Sathvic - Pure Thoughts

Rendezvous with Indrani

2015-10-04T10:15:00.002-07:00

‘Indrani wake up!’ A feeble voice mumbled in the mechanical silence of J J Hospital. Eyelids accustomed to heavy eye shadow looked aged and naked. She opened her clouded eyes and saw a beautiful heavily made up face with fake eye lashes beside her. Her muddled memory ran haphazard. Who is she?

‘Don’t just sleep like that!,’ the beautiful face warned.

‘Who are you?’, Indrani looked at her with disbelief. ‘And how did you get here? The police guarding the ICU let you in?’

‘You think I need a pass to come here. I am dead for some time now. Don’t you know me. I was all over the media almost a year back?’

‘Tunanda Kushkar!’, Indrani almost came out of her unconscious state that soared the TRPs of national channels.

‘Don’t get hyper. You might just alert the nurse and the whole media crew waiting outside the hospital since you got drugged’

‘I didn’t get drugged,’ Indrani objected.

‘I know honey. Do I look like someone with an appetite for polonium?’

Indrani looked away. She seemed to be lost.

‘Sweetie, let me tell you this. I didn’t get an interim stay at a hospital. It all happened so quickly in that damn hotel room while the twitter world was entertained with my barb with that silly Pakistani journo,’ Tunanda took a deep breath and coughed as the polonium still troubled her. Indrani listened to her predecessor and didn’t want to pack her bags so quickly. After all she had planned her life meticulously.

‘So my point is don’t believe the men around you. You get confused with the ways of business in modern India and remember its blasphemy to let the flood gates open,’ said Tunanda remembering the sweat equity she was fooled with.

‘I didn’t let the flood gates open,’ Indrani fumed.

‘Ave Maria!’ Tunanda sympathised to that innocent rant.

‘Don’t remind me of that name – Maria! He has done enough damage in the name of investigation!’ Indrani felt her BP was returning to normal and surging ahead.

‘Our lives are so similar. We had three husbands and it turned out that our last catch was a steal. But unlike me you were very fertile! We mingled with the best in town and life seemed like a tabloid. But then tabloids don’t last long,’ Tunanda sighed.

‘But let me warn you! If you make it to the trial stage, don’t ever…I repeat don’t ever go anywhere near Karnab Joswami and his studio! Hell is quieter!’, Tunanda signed off and a whiff of smoke clouded Indrani’s eyes; she slipped back to sleep.

Who took my beef?

2015-10-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

It was a long weekend some years from now. Airline tickets were crazy as usual. The airline counters at Bombay airport snaked around in circles like a satellite image of a threatening cyclone in the Bay of Bengal. It’s been more than an hour and passengers were getting impatient.
‘Which city?’, the bald guy ahead of me asked.
‘Cochin,’ I replied rather disinterested to start a conversation.
‘Dying to eat beef, right?,’ he said with a broad smile. I was not surprised at his guess; it was rather an easy guess though. It was common knowledge that Beef was available only in Kerala and banned all over India.

‘I am off to Calcutta. Fish is still not banned there’, he revealed his plan.
‘In fact there was an offer from Orissa State Tourism on special packages for unmarried couples to spend weekends in the state without the fear of arrest,’ he said and pulled out a few pamphlets.

‘Karnataka Tourism board’s offer tops all others. They target Keralites with liquor coupons and all roads and rail/airport stations are witnessing long queues every weekend,’ he said.
By then I had reached the airline counter. The airline staff asked me to sign an undertaking that I was not carrying any liquor or pork to the state. Brochures on restricted items to each state were displayed. Beef, Pork, Liquor, Knee length dress, Unmarried couples – the list was growing every week.

The Prime Minister continued not to acknowledge any of this in his Radio shows which was now persuasively forced into mobile phones through MKB App. His office has now even started to tweet in Swahili and Aramaic. He continued his Madison Square show in more remote corners of the globe and had by now over taken Aishwarya Rai’s record of consecutive annual appearance at Cannes.
Life is more complicated these days. I buy genetically modified beef that smells like paneer when cooked, so that my neighbours don’t lynch me to death.
‘Sir, here is your boarding pass. Since you have not preferred your seat based on caste preference, I have tried my best to offer you a seat next to an atheist,’ she smiled and folded her hands.

