Midnight in Paris

For once, it was not Woody Allen who wrote my template for a city even though his urban scapes have imbued every other city I lived in with his curious charm. So what if my cities were thousands of miles away from the black and white Manhattan montage unfolding to George Gershwin's music? Despite loving my favourite neurotic American director's quirky tribute to Hemingway's A Moveable Feast in his Midnight in Paris, my inspiration for the city was a pastiche of books I had read, films I had watched and stories I had heard. From some of the most romantic moments in cinema captured in the lights of the Eiffel Tower's glitter and the chiaroscuro shades of the gas lamps lining the streets of this magical city of lights to the artists, writers and poets living in their consumptive freezing garrets in vertiginous old buildings producing some of their greatest masterpieces in the midst of squalor and poverty. From the bohemian cabarets of Boulevard de Clichy to the colourful parties and balls of Montmartre, Paris has occupied a pivotal point in my introduction to the world of art and culture.

Ever since I could remember, as an idealistic teen, an ambitious 20-year-old, a bit more worldly 30-year-old, every trip I ever planned whether as an imaginary itinerary or as a near-possibility — featured Paris. Time and again I would return to my worn-out globe, give it a spin and make it force stop on that same old dot circled with a red felt pen— Paris.

After all these years obfuscated by mundane matters and the daily business of life, when I finally did make this trip in the late summer of 2013, I was a bundle of nerves. Just like meeting a virtual love interest for the first time in the real world, I fretted whether my imagination had just built up this massive fantasy city unable to match anything that actually existed. And sure enough, it was a more frayed, edgy, dusty and older version of the imagined city pieced together from celluloid and poetic representations — and yet, it was more perfect than anything I had ever dreamed up. While I could write reams about Paris... it is Woody Allen again who has the perfect context for the city for Paris at midnight is when it is the most beautiful. It is the bewitching hour when the city draws you into herself and holds you in her thrall forever.

Like many others who have come before me, I too discovered and fell in love with the city by night Walking the banks of the Seine, with a view of the flying buttresses and the jaw-dropping magnificence that is the Notre Dame Cathedral, crossing the iconic green facade of the marvellously quaint and characterful Shakespeare & Co bookshop, walking cobbled streets of the artsy and fashionable 3rd and 4th Arrondissement, stopping at the first cafe that was yet to down its shutters and downing glasses of its cheapest house red to the sounds of a city not yet asleep and not yet awake.

Paris turned me into a wide-eyed girl, looking for the familiar indices of my growing up years as I read copiously and found the world in the pages of the books. I imagined yesteryear movie stars doing a little hop down these ancient avenues, bathed in the same neon lights reflecting off the restaurant signs that coloured my face...

It was the city that Remy, a tiny rat in the film Ratatouille, stared at from a rooftop window and felt the desire to overreach himself and his humble origins. It made you forget you were watching an animated film... all that filled your heart at that moment in time was the vast city and its myriad twinkling lights.

Paris by night allowed me to belong even if for those fleeting moments. My temporary home was truly mine and I was a Parisian till morning dawned and the harsh light of day stripped me of that illusion and left me a behatted tourist with a map, queuing up in lines to visit the nth museum and art gallery.

(First published in The New Indian Express Bangalore on 23 April, 2015)

The compelling lure of Goa

ln the past few weeks, every time I have spoken to a friend or an acquaintance about to burn out from the corporate grind, looking to celebrate a birthday, or rekindle their romance, or simply get away from it all, the one thought that has floated into my mind has been “Why don’t you go to Goa?” And in an odd multiple mirroring of this thought, they have piped up on cue — “So we are going to Goa...” From the gaggle of girls off for their bestie’s bachelorette to the impulsive weekend partygoers who continue the weekend binge by tottering to the Majestic bus depot in the wee hours and taking the first bus out to Panaji without a care for Monday morning, it isn’t hard to identify a Goa junkie. And, I would like to think that I am as much of a Goa enthusiast who would like to return to the state over and over for some of that much needed susegad.

What is it exactly about this sunshine state that draws you in? The obvious charms of the sun and the sea don’t quite seem to define it as that is a feature of the entire Konkan coastline and a drive along it would perhaps yield virgin beaches, whiter sands and clearer azure waters than anything you’d see in the often crowded Goa itself. To ascribe the newly slashed airfares with the arrival of low cost carriers also doesn’t quite explain an influx that dates all the way back to the first wave of the flower people in the 1960s. This is a call that is far more primal than the call of the beaches, the parties, the free-flowing spirits, the hippie vibe, the fresh seafood, the spicy Goan delicacies, the yoga and the greenery.

It is all of these things, but most of all it seems to be about a mythic and historical bond between the people and the idea of susegad—a sense of contentment and peace with one’s surroundings, a tolerant approach towards all things and a unique enjoyment of the simple pleasures of life. It is perhaps fitting that each year, the Goan Carnival procession begins with the blessings of the symbolic leader of the proceedings, King Momo. He is the eternal figurehead and an annually appointed actor who dons the crimson robes, accepts the crown and sceptre and then deems all of Goa fit to eat, drink and make merry. His carnival motto is an extension of the idea of susegad.   

It is this irreplaceable living kernel that is encased in the many carapaces that form that ancient marine creature that is Goa. There is a Goa for everyone — from the fiercely protected and private Goa of the locals — the proud descendants of the Portuguese settlers — to the Goa that is the adopted home of all those free spirits who adopted this tropical land as their home and continue to imbue it with their bohemian laissez faire — to the bit of Goa that belongs to everybody from the tourist to the coconut seller, from the hotelier to the student, from the immigrant waitstaff at your holiday resort to the visiting writer on a residency program.

It is a state which boasts a tolerance and acceptance of all — the state in fact has colonies specific to nationalities from around the world. Despite the potential to turn into a global village, Goa remains fiercely individualistic, straddling its history and modernity with ease -- revering its 16th century Catholic saints as much as it celebrates the arrival of mobile phone penetration and Internet and Wi-fi in the remotest of villages and riverine islands. Its people are as comfortable doing a folk dance to Konkani fisherfolk’s tunes as they are grooving to the latest electronic mixes from the top DJs in the world. Goa is a  state where you can find a fine French stew just as you can find a neighbourhood shack where you can be assured of a hearty rice plate and fish curry even when your bank balance dips to the double digits. You can discover that one jolly aunty who can rustle up a mean sorpotel with homemade pav and a family-run bar where you can always find a friendly ear, some delicious food and free-flowing tipple.

Viewed without a rose-tinted lens, Goa has her share of political, social and environmental problems — and yet she is resilient and ever-welcoming, with a will to turn it all around some day. No matter what the issue of the day is, Goa remains the homing beacon guiding you back to her sunshine-filled heart time and time again.

This was published in The New Indian Express Bangalore on 19 March 2015

Around India in 29 Plates Part IV

Culinary Treasures of the Northeast

While travel and food are intrinsically linked, sometimes the latter becomes a singular aspect of a culture and a reflection of its way of life.Visiting local joints, sharing home-cooked meals with strangers and eating your way around a place is almost the cryptic route to the heart of a land and its people. This week, we visit the beautiful Northeast through its food. The land of the seven sisters has perhaps the most eclectic and diverse cuisine, combining local produce and flavours with an entirely home-grown eating culture that is as exciting as it is unexplored. And no, momos are not a part of their daily diet! If there was a food spectrum with much flogged tandoori chicken at one end, the Meghalayan Jadoh would be on the other with a far richer flavour palette. This cuisine (which varies across each states with some commonalities arising due to a similar climactic pattern and local produce) is only now beginning to pop up in the urban Indian centres reappropriated as nouvelle cuisine for those who like to experiment. However, the best meals would be eaten at eateries by the side of hill roads or bustling markets in the Northeast, or if you can manage it, someone’s house with some a rather potent local alcoholic brew to wash it all down. It is also extremely hard to choose one dish from each state as different tribes and communities within the same state have dramatically different eating habits. The cuisine is wonderful for many reasons with spices, herbs and methods of cooking that predate modern appliances and are healthy, less oily and masala based and protein heavy.

Masor Tenga (Assam)

With an abundance of rivers, lakes and ponds, this gateway state of the northeast is rich in freshwater fish and this along with rice, forms the chief source of sustenance. The Masor Tenga with fleshy and tender pieces of rohu fish cooked in a light and sour gravy is a delight. Unlike the neighbouring rich Bengali fish curries, the tenga is a light and fragrant staple eaten in nearly every household.
 
Jadoh (Meghalaya)

Jadoh stalls are an extension of the community eating in Meghalaya. Jadoh is essentially a rice and meat stall. However, before you start thinking that this just your ordinary pulav, the unique Jadoh combines the joha rice of the region, fatty pork pieces (other meats can also be also used) and the condiments of fermented soya paste as well as companion dish of Doh Neiong (Pork cooked in a sesame paste).

Smoked pork with Akhuni (Nagaland)

While pork is indeed quite a staple around these parts, the Naga preparations of this meat burst with intense flavours derived from local herbs, dried and fermented leaves, shoots and beans and the famous Naga Morich, a close cousin to the bhut jalokia. This particular dish combines pieces of fire-smoked pork with Akhuni or fermented soy beans, lending it a lovely dark smoky flavour.

