Why Cows Don’t Kiss

Today in the morning, while coming to work, I was reading, my carpool partner was merrily napping, and his driver was...well, driving. At the Sikanderpur Chauk, our car got stuck in a jam, primarily caused by the entire bovine population of Jatland crossing the road. One cow came and stood right next to my window. The glass pane had been rolled down a bit. Through it, I saw the cow calmly stare at me for a second or two, and then let out a mild, well-mannered burp. (Although I am not wearing anything green today, the sight of me must have reminded it of food in some strange, cow-like way.) But what made me reel back from the window was the smell of the burp that the breeze brought in. It was unlike anything I have ever smelt in my life...smelly, nausea-inducing, and utterly revolting. Spare me the laugh! Your breath would stink too if you ate grass all your life and NEVER brushed your teeth! And then like divine revelation, I got enlightened...and thought to myself, ‘Ah! So that’s why cows don’t kiss!’ Poor things.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Places

A colleague told me last evening, “Update your blog! Either do something exciting or lie through your teeth.” Since both are rather interesting options, I am going to attempt doing at least one of them here. So Vivek, this one’s for you.

Something again on travel this time....A list of the five places I have loved visiting the most (so far) in my life.

Jaisalmer
The first view of Jaisalmer is of burnished gold. Because the fort itself, built in the 12th Century AD, is made of yellow sandstone. So are a lot of the old houses. Our family stayed within the fort itself.
It’s a living fort…meaning that generations of families continue living inside the fort just the way their ancestors did several centuries ago. Once you enter the fort, it’s like you have entered a different world. Winding, narrow lanes are flanked by houses, shops selling curios, clothes, attar, and mehendi, temples of all sizes, and hotels trying to blend in with the chaos around yet maintain a semblance of order for all their guests. We lived in one such hotel…Hotel Jaisal Castle. The rooms, the views of the desert, the balcony, which was actually the ramparts of the fort, the number of stars you could see in the sky…every inch of the surroundings were memorable. Waking up every morning and sipping tea while looking at the big, wide desert ahead, merrily pottering around the nooks and corners knowing that people lived here in this very place hundreds of years before you did, and in a way, you are superimposing your memories on them…was brilliant. Even outside the fort, the camel rides and sunsets in the desert, the typical spicy Rajasthani food, the interesting weather-beaten faces all around….made me decide there and then, that Jaisalmer...one day, you are going to be mine.
If only!

Narkanda
The Himalayas are so goddamn sexy...especially when it rains. I was fortunate to be in Narkanda in the month of July one year, and when thick, menacing clouds come calling, it’s not a funny sight. It’s superbly exciting. The drive up to Narkanda from Simla was immensely exciting too. There were so many stretches when we were surrounded by every conceivable shade of dark green nature has ever created. There were also stretches where the Himalayas stood in their rockiest, angriest avatar. But even the most treacherous road often gave way to picture-perfect apple orchards, or the most pedantic mountain goats. At Narkanda, we stayed at the HPTDC hotel...I don’t remember its name anymore, but the joy of getting up early in the morning-— and coming down to the well-tended lawns to look at the huge expanse ahead surrounded by grim, unspoilt, green mountains on all sides with the cloud-soaked sky above-—will always remain unmatched…no matter how many mountains I see in my lifetime.

Patiala
Went here with a friend in 2004. I love cities with a bit of history woven into their everyday lives, and Patiala is one fine example of this. Right from its highly interesting Qila Mubarak, to its sumptuous street food, to the sprawling acres of the very prestigious Yadavindra Public School better known as YPS, to the quaint Adalat Bazar where you get the world’s most interesting juttis and phulkaris. Even if you don’t buy a thread, the visual spectacle and chaos is delightful, and any photographer’s paradise. My most favorite Patiala memory? Falling in love with the rickshaw-wallahs. Why? Because all the rickshaws here have a string of bells tied to them. And I love bells.