My phone beeped. It was a tweet. Lalit Modi’s 13006th tweet on the IPL scandal from UK. Life continued for him and others. Swiss banks continued to be gate keepers.

Changing Map of Humanity

2015-09-29T01:57:00.000-07:00

The borders of war torn Middle East will force every shopkeeper around the globe to stock new updated maps. Whether the nations will recoup the lost forts and cities from ISIS is uncertain as the night boat ride across the Aegean sea. But the recent exodus of refugees to the fenceless borders of Europe proves once again that at the end of the day what every hapless family value is freedom from tyranny, war and bloodshed, whether its in the name of power or religion. The world media is worried at the slowness of Europe’s response to the issue at hand. Media is also slowly waking up to the deadpan silence from the Muslim world, be it in Asia or Middle East.

Every country needs to have its act together before accepting a population who had a life lived in a far away country so different than theirs. The host country thereafter has to share all their resources and opportunities they have planned for their own population forever. Given the worlds experience with religion and its share of confrontation more than peaceful co existence, its natural that Europe feels threatened with a mass exodus they are witnessing now. Europe no longer marries and procreates as they used to. So the worry of a diminishing tribe of David is certain. Also Europe does not have a successful tale of assimilating migrants and asylum seekers over the last many decades. Parts of Europe are already reeling under that pressure and some streets of Europe no longer look like Europe. Natives, signboards, street food have all made way to an embolden migrant narrative.

Borders get redrawn time over and civilisations sometimes get routed forever. More than ever before, we need to allow humanity to lock faith and beliefs within the walls of a place of worship to save the freshly baked bread that welcomes the world every morning.

Tips - the tipping question

2015-09-02T01:18:00.001-07:00

Last night after dinner at a restaurant, we were at the same cross roads again. Unsure what would be appropriate?

The Americans demand it! The Japanese find it undignified to accept it. As the Europeans don’t agree on most of the charters of the EU, they don’t take a specific stance on this too. Indians are a clumsy lot, not sure how to handle it; how much to leave behind – TIPS!

Well, just like most of the cultural flash points started off by the colonial British, this too seems to have stemmed from the gentry trappings of English dining etiquettes. What started of as a gesture by aristocrats to leave behind small change known as ‘vails’ to their host’s servants, the practice soon caught on to coffee shops and restaurants. Seems like the British took it wherever they went and left behind among many other things when they finally left.

So do we really have to pay TIPS? Because someone somewhere interpreted it as, ‘To Insure Prompt Service’, does it really mean we have to leave behind not just some change but a percentage of the bill, irrespective of whether we were satisfied with the service or not? Or are we supposed to just pay for the food and service promised by restaurants and not really bound to bear their staff cost? I find a stronger case with the fuel station attendants and the courier guys who are out in these humid hot days. They deserve it more.

The restaurants serving liquor in UAE are allowed to charge 10% service charge. So we didn’t have to bother much and fiddle with the bill. The restaurant manager had the last laugh!

Mahabali - not just Malayali!

2015-08-30T12:39:00.000-07:00

Onam for some reason so much resonates with Malayalis, while Mahabali the king whose legend is the backbone of this festival has a lineage and empire that spreads far beyond the paddy fields of Kerala. He was the grandson of Prahlada whose father Hiranyakashyap (clearly not Malayalis) was killed by Vishnu in his Narasimha Avatar. When Vishnu’s another avatar Vamana decides to stop Mahabali from his Ashwameda Yagna on the banks of the Narmada river (in Madhya Pradesh), we now know this is no more an exclusive Malayali event.

So my non-malayali friends, just because the final step that Vamana took happened in Thrikkakkara (in kerala), where Mahablai was sent down to the ‘heaven like underworld’, Mahabali was assumed to be a Malayali king and the traditions that layered around Onam for centuries stamped him with a birth certificate and a pot belly that’s very much part of the Malayali culinary and rangoli ethos. So if you do not know how to wrap a thin porous mundu around your not-so-rounded waist and hate rice, still join the celebrations. After all he was not just a Malayali king! Happy Onam!

Hampi - Ruins that follow you...

