Rainbows in the Moonlight

POSTCARDS FROM ITALY

UMBRELLAS THAT LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

Of all the words that I wouldn't have expected to find in the title of a rip-roaring pop-hit (or the topic of a blog-post), 'umbrella' would be pretty high up in the list. And when I first heard Rihanna's Umbrella I was mightily unimpressed. I found it slow and difficult to dance to...I found the ella-ella-ellaing in the song juvenile and irritating...and I didn't really know much about the singer (Rihanna) or her previous work.

And then, on an aimless melancholia-fueled drive through a fogged-up Presidio one cold September night, I heard the song play out on Energy (my favourite FM station here). There's something wonderfully isolating and peaceful about the Presidio at night. For those who don't know, the Presidio is a densely cypress-populated oasis of greenery that occupies a generous patch of ground between San Francsico and the Golden Gate. It was once an army base with pretty military style bungalows that now rent out for as much as $30k per month. With many more trees than houses, its a great neighbourhood to drive through when one is looking to get away from the bustle of the city without crossing water.

I bring up the Presidio because, I think it was its quiet, deepened by the fog that allowed me to focus on Rihanna's tone rather than the lyrics...I heard the way she belted out the lines - starting with a slight dip right at the beginning before letting her voice rise through the rest of the line and then leaving it hanging at the top of a crest without letting it actually fall...as if she were letting the words float away from her. Somehow the way the lines were sung, made the rather simplistic lyrics and the promise embedded in them ("You have my heart...And we'll never be worlds apart) feel more sincere, more real. Hooked, I downloaded the song and listened to it more attentively - discovering that what had irritated earlier turned out to be disarming with repetition - awkward lyrics, genius-like sing-along chorus, the warm-welcome -on-a-rainy-night of the last lines "Its Pouring Rain, You can always come into me".

A convert to the song's fanbase since then, I've spent many a happy night chorusing "ella, ella, ella" along with friends in clubs, at house parties and on the streets after last call. In fact its a great yard-stick to judge new-found friends by - if someone can sing-along to Umbrella in public, I'm almost certain I've found a kindred spirit. At least on one occasion the song might have served as a kind of mating call ;) . I now think that the "ella-ing" in the song was a stroke of pop-genius...that assured the song a kind of cult status - so much so that even stodgy old Time magazine rated it in the Top 10 songs of the year (Hmm...Actually thats almost a negative in some ways).

I also think that it was because Rihanna opened my senses to the secret possibilities of the 'umble umbrella that on my second day in Rome - a cold, blustery, miserable wet one - I was able to keep my spirits up...despite the dreary weather and an aching knee injury. That day, I'd planned to see both the Vatican and the Roman ruins around the Colosseum. This being Italy, both the subway and the cabs were on strike...so walking was the only way to see the sights. Hobbled by my knee and distracted by bad weather, good cappuccino, souvenir hunting opportunities and running-group friends with less ambitious sight-seeing plans, I made very little progress.

By six I'd written the day off and decided to check out the Trevi Fountain and then call it a night. It was at the Fountain where I first noticed the quiet riot of colours that the streets had become as the persistent rain forced people to open up their umbrellas. There were hordes of tourists and locals at the Fountain and most carried umbrellas. Almost to the last one, the umbrellas had been dyed in bright solid single colours - that stood out in the rapidly darkening streets. This wasn't like Mumbai or London or even San Francisco - where the rain brings out a funereal procession of black umbrellas. Rome's streets looked like someone had shredded a rainbow and sent its pieces chaotically winding their way through them. Orange, taxicab yellow, red, mauve, blue, lemon green, olive green etc etc - an umbrella of a different colour swirled into sight every other second and then streaked away - running after that over-loaded public bus that was probably the only way its owner had of getting home that night. There were some patterned, multi-coloured umbrellas but too few to distract from the luminous tableau created by the single-toned ones. Such a simple way to brighten up a bad weather day. Its a wonder other cities haven't thought of it!

All jazzed up by the unexpected Technicolour high, I snapped a lot of blurred umbrella pictures with my phone and went back to the hotel - happy to have seen a Roman sight that I hadn't planned on or read about in the guide books.

Reading Escalators

I have a theory. One that I’ve validated by my time-tested method of making sweeping generalizations based on anecdotal data and unscientific sample sizes. That method was last used with great effectiveness with my theory on tattoos and marrying men.

I think that you can tell the pace of life in a city or country from the speed of their escalators. The most reliable predictors are escalators in the public transport network – the ones in airports and railway stations. In department stores and corporate buildings, escalator speeds can be influenced by the organization’s dynamism and therefore create noise in the sample set. I take special note of the escalator speeds every time I go to a new city. Come to think of it, it might even be verging on a scientific sample size by now. Because thanks to my itinerant work I’ve been able to build up quite a large set of data points.

In New York the escalators move at speeds that would get you speeding tickets in Billings, Montana (Full disclosure – I’ve never been to Montana so I could be wrong about this). In Paris, they move at a leisurely pace meant to ensure lovers - or even plain strangers who’ve just bumped into each other - get at least a few minutes of passionate kissing in, before its time to walk again. In London, if they work, it’s a brisk professional pace much as it is in Bombay, though both are slower than NYC’s. Escalators are zippy in Taipei and in Tokyo and slow down in balmy Barcelona.

In Rome, where I got my latest proof-point, it was clear from the escalators at the airport, that this is a country that likes its siesta. Jet-lagged and exhausted by your 24 hour multiple-stop trip? Exhausted by a late night spent partying? Hell, just clamber aboard an escalator in Rome and get a power nap while it oozes – umm rolls - towards its destination. I'm pretty sure the cartoon on the left was thought up by a manic depressive denizen of Rome.

OK, I exaggerate. Escalators in Rome will get you to where you need to go in a shorter time than walking. Just about. But hey, whats the hurry – Take time to smell the flowers. Or, if you’re on an escalator in the airport, to read the billboards slowly sliding by. Who knows they might actually tell you something useful.

No such luck in Rome though. The billboards spaces were all blank.

So I read a book instead.

PS: It’s the latest piece of non-fiction by Tom Brokaw – called Boom! – about the sixties. Its Pretty Darn Good.