Best foot forward

The hosiery department in the city centre store is decorated with huge posters of Manhattan, depicting sky scrapers and concrete jungles.  The connection with legwear is a bit obtuse.  After all, ladies all over the world wear hosiery and not just in Manhattan.  Why should a Munich store adorn its walls with pics of Manhattan?  Why not calming, Alpine scenes?  Probably because The Other is what sells tights and socks.  The association with the Exotic gets us dipping into our purses to splash out on new tights.  Pictures of home are too mundane, too dull, too .... ordinary.  

I bet if you visit a New York department store you'll see posters of (OK, maybe not Munich) Paris and London.  Just the right thing to lend an air of chic, European elegance to a new packet of tights.

p.s. legs belong to someone else

The various and devious ways of railway managers

It is a rare and wondrous occasion when a suburban train arrives at the time stated in the timetable, and even more wondrous when it drops you at your destination when you expect it to.  I have abandoned my little timetable book at home; it seems a waste of time consulting it when the contents therein bear little connection to reality. 

I sense that administrators are becoming more duplicitous in how they present delays/cancellations to the travelling public.  For instance, if a train is cancelled the station announcer doesn't just come out and say "Sorry, people, the 13.00 is cancelled."  Instead he says "The 13.00 train will arrive 20 minutes late."  The thing is, however, that trains run every 20 minutes, so does that mean that at 13.20 two trains will arrive, the delayed 13.00 together with the punctual 13.20?  I think you know the answer to that question.

Another psychological trick is to unplug the departure board.  Here the great unknown is at play.  The only certain information you are given is which are the next two trains, and you know which one the first is because it's already standing right in front of you in the station.  Thanks a lot!  Will your desired train be arriving in the next twenty minutes?  Beats me!  Just stick around and wait a while.

Railway managers are skilled masters at redefining our concept of time.  The departure board boldly announces your train will arrive in one minute (an optimistic assumption, if ever I saw one).  That digit "1" stubbornly remains in place on the board for at least seven minutes - I know, I've timed it with my ordinary, quartz-operated wristwatch.  I am led to the conclusion that I must be stuck in a time warp in another dimension. 

Still, I wouldn't change places with London commuters at this particular point in time, what with the Olympics and all that.  I've read that Transport for London (what was wrong with the old name, London Transport?) is handing out pearls of wisdom for commuters stuck in a Tube station in the bowels of the city: if your train is late/delayed a good alternative is to walk.  Oh, how droll!  Let's all traipse home across the city to the counties.  I wonder how Boris will be getting around during the Games?

You can't judge a book by its cover. Oh, yes you can!

Many people who commute while away the interminable journey to and from work by reading.  Whether it's the daily newspaper or a paperback, most travellers have their noses stuck in a book.  Those not so literate, prefer the loud noises (I refuse to use the word 'music') emanating from their MP3s or perhaps a game of Solitaire or Pacman on their smartphones.  But this is material for another post.  I shall restrict myself today to readers.

I've noticed a growing number of book readers have started to cover their reading material either with a sheet of plain paper or one of these fancy fabric book covers, complete with ribbon bookmark.  Ostensibly, these serve to protect books as they get shoved into briefcases or pushed next to the lunchtime sandwiches in a rucksack.  But there is another reason why people cover their books: no one else can see the title of the book you are reading.  The first time I saw a covered book on the train, I assumed its owner was simply a bibliophile who didn't want to damage his book in transit.  After a few more sightings, however, I figured that readers didn't want others to know what they were reading.  The books covered looked like library books - grubby and dog-eared.  But why?  Were they ashamed of their reading matter?  Was it something smutty?  Radical?  Puerile?  A bodice-ripper?  

If you're anything like me, you can't help judging someone by the kinds of books he chooses.  You visit someone at their home or office and are shown into a room with a bookcase.  What is the first thing you do?  You walk over to examine the spines and draw immediate conclusions about their owner.  When you see that smart business lady/commuter engrossed in her Harry Potter paperback, then you very quickly revise your first impressions downwards.  She does well to cover her book.

I also read while travelling.  The frequent delays and disruptions on public transport these days mean I get through more reading while on the go than when at home!  Much to my surprise, I found myself covering my books as well.  I wasn't reading anything that I could be ashamed of - it was most likely something arcane and in English, and a bit of a challenge for my fellow German co-travellers (a bit of a challenge for me, too, now that I think of it).  I thought about why I had done this and thought perhaps I had been unfair and a tad hypocritical about the book-coverers I mentioned earlier.  I came to the conclusion that I cover my books in public because, quite frankly, it's none of their business to know what I'm reading.   With friends and acquaintances one can be quite open about literary preferences, but not with strangers on the station platform.  Maybe book choices fall into the same category as religion, politics and salaries; they are taboo subjects to be avoided.