Gudok (Tripura)

Tripura’s tribal communities greatly influence the food in these parts. The dish was originally cooked inside bamboo stems, lending it a wonderful flavour. Essentially a black-eyed bean and fish preparation, this dish gets its unique tart fishy aroma from Berma, a fermented fish, which works a bit like the Thai fish sauce.

Pasa (Arunachal Pradesh)

While this dish is somewhat of an acquired flavour as it is a raw fresh fish soup, it is a tribal delicacy. In my mind it is a combination of the flavours of sushi and the French tartare. With a host of aromatics and raw fish paste, this dish was believed to have been a wartime inception when cooked food would have been a giveaway for the tribal soldiers.

Iromba (Manipur)

Combining Ngari or fermented fish with mashed boiled vegetables and a pungent chilli paste, this dish has numerous variations depending on the herbs, leaves and veggies used. The Manipuris eat this as a side dish, an entree with boiled rice and even as chutney!

Sawchair (Mizoram)

This traditional dish from the state of the rolling hills is a rice dish cooked with chicken, duck or pork and veggies. This wholesome all-in-one meal in a bowl is a hearty meal perfect after a hard day’s work


This was published in The New Indian Express Bangalore on 26 February, 2015

Around India in 29 Plates Part III

Food as a Map Through Which we Learn 

 This week, we continue our culinary journey across the country continuing from where we left off, somewhere in between the syncretic fulcrum of food and identity in Kashmir and the simple, wholesome and rustic fare of Haryana and Himachal. This week, as we move from the mountains to the northern Gangetic plains which is the ancient seat of power, the heartland of India and the proverbial rice bowl of the country, the task at hand for this humble chronicler becomes harder as this belt is a vast swathe of influences — from the ancient to the medieval to the modern era in terms of religions, culture and, by extension, the cuisine. Food is the cumulative result of a civilisation’s transitions through history and this week’s picks aim to be a reflection of the same.

Mutton Kebabs (Uttar Pradesh)
It is hard to pick one dish in a state that is synonymous with food. From a royal repast to street food delicacies, from the best of Awadhi cuisine to the princely Nawabi variations of the same, from chaats to an array of desserts, Uttar Pradesh is a gourmand’s dream with every part of the state offering a peek into a way of life and eating and Lucknow is the crown jewel.
While I have chosen mutton kebabs as a representative dish, this is more a sub-genre which covers everything from the esoteric and fragrant kakori kebab, the tender and spiced boti kebabs, the melt-in-the-mouth galawat or galauti kebabs to the robust shami and pasanda discs and the delicately spiced seekh cylinders. There is very little chicken in the kebab lexicon of this region. These kebabs are part of the elaborate set of starters in a traditional Dastarkhwan (a ceremonial meal) conceptualised by gifted khansamas (chefs) as well as the common man’s victuals from the smoky street tandoors paired with a variety of unleavened breads. Uttar Pradesh’s kebabs are ubiquitous as well legendary. Thus there is the myth of the toothless kebab-loving nawab in whose kitchen the famed kakori, or the softest kebab in the world, was born. Then there was the tale of the one-armed genius kababchi called Tundey Miyan who tenderised his meat with the stump of his amputated arm to create perfectly consistent kebabs, earning him legions of fans and a reputation that lasted generations. These stories are part of the food lore of a state whose cuisine has to be experienced to be believed.

Bal Mithai (Uttarakhand) 
The beautiful mountain kingdom of Uttarakhand is washed by the River Ganga, resplendent in natural beauty with its misty mountains, folk traditions, ancient temples and sprawling national parks. The fairy tale setting of the region is in sync with this iconic sweet of the region which is rich, sweet and milky and covered in sugary balls that pop in your mouth. One can imagine this to be the treasured candy out of an enchanted edible house that tempts all with its appearance and aromas. Especially popular in Almora, some version of the Bal Mithai is found in most towns of the state. Cooked with khoya, cane sugar and covered with sugar coated poppy seeds (posto), this home-grown fudge which was invented by an enterprising Almora halwai, is a hit among kids and adults alike. With no cocoa content, it is interesting that this sweet is locally known as ‘chocolate’ and is a delicious treat on winter days that will warm you right till the cockles.    

Laal Maas (Rajasthan)
This list does not escape the bias of the listmaker and in this case, my own love for meat. Despite being an avowed carnivore, this state’s vegetarian food is a treasure trove with offerings that smack of invention and are derived from the local produce. With culinary influences ranging from the all-vegetarian Marwari community to the robust meat-centric Rajput cuisine, Rajasthani food is an amalgam of its land, its weather conditions and its people. Thus one can pick from an assortment of savouries like mirch ka pakora (batter-fried chilli peppers) and pyaaz kachori (onion fritters) and preparations like the ker sangri sabzi (a piquant desert preparation of dried beans and tart berries). But for me, Rajasthani food shall always be the eye-popping and aromatic Laal Maas, a fiery red mutton curry cooked in a dried red chilli paste. Redolent of garlic, chillis, yogurt and more chillis, the base meat can be goat, deer or any other game meat and while sure to raise your temperature by a couple of notches, this food of the Rajput warriors will transform food into a sensory experience intended to fire your blood with new life and vigour.

Litti Choka (Bihar)
This traditional celebratory food, this spiced wheat and powdered lentil ball is infused with fragrant ghee and roasted over coals or a chulha (traditional oven fired by cow dung cakes), or even deep fried. This cross between bread and savoury fritter is accompanied with chokha, a delicious flame-roasted eggplant and tomato preparation. Litti-chokha is a wholesome meal in itself to be had on winter evenings by a raging fire and while time-consuming to make, is equally comfortable in both urban and rural settings.   

This was published in The New Indian Express Bangalore on 19 February, 2015

Around India in 29 plates (Part I)

India has long been regarded as the land of diversity, and in no segment is that more apparent than in its food which is as varied as its topography and  the culture of its people. Drawing inspiration from the local produce, climactic patterns, aesthetic influences and historical background of a place and its people, food is a true reflection of the nation’s polymorphous identity and in this series, we take you around the country in 29 delicious plates. This week, we introduce some of the standout and perhaps uncommon dishes that reflect the diverse metropolises that are Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata and Chennai.

 Sitaphal Cream (Mumbai)
This simple and uncompromising dessert is a perfect representation of a city which is always on the go, always open for business and rarely sleeps. A city teeming with people, Mumbai belongs as much to the shanty-town dweller as it does to the Bollywood stars who live in their skyscrapers away from the ground-level grime and dust. Mumbai is a city of possibilities and disillusionment. Hundreds of dreams die every night and new ones are born in its place. In such a city of global cuisine and vada pav, the Sitaphal Cream silently holds its own. Invented at the iconic Haji Ali Juice Centre, this seasonal dish is incredibly popular and standing and relishing a bowl of this dish with the waves crashing behind you and the city going about its frantic life is an experience akin to none. And it’s really quite simple ­— custard apple or sitaphal and cream are served together with some sugar and a dash of vanilla. A juicewallah came up with this divine concoction and it has flown off his counter since then and has not been replicated in the best restaurants in star hotels. While the custard apple ice cream is common enough, the fruit cream is a rare dish and the best part is that it comes at a price point that makes its accessible to all — from a skyscraper dweller indulging in a late night dessert to a balloonwallah counting out the saved up rupees for this treat, the Sitaphal Cream belongs to all.

Daab Chingri  (Kolkata)
This sophisticated delicacy is an exercise in innovation. This dish is believed to be an adaptation of something called the Malay Curry, a recipe that travelled with migrant workers and the colonisers as trade flourished between this all-important erstwhile capital city of the Raj and the rest of Southeast Asia. The Daab Chingri is all about the tender green coconut which blesses this steaming tropical state with its plenitude. It is about the pungent yellow mustard, a Bengali’s response to the Japanese wasabi. And finally it is about the prawns, the queen of all piscine creatures, the crustacean served at every special occasion and found in abundance in the rivers and lakes of this state. In this dish, fresh tiger prawns (chingri) are marinated in a delicious green chilli and mustard paste and then inserted into fleshy and tender green coconuts (daab) and slow-cooked till the prawns are tender and have absorbed all the flavours of the coconut. This dish when cooked right is sophisticated, simple and just bursting with flavour. One could describe it as creamy golden sunshine with a taste of the sea. This is a regal dish and one that could send its eater into a rapture. It also represents the people who put great value on the finer things in life, like the perfect Daab Chingri accompanied with soft, fragrant Gobindo Bhog rice and a refreshing afternoon siesta vis-a-vis matters of industry or a life spent in fast food meals. This dish is the crowning glory of every Bengali kitchen and a testament to the culture’s obsession with all things food.

Idlis (Chennai)
While some might consider this a plain-talking dish, in my books, an early morning breakfast at the Murugan Idli shop in Besant Nagar, with a view of the expansive beach and the blue curling waves in the distance is unmatched. The texture of those warm fluffy idlis with a delicious array of chutneys as well as the aroma of the sweet-sour-spicy sambhar is something that could make me roll out of bed every day of my life. Capturing a unique ethos of the city that combines daily living with tradition and functionality with flavour. Somewhere in between the city’s sunny days, cultural pursuits and political brouhaha, there is always time for this delicious breakfast served on a banana leaf bookended by frothy cups of strong filter coffee and great conversations.