Haridwar
There is something enormously soothing about being close to a river, and watching its gurgling rapid movement. You could be the biggest unbeliever, and may have no faith in the millions of gods and their blessings that Haridwar seems to offer, but if you are a foodie, and if the idea of devouring Indian food in a typically Indian city gives you a kick, then Haridwar is the place to be. My only mental problem with the city? That it does not serve even an iota of non-vegetarian food or alcohol. It’s not as if I need either of these everyday but I would like the option being available. (Ok I am lying...I need the former everyday.) Another thing that I love doing in Haridwar is simply walking around….you never know who you might bump into. An old, bored cow; or a young cellphone-wielding, dude-ish sadhu; or a loaded American who has given it all up to come and see the arati every evening; or hoards of Bengali tourists fresh from somewhere in WB. (Bongs are enthusiastic travelers after all…kudos to all my brethren!)

Puri
I love the ocean, far more than the mountain. Probably because an ocean is so deliciously restless. And the Bay of Bengal at Puri is mad, it’s wild, it’s delirious...it’s captivating. I went to Puri with my college friends, way back in my second year at Stephen’s. At one point, while marveling at the gigantic waves that were crashing onto the beach, the then-love-of-my-life asked me, “Shall we go in there?” And I said yes, without one thought of “Helloooooooo Sayantani! You don’t know how to swim! And this is the Bay of Bengal in high tide, and not the neighborhood puddle.” But when you are eighteen and in lurve, you just calmly raise your middle finger to every word of caution inside your head, and walk Christ-like into the water. Thankfully enough, the crush was one-sided and it ended within months, but the memory of the wild sea is enough to make me want to go back any day.

So this was my list for the day. Other notable mentions: Pushkar, Ajmer, Jodhpur, Konark, Digha, Palampur, Kasauli, Chail and Varanasi…but more on them later.

Picture Perfect

Some of the photographs from my recent Kasauli and Simla trip are here. Am putting up only my favorites here, which either capture the mood of the moment or do justice to the beautiful locale. Hope you have as much fun viewing them as we did being in them.


The Viceregal Lodge in Simla. It is infamous as the place where the decision to partition the country was taken. It now houses the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies.


One of our first views of the Kasauli skyline. Can anything be more magical?


The Church of England, Kasauli. Perfect.


Happy us...(from L to R) Shweta, Ayan, Me and Rajarshi. We owe the photos to Arup.


Inside Spars Lodge in one of our bedrooms. Finally, Arup makes an appearance. (From L to R) Rajarshi, Arup, Me and Ayan. Shweta is behind the camera.

Kasauling and Simlaing

Last weekend I went Kasauli-ing and Simla-ing, two activities I have enjoyed doing ever since I first undertook them way back in 2000. However, this trip was particularly memorable because it was a perfect marriage of great conversations and a lot of laughter.

First a bit about the people I went with.

1. Arup: An IIT-ian, Arup is a Motorola phone-hater, an enthusiastic photographer, fabulously sporting be it at his expense or someone else’s, affectionate, a real friend and a perfect sweetheart.
2. Rajarshi: Another IIT-ian. Additionally, he is a mountain-lover (the tougher the path to navigate the happier he is), and is the prototype of the strong, silent, reliable, balanced man one reads about in books. Has a super sexy singing voice that can sing in three languages with equal panache.
3. Ayan: The man with a brilliant sense of humor, gorgeous eyes, excellent manners, an inexhaustible stock of music, and a gorgeous girlfriend. He was the judge when we played Pictionary, the banker when we played Monopoly and the encourager every time the ladies fell behind while climbing a steep path.
4. Shweta: The baby of the group, and my favorite to boot. Sassy, smart, super intelligent, and endowed with a kickass-attitude that says I don’t give a damn about the world. (Sorry guys, she is not available!) I personally do not have a sister, but she makes me wish I had one, and that it was her.