2015-08-02T01:35:00.001-07:00

Dramatic boulders playing a dexterous balancing act, on wayside hills welcomed us to the magical ruins of Hampi. It was the last day of the shoot of Lailaa O Lailaa in Bellary and we were on our way to Bangalore with a detour to Hampi. The early morning drive from Bellary to Hampi was going to be a memorable one; not only for the experience that Hampi would offer, but we were accompanying the legend and hero of our movie, Mohanlal. The moment we stepped barefoot on the cold, stone-laid pathway that led to the Virupaksha temple, Mohanlal was heard whispering ‘déjà vu’; later he mentioned that the landscape and architecture resembled Amba Samudram where he had shot for Raja Shilpi.

The ruins are just too vast, magnificent and tragic. We followed him as he walked down the neatly manicured stone lanes of the ruins, sometimes deeply engrossed in the architecture and sometimes cracking a joke while being his usual self.

Walking amidst the ruins, one cannot but feel the glorious Krishnadevraya kingdom brimming to life all around you; you vainly hope thousands of defaced Hindu Gods and Goddesses on the walls of the numerous temples regaining the perfect posture and mudra the artists then etched, and the golden Gopuras transforming to their grandeur that once shown above the Vijayanagara Empire with the Tungabhadra river cutting through it.

The sheer majesty and grandeur of the ruins is as overwhelming as the determination and effort the invaders took, a few hundred years ago, to chop the limbs off numerous deities, to hammer down temples and to uproot a civilisation. While leaving the premise Mohanlal seemed to be affected by the sheer violence that the ruins bore. Hampi, a celebrated UNESCO site is also a harsh reminder of the ruins in the making, across the globe that could challenge Hampi in its epic tragedy.

The Incredible Ban!

2015-03-06T21:34:00.000-08:00

The ban on 'India's Daughter' has fanned the documentary across social media with an urgency that otherwise would have taken time or found lesser viewership. But thanks to the government, that seems to have additional baggage of guarding Indian culture along with a few bigots whose interpretation of our culture would offer Taliban stiff competition. Closing ones eyes and listening to the lawyers and the convict, one would mistake the documentary for one on Taliban diktats for women.

There is no need for an international conspiracy to defame Indian culture as the home minister worries. There are enough elements in our society that are capable of doing it and have been doing it for centuries. And when did teaching women a lesson, became the responsibility of men, for being out in the night with a friend in the cities or while defecating in the open in villages?. Obviously these are not stunning visuals of the ‘Incredible India’ campaign that the government would want to be aired on BBC, but definitely an expose on the mindset of rapists roaming our unsafe streets, practicing in our courts and live in our neighbourhood with the noble intention to safeguard Indian Culture.

We are fortunately not bound by any ancient scriptures to live our lives. The constitution is more than enough to govern us and there is place for women in that; we don’t need an annual ‘Women's Day’ to remind us just that. Let the Government first ban the lawyer from the precincts of any courts in India – if banning is such a noble act as in the case of eating beef!.

Eat, Pray and Love

2015-03-03T11:59:00.002-08:00

Students in a catholic school, irrespective of their religion recited christian prayers and sang hymns. The climax of a film depicts the protagonist, an oracle (played by a Christian actor) dances before a Hindu goddess, spits blood on her face and then strikes his forehead with the sacred sword and dies;
These are not events and art that are common today or might ever probably occur in the near future, but happened in a past not so long ago.
We now live in an age hijacked in a brake less bus by a ruthless driver driving down a valley, passing by hoardings of next releases of 'Jihadi John' and list of animals forbidden in our kitchens by each caste and creed, along the way knocking down men and women who vainly tried to slow down the bus.
24 Hours news channels have a field day live-telecasting the deadly drive, and discussing with a predictable panel, if the driver ever had a license and who issued it?

There was a past when life was more precious than deities and scared texts. The evening living room was quieter as Doordarshan murmured in a corner and the world looked forward for a better tomorrow. Those evenings need to revisit our living rooms. For that the bus has to be stopped. Let each tribe let the other to Eat, Pray and Love.

Stand closer; it's not as long as you think!

2014-08-27T21:35:00.001-07:00

The title is from an interesting sticker I saw at Kurian Jacob's guest bathroom. Not sure men do really think ‘its’ long enough as they aim, but inevitably end up messing the flap of closets – a frequent sight in flight toilets. Next time it’s a favour done to the next in line female reliever, if the flap is lifted before the performance or may be just sit and perform; because the female anatomy is simply challenged for a ‘stand and relieve’, which compels them to practise the ‘Aramandalam’ posture above a filthy flap. I keep reminding my daughter to cover the flap with tissues. It worries me that she has to sit on an unhygienic flap.