Whole Mango Kulfi (Delhi)
This winner of a dessert is the stuff of sheer ingenuity and a perfect fit in this city of immigrants and erstwhile refugees who have survived and flourished by dint of their ingenuity alone. Old Delhi is a bastion of business which drew in merchants, traders, khansamas, artisans and labourers, basically anyone who had a skill to hawk and a business idea to sell. This congested walled city then became the place for innovations and food like no other. While the culinary delights of Purani Dilli are neverending, there is something about this particular dish that has just embedded a certain blazing summer day under the arches of an old haveli into the brick and mortar of my mind. I ate this kulfi at Pandit Kuremal’s Kulfi Shop in the gullies of Chandni Chowk. This magical dessert is clearly one of the best things I have eaten in this city. The whole mango is sliced, deseeded, stuffed with kulfi and put back together. When it is served later, the mango is peeled and you get delicious chunks of fruit with your creamy and icy mango flavoured kulfi. This dessert could give many exotic ice creams a run for their money and combines the best things about summer – Alphonso mangoes and ice creams in one fell sweep. For me, this is the best indigenous homegrown ice cream there could ever be and a lasting taste memory of the capital city.

This was published in The New Indian Express on 29 January, 2015

Travelling Light

One of my favourite science fiction writers, Ray Bradbury wrote in his dystopian novel, Fahrenheit 451, “See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. Ask for no guarantees, ask for no security.” This was imprinted tattoo-like on my mind, teaching me to learn how to travel without an itinerary, experience places through their food, shared conversations over a cup of coffee or a beer, walking the streets endlessly and simply watching a new world unfold.

I wanted space to breathe, not the alarm clock shrilly announcing the beginning of the next day. I longed for a leisurely carafe of wine and cheese by a roadside cafe in Montmartre rather than endless queues to enter the Eiffel Tower. The package tour was my holiday nightmare and all that I wanted never seemed conceivable by a travel consultant sitting across me, completely devoid of imagination when it came to offering anything more than a great bargain price, or a free cruise.

However, things have begun to change as the adventurous who like me love the idea of travel,  have taken this passion a step forward and come up with curated holidays. From the Bengaluru-based WOW or Women on Wanderlust, a travel club that organizes women-only trips across India and the world, to the fast-growing Thrillophilia that offers  high-octane travel experiences across India for all those who want to venture off the beaten path to the newest kid on the block, No Thepla Holidays.

 This startup is the brainchild of three friends, Arjun, Ayesha and Sanaya, who come from backgrounds as diverse as corporate M&As, animal rescue operations and event management, drawn together by their love for travel and especially the kind that does not involve carrying a bagful of deep-fried snacks and pickle in a foreign land.

"We want to cater to the modern Indian flashpacker who is roughly between 25-35 years, is open to meeting a whole bunch of fellow travellers and having a whale of a time in another country discovering its local food, underground clubs and the lesser known experiences," says Arjun Malhotra, one of the partners in No Thepla Holidays.

For the uninitiated, flashpacking is a global trend that seems to be made for the lazy Indian as all the arrangements (stay, internal commute) are made for you which means that you don't have to wander the streets searching for a room for the night, be stranded at a train station because you forgot to book a particular leg of the journey and can also go occasionally posh with a champagne cruise or a truffle lunch!
No Thepla Holidays might have just two trips under its belt so far, but their resounding success portends well for the future and it’s no surprise that they already have three trips planned for the first quarter of the year.
Their first trip was to Europe in June-July 2014. Rather than do the typical six countries in five days itinerary, these guys curated an offbeat music-wine combo that was bound to work. Thus the trip covered five days in Paris during the Fete da la Musique, taking in the different performances across the city, a champagne cruise on the Seine, five days in Barcelona, a 'booze cruise' of the city and exciting pub crawls with your fellow travellers and finally ending up at the village of Haro for the San Vino or a crazy wine fight, just like our Holi, but only with the lovely wine of the region.

In the second trip to North Vietnam, parties and outdoor activities were the focus and thus water sports, local underground clubs and the delicious Vietnamese food formed the highlight here.
So while making friends, sampling street food, partying with the locals and an overall good time with plenty of good cheer, dancing, high-adrenaline sports and a lot of beer form the trademark experiences of No Thepla Holidays, there is also culture (trips to famous archaeological sites and monuments) as well as activities that allow you to mingle with the native communities (like fishing with the locals in the villages around Mai Chau Valley in Vietnam). The winning feature  is their fluid itinerary.

"So while we travel with all our guests offering them our experiential advice as well as inputs for food, tourist-friendly bars, public transport etc as well as plan different activities to keep everyone entertained, we also don't make a rigid itinerary for them. So if somebody wants to go and get a drink at a local cafe with a friend he or she has just made at the hostel instead of a visit to a temple, they are more than welcome to do so," says Arjun.

The company makes internal travel arrangements, provides accommodation at hostels and some homestays, organizes cruises, parties, barbecues and other activities and so far all of the partners actually travel with the group to ensure that a jolly good time is had by all.

Their upcoming trips include a scuba-diving trip to Andamans in March, an adventure-party trip to Cambodia in March-April and another trip to Vietnam later this year. These holidays minus theplas (their website warns that these might go missing if you actually end up carrying any) are the perfect solution for those who have hunted for options that are not determined by rushed itineraries, packing in every monument and museum on the block, or bookended by group meals of chicken butter masala and tandoori gobhi in foreign lands.

These are for the new and improved Indian traveller who is on a quest to explore and understand diverse cultures, sample local flavors, dance to eclectic music and meet kindred souls along the way.
 Visit notheplaholidays.com or email them at info@notheplaholidays.com

This was published in The New Indian Express on 22 January, 2015

Decoding Kerala with a Brief and Whimsical Lexicon

In Fort Kochi, one can never be far away from a good meal, a story and a picturesque photo-op. These are epic tales of a God that resides in these parts and is sometimes benevolent and sometimes not. There are fishermen’s songs whose timbre matches the ebb and flow of the tides; tales of men with red and green faces whose dance chases away the nightmarish hobgoblins; stories of food that makes you weep with its aroma of love, loss and longing. These picture-stories are memory stamps of spectacular sunsets, a hundred shades of green, tinkling laughs and an everlasting romance with the backwaters...

A for Avial
Avial, a simple, steamed vegetable dish transformed  with freshly ground coconut and tempered with just a hint of mustard seeds and curry leaves. It is highly recommended that you eat avial as a soothing first course before the fiery spice-laden fish curries and pepper fries arrive. It is also recommended to eat this wonderfully fresh and flavourful preparation straight off a banana leaf with a mound of steamed rice and preferably a view of the serene backwaters. 

B for Banana
Surrounded by the swaying fronds of young banana tree and lulled into catlike contentment after gorging on flaky and tender banana fritters, it is hard to escape thoughts about the banana plant in Kerala. There is a single-minded obsession with the fruit as the people eat it as chips and chops, jams and jellies, cakes and candies. Grown in every backyard, big or small, eaten in nearly every form sweet or savoury, the banana is an omniscient presence and a familiar green stain along the whole coastline. The banana fruit carries with it memories like those of grandmothers making the delicious puttu for breakfast and the sound of the gentle waves of the narrow backwaters where rural country boats laden high with freshly plucked bananas, make their way to the local markets.

C for Coconut
Coconuts in Kerala are scattered all over the land. Nestled in sheltered boughs and protective fronds, these moon-like spheres come of age under the sun and by the sea. From a tender green fruit to a browned and hardened nut, their sweet water and milk nourishes the men and women of the soil. They form the mysterious quintessence of fish curries, pot roasts, avials, and custards. They reveal a glimpse of a kitchen in thrall of this all-purpose fruit that cooks and priests offer obeisance to.  

C for Chinese Fishing Nets
The Chinese went in two by two...hunting for the fish that had vanished from their own seas. They built giant creaking contraptions like the machines of Mordor. These nets were the scourge of the sea as well as the boon for starving fishermen. Today, they are silent sentinels of bamboo and net that are silhouetted against the docks. Their catch serves this quaint and historical erstwhile fishing village. In Fort Kochi, it is likely that every time you see the sign which says Catch of the Day, its probably found its way to your plate through the Chinese Fishing Net. 

K for Kathakali
The Kathakali dancers twirl in a frenzy of skirts and swords as they tell stories of gods, emperors and folk heroes. They bicker, growl, joust and dance. They are the immortals for the night that they spend on the stage, outside their body, their time and their context. They fence with papier mache sabres. The gods and demons who are stabbed and burnt as the story unfolds in a crescendo of drums and music. They collapse into a heap of red, white and gold. They live and die with their eyebrows puckered in surprise.

S for Spice Market
While the Spice Market had many treasures to reveal, it was home to the wonderful allspice, a miniature globe containing the whole world within its circumference. All the spices in the kitchen dropped their essence into this tiny, innocuous, mud-coloured ball and it bloomed into existence as the Queen of exotic flavours. This apart, the myriad coloured peppers, the rolled and aromatic cinnamon bark, the multitude of dried berries, each with its own medicinal and cooking instructions, a spice market in Matancherry, Kerala is an experience akin to walking into God’s own kitchen.

