London I

I stood between platforms nine and ten in indecision. Piled in front of the barrier was rubble from the ongoing renovation work. The platforms were overcrowded by work men and women in blue uniforms and yellow helmets and the regular evening commuters. There was no way to get pass all those muggle eyes and get onto platform 9 3/4.

When Priyam told me that the way to get to her place was to take the train from London's Luton airport to King's Cross station, I swear my heart gave a loud whoop and jumped up and down a couple of times. For King's cross is where it all begins, where awaits the gleaming red steam engine of the Hogwarts express, that will wind its way into the hidden world of magic, often more real for us 'Pottermaniacs' than the world we (seemingly) occupy.

That was how the two wonderful days in London began- From a train ride from Luton to King's Cross, across the gently rolling pastel green grasslands interspersed with small clusters of trees and houses with conical roof tops that slowly gave way to the noises and grayness of the city. It was an unexpected trip. The cheapest airfares allowed me to stop over for a day each in London en route Guernsey and back with Priyam. Priyam is a great friend from Delhi and now a research scholar at SOAS. And unlike the usual cold walls of unfamiliar hostel dorms, Priyam's boarding house was home. She catered my nostalgia with flavorful dishes of dal, sambhar, rice and chicken curry.

I walked my two days through the streets of London, twisting and turning the map in my hand to figure out where I was and pausing to look at at the red telephone booths or at another familiar Potter landmark like the 'Tottenham Court Road'. The best way to know a city is to walk it. Many a times, for lack of time, I had to resort to 'hop on hop off' tour buses, but then there is a lot that you miss. Like the way you stumble upon the magnificent view of the Palace of Westminister across the Thames, framed by the vast blue sky and rain clouds. Or the bustle of activity at the Jubilee gardens, where for a moment you could get away from the crowd and recline on the slightly wet grass, listening to the clear voices of the two girls in cow boy hats singing "Knocking on heaven's door"

Street performers and way side vendors throng the banks of Thames in the evenings. Passers by gather around for a minute or two at the novel sight of an old man making immense soap bubbles or at the energetic dance performance of a lad in tailcoat with his puppet partner. I have never been to a place as multicultural as London. Among the many sari clad ladies and sign boards of Chowpathi beach food it is impossible to feel out of place.

When the girls stopped singing I got up and walked on to and around the West Minister Abbey admiring the Gothic exterior and the Palace of Westminister. Jovial palace guards posed with tourists at the closed entrance. Alas, it was already too late to enter.As I turned back the Big Ben rang eight drowning the voices of street side gamblers on the west ministers bridge trying their luck on a simple game of Thimblerig.
(cont...)