Sanitary hygiene is a very personal (literally) issue in India. Homes are kept clean but not public spaces. Public rest rooms are an assault to the senses. Men usually manage, as their physicality allows them to relieve free of contact of the nauseating closets and wall urinals. But then it's only an epilogue to the psyche of a nation where sanitation is shrugged off with a NIMBY syndrome - not in my backyard!

Sanitation, bogging the head lines these days is a case of a vexed maze, where delayed policies stumble on social taboos in a country where ‘have-nots’ defecate in the open and the ‘haves’ ‘flush-and-forget’ in cities that simply don’t have a sewerage system. So where does the tonnes of shit, soap, shampoo, detergents go? – into our remaining lakes, rivers, rivulets and the seas; the same waters that find their way back into the underground pipes that criss-cross our streets and hang precariously under bridges, often leaking, making their way back to households to quench our thirst.

It would be naive to believe all that we pump out of our porcelain toilets just vanish somewhere and our water sources remain pristine. It won’t, until a sewerage system is also part of our city development, unlike Delhi and Bombay where 50% of the dwellings just do not have sewerage.

It was interesting to read that hundreds of toilets built in villages remain unused and the target population still defecate in the open owing to tradition – one cannot live and defecate under the same roof! Looks like a long road to travel before everyone relieves in the confines of a toilet.

Efforts to sanitise the nation has been announced from the ramparts of power. Hopefully efforts are also made for a billion plus population not to relieve and wash into its strangled rivers and to use public toilets responsibly.

Kerala – No land for liquor

2014-08-22T06:38:00.001-07:00

It’s a state that sprang up from the sea-bed as a repentance of the killings of Parasuram. It’s said the blood from the dead were enough to fill 5 rivers. When Parasuram handed over the strip of land to Brahmins to rule, he would never had imagined a time, when the liquor that flows in the veins of its population would be surplus to fill the backwaters of a state that sell scenic pictures to the world labelling it – Gods own country.

If you grew up in a Christian household, you would notice that wine and alcohol was not a taboo but a pervasive liquid state that made its presence felt in family gatherings – be it birth, marriage or death and even in the church altar, when the priest sips the wine during the holy mass. Alcohol was part of our healing too - a burping aunt would be offered a few sips of brandy and for a fermented ‘Appam’ dough, there was always a few ounces of fresh toddy.

There was enough for everyone to drink - Arrack, Toddy, Rum, Brandy and imported whisky from Persia from the early migrants who boarded ships to the coast of the Arabia; they came back with trunks filled with rolls of polyester, Brute perfumes, Quality Street chocolates, Rothmans cigarettes and bottles of liquor.

So see, it was not a bad situation we were in then. Somewhere down the years people got bored and found more reasons to booze. More and more factories closed down and more men flew to the Arabian cities, in budget and not so budget carriers that fleeced them for filling up their seats so easily. Bandhs (banned now) and Harthals (upgraded to what a Bandh stood for), offered plentiful holidays but restricted to stay at home. With higher wages for manual jobs, money flowing to NRI bank accounts, a humid and hot weather and a slow paced life in an otherwise ‘nothing else to do’ state, boozing might have been an attractive proposition. We now top the list of boozers in the country and it also supports the state exchequer to the tune of $1.2 billion.

A ban on liquor consumption seems to unsettle queues that are visible every 2 kilometres along the state highway. The serious question is, what will replace liquor to mourn a death, to raise a toast and to kill time in a harthal?

Troubled mountains of the Yezidis, Gazans, Tibetans and Kashmiri Pandits

2014-08-18T21:54:00.000-07:00

It was the year 1984 and the sleepy school town of Tangasseri woke up to a murmur, that Mother Theresa had arrived in the Missionaries of Charity home in Tangasseri. It was ten minutes before the morning assembly bell to go from the flat metal disc hung next to the principle’s office, at Infant Jesus Anglo Indian High School; yet hundreds of children ran out of their class rooms, crossed the road that choked mostly of cycle rickshaws, fewer cars and bicycles loaded with students and school bags.