U for Uruli
Uruli, the light of my kitchen, the fire of my stove, my faithful cauldron of delight. Oo-ru-Lee...the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Oo. Ru. Lee. It is a cooking utensil unlike any other. With its versatile uses, its wide and deep-bottomed character and its ability to heat and cook food to that miraculously perfect temperature, this one merits being lugged across the world. 

V for Vallom
Vallom or the typical Kerala country boat is both livelihood and instrument of leisure. As the laidback life of the backwaters unfolds with each dipping motion of the vallom sluicing through the tranquil waters, one cannot help but settle into a peaceful self-reflection. This one is a ubiquitous part of the landscape from public transport to fishing boats, from a romantic honeymooning couple’s ride of choice to a local lad’s school bus.

This was published in The New Indian Express Bangalore on 15 January, 2015

The Giant New Year Street Party

The last day of any new year is celebrated with gusto across the globe and more often than not, the party is often taken to the streets. From the ancient times, celebrations were marked by large public gatherings. People cheering on in town squares festooned with lights and decorations suited to the occasion, fireworks and general goodwill doing the rounds. However, this year our celebrations are marred by a pall of gloom and an undercurrent of fear because of a world that is dramatically veering towards polarisation, a lack of balance and respect for human life and an increasing propensity towards violence. As the year draws to a close, I revisit the cities that have reaffirmed my belief in the indomitable human spirit which makes sure there are good times even when the going is not so good.

From mile-high curtains of fairy lights to the noise and sparkle of fireworks as the clock chimes twelve, from a multitude of heads bobbing to a countdown in glittery party hats to party whistles, new year’s eve in some of my favourite cities has been all about bonhomie in these large gatherings and a whole street doing a new year countdown. Nothing is quite as festive as  strangers, families and friends coming together in what seems like a giant metaphorical hug to the universe at large. There are a few cities of the world I have travelled to during this time and a certain joie de vivre prevailed that made them memorable in different ways. New Year’s eve gatherings in these cities somehow served as a time capsule for me, capturing the place and its people in one frozen moment in time.

Kolkata, the city that will always be home, is a city of revelry in the last week of every year. It is a city I yearn to return to at this time simply because of the frenetic energy with which it celebrates a festival that has little to do with its socio-religious fabric. Christmas and new year celebrations here have been given state sanctions with Park Street, the epicentre of festivities, dressed up in lights and festive banners sponsored by the government itself. I remember being a part of these celebrations since when I was allowed to venture out on the streets on my own. I remember  teetering on the broken pavements in my first pair of high heels especially purchased for the day. I remember being with friends, lovers and family on various new year’s eve celebrations on this selfsame street. But more than anything, I remember being one of a milieu which drew people from all walks of life. As long as you had a party horn and shiny headgear, you were welcome to join in the fun.

KL, the capital city of a predominantly Muslim country, couldn’t be more liberal and full of energy and camaraderie on new year’s eve. With the restaurant and pub-lined Bukit Bintang drawing in the crowds, I found myself among the expats and locals, the Asian, Hispanic, Black and Caucasian people, the young and the old-- all of us who had come together for that one night in a street party that just went on and on. Federation Square in Melbourne makes for a beautiful New Year’s eve celebration. With a massive fireworks display across the water and thousands of people who gather together to watch, it is quite a remarkable sight. My memory remains that of a newlywed couple kissing against sparkling pinwheels in the sky...an image that has remained etched in my memory, though other details of the holiday have begun to blur.

This year I am in Bengaluru, my first New year’s eve in the city, and as I plan to gather with many others at MG Road to usher in 2015, I too hope that it will be a better year for me, my loved ones and the world at large. As I walk under the glittery canopy of lights on Brigade Road, blowing on my bells and whistles, I pray for Bhavani Devi’s two children and hope they find the strength to deal with the tragic death of their mother due to the horrific explosion on Church Street three days ago.

This year I shall wish for more travel and a more peaceful world that enables it. My top destination for this year will be Kashmir and its stark beauty among all its war debris.

Today as I celebrate new year’s eve under the presence of police drones and patrols, I can’t help thinking how it is more important than ever to get out of our homes, parties and isolated urban islands, to go out and greet strangers, mingle and celebrate in one giant street party wherever you might be.

This appeared in The New Indian Express, Bangalore on 1 January, 2015

The Travelling Bioscope Part II

I recently watched The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies and soaked in the beauty of Middle Earth aka New Zealand for the last time—from Turoa, Ohakune, North Island or the mythical and imposing Erebor to the idyllic Lake Pukaki which provides the stunning backdrop to the waterside village of Lake Town, the character of the films has been intrinsically tied together with the landscape of New Zealand, bringing this island nation alive in all its virgin splendour. The Hobbit: There and Back Again, the original title of the film marked the perfect journey of discovery and homecoming across this country, capturing its natural epic grandeur and preserving it on film for all time. This is the power of real and mythical journeys on screen. They imbue a land with an imagined history and drama, thus drawing you into viewing even a humble rock from a whole new perspective. A case in point would be travelling through Ramanagara, a small town about 50 km from Bengaluru on the Bengaluru-Mysuru highway, a completely nondescript sort of a place that you only pass through. Its only claim to fame are the ancient granite outcrops on its outskirts, another sight I would have bypassed for greener climes, had it not been for Sholay. The Ramadevarabetta formed the backdrop for iconic scenes from the film including the introduction of Gabbar, Hema Malini's memorable dance on broken beer bottles and key chase and fight sequences. For me these rocks resound with the sounds of Gabbar's classic dialogues and Hema Malini's ghungroos. This is but one of many points on a journey through various points on the celluloid map of the world.  

The Sideways Wine Tour (California)
This quirky and humorous story about two middle-aged men, Miles and Jack (played by Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church) is all about wine, great food, inebriated conversations, naked cuckolded husbands and fleeting holiday romances. Laden with high spirits and lubricated with good wine, this film brings to life the Santa Ynez Valley in Santa Barbara County with its mountains, lush rolling meadows, its expansive vineyards and quaint tasting rooms. The film piqued the interest of travellers and actually contributed to an increase in the tourism of the area. The famous Hitching Post II restaurant (Miles’ favourite restaurant where he meets Maya) actually exists and is a pitstop for most undertaking this tour. Apart from their excellent collection of wines, they also have quality meat, poultry and seafood grills. This apart, who can forget the celeb ostriches which show up in the film. The quirky Ostrich Land is home to these feathered bipeds and you can feed, meet and hang out with them just like our onscreen duo.

The Highway trip (J&K, Punjab and Rajasthan)
This film offers a fresh view of some of the lesser travelled paths on screen. Imtiaz Ali’s beautifully shot Highway, captures the sometimes pristine, sometimes chaotic and always colourful scenery as Alia Bhatt and her captors travel across North India in a truck. Far from the urban setting, this film dwells on the journey, the silences and often lets the backdrop emerge as the central metaphor in the film. As Alia Bhatt’s character breathes in deeply of the fresh air outside of her constrictive city life, she finds her personal freedom in the midst of her captivity. One of the most powerful scenes in the film include the nighttime shot in the monochromatic Sambhar salt pans in the Rann of Kutch where while attempting to escape, Alia Bhatt is overwhelmed by the futility of the exercise as well as the infinite night sky teeming with its stars overload. Then there are the stark snow-clad peaks of Kaza as well as the fairy tale setting at Aru Valley in Kashmir. The film makes us want to hitch a ride on the first truck leaving the city.

The Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara trip (Spain)
This film brought to life this Mediterranean country with its sun-kissed beaches, its plethora of churches, historical towns, cobblestoned paths, age-old traditions and colourful music and dance while showcasing some equally beautiful people (special note must be made of Hrithik Roshan and Katrina Kaif whose tanned and toned bodies made them perfect poster children for Spanish tourism). This slice of life film ushered in a very modern and urban Bollywood ethos spearheaded by Zoya Akhtar and also introduced a countrywide audience to obscure rituals like the La Tomatina as well as the Bull Run at Pamplona. With a great soundtrack and an easy vibe, the film did for Spain tourism among the urban youth what Yash Chopra had done for Switzerland back in the day. So much so that there was a reported 32 per cent hike in the number of Indian tourists to Spain in the first year following the film. Suddenly everyone was interested in the Flamenco and everyone wanted to visit Spain. Designed for the young and sporty, this trip traverses the coastal towns of Costa Brava and includes all the elements for a real life bachelor party/trip which mimics the one on screen.