We left on Thursday night for Kasauli, armed with our respective pieces of luggage, lots of music, a fair amount of snacks and oodles of enthusiasm. Stopped at Murthal for a quick dinner of paranthas and lassi and after driving almost non-stop we reached Kasauli just as dawn was breaking on Friday. Checked into the hotel (Hotel Anchal -- recommended only for the view it offers), slept for an hour or so, freshened up and stepped out for some crisp mountain air and much needed breakfast. I had told everyone about this restaurant in Kasauli that has the world’s best cheese omelets, but of course I had forgotten its name as well as location. However, by the time I mentioned cheese omelets for the 19^th time, everyone had been sold to the concept. So we marched up and down and all over till we located the shop and tucked in gratefully into the toast, omelet (yes, cheese ones) and coffee. Other notable highlights of Friday include attending a bit of the Good Friday service in the Kasauli church, driving down to Dagshai for walks around the quaint church and lots of photographs, tucking into an awesome lunch at Giani da dhaba in Dharampur, savoring pakoras at the Kasauli mall, an exciting evening/night walk in the hills with almost no artificial lights for company and moonlight filtering in through the pine trees, scaring the wits out of Shweta by talking about ghosts and monkeys alternately, and drinking plum wine in plastic glasses.

Saturday morning saw us rise and shine (ok not with the first ray of the sun), check out of the hotel and head towards Simla. En route we stopped at a very interesting dhaba for breakfast. Why interesting? Because it had a sumptuous terrace that provided a 360 degree, completely breathtaking view. Several songs and kilometers later we reached Simla, and checked into Spars Lodge, a lovely hotel that was recommended to me a couple of years ago and I have been its fan right from then. It rocks because it has wooden floors, clean and cozy rooms, perfect loos, and a fabulous cook who makes awesome pastas. Post lunch (at the hotel) we went to the Viceregal Lodge, presently known as the building that houses the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies. It is the most beautiful building ever. Every frame looks straight out of a picture perfect movie. You could stand just about anywhere, aim in any direction and click. The resulting photograph could easily win you a competition or two. What amazes me every time I visit this Institute is that it was in this perfect a locale that the imperfect decision to partition the country was taken, which is why the historical relevance of the place. Our group spent several hours here, basking in the mist that was gradually sweeping over, listening to the wind blowing through the pines, soaking in the silence and the overwhelming beauty all around us, and playing the first of several rounds of Word Association.

From here our next destination was the Mall. We walked, pottered around an old books’ shop, reveled in the Saturday night atmosphere of Simla, admired the twinkling lights of the cities far away, ate gulab jamuns and pop corn (not at one go though!), and went quite crazy in one of the most well-known bakeries of the town, Trishul, and brought fresh fruits to last us a lifetime. Came back to the hotel and stayed up for quite a while playing one game after another. We died of laughter in the midst of Pictionary, later switched to Monopoly where I tried to cheat my way to success rather unsuccessfully. Arup’s business acumen side flashed to the surface and humbled the rest of us, although let me hasten to add that Shweta emerged the winner here.

Sunday arrived and brought with it awesome weather, cloudy skies and a bit of rain. After a grand, leisurely breakfast comprising sausages, toast, mushrooms, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, scrambled eggs and coffee, we went to Christ Church, Simla’s most identifiable landmark. It was heartening to see the Church being restored and revamped. Inside, the Easter service was on, so we just peeped in and peeped out. Another hour or so of gallivanting and then we started for Delhi/Gurgaon/Noida. Lunch was at Giani da dhaba, Dharampur, again, and for evening tea and pakoras it was my earlier regular haunt, Zhilmil at Karnal. We entered NCR at about 10 in the night after several rounds of Word Association, Antakshari, impromptu singing, story-telling and story-making sessions.

A memorable trip, made even more memorable thanks to Arup’s good naturedness, Rajarshi’s music, Ayan’s wit, Shweta’s charisma, and my (I am assuming) ghost-story-sessions. Fingers crossed for more such trips.

Mr Quipster

This is the story of two people and their remarkable friendship.

Ramneek and I became friends way back in 1995. We started off as pen-friends (a word that has either already disappeared from the dictionary or is certainly on its way out). My most favorite and vivid memory of that period is this one time when I wrote to him complaining that life is really bad what with exams being right round the corner and other miscellaneous junk, and that the only way in which I can be cheered up is through a long letter. Promptly enough, I found a huge envelope in the letterbox. It contained a ten-page long letter, a typical Ramneek letter. By which I mean it was funny, at places it was serious, but overall it made for an excellent read.