They rushed into a small furniture-less room of the charity home known to distribute milk powder, wheat and medicines to the needy (generally argued as incentives for conversion). There she stood in the middle of the room wrinkled as ever, her hands busy being kissed by children of different faiths – all of them who chorused ‘Our Father in Heaven’ and ‘Hail Mary’ at the end of the school assembly, something which might be blasphemous now.

Today is World Humanitarian Day and Mother Theresa still remains the most recognisable icon of6 humanity, a virtue that is no longer taken for granted in a world of misplaced priorities and blinded greed for land, religious hegemony and power. For some time now the mountains around the globe have been wailing.

The world is anguished at the gruesome accounts of murder in Gaza and at the ruthless genocide of the Yezidis. The sheer violence and the pace of wiping out of a heritage in the arid mountains of northern Iraq has outshone the plight of the Tibetans and the Kashmiri Pandits who have been for long subjected to a gradual extinction of a rich cultural heritage over decades and with no signs of rescue from a hegemonistic china or an apathetic India to its indigenous Pandits respectively.

For now Dalai Lama stares helplessly beyond the Himalayan ranges for the dragon to let go and the Pandits look up, from their relief tents and borrowed homes across the country, to a Modi who wears a saffron turban at heart.

Fighting insurgencies and racial-religious intolerance seems deadly and tedious than rescuing poor and the bedridden from the sickness haunted streets of then Calcutta. Humanity is being celebrated as another ‘World Day’ in a long list of days earmarked to represent a cause and not an innate human gesture; as a reminder, as its no longer part of the gated communities and free markets we aspire for.

Whose Independence its anyway?

2014-08-15T02:08:00.000-07:00

Growing up in the 70s and 80s, Independence Day meant to be a day to remember the contributions of freedom fighters that otherwise remained within the four walls of our history classes, walking the parade in Ashram maidan in the scorching sun (with a feeling of churning of the tummies that precedes spinning of the head) and ultimately a holiday.

Over the years there's lot to cheer and weep for a country that saw the Nehruvian social development marked by the public sector white elephants that still slow down the economy with its unique work culture of apathy, Stoic Indira rule, Age of nepotism under Rajiv that also ushered in the computer-literacy revolution, the liberalisation of the 90s that devalued the rupee over years from Rs3 to a dollar in the 1970s to Rs 40 in the 1990s, but boosted exports; created jobs, millionaires and more poor; and the rise of religious intolerance and moral policing in life and arts (read books and movies) and a tunnel-visioned foreign policy that alienated all of our neighbours.

India leads in space technology, Global exports of goods/services and soft power. But we do also export maids, drivers and labourers (when there is shortage for them domestically) and risking self respect. I am yet to see a Lebanese maid or a Jordanian labourer in the Middle East. Doesn't mean all is well with these countries; yet there is an inherent self respect in the polity.

There is more nationalism visible now. FB/Twitter profile pics are painted in tri-colour, people do actually wish each other on social media and RJs and TV anchors fill up their script for the day. School children are still asked to join rallies and some may still feel dizzy under a monsoon free sun; but the nauseating chillness of the ruling class that is free of accountability and ethics, and immune to the laws of the land celebrates the real independence.

B+F Open Flame Kitchen

2013-05-20T23:50:00.001-07:00

Word spread quickly about this new joint in Kuwait – B+F Open Flame Kitchen. Opened in 360⁰ mall OFK comes from the group that operates two of the best food joints (Slider Station and Burger Boutique) – both my favourites.

We managed to get into the waiting list and 90 minutes later got a call. The Indian guy with long hair at the entrance was smartly dressed and for once I thought there are good looking Indians in Kuwait. We were escorted to our table next to the bar counter. I guess Dark, Gold and lots of Metal was the brief given to the interior designers’. The golden dome shaped chimneys – 3 of them were aesthetically placed within the seating area. The chimneys looked like 3 huge furnaces with kitchen counters alive under them. The maze of circular metal rods that run atop between the domes add to the ‘black’ theme.

After sipping the complementary drink we were greeted with ‘Shrimp balls’ (coated in fried thin noodles) rolled at the end of sugarcane sticks and ‘Wild fire Burger’. The balls were juicy and it was fun chewing the sugarcane sticks (memories of childhood at mama’s home in the Island). The slider burger was so-so; I have had better ones at ‘Slider Station’.