This appeared in The New Indian Express Bangalore on 25 December, 2014

The Travelling Bioscope

While Raj Kapoor might have been the first Indian director to take his audience to foreign locales with Sangam in 1964, it was Yash Chopra who reinvented romance creating an everlasting association with chiffons, Swiss dales and meadows in full bloom. Ever since Rekha and Amitabh Bachchan immortalized the famous Kuekenhof tulip gardens in The Netherlands with the riot of colours and the magic of Kishore-Lata in Dekha Ek Khwaab from Silsila, this garden has been a highlight on the itinerary of a large number of Bollywood loving honeymooning couples from India. Apart from these gardens, this legendary onscreen pair also brought Switzerland home to the Indian viewer, beginning a trend which was faithfully followed by blockbusters like Chandni and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge among a host of many other films. And thus began the Yashraj formula for sureshot success which fused the hero of the day singing hit romantic songs, actresses in chiffons cavorting on green meadows and the snowcapped Alps in the backdrop. So much so that that Swiss tourism tied up with Yashraj Films and Kuoni Travel Group in 2010 to create a customized tour called the YRF Enchanted Journey which takes travellers to different locales from the various films produced under the banner. While this one is perfect for couples, we take a look at a few other cinema-based tours that continue to fuel our imagination long after their last scenes have unspooled on screen.

Middle Earth  (New Zealand)
Peter Jackson’s award-winning trilogy brought Middle Earth to life in all its magnificence and glory. Great credit goes to the director for choosing New Zealand as the backdrop for the LOTR films as its natural beauty is quite unsurpassed. The film catapulted the country’s sights and sounds into the public imagination across the world as Lord of the Rings series went on to become one of  the highest grossing films of all time. Almost all parts of the country have different LOTR tours and can be customized to suit your interests. Some of the most breathtaking sights include the Tongariro National Park providing the stark landscape for Mordor with its central peak Mount Ngauruhoe as Mount Doom which is the figurative beginning and end of the ring. For those who want only the Middle Earth experience, there are the Hobbiton movie set tours which recreate the green splendour that is the shire, complete with the little hobbit holes, the Green Dragon Inn and the Party Tree where Bilbo does his disappearing act!

Amelie’s Montmartre (Paris, France)  
Amelie, the wonderfully quirky 2001 film, follows the travails of a dreamy young waitress through the charming cobblestoned paths of Montmartre. This erstwhile artist’s village is one of the most charming parts of the city, associated with the music of the Jazz Age, the impressionism of Monet, the genius of Picasso, the madness of Dali and the never-ending dances of Moulin Rouge. It is also the MontMartre of Amelie Poulain. From the metro station she used to take to the local grocer and butcher shops that she visits, this is one inexpensive tour that you could craft for yourself with help from the numerous online sites. A good place to end your tour is at Café des Deux Moulins on 15 Rue Lepic, the lovely, quaint and now legendary little cafe where Amelie is shown working in the film. Wrangle a terrace (outdoor seat) and treat yourself to a glass of wine and watch the laidback life unfold on the gorgeous Montmartre Hill.

The Feluda tour (Jaipur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer and Varanasi) 
This one is quite the personal favourite. While following Feluda’s complete adventures could very well turn into a Bharat Darshan, a fan of the two Satyajit Ray’s films, Sonar Kella and Joy Baba Felunath, could follow this super smart private detective’s adventurous trail across four cities in North India.
Every Bengali’s much-loved sleuth from 21 Rajani Sen Road, Ballygunge, Kolkata, Feluda is Satyajit Ray’s immortal creation whom he brought to life with finesse in his films Sonar Kella and Joy Baba Felunath. While the films were continued by his son, Sandip Ray, it is Ray senior’s mastery over the craft that brought this Charminar-smoking detective to life with all the sharpness of his intellect. Soumitra as Feluda turned in a stellar performance which was equally matched by his young assistant Topshe, essayed by Siddhartha Chatterjee and the unassailable writer of thrillers Jatayu, played by Santosh Dutta. Together, they travel to various cities, encounter oddball characters from those places, find themselves in humorous situations brought about by the clash of different cultures and languages and solve great mysteries plaguing the people and police force alike. Follow the Sonar Kella route as envisioned in the dreams of the young boy Mukul and journey across the often surreal landscape of Rajasthan. A traveller can visit destinations including the Nahargarh Fort in Jaipur, the lesser-known Circuit House in Jodhpur and finally wind up at the marvellous golden-yellow sandstone fort—the Jaisalmer Fort. Travel by train all through and hope to meet characters as diverse as Lalmohan Ganguly, the writer of popular detective fiction and collector of antiques. For those attempting to get lost in the bylanes of Varanasi as depicted in Joy Baba Felunath, the film is the perfect map for the same and will no doubt take you to interesting sights and bring the city alive in a whole new way.

(This was published in the New Indian Express Bangalore on 27 November 2014)

25 ways to discover the City of Joy

Kolkata, the grand doyen of the East, where history is a living, breathing root of the city, providing it the nourishment to limp through its not as glorious present. Kolkata, the city which nurtures art, culture, music and poetry and also sounds the death knell for commerce and industry. Kolkata, a haven for immigrants and refugees, from the handful of Jews and Armenians to the disappearing Chinese who made this city their nerve centre and established their culinary sway over India through their hybrid food. Kolkata, a city where Christmas is a state festival, celebrated with fervour and excitement -- a city that knows its Christmas carols and the right consistency of teh plum pudding -- a knowledge gleaned through the British Raj and the vibrant Anglo-Indian community. Kolkata, a city of political idealism and political kerfuffles. Kolkata, a city of fabulous food, madness, contradictions and great beauty to the eyes of a somewhat biased observer like me. However, partiality aside, here is a list of the top 25 things to do in the city, things that would complete any tourist's itinerary and remain the much-loved nostalgia-inspiring treats for an erstwhile Calcuttan returning to his or her home.

1. Have a cup of creamy Viennese Coffee and a sinful Strawberry Cube at Flury’s on Park Street. This must-have tea-time cake laden with marzipan, cream and all things nice accompanied by a cup of their signature brew will surely warm your cockles as well as give you a sense of the history of the place.

2. Take a boat ride on the Hooghly that snakes its way through the city. This is a great way to watch the life on the banks, unravelling before your eyes in a slow and unrushed manner. Late afternoon is the best time to hire one of the numerous noukas or country boats at the Princep Ghat. Watch the sky change colours as the boatman rows you into a golden sunset.

3. Go on a tonga ride around the Victoria Memorial in the evening. Best undertaken in winter, while this activity might be obviously touristy, there is some amount of charm in the ride around the greenest and prettiest part of the city. Take your loved one, climb on to the carriage and slip into another era. Tongas are available for hire in front of the Victoria Memorial.

4. Indulge in the unforgettable rich plum cake from Nahoums, an Armenian bakery in New Market which used to make the best Christmas cakes and remains a part of every Calcuttan's Christmas itinerary. While the last Armenian owner, David Nahoum recently passed away, his employees continue to keep his legacy alive and run this age-old establishment.

5. Catch the best live music in town at Someplace Else in the Park Hotel. This iconic bar has developed an identity of its own, nurturing new musicians and initiating generations of young people into the hallowed world of rock n roll. Whatever be your favoured style – blues, jazz, or good old-fashioned rock n roll, Someplace Else provides something for every kind of music aficionado.

6. Olypub is a dusty old character-laden bar on Park Street which is a good place to catch a quick beer and a fine Steak Chateaubriand. They grill this meat in magical ways and rare, medium or well done you are likely to get a surprisingly wonderful steak as well as some great conversation with the regulars who patronize the joint. While a recent fire shut the establishment, everyone is waiting for the pub to reopen.

7. Eat a chello kebab platter at Peter Cat , a food experience you cannot leave Calcutta without. This entirely appropriated version of an Irani classic withsucculent mutton/chicken kebabs on a skewer, buttery rice, roasted vegetables and an egg fried sunny side up on top, makes it a perfect symphony of flavours. No wonder hundreds of chello kebab platters roll out of the restaurant’s kitchens.

8. End a night out on town with the sumptuous Chinese Breakfast or Yum Cha at Tiretti Bazaar, Poddar Court. Freshly prepared by the Chinese community in the city, this breakfast includes everything from honeyed pork to succulent chicken buns. You have to be an early riser to catch it as the food is laid out around 5:30 am and finishes by 7 am.

9. Visit Kumartuli to check out this artisan community that showcases some of the most beautiful art work by local craftsmen, sculptors and potters as they make idols of gods and goddesses. Visit in the run-up to the Durga Puja to see the colony buzzing with activity.

10. Eat the typical and mouth-watering Kolkata-style biryani at Arsalan, complete with the saffron grains of rice, melt-the-mouth chunks of meat, whole fragrant potatoes and a boiled egg.

11. Indulge in a typically Calcutta midweek activity and visit either Saturday Club or Calcutta Cricket and Football Club (CCFC) for a lively bar night. These erstwhile colonial sports clubs have a relaxed charm and vibe that is entirely their own. You need to befriend a member to make your way into the club,s but once there just sit back, chat and drink the evening away.

12. Take a tram ride down Red Road, the central artery of the city. This is a lovely way of enjoying this laidback and historical city and the ride is through the Maidan, which is one of the greenest stretches in Kolkata.

13. Revisit Tagore’s life at the Jorasanko Thakur Bari, the ancestral home of the Tagores. The house has been restored and converted into a museum and gives visitors an insight into the life and influences of this noble father of Bengali art, music and culture.

14. Discover the marvellous architecture and history of the erstwhile zamindars, intellectuals and student revolutionaries on a North Kolkata walk. The labyrinthine lanes of the old city offer surprises at every turn and an organized walk by companies like Calcutta Walks or a resident who knows the history of the area can add value to your wanderings in this atmospheric part of the city.

