capuccino and some swiss chocolates (Now, don't ask me how having a french breakfast, italian drink and swiss confectionary in an Irish outlet makes me more german. that's the way it works! I even gave my order in english!). I knew it wouldn't fill me completely - but I hate to conform to sterotypes you know.

Haupstrasse I think means main street. Haupstrasse is to germany, what M G road is to india. Every city has a haupstrasse. Even walldorf, the sleepy little town that I sleep in everyday, has a Haupstrasse. Heidelberg's Haupstrasse is a human sink - from all over the neighbourhood people take buses, trams and bikes and land here - it's like human waves from every direction rush and fizzle out in the shores of this street. You see chinese tourists with their micro mini digital cameras, Americans and their university sweatshirts, loud italian families, weekend shoppers, kids, youngsters and bored software engineers who have nothing better to do.

The streets got something for everybody. It's got buildings that are four centuries old. It's seen student protests, revolutions, housed poets, writers (mark twain among others), has theater halls, clock towers, godowns and universities. It's also got Irish pubs, coffee pubs, starbucks outlets, pizza huts, Espirit show rooms, book shops, bars, 1 euro shops, authentic pizzerias, movie halls (that show english movies too!) - you name it and you have it! If you walk far enough on the road, you will see the market area and an empty square that on summer evenings house a lot of visitors and a lot more beer. Beyond that that is a hill and a greenery that I haven't plodded yet.

And every once in a while, there're narrow lanes on the sides that lead you out to a corner pub that's housed students for no one knows how long, beyond the pubs is the river neckar and then the hills - but these spots are curiously deserted when compared to the tables outside the pubs and coffee houses.

Standing in a corner and watching people on this road is itself an experience. The women especially - No, I am not talking on behalf of my alternate brain between my legs. Men are monotonous - we have to admit. Though the meterosexual man with his manicured toe nails and dyed plaited hair is making serious progress, we are still a long way back. Women are treat to watch - they are a wonderful splash of colors, of style and costume. Every woman - be it a sixty year old lady tightly-bunned hair, a backpacking teenager, a fourteen year old, a pregnant woman or a mother of two - has a distinctive style and grace when she moves, a rehearsed nonchalance even when she throws her head to the side and gives you a coy smile. Every move has been tried and tested and is implemented perfectly. Watching them is like watching a professional actor, who is aware of a thousand eyes watching but can display an ease and a poise.

That's one good thing about europe - you have the time and lifestyle to stand and stare (without the jostling human crowd and the soot that settles under your eyes if you stay long enough in the roads of bangalore).

Sitting in an airport lounge waiting with passengers about to take a flight to the US is like a pressure cooker situation. The list of passengers in this flight is usually demographically well represented. You have old uncles and aunties ("my daughter has just given birth to a new child. Very sweet you know - she speaks in english in her second month"), toddlers (who can't stop wailing), and their recently americanized mothers - all of these people jam packed in a small room which doesn't provide any means of recreation or distraction. If you are not a book person, sooner or later you have to strike up a conversation with someone and as it happens, I am always beside some such person (And I love it!).

This time, it happened sooner than usual - even before I checked in my luggage. An old aunty caught up with me because she needed some help with her luggage. We soon got talking till during the immigration check (where they retained me for further questioning for about 15 minutes). Once I was "released", she inspected me with furtive glances for sometime and when she was convinced that I was not a terrorist or an anti-social element, she joined me in the adjacent seat.

What started after that was a riot - she was an amazing conversationalist. We talked (rather she talked and I listened) for three whole hours and not for a moment was I bored. The lady had problems with her spinal cord - So I helped her with her luggage, wheel chair and got her some stuff to eat. Everytime I do that, she will give me one of those soap opera looks and say, "you are just like Srini - my son Srini". (In order to convince her that I don't suffer from short term memory and don't need reminding everytime, I auto completed her every "srini" with "your son srini" from then on). Well she had enough time for her two generations long family story - but there are some killer "gotcha-s" that she had in her conversation that I HAVE TO reproduce. All of these are translated verbatim and my expression after each of these lines can be verbally best expressed as }$£%£~#';:@. Here goes

A (for aunty): Are you an iyer or an iyengar?

Me: No aunty. I am a malayali.

A: Oh. palaghat brahmin. ok.

(I agreed coz I was scared she would throw me out of the airport if she knew I was not a brahmin)

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A: You are exactly like my son.

Me: Thank you.

A: Just that he's a little more older, not so thin and is good looking.

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A: Who do you work for?

Me: SAP.

A: They were doing badly a couple of years before. how are they doing now?

Me: (Surprised) better. much better.

A: I know about all these software companies. I read all the business magazines. They are into database operating system right?

Me: (avoiding confrontation) yes and some more also.

A: Is it good operating system?

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A: Do you have a lot of friends?

Me: Not many aunty. know quite some people but not many friends.

(just then ~Y sends me a happy journey message)

A: What, you tell me you have no friends and people keep sending you messages. Why are you lying?

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A: Have you thought of marriage already?

Me: Too soon aunty. Probably about 28-29.

A: So you have already started thinking.

Me: Not me. My dad ...

A: Don't get married before 30. My son is 29 and he's not yet married.

Me: ok.

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A: I live in HAL second stage. is it a good area? (this is after "my son works in DSP. Is it a good field?". "You are also in lufthansa. is it a good flight?" ... germany ... bangalore airport ... )

Me: I don't know. I am quite new to bangalore.

A: No friends there, nothing?

Me: No.

A: Where do you live?

Me: Close to kempfort in airport road.

A: Oh, that's a very bad area. Two software engineers got killed only last week. are you careful when you are walking in the roads? don't roam around in the night too much.

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and lots more that I don't remember now.

But my favorite one was this -

"You know, when my son was in texas, I used to sit at home at read all those magazines on all those circuits. When my son came home with some problem, I used to solve it for him. Even my daughter is american first class. You know where all this comes from (shows herself) - Genes!" and winks.

Genes indeed.