Medium done mutton ribs and ‘Ostrich’ lean meat accompanied with Portobello mushroom sauce, baby tomatoes in penne sauce and sautéed spinach. Will definitely recommend the mutton ribs but would have preferred the ‘Ostrich’ to left in the Australian wildlife.

We got ourselves drowned in the Brownie chocolate pudding (a must try) before leaving the table for someone else who had already clocked 90 minutes.

P.S. you may not find all of the dishes listed in the menu available. We lost out on our first 6 choices.

Romancing Jaipur!

2013-05-20T23:47:00.002-07:00

Drive from Delhi to Jaipur in the wee hours of a cold foggy December morning was interrupted intermittently by a mammoth caterpillar of trucks trailing for kilometers. I had never seen so many trucks in my life. Nothing noteworthy regarding the drive…though loved the parathas from the highway dhabas.

We had just 3 days to immerse in this kaleidoscope of magnificent historical sights, culture, art forms, exotic food and electric mix of people and elephants. For the past few weeks we have been wanting to be in Jaipur….to feel and experience the magic of its medieval charm.

The walled pink city was crowded with people, cars, rickshaws, two wheelers, jaywalkers and what not. The shops lining the sides of this ocean of traffic looked straight out of a bollywood film set. I knew what I had to do in Jaipur….get to see the not to be missed sights, eat as much I can and romance Jaipur – the way I haven’t romanced any other place; and i did.

‘Jal Mahal’ was like a landscape painted in water colour…the wavery reflection of the palace in the midst of the lake was like a morning dream.

A 20 minutes drive later ’Amber Fort’ (pronounced as Amer) was in sight – built in the 16th century, its a beautiful complex of palaces, halls, pavilions and temples – immortalised in the epic drama ‘Jodha Akbar’. We walked through the maze of hallways and narrow steps that crisscross the complex and was 10 minutes late to reach the foot hill of the complex for the 50 min ‘light and sound’ show that started at 6pm (instead of 6.30 pm). The open air theatre set against the majestic fort was the ideal setting for a cold winter evening show. The fort, the sole actor brought to life in shades of yellow, red and Prussian blue the vibrant history of rajputs and the fort.

On our way back we dropped in at ‘Chokhi Dhani’ – a wholesome package on Rajasthan culture. Ambience was that of a fair with magic shows, puppet show, antique shops, traditional eateries, play areas, mud houses (will never forget what happened inside) and chalets complete this resort. We went for a drink and had karkori kebabs – it just melted. The night was getting colder and we waited in a queue for the traditional Rajasthan thali. Everything about the thali was spicy except the plate and side plates that were made of leaves. Water was served in mud mugs. We had our pictures taken with the turban.

Started day 2 with a visit of the City palace. Didn’t find it special. Outside amongst the chaos of people and traffic there was an old ambassador car parked in the middle of the road with a ‘gori’ model in designer labels lying seductively on the bonnet and cameras flashing while hundreds reined in by ‘Jaipur bouncers’ walled the ambassador. Surprisingly the crowd behaved – am told in Delhi the same shoot would have been greeted with sleazy comments.

Outside the palace we did a bit of shopping and took a guided tour of the ‘Hawa Mahal’. The ‘guide’ came in as a record player (the size of a pin pad) and headphones for Rs 80. The girl at the counter spoke impeccable english with a refined disposition and looked out of place for a medieval Jaipur. We walked around like Siamese twins as we had to share the player - we didn’t complain. A magnificent 5 storey pyramidal building crowned with latticed balconies and miniature domes and covered with delicately sculpted stone jalis – 953 in all. Built in 1799 for the women of the royal household to watch the royal and religious processions without being seen. The King was the only male who was allowed entry. That explains why the structure did not have an entrance from the main road.

We had time only for Nahargarh fort. Set on the densely forested hill top offers a stunning view of the city. The plasterwork on the walls were noteworthy as the finish was so smooth that its indistinguishable from marble. I have lasting memories of the time we spend in the palace corridors, hallways, rooms that looked over the city and the long rocky fort pathways running down the hills. We were indeed romancing …may be just like the Rajputs did centuries ago in the silent cold breezy corners….away from the footsteps echoing in the corridors.