That was 1995, and today we are into 2006. So our friendship has been intact all these eleven years and is still running very well. But why is it remarkable? Many people have friendships that last a lifetime, ours in that sense has only just begun!

It is remarkable because in spite of us having used every means of communication known to mankind in the 21^st century — letters, phone calls, emails, smses, and now blog — we have never met. Not even once. Interestingly enough, Delhi is hometown for both of us, we have common friends who have met each of us in different stages of life, and we ourselves have made several attempts to meet, but to no avail. Nothing, not even a single plan has ever materialized!

My favorite things about Ramneek? Quick points.

1. His fertile imagination
2. His want to keep learning new things
3. The fact that he is almost always accessible and willing to listen
4. His honesty, and contempt for hypocrites
5. The amazing mix of optimism and cynicism that’s inside him
6. His fine sense of photography

And the things I have learnt from Ramneek?

1. Never let ego come in the middle of a great friendship.
2. It’s okay for friends to disagree.
3. Communication is a two-way process. If you want to stay in touch with someone, you always will. Lack of time, energy, money, etc. can never be excuses.
4. Orkut is good (yes, he is the one who ultimately sold the concept to me).
5. Blogging is fun. You can find Ramneek’s at http://excuzeme.blogspot.com/
6. It’s important to always keep your sense of humor intact.
7. Giving up a big, fat, comfortable job and going back to studies is not easy. (Ramneek recently gave up his fancy job to pursue an MBA. He is currently at IIM, Indore.) But if you have a dream, chase it. That’s what they are for.
8. Having a corny email address is not a bad idea.

Love you lots dude, although I still cannot bear bright_blue_skies@yahoo.com

Friday Night Entertainment

My mind operates on this very basic thumb rule… “Thou shalt not indulge in anything cerebral or wise once thou art back from work.” The rationale behind this is simple. I do extremely brain-taxing work during the course of the day therefore once I am back home, I earnestly try to do everything that any self-respecting editor of a serious publishing house should not. On television, I prefer watching dumb blondes and their counterparts (because they reaffirm my faith in myself and my existence), and inane travel shows where the host is so well decked up that it’s a challenge even watching her breathe let alone navigate a trekking trail. In terms of books I prefer reading Stephen King and the like (because abnormal as it may sound, I actually find horror rather soothing and therapeutic), and when it comes to conversations, the cornier the better!

Now that you have this excellent insight into my life, you will still agree, after reading this post that is, that tonight has been exceptionally brilliant. Simply because of the astounding thing I managed to catch on television.

This was the last twenty minutes or so of the fairly recent film Chingari. Initially when I saw the promos and noticed that the director was Kalpana Lajmi (of Rudali fame) and that the lead actors were Sushmita Sen (she certainly comes across as one of the intelligent people in the Hindi film industry) and Mithun (three time National Award winner after all), my interest was certainly piqued. But not so much that I went to check it in the theatre. And today when I finally saw the film, or whatever part of it, I was so glad for my rare display of wisdom.

From what I could make out, the film is based in a village where Sushmita is a prostitute, and lives in the local red light area with her miscellaneous companions/colleagues and daughter. Mithun is the village priest who wears only red, waves his shawl often in the air (don’t ask why), and is into big time mumbo-jumbo because every time he appears on screen the background erupts into a cacophony of mantra-chanting! He exercises spiritual control over the innocent villagers although shows no such restraint himself when he is bed-ding Sushmita. Enter our hero, I do not know his name and you do not need to either because he dies eventually. And of all the things to be, he is an emancipated, modern postman. Our dude here falls for Ms Sen and at the same time tells the villagers to rise up to Mithun da and his terrorism. But you think stray speeches by unknown heroes will bring about M’s fall? Hah! Think again.

One fine evening, Mithun gathers every lathi-wielding goon he can manage, and surrounds hero. Hero puts up brave fight, manages to give inspiring speech, yet is treacherously killed. Much grief follows but not forever. Screechy, eyeball-rolling and eyeball-rotating heroine now rises to the surface, gathers millions of villagers (seriously, at some parts it does look like a million!) and then? She proceeds to wear a dholak, then beats it continuously, sways to its rhythm, lets her long hair fly around her head like scary halo, and leads the villagers towards evil priest’s den. Evil priest hears the news, gathers his bunch of goons again, waves shawl (grrr) yet again, and marches towards angry lady and her junta.