15. Take a morning walk along the promenade of the vast Dhakuria Lake and follow it up with a lebu cha right outside any of the gates, a quintessential South Calcutta early morning experience.

16. Catch a play or film at Nandan, the epicentre of Calcutta’s cultural activities. The place is always buzzing with foreign film festivals, international dance performances and local, national and international theatre performances.

17. Visit a traditional fish market and watch the innumerable fresh fish on display as well as the whole process of assessing, bargaining and buying. Mornings at the Gariahat Market are a good time to experience an ordinary day in the life of a fish market.

18. Take in the imposing Gothic architecture of St Paul’s Cathedral in the heart of the city. The seat of the Anglican Diocese of Calcutta, this is a grand sprawling structure with an awe-inspiring midnight mass on Christmas eve.

19. Volunteer or simply visit Mother House, the headquarters of the Missionaries of Charity, which has great historical value as the one-time abode and resting place of Mother Teresa.

20. Don't miss a photo-op at the Malik Ghat flower market thriving on the banks of the Hooghly. This colourful mess of all kinds of beautiful fresh flowers, right below the Howrah Bridge is a sensory early morning experience.

21. Visit Calcutta University and Presidency College, world renowned academic institutions, which are worth a visit for their architectural styles. Take a walk down the corridors that have produced numerous eminent personalities. Both are on College Street

22. Victoria Memorial might be an odd relic from the Raj. but it is grand, opulent and worth a trip. Its lovely lawns under the shadow of a massive statue of Queen Victoria are a great picnic spot.

23. Give in to your religious side at the Kalighat temple. This chaotic and ancient temple is much venerated as one of the 51 Shakti peethas and is believed to be the spot where the toes of the Goddess Sati fell to earth.

24. Do not miss a football match in progress at one of the clubs in the Maidan to get a feel between the legendary rivalry between the Mohan Bagan and East Bengal football teams. The practice matches are usually free and there is a lot of good natured ribbing that goes on during the game as supporters gather on to cheer their favourites.

25. Stay at the Fairlawn Hotel which is renowned for its famous guests like Dominique Lapierre, Shashi Kapoor (there is a room named after him). The hotel has a cluttered Victorian air and till very recently, had a wonderful proprietor, the indomitable Mrs Violet Smith, who would watch over single female travelers with a watchful eye and would regale anyone willing to listen with stories of a bygone era.

(This was published in the New Indian Express Bangalore on 13 November 2014)

A Bellyful of Celebrations In KL

 Kuala Lumpur or KL glitters by night. It is Fritz Lang’s Metropolis where towers and spires of chrome and glass exuding a diamond brilliance stretch towards the skies competing with the glittering stars. The city is a futuristic and grand sonnet in steel. It is also a city of brand names and numerous malls--Southeast Asia's offering to the capitalist gods.

As me and my husband are driven to our bed in the 22-storey tower in the heart of the city with
a lovely rooftop pool in the shadow of the Petronas Towers, we are shocked by the contrast with
our own home city of Kolkata from where we boarded the flight some 4 hours ago. The two cities
are a study in opposites and if there is one place they converge -- that would be in its largesse -- in
welcoming migrants and refugees and offering them a place they can call home on this crowded earth.
It’s two days before Christmas and a nice feeling to wake up to a gorgeous view of the city’s
impressive skyline.

And the first sight on our agenda is Petaling Street with its impressive gates opening on to an older world removed from the glamorous malls and corporate skyscrapers--the city's age-old Chinatown. Once inside, we were greeted by strange snake-like creatures on grills, herbal concoctions being served out of beautiful Chinese teapots in tea shops, vendors selling 'fake originals', stores with a line of roast ducks hanging from
hooks. There were stalls selling longan (a litchi like fruit), stalls selling Chicken Rice and Indian food especially virulent orange tandoori chicken. Most of these stalls encroached on to the road itself, making sure the food was literally in your face, tempting you as you took your next step forward. And if somehow you resisted, then there were the old toothless ladies waving bowls under our noses, a live advertisement for their stalls which were slightly less conspicuously placed. Unable to survive the sensory assault, we stopped at a stall which had a crowd milling around it.Chicken Rice could very well be the national dish of this country, considering its ubiquitous presence just about everywhere -- from the Air Asia flight into the country to mall food court kiosks. Our dish came with a giant bowl of stock, little servings of red chilli paste, sliced cucumbers and a large portion of sliced chicken. The chicken was poached with its shiny outer skin providing nice texture. The reason this dish is so popular is because it’s a simple balancing of flavours and textures--the smooth tender chicken, the sticky grains of rice, the sharp edge of the red chilli, the cool crunch of cucumber and the hot broth to dunk your rice into.

After many icy tender coconut drinks and many miles walked on burning asphalt and air conditioned
mall floors, we decided to make our next food stop at the giant among malls – Berjaya Times Square.
From steamboat restaurants to tropical fruit salads to sushi bars, it was all under one cavernous roof
and like in the adventurous spirit of things, we made our way from one kiosk to the next ordering bits
and bobs of grills and poaches, sushi and fried chicken, shaved ice, coconut and red mung beans, till
we were ready to pop at the seams.

KL despite being the capital city of a predominantly Islamic country, was the proverbial melting
pot of food, language and culture. Its population is largely made up of Malays, Chinese and Indians
with Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism being predominant religions and yet, none of these facts deter
its cosmopolitan crowd from coming out with it Santa Hats and bells and whistles and celebrating
Christmas eve with an unmatched gusto. We were told to make our way to Changkat Bukit Bintang, the busy-buzzy street lined with bars, al fresco restaurants and cafes specializing in food from across the world, this was a street with character and drama. Quiet and sunny during the day, this looked like a street grabbing a quick afternoon siesta in preparation for the big night ahead. As I sipped on fruity cider in a quaint wine shop, we watched the late afternoon sun fade into a dusky orange, I watched the city begin to heave and awaken for KL was a city of the night.

I pondered over the cultural chequered the fabric that clothed this country and marvelled at its ability
to integrate with all. It was a traditional country keenly aware of its history, its religion, its language
and its roots. It was also a supremely liberal country. A small case in point was the fact that I was
sitting in an outdoor cafe, drinking my cider near the heart of a predominantly Muslim city. Across
the road, a Tamilian family in traditional attire were dumping bags of groceries from an international
supermarket chain into the boot of their car. A few streets away, pretty young things were powdering
their noses for a night out on the party strip at Jalan Sultan Ismail. A few intersections away, Chinese
housewives were gathering their pots and pans with simmering soups and crackling roasts and making
their way to the night markets on Petaling Street.

While, we were eating lunch, Bukit Bintang had bedecked herself with tinsel, silver bells and fairy
lights. Even in the sharp humid air, the smell of Christmas cake and mulled wine were hard to miss.
As the muezzin gave the call for the evening prayer, I linked arms with the husband and made our
way back to our temporary home in the clouds only to emerge a few hours later when the Christmas
Eve celebrations were in full swing. Malaysians (the mixed Indian-Chinese and Malay populace), migrants, expats and tourists jostled for space on Bukit Bintang. It was a night that took me back to Park Street in Kolkata, where people of all faiths and all walks of life come together on a brightly decorated stretch of the city, celebrating Christmas, far away from the land of its origin, with great bonhomie and fervour. Maybe the two cities weren't so different after all.

My thoughts were interrupted by a group of bikers who looked straight out of the Terminator series
who had arrived at a pub across us with much fanfare. They just added to the oddball mix of people.
We readjusted our Santa hats with glittering light baubles on its end, dug into our roast turkey with
stuffing, counted down to midnight with the rest of the street and burst into crazy impromptu jigs with
strangers who had become friends over the course of this crazy evening and we ushered in a truly
merry Christmas on a balmy tropical night.

This was published in the New Indian Express, Bangalore on 16 October 2014

When the Devi transforms the city

The crisp Sharad sky is corn blue and there is a light breeze fanning the dusty trees on
the arterial roads of Calcutta. There is a particular smell in the air as the season begins to turn. The kaash phool (which is actually not a phool or flower but a species of invasive perennial grass) makes its appearance on empty fields and abandoned lots, dressing them up in beautiful white. Rendered immortal through Tagore's poetry and captured for posterity in Satyajit Ray's lens, the bobbing white heads of the kaash phool are nature's way of ushering in the Devi Paksha or the fortnight of the goddess.

Every year during Durga Puja, the old city heaves a sigh, tucks its ungainly bits under her and rolls over, presenting her best face to the world. Just like Ma Durga who returns to her parental abode every year bringing renewed hope and joy, for those five days, Calcutta also transforms into the grand doyen, reliving her remembered past as the proverbial big city with bright lights.

Durga Puja is entirely unique in its scope as it transcends its religious connotations and becomes a social event celebrating the arts, the culture of the city and its people. Ma Durga is a goddess for all and as sweaty faces jostle against each other, eager to catch a glimpse of her multi-hued glory at the various pandals (temporary structure housing the idol or protima) dotted across the city, the invisible curtain between communities and classes falls away.