We saw sunset from the fort walls and soon the palace wrapped up in thick darkness. There was not a single light in the palace except the choolas that were lit by the labourers at the basement of the palace to cook their dinner. On our way down the hill, at a distance ‘Jal Mahal’ glittered in the still lake waters. We dined at “Peshawari” at the Sheraton and called it a day.

Jaipur will always remain close to my heart. I romanced like never before - in the unkempt palaces, amidst the noisy and chaotic pink city and while gorging the spicilicious food that Jaipur offered.

Shakespeare Cafe - Jumeirah, Dubai

2013-05-20T23:32:00.001-07:00

It was an unassuming evening drive that turned out to be a memorable lazing over coffee. We were out for a late night drive on Jumeirah road and were looking for a café. I remembered Jaishree taking me to ‘Shakespeare Café’ a few weeks back. It was just around the corner. In a few minutes we reached the café. The café is spread over what seems to look like a living room, verandah and an adjoining room – all of which is part of a two storey commercial building that houses among other shops an antique shop, cafes and a pizzeria.

The exterior room built with wooden walls and huge glass windows with flower pots hung on them overlooking the parking space is the most welcoming. Shakespeare’s café is one of its kinds in terms of interiors. There are no tables and chairs – only sofa’s and sofa tables that are gaudy and seems like straight out of a high school Shakespeare play. But then that’s what makes it special and magical amidst the multi flavoured sheesha smoke that bubbles from the tobacco molasses.

Each sofa is distinct from the other and layered with satin cushions – even though it makes a great Shakespearean backdrop but does not work so much for your back. We thought the style quotient didn’t match up to its comfort counterpart.

The menu is largely Mediterranean and owing to a low appetite we shared a chicken and grilled vegetable sandwich. The latte and cappuccino kept us going while we bubbled the ‘mixed berry’ sheesha for over an hour. It was a cold night and we had a memorable rendezvous.

The crowd was a handful of young Emiratis - girls and boys rattling merrily into the wee hours and two loners reading books with sheesha joining them for company. The staff was extra courteous and attentive. The place exudes a lot of style. We promised ourselves another visit….looking forward to it.

Kamala Das - One last love!

2013-05-11T03:43:00.000-07:00

Kamala Das’s embrace of Islam was widely covered in the media. Most of them (media and the literary circle) knew the reasons for her conversion even though she did feign an attempt to explain that she felt protection in a ‘purdha’, liked the discipline of the religion and wanted a Master to guide her!.

For someone who had romanticised her love for Lord Krishna through numerous writings and a literary icon who embodifies Hindu cultural symbols, her sudden metamorphosis to a burqa clad ‘Suraiya’ was like the Pope swapping his costume with Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.

The truth was that she once again found love in her late years in a politician who was 20 years younger to her. She believed in total surrender in love (as true to her writings) and declared to the whole world her plans to convert. The politician who was madly in love with her chickened out in the last minute. He was worried about his career; may be his worry had more to do with the public perception of him making love to a 60 plus year old literary icon.

He withdrew and she never revealed his identity. She wrote about their love …at times describing it as a love that was secretly unveiled in moonlight. A few poems later she left the world.

Love bite bites!

2013-02-13T00:32:00.000-08:00

Is that a bed bug bite? A 6 year old girl hushed to her mom while staring agonizingly at a lady seated across in the metro. The lady in her mid 40's revealed a furious 'love bite' above her collar bone. The mother agreed to her child's inference. She was glad that her child knew about bed bugs and thankfully that she is too young to know that love bites!

Love making is a private affair. Every day millions of couples married or not, whether they are entitled or legally allowed to or not, indulge in it. Some carry the 'wear and tear' for the next few days. I do not know if its cool to carry around love bites while in a metro or at work. Though its a positive indication of an active sex life, it can cause unease for atleast a few in conservative societies who happen to see it escpecially when accompanied with children.

The sight of it can raise a pair of accusing eyes to a husband suddenly caught off guard, 'when was the last time I had one?'

At work there have been a few men and women who used to flaunt it - 'you bet...last night was entertainment entrainment entertainment'. But then some would attempt to weakly hide it with a slippery shawl or a high neck collar - 'yes it was really good...hope you guys didn't see it'. Thats all about the good part of the 'bite'.

What about the bites that come from stolen moments? Those who didn't get from their partners have a tough time with concealers and googling for more tips to hide it. There are many...not to be disappointed. I have checked it :-).