Now comes the best part of the movie. Angry lady and wary villain circle each other, in a very dog-in-the-bone- fashion. That used to be such a fun game I remember! Childhood is such a brilliant time of one's life. But I shouldn't get distracted. Coming back to the story... so everywhere around and behind the dog-in-the-bone game players, huge and dramatic fight is on. Villagers are chopping each other, hysterical women like Ila Arun are gesticulating in the air, but still our players are not distracted. What concentration! What devotion! What love for the game! And all the while the game is on, Sushmita continues doing her little jig of beating dholak and swaying to it. Finally, she has had enough of dholak dance, after all even her worked-to-perfection arms need rest, so she pulls off dholak and throws it on Mithun’s head. I mean, come on lady! You got tired so you will throw something that big and huge on your opponent’s head? That’s no way to play!

Predictably enough, Mithun collapses but there is much revenging still to be done. So Sushmita pulls out trishul. What? What are you asking? Where did the trishul come from? It was resting in one of the hands of Kali, whose statue was on the very same podium where dog-in-the-bone game was on. So Sushmita lifts trishul, Mithun is on the ground, already waiting for divine justice for all his crimes, and then the best part, Sushmita sticks out her tongue in Kali style and trishul goes straight into villain’s abdomen. And everybody around them stops doing what they were doing and stares in various degrees of shock, silence, boredom, couldn’t-care-less, FO with it. Ah, all’s well that ends well.

The only saving grace of the evening? Back to back conversations with two of the smartest, brightest and nicest nineteen-year-olds I have ever had the privilege of knowing…Richa and Rohit. Thank you!

Never Say Never

“Do you know XYZ is a member of Orkut?”
“Really? Do I care? But what is Orkut – Porkut in heaven’s name anyway?”
“It’s an online community where you go and make friends.”
“And?”
“And you join communities and can have discussions.”
“On what?”
“On anything under the sun.”
“Ok, just tell me one thing…at what point does this thing stop being shady? And at what point do you start making sense?”
“Why does this sound shady?”
“Online community? Making virtual friends? I mean, hello? Are you out of your mind?”
“Will you just give this a try? You will meet new interesting people, trust me.”
“Stop bullshitting me. Just because you are into strange, shady deals these days it doesn’t mean the rest of us will be convinced about it as well. I mean, I already have enough friends in real life to go looking for new ones in the virtual. How desperate will it look! Searching for friends! Real life friends are not getting the kind of time and attention they deserve, and virtual now? Puhlease!”
“I am sending you an invite. Just fill it in and give this a try.”
“Not promising anything. But send it anyway.”

****
“No, I decided against joining that thingy. There are way too many things you have to write about yourself. I mean “passions”, “from my previous relationships I have learnt”? What the hell?!”
“Whatever! Stop being a prude! Your choice.”

****
“Listen lady, I have sent you an invite to Orkut. You have to join it.”
“Oh no, not again.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I was sent this thing a while ago too by another friend, and I started going through the process and it’s long, boring and tedious.”
“But it’s fun.”
“Ok, give me one good reason why I should join this strange sounding thing.”
“Because it’s fun. Because you can leave scraps on people’s scrapbooks.”
“Why on earth would I want to do that? Leave scraps? What are scraps anyway?”
“Messages. And stop asking so many questions. Just join it ok?”

****
“Ok, I paid heed to what you said and joined Orkut.”
“After such a long time? I sent you that invite like a million years ago!”
“No, not your invite. I was sent another one yesterday.”
“And this time you joined? Chalo, that’s nice.”
“You have quite a few of these scrap things I saw.”
“You should actually see some people’s. Theirs run into thousands!”
“WHAT? Who are these vague people? Don’t they have any other work?”
“You know this can become addictive.”
“Well, certainly not for me. I am telling you now…am going to be very cautious about who all I become friends with, and scrapping or talking with strangers on the virtual world? Never!”

****
Last I checked, I had 78 friends and 5379 scraps.