Greece lightning!

<div class="section1"><div class="Normal"><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">You can count on mausi Sheila Dikshit to do the unusual — have you ever heard of anybody kissing the Olympic Torch? No? Well, put that down as a first, then. I do hope Ms Dikshit did not singe her tongue, and I don’t have to bite my own. With the hoopla in Athens just a few weeks away, I was pretty sure I’d catch the fever when I landed in the brand new airport a few days ago.</span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">The very voluble minder escorting my family, pointed to all the amazing developments in the car park and beyond. ‘‘We have to show the world our best face,’’ she burbled. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">The same afternoon, a distinctly-disgruntled cabbie grumbled, ‘‘What real good will all this do for us?’’ He had just finished bitching about a state of the art stadium roof that is being billed as the priciest dome on earth:‘‘Once the games are over, taxes will go up and we, the people of Greece, will have to foot the bill for all this so-called progress.’’ </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">He was anti the EU and with good reason. ‘‘Life has become far more expensive now. I don’t like the new currency — the Euro does not match our economy.’’ I wondered whether it would be a good idea to invite him as an expert on P Chidambaram’s panel since I liked his down-to-basics approach. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">We raced past futuristic stadia, some complete, others not even half way there. Hastily-planted trees along sweeping motorways, looked like sad, amputated limbs. Locals seemed far from enthused. ‘‘Traffic in Athens is always awful. During the Olympics, it will become chaotic. Prices of everything will shoot up. And what’s worse, we’ll have to smile through it all since the world will be watching.’’ The more I heard, the funnier it sounded. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">Because it was so darned familiar. I could as well have been in India, sitting in on Sunil Dutt’s special committee or overhearing Suresh Kalmadi’s team members whingeing. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">Surveying the magnificent city of Athens from the Acropolis, I began to feel a little like Brad Pitt in Troy. Unlike the yummy American actor who plays Achilles, I wasn’t wearing a sequined leather skirt (I leave that to gorgeous Hollywood hunks with great legs), but was feeling sufficiently moved by the startling beauty of the ruins. Athens has its Parthenon. Good for Athens. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">But we, in India, have a dozen or more, equally overwhelming treasures. What have we done with them? Very little. Showcasing heritage in a modern context, and converting history into commerce is something we require to take a crash course in. And I strongly recommend learning from the Greeks. For instance, we drove up, up and up an arduous mountain road which was treacherous and deserted. At the end of the exercise, what did we find? A few chipped blocks of stone strewn over a craggy moonscape — Ancient Thiera, indeed! And so it went, from Mykonos to Santorini — hot springs, dormant volcanoes, abandoned monasteries, dilapidated churches, ruined temples. Very impressive for those with no real cultural reference points to fall back on. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">But us? Why, even our Goan and Kerala beaches with golden sand and warm waters are far more inviting than the inky but mercilessly cold Aegean Sea. Does the average international tourist know that? No way. We haven’t packaged ourselves as cleverly as the Greeks. I don’t grudge them that advantage — I envy it. </span><br /><br /><span style="" font-family:="" arial="" font-size:="">From our mountain-top hotel in Santorini, I looked across the sea at a nearby island that seemed in permanent darkness every night. A local explained, ‘‘No electricity. No real roads. If you want to go there, I can arrange a donkey.’’ I thanked him and said, ‘‘I’d pass. Let the games begin! And um, err...may I kiss the torch, too?’’</span></div> </div>