Its Valentine around the corner. Those who cant afford to flaunt a 'love bite', Def Leppard song comes as a statutory warning:

If you've got love in your sights
Watch out, love bites
Yes it does
It will be hell!

The Indian Story Telling - A Tragic End

2013-02-03T11:57:00.000-08:00

Its the time of Rajshri brand of movies (remember Maine pyar kiya, Hum aap ke hai kaun, Vivaah). Every body ought to be in love with each other. No hate, no evil; may be a thin slice of jealousy could be squeezed in during the narrative (just to lead the story to a logical conclusion). But then it shouldn't hurt anyone's sensitivity - be it in the North or South, Hindu or Muslim, Priest or Sanyasins, Upper Caste or Lower Caste, Weaker sex or those in sex trade, Tribals or Maoists, the list is endless in our democratic country.

Its tiring times for writers. Their characters can no longer be bad or with grey shades. More so the grey ones should not be identified with any community, religion or political background. They need to speak the language in neutral accent and should be an aetheist with no political affiliations (an accent trained chinese might fit the bill). Thats the democratic stage allowed for characters in India, while in the real democratic world where we live we know people do kill in the name of religion, God men leading lustrous lives, fringe political outfits into moral policing, and many more that would inadvertently offend someone somewhere if depicted on screen or in a book.

Lets forget that once writers had the freedom to reflect the society. Disney fairy tales do sell anyways. The villains are mostly witches- who cares, thankfully they are not a vote bank!

Sunset days....someone to care.

2012-02-03T01:19:00.000-08:00

In the last one week I spend some memorable time with 4 Octogenarians. They are a stark reminder of what's in store beyond the busy schedules, the glitzy night life, the voyeuristic shopping and the ensemble of relationships that define each day.

Some are lucky to spend the sunset days with a dear one. Among these 4, just one of them is blessed to live with her daughter. The rest of them where even more blessed to have found caretakers who are taking care of them than their children would have. In HIS big plans no one goes unnoticed. There seem to have someone somewhere to be with us during our final days.

A big salute to that particular child or care taker who takes care of them as its not an easy task. There's one thing in common in all of these aging grandparents. They are child like. Childlike laughter, sleeping more during the day and less during night and childlike selfishness out of helplessness. Dementia and early signs of Alzheimer's makes the going even tougher for both. One fights with an aging memory that struggles to hold together the pieces of their being while the other garnering strength and patience to love them.

Seems this is the first generation of Octogenarians since the global migration started. The population of parents whose children and grandchildren have been living in various parts of the world are increasing every day. The generations behind mine are fortunate to have larger families and to have a family house that is not always emptied by the last child packing his/her bag to move across the seas or in a bustling city in India that they choose to build a life and career.

An occasional get together at the family home on a christmas day or a birthday marking a milestone happens as long as the parents are alive. Thereafter…. there is no reason to visit the family home which may have been passed on to one of the sibling. The framed memories on the stained walls remain endlessly waiting for a footstep on the dusty floors.

Its common these days for people to console their inner worry for the unknown sunset days with the thought of having enough money to find shelter in a old age home that provides all the comforts that may be required to have a peaceful exit.

A prayer that someone somewhere cares everyone while the sun sets.

'CRY' to Kilimanjaro

2012-01-31T09:33:00.000-08:00

Why do people trek to mountain peaks or to frozen poles for charity sake? Is it the call of the adrenalin or the affinity to a cause thats instrumental to do the unusual one fine day. Am not too sure what was the real reason for of a group of NRI bankers from across the middle east to group under the banner of 'CRY' to trek to Kilimanjaro.

Its not something you would decide on a weekend friday morning out of the blue. My friend Vems who is part of this group, who has christened themselves as GMI - Group of Middle East Indians, has given up elevator months back. He climbs full six floors... a small change in routine as a first time trekker. I was a bit apprehensive that his veggie fed body pampered in the arabian sedentary life would commit to this 'call'. But then he seems to have taken it as a challenge.

At the office, we had a laugh on dragging 'CRY' to this event. The general mood was, you publicity mongers! But seems like its been a tried and tested combo. It adds a purpose to the trek eventhough it may not have been an important thought at the planning stage. But eventually the purpose intertwines with the trek like two river-lets converging and flowing inseparable