I joined the hundreds and thousands of people from various walks of life, dressed in their Sunday best, milling about on the once familiar streets of the city, now rendered entirely unrecognizable with the decorations and the lights. And despite being a witness to the goddess year after year, I am still as wide-eyed as when I saw the first idol inside the first pandal in my neighbourhood. From my point of view as a knee high toddler, Ma Durga was a study in perspective. Nothing loomed larger or appeared grander in my universe. And surprisingly, every protima and every pandal I saw in the subsequent years continued to inspire the same feeling in the years that followed. I have seen visionaries and lunatics, touches of genius and touches of the absurd - from a Harry Potter- inspired Hogwarts pandal to one created out of Maggi noodles, from the US presidential campaign represented through lights to a goddess bedecked in a see-through white sari, from an edible biscuit pandal to a 3D printed goddess battling a centaur, there are no boundaries and no inhibitions as far as interpretation is concerned.

The colours of the Rio de Janeiro carnival, the splendid costumes and craftsmanship of the Venetian masked festival, the music and gaiety of the New Orleans Mardi Gras and the spectacular floats from the French Riviera -- all fade in comparison to the spectacle that is Durga Puja. The sheer scale and magnificence of the craftmanship that defines the festival, the reverberating frenzied tempo of the dhaak (local drums), the journey of the exquisitely cast idols from the lanes of Kumartuli (the potter's lane in Calcutta which has been making idols of gods and goddesses for several generations) to the Byzantine streets of North Calcutta, the modern thematic twists of South Calcutta and reimagining of the tableau in which the Mother slays the buffalo demon, Mahishasura, the image of married Bengali women resplendent in their white saris with red borders smearing each other with the bridal sindoor -- each sense is engaged in this celebration and they all seem to come together in one perfect and unanimous whole.

Greasy food, noisy cap guns, joyrides on ferris wheels, old fashioned flirtations in pujo pandals and a wonderfully dressed-up city and her people -- this festival celebrates the goddess and her great feats as well as art, life, youth, nostalgia and hedonism with equal gusto. Armed with a camera, good walking shoes and an appetite for the offbeat and the unusual, Durga Puja in Calcutta is right in the heart of the madding crowd, where the pulse of the city lies. For five days, the city does not sleep and the sounds, lights and excitement that is Durga Puja keeps spiralling upwards from Shashti to Saptami to Ashtami to Nabami and finally ends with the bittersweet immersion on Dashami.

The city sleeps thereafter reeling under the weight of her acquired persona. But then there is the rallying cry of Aashche Bochor Abar Hobe (It will happen again in the coming year) and I return to a different city, a different life with the assurance that I too shall return to my homeland in the coming year to witness yet another visit from Ma Durga.

 This was published in the New Indian Express, Bangalore on 9 October 2014

Where the God of Small Things Lives

While The God of Small Things created ripples in the world of literature way back in the nineties, I waited 13 years to read Arundhati Roy’s magnum opus. Today, my copy of the book is a memory of my holiday, tattered and misshapen and stuffed with stubs, pressed petals and brochures about god's own country.

For me, The God of Small Things was my faithful friend through my journey in the backwater state of Kerala. It was my travel guide, my food bible and my local encyclopedia of trivia. It was a compendium of magic words that brought the backwaters alive with an epic tale. Although the book released way back in 1997, I waited for many summers and winters to pass in order to find the perfect moment to read it. In between jobs and having liquidated all my meagre savings in order to go on a holiday, I decided to embark on my first solo trip in India. This is also when I decided to read the book.

As a woman in India, travelling alone on public transport itself can be daunting, thus a single female holidaymaker is a rare and unheard of species rarely dotting the tourist map. Yet, I persisted, having known gentle people from the state, eaten great food and heard about the remarkably low statistics of violence against women, I was convinced that Kerala was where I must go. The only companion I had was the book. And it managed to transform my ordinary holiday into an imaginary universe. The God of Small Things seemed to appear to me at every twist in the roads of Kerala. I expected the land to be no different from what Arundhati Roy described:

“...by early June the southwest monsoon breaks and there are three months of wind and water with short spells of sharp, glittering sunshine that thrilled children snatch to play with. The countryside turns an immodest green. Boundaries blur as tapioca fences take root and bloom. Brick walls turn mossgreen. Pepper vines snake up electric poles. Wild creepers burst through laterite banks and spill across flooded roads. Boats ply in bazaars. And small fish appear in the puddles that fill the PWD potholes on the highways...”

As my aircraft descended rather bumpily towards the tarmac at the Cochin International Airport, the first thing I saw through the tiny window was a lush, deep-green sea below me. Gradually miniature trees and fields and foliage appeared. Then came the discernible coconut trees waving their heads, and then came the first streaky droplets of rain forming patterns on the outside of my window. Filled with trepidation, I felt strangely comforted by the rain. I had just started reading the book and was at the point when the whole family made a trip to watch The Sound of Music one afternoon. This ended up being a pivotal moment in the book that foreshadowed later tragedies and small and large betrayals. I left the airport humming old tunes from the Hollywood classic just like Estha, one of the fraternal twins who make up the cast of characters that populate the family home at Ayemenem. As I collected my bags, my thoughts still scattered all over wondering whether cinemas like Abhilash Talkies still existed in 21stand versatility of the Keralite mundu after witnessing the ease with which the men all round me irrespective of age and body types showed off their legs. I now also had a mental picture for Velutha, the untouchable antihero of sorts who impresses in his mundu and white shirt as he marched in a party demonstration with a red flag.

I was also thinking about how the afternoon sky would change it colours at random as the sun played hide and seek with the clouds. A few afternoons later as I saw the sky turn red with an impending storm, I remembered another red sky that Rahel (the other twin) sees through her cheap red plastic sunglasses which gradually turns to a sickly orange as her brother Estha is abused by the creepy Orangedrink Lemondrink man.

As I travelled through the banana-fronded backwater country to the secluded Phillip Kutty’s farm set on a manmade island in the middle of an exceptionally large canal off the Vembanad Lake, I realized that I was just a few kilometers from Roy’s Ayemenem and in a little town just like it. Just like the book, this too was a place where life happened on the backwaters. Thus my first ride on a country boat or vallom to see the rising moon was a moment enhanced by Roy’s lyrical poetry. I dipped my hand in the waters and the words came to life.

“It was warm, the water. Greygreen. Like rippled silk.
With fish in it.
With the sky and the trees in it.
And at night, the broken yellow moon in it.”

I spent the balmy nights reading the book out on the porch of my room overlooking the silver waters of the backwaters by the light of a single lamp casting its yellow pool in the darkness and bringing all the silken winged moths to my door to die. I could smell the brooding air of the of Ayemenem. I could hear the fluttering of Pappachi’s moth. My heart ached for Ammu. Just like it ached for the young widow Anu Mathew (the owner of the wonderful homestay that I was staying in). She was a brave and feisty lady who was fulfilling her husband’s dream all by herself. Her farm, where I spent three lovely days, radiated all her family’s warmth and reflected the hopes her husband had for the place before he suddenly passed on.

All these thoughts played into my understanding and love for the book. As I ate homemade banana jam for breakfast, I thought of the Paradise Pickles and Preserves run by Mammachi and the strange consistency of banana jam/jelly. I learnt about the history of the Syrian Christian community through the food that I gorged on every day. I learnt about the produce of the land through Anu Mathew and her mother-in-law over shared conversations on the dinner tables. In the dark hours of the night, Arundhati Roy’s magical prose brought me closer to the land I was passing through. She gave me a language to tell my story about Kerala to the world. I am glad I had waited to read it all these years for now I remember it like no other. The characters in this book gave me a few oddball companions on solitary walks and the story itself became a bookend for my own journey into this beautiful country ruled by the god of small things.

This was published in the New Indian Express, Bangalore on 25 September 2014

Coffee and Mist: A monsoon journal from Coorg

When I was much younger and my universe was constrained by the city limits of Calcutta,
Coorg was a little squiggle on the map of Karnataka, its shadowy presence acknowledged
by half-remembered geography lessons, coffee and by a certain gown-like drape of a
certain Mrs Mundappa’s sari. The latter especially stood out in its uniqueness, eking out
a visual cue for Coorg. Many years later in college, Coorg was one of the many places
that people called home in the multicultural melting pot that was Delhi University. And
almost all of them came from homes set in sprawling estates growing coffee and had an
unbelievably high tolerance for alcohol as well as fiery meat dishes. This naturally led to a
conversation about the Pandi Curry or the famous spiced pork curry of the region. Some
Coorgi folk actually believed that this dish was the sacred rite of passage for all meat
lovers. Since a good Pandi Curry eluded me and those I sampled remained greasy blots
in my food memory, just like the dish, with time, the place faded from the memory. Five
years later as I crossed a bridge over the Cauvery in a well-travelled car, with the familiar
highway markers announcing ‘Welcome to Kodagu District’ in my line of sight, I felt a
sudden rush of excitement as all these half-remembered impressions flooded in.