It's a boy! It's a girl!

A friend of mine recently gave birth to her second a child, a daughter.  I wanted to send her a greeting card and a small present for the little girl.  The department store was packed with rows of cards that celebrate every conceivable life event and those for new arrivals took up a whole stand.  You could find a style to suit every taste: elegant, jokey cartoony, kitsch, sweet, retro.  I was spoilt for choice but still couldn't find one that said just what I wanted to say.  I was looking for a card that wasn't obviously 'girlish.'  In other words, one that wasn't awash with pink colours, pretty flowers or suchlike.  I wanted something more neutral, that wasn't redolent of gender stereotypes.  Could I find anything?  No!  I searched for ages and messed up the neat rows good and proper.  (I could hear an irate shop assistant huffing and puffing behind me as I undid all her organisation.  Buy, hey, I'm the customer and it's her job to tidy up shelves, right?)

In the end I had to compromise for a sort of pinkish composition with fluffy bunny rabbits but was disappointed with my choice.  Why are we forced to choose between the two extremes?  From day one, the boy/girl dichotomy is reinforced relentlessly, with no overlap or grey area in between.  It starts in the maternity ward when the nurse wraps the tiny ID bracelet around the infant's wrist: girls get a pink band and boys blue.  

Would it be so bad if we could find a greeting card in pale green, or lemon, or peach?  Why do toys have to be restricted to Bob the Builder or Barbie?  If parents buy articles for their unborn children in colours that are not blue or pink, they have to find a ready answer to the question: Don't you know the sex of your child?  And what can you answer today with the existence of ultrasound?

I'm not sure how most parents would react to gender-neutral gifts.  I suspect most would simply feel pleasure at receiving a gift, rather than peeved because of the colour/style.  This may also be helpful if we genuinely want to encourage our daughters to consider "typically male" jobs in engineering or science.  If a little girl always gets a Barbie doll and makeup at Christmas, then we have no right to complain when she shows no interest in technology and science.  If boys received toy kitchen sets as children then perhaps they might not be so averse to preparing lunch and ironing a few shirts now and again - even if there is a female relative/friend in the household.  I know that what I'm proposing here is pretty radical (to some ears); the macho types, who wish to perpetuate their kind, could accuse me of raising pansies and destroying the whole fabric of society as we know it.

As a footnote, the gift that I bought to welcome little Anna was a colourful picture book, complete with scrunchy, fabric pages that make a noise as you turn them.  I hope she gets the habit.

Brainwashed and ready to spend money

Many underground stations in Munich have screens on the walls above the train lines.  These show headline news, weather bulletins, fact of the day, Trivial Pursuit-type questions and other meaningful pieces of information you really need to know when away from home.  But everything comes at a price: if you want to learn whether it's raining or not above ground, you have to subject yourself to the ubiquitous adverts that also accompany the bulletins.  

It's highly interesting to observe commuters on the platforms while they are watching the screens.  (Sociologists could do a field study and gain valuable insights into urban, subterranean, behavioural practices of modern man/woman.)  Quite simply, passengers are mesmerised.  They congregate in pools in front of the screens (there are two or three along the platform) and simply stare in rapt silence at the moving pictures, irrelevant whether it's financial news or ads for an Indian takeaway.  Of course, the projection is silent; there isn't even music.  So there isn't any need for passengers/viewers to be quiet - it's not like they're watching Harry Potter at the pictures and have to be 'shhhh'ed.'  People are so transfixed by what they see that, in the interest of public safety, when a train is approaching, the screen turns black and a warning sign fills the void: "Attention!  Train arriving."  Otherwise it would be a big shock if a thundering underground train suddenly blocked off your view, and you'd feel a bit peeved, too, if you missed the answer to the previous Quiz of the Day question.  

Stations with projectors are so quiet: no one shouts on their iPhones, nor do people gossip loudly.  They are all too wrapped up in the show on the wall.  And here's the cherry on the cake for the advertisers - they have a willing and captive audience.  The travellers on the platform are stuck there until the train arrives (and if it's late, even better), they can't go anywhere and in order to relieve the monotony, they stare vapidly ahead of them.

