Every day in the morning, at around eight, while I made my way to the Convention Centre, all these four days, slowly and casually, covering the almost 1 km distance in about 15 minutes, with rain laden air enough to make my eye glasses misty, I used to stop by momentarily to ponder at the three or four small groups of people — may be families, huddled together in open air, just across the Convention Centre on the corner of the Viger street. Further stretch could almost tear apart their old, clumsy, blankets. This was apparently their only means to cover and protect themselves, from the chilly, rainy weather. These were the homeless, living out in the open with no place to go even during the nights, so I presumed. They slept — if they could — in open, despite the chill in the air. All their worldly possessions seemed to be either on a small grocery cart or on a backpack lying near by. In the existing situation, how they survive was something beyond my imagination. Life though moves on even for these homeless in the otherwise affluent Canada — which otherwise boasts of one of the best social security systems.
Interestingly, no international gathering these days could be without its share of protests. Such protest marches have become an integral part of global congregations — with little exception. Montreal was no exception — although not to the extent it was witnessed in Toronto during the G20 summit in June earlier this year.
Hundreds of protesters gathered in downtown Montreal Sunday on the first day of the World Energy Congress. These included members of Greenpeace, covering themselves in a sticky brown substance that bore a striking resemblance to crude but was actually molasses, who stood shoulder to shoulder and hoisted huge banners that read, “Too dirty, too risky. Go beyond oil” and “No to shale gas.”
One of the protestors also carried a young child, also covered in molasses, despite the wailing, crying and the protests of the toddler. That was too much for him and it was apparent he was not there out of his own free will.
Now this episode has brought to fore an interesting debate here. LorraineH says the man who had his little son with covered with molasses should be sued up on child endangerment charges. First it was much too cold for a child that small to be without a shirt, never mind a jacket. Second, the child was crying and clearly did not want the molasses on him but the father persisted.
Carol while agreeing in toto to LorraineH argued the father should be smacked for putting his child’s health at risk!
Tim Seitz also agreed too. ‘It was poor judgment on the part of the protesters who put molasses on the child. I thought the point of the protest was to make a better world for our children. This child was an innocent bystander, not a poorly conceived political statement.’ Greenpeace where are you? Interesting debate, indeed. Not every seems to be agreeing to the view point of the protestors — yet they have a right to protest, yet peacefully, every one seemed to be conceding here.
And as the days and the nights passed by, my craving for desi food only went up and up. I simply couldn’t resist the temptation looking for one. And I found not one, but a number of them. The first find was the Lebanese restaurant Amiri, just three blocks from my hotel. I could easily have got my favorite — humus and bread — out there, I knew. Yet on Saint Dennis Street, I finally found at least two desi restaurants too. And the first one, Bombay restaurant — though is registered as an Indian restaurant, yet as like in most other western capitals, is manned by Bangladeshis. In London too the Indian restaurant business is no more in the hands of Pakistanis, who are generally credited with laying the foundations of the industry there, or the Indians who came in hordes into the sector later on and helped it multiply. Rather most of the so called Indian restaurants in London today, and indeed there are in hundreds — if not thousands — are owned, run and operated by Bangladeshis. Montreal was no exception — it now seems.
And before I sign off, need to make an amend. In an earlier diary, I had indicated I was looking forward to the dinner with the acting Pakistani consul general in Montreal, Usman Chachar, and his wife Sofia. This morning however, the news was received that Sofia’s father has expired in Karachi yesterday. My heart goes out to the family.
Later in the evening, I indeed met them, yet, not for dinner — but to pass on my condolences. This is known as destiny! May his soul rest in peace (Ameen).
Au revoir — finally — from picturesque Montreal!