In a few kilometres after Kushalnagar, the gateway town, the run-of-the-mill state highway
suddenly transformed into a winding hilly road with unending swathes of green on either
side. Monsoon is not regarded as a favoured time to visit this region and yet, whenever I
have travelled across South India, it has been under the aegis of the rain gods. Somehow,
I have always enjoyed this off season experience which drives away the tourist hordes
and returns the place to its serene quietude. The rain-washed land shorn of its summer
dust has a fresh and dewy sheen. Coorg was no different and my first glimpse of the lush
and wild forested tracts interspersed with the vast coffee plantations, was through a gap
between passing rain clouds. As the sun cast its errant late afternoon beams across the
road, the coffee bushes glistened, cementing this as a lasting snapshot of the place.

An interesting fact about the Coorg or the Kodagu district is that it is the least populous of
the 30 districts of Karnataka which make it one of the few places where the wilderness per
square kilometre is far more than the human population around these parts. Also, since
large tracts of this district are privately owned by the coffee planters (Coorg is India’s most
important coffee-growing district), that ensures that the forest cover remains unspoilt and
thus the region supports an extraordinary biodiversity. This also prevents any unnecessary
development in an area which draws hundreds of holidaymakers to its lush hillscapes. As a result
there is the growth of a new hospitality industry -- one which thrives on homestays
and extremely luxurious boutique properties usually the brainchild of the plantation owners
themselves.

As we made our way through the bumpy non-roads a little above Suntikoppa into the Old
Kent Estate, the Coorgi terrain enveloped us in her musky, squelchy and coffee-scented
bosom. An idyll in the middle of 200 odd acres of coffee, cardamom and pepper crops,
the Old Kent Estate is a renovated version of quintessentially English coffee bungalow.
century comforts like sunken tubs and spa treatments are juxtaposed against 21st
coffee plantation walks and traditional Coorgi food. This is the template for most Coorgi
homestays as well as boutique resorts which are a far cry from big banner hotel chains.
We spent our days walking around misty hill roads. Like many other places, Coorg has
also been more about the 'in between' journeys rather than the popular tourist spots. An
initial sightseeing experience at the Abbey Falls left us a little scarred. Buffeted by the jet
spray of the fairly impressive waterfall and trampled by nearly five score camera-happy
tourists who braved precarious rocks and moss-sodden perches in order to get the perfect
shot, we did a quick about turn just as we got a glimpse of the waterfall. The tourist
legions had left in its wake reams of orange Haldiram bhujia packets and green-capped
Bisleri bottles while the excess of water seeping out from every single crevasse had led to
a proliferation of leeches and you were lucky if you left Abbey Falls without a bloodsucker
in tow. Thereafter we drove around aimlessly, tracking the natural beauty of the rolling
hills and stopping where we pleased. Lured by ambling cows, little bridges over gurgling
streams and picturesque sunsets, we were masters of our own itineraries.

A strange fact I discovered is that although this is the land of coffee with green beans
hanging from every bush that you see by the highway, a good cuppa is not all that easy
to come across. The best coffee of the region is actually packed off to the auction houses
and sold off to foreign buyers. They return to India via the circuitous international coffee
chain route with a 100 percent markup and are served in branded cups or as freeze-dried
packs of Arabaica and Robusta with esoteric descriptions on their labels.
Apart from the plantation homestays, it is rather unlikely that one will find Coorgi coffee
at a roadside stall. A single ambitious shop in Madikeri has forward integrated into a cafe
and this was where we had our first traditional Coorgi coffee, made with local beans and
sweetened with jaggery - a perfectly heartwarming brew that kept away the rainy day
chills. However, we managed to wrangle many a cuppa made from the home-grown beans
from the kitchen in our estate. And while we took in the changing light across the coffee
bushes and the colourful profusion of rain-drenched flowers, we drank deeply of the brew of the land.

While coffee is an integral aspect of Coorgi cuisine, a plentiful bounty of the land, so
is meat. Traditionally the Kodavas (the indigenous locals who had settled in the region
thousands of years ago, inherited the land and set up coffee and spice plantations)
were fierce hunters who subsisted on game that they caught and the produce of the
land. This included a limited number of vegetables like plantains, jackfruit and coconuts.
This resulted in meat becoming a central feature of meals. While chicken and fish were
commonly consumed, it was the meat from the wild boar hunt that formed the greatest
delicacy -- Pandi Curry. While we tasted our delightful Pandi Curry in a restaurant with a
jaw-dropping view across a valley, most Pandi curries are best had in traditional homes,
over crackling fires and accompanied by snowy akki rotis. The complex blend of spices,
the varying textures and the fiery edge, made this a meal worthy of a royal repast.

Dotted with a handful of one-horse towns, I discovered that the true beauty of Coorg lies
outside human settlement and in its fragrant coffee and delectable food. Everything is
born of the soil, including its people, who are fiercely independent with a culture that is
as ancient as it is predominant in the region even today. They guard their natural bounty,
local myths and old family secrets with equal zeal.

It rains as I walk under bulbous jackfruits, hanging from mossy branches. I pick an
occasional green berry off a shiny coffee plant and watch kingfishers create a sudden
gash of blue across the green canvas. This is a Coorgi monsoon. And it is like no other
that I have seen.

This was published in the New Indian Express, Bangalore on 18 September 2014

So Long and Thanks for all the Fish

“The angler forgets most of the fish he catches, but he does not forget the streams and lakes in which they are caught."

--Charles K Fox

Anglers are quirky characters full of stories of the river. They are extremely particular about the
whiskey they drink and the doneness of fresh fish grilled over open fires. They are also solitary
figures who tend to disappear from time to time. Historically angling is a gentleman's sport. These
recreational sportsmen approach the sport with the same enthusiasm as wine connoisseurs sniffing out
the best vintage grape. There are no age bars and very basic fitness requirements, all you should be
able to do is clamber through hills, scrub and stand in the water for long periods. Referred to as 'the
contemplative man's recreation' by author Izaak Walton, what it really requires is dollops of patience,
a fondness for your own company and an unerring bond with your fishing rod, the river and the fish.
Fly fishing is a type of angling which is all about good instincts, skill at throwing the line and landing
the artificial flies in the right spot. In the hills, angling and fly fishing is an even more invigorating
affair as the fisherman along with his fishing skills, also has to negotiate the often tricky terrain along
high-altitude rivers to access the best pools of fish especially trout, the celebrated game fish of the hills.

Although I am not an angler, there is a river that has imprinted on on my mind. There aren't too many
fish that I have caught successfully, but I will always remember being in the hallowed company of the
rainbow trout. Reflecting the sun and darting upstream between the rocks and crevasses, this is the
prized catch of the hill rivers and coveted by both novice and expert anglers. For me, it was a moment
of awe chasing this magnificent creature up a river through one of the most stunning vistas I had ever
seen in my life. Despite travelling far and wide, like an old sepia-tinted photograph in a well-thumbed
album, snapshots of the Tirthan River have followed me through the days of my youth, providing
succour when life demanded it.

Nagini, a small village in the Tirthan Valley in the Kullu District of Himachal Pradesh is an angler's
paradise and almost entirely overlooked by most tourist maps. It is a place outside of time and
far away from the city lights, perfectly preserved with its lush unspoilt sunrises and sunsets and
replete with local myths and legends. Nestled in this village is the Himalayan Trout Fishing Camp,
a getaway from it all. The British introduced trout in the Indian rivers to pursue their favoured sport
and this glorious tradition is kept alive and vibrant at this camp by its colourful owner and angler
extraordinaire, Christopher Mitra.

He and his family welcomed me and my friends, a ragtag bunch of young college students into their
lovely home and ensured that that we were well fed, well rested and completely enamoured by the
hills by the time we left. While there, we learnt how to fish fish, feast on all things trout, sip our
morning tea with the river gurgling by below our tents. We spent evening around a bonfire, nursing
our favourite tipple and inevitably guitars would be unearthed and old half-remembered Beatles
songs would be sung gloriously out of tune. The hills would echo with bonhomie even as the shadows
lengthened. I have been to Nagini twice and some of my other companions on our first trip, return at
regular intervals. A very close friend of mine admitted that he had a deep connection with the place
and would return to it every few months to go on long walks, write his PhD thesis, contemplate or
simply fish, and all of this while living in a foreign country.

It has been many years since I have returned to Nagini and yet there are some things about the place
that are fresh and larger than life itself. I remember our guide who was also the village oracle. I
remember the rusty metal basket on which we crossed the river on a metal rope. I remember just
staring at the mountains in the changing light. I remember the freshest and most delicious grilled trout
with the tang of fresh lemon roasted over a campfire and I remember a little dog who looked like a
furry toilet brush and had set up her permanent home in our tent. The tents have since been replaced
by log cabins and huts but the place still retains all its wonder.

For me, Nagini is a time capsule of a few wonderful days spent with laughter, songs , trout, whiskey
and camaraderie like no other. For me, Nagini is a memory of the smiling face of a girl -- one of
the best friends I ever made, who is no longer with us. For me, Nagini is about the Himalayan Trout
Fishing Camp run by the irrepressible fisherman, storyteller and guitarist -- Christopher Mitra, whose
Irish and Bengali lineage is well reflected in his love for good whiskey and a well-cooked fish. For
me, Nagini is the truth in a Billy Joel song where:

"We're all carried along
By the river of dreams"

This was published in the New Indian Express, Bangalore on 11 September 2014