For the transport company, it's a win-win situation:

1. Passengers are kept docile - they don't get all stroppy when their train is late.  They simply forget to look at the announcement board and don't notice how much time has passed.
2. Passengers are kept quiet - they don't wander up and down the platform, talking loudly and bumping into each other.  They wait silently, huddled together like a flock of sheep in a downpour.
3. Said transport company can rake in big bucks in advertising fees.  After all, we all know how crowded public transport is with potential customers.

Make no mistake, I do not condemn these passengers.  I am one of the crowd on the platform and many times have found myself similarly immobilised while waiting for a train.  The really savvy passengers make a beeline for the few empty seats that are situated right in front of the screens; they don't have to stand while viewing and its' a bit like being at the cinema.  I find it difficult to explain: just what is it about moving pictures that makes us immune to our surroundings and we forget time and place?

Time was when a train station was a place that enabled you travel from A to B.  Nowadays it's just one more marketing opportunity for companies to exploit.

Commuter chaos

The underground train arrives in the station and there is a mad scrum to get to the doors first.  Of course, travellers have to wait for passengers already on the train to exit first before they can get on, but if they are first in line at the door, then they stand a pretty good chance of getting one of the few vacant seats inside.  If it isn't your lucky day, then you have to complete your journey, in an upright position, squeezed between pushchairs, rucksacks and someone who's just consumed a particularly strong curry,

The train slows down and, in what resembles a game of reverse Russian roulette, you hope against all hope that one of the doors comes to a halt right where you are standing on the platform.  It's too crowded to go running after a door; you just have to hope Lady Luck is smiling on you today.  Eventually the train stops and all the passengers gravitate towards their nearest door.  But the doors in front of you don't open.  And even more peculiar, the area inside is devoid of crowds.  Why??? The other passengers up and down the platform disappear inside the train.  The platform clears.  The driver warns people over the loudspeaker to stand clear of the train. It's about to leave but you and a handful of fellow passengers still haven't boarded.  You desperately yank on the handle - repeatedly.  Nothing happens - repeatedly.  Why won't the damn door open?  A lucky traveller on the inside of the train gestures towards the glass separating you.  Can't the fool see that you're trying to open the door; why doesn't he help and open the door from the inside?  And then you see them: fluorescent yellow notices plastered all over the doors, at eye level so you can't miss them, and printed in big, red letters are the words "Out of Order."  And in case you are illiterate or don't speak the lingo, there is also a pictograph - it depicts a man trying to open a locked train door.  

Despite valiant attempts by rail workers, people still fail to notice these bright yellow signs.  There are so many pasted on the glass that they block out the light, yet people somehow don't notice them.  Do commuters walk around in such a hypnotised state that they literally do not notice what is staring them in the face?  Maybe they are totally brainwashed by mind-numbing, daily routine that they fail to register anything out of the ordinary that does not fit into their comforting, familiar practices.


The incidents are becoming more frequent (both broken doors and inattentive travellers) and I am at a loss to explain the phenomenon.

Lightness and Heaviness à la Kundera

Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being begins with an examination of the concept of eternal return.  Taking his example of the French Revolution, this event seems lightweight and devoid of its terror and bloodshed by virtue of the fact that it occurred only once and did not infinitely repeat itself.  If, however, the French had to endure another Robespierre every year then this would indeed be an onerous and frightening weight.  Over time, the Revolution has become an object for historical study, and the intervening years mean the abhorrent has lost its immediacy and terror.  Everything surrounding the Revolution is now touched by an “aura of nostalgia.”  (On the other hand, while we might not have an annual French Revolution happening, we do have equally bloody revolutions around the world occurring in our own time.  Perhaps these perpetual revolutions can be used to illustrate the maxim ‘history repeats itself’; it just depends how far and wide you want to stretch the term ‘history.’)

If we subscribe to the idea of eternal return then this colours our perspective of the past.  If an event is only going to occur once then we become nostalgic about such an event that, once gone, will never return.  And in doing so, we bring no judgement to bear on that event – we cannot condemn.

It is this idea of believing that we cannot “come to a verdict” about the past that I find challenging, but also disturbing.  We were not present during the historical era under examination and so do not have access to all the evidence (but then again, living through a historical event doesn’t qualify you as an expert either).  But this temporal distance should not make us shy of interrogating, analyzing and, if necessary, condemning.

The concept of eternal return does indeed affect our perspective of our existence in this world.  And it is all a matter of perspective.  The picture at the top of this post illustrates this better than I can explain.  The granite ball is unbearably heavy; no normal human can lift it unaided.  Water is light and trickles through our fingers.  Yet this lump of rock rolls around gracefully as if suspended in a vacuum and the water here does what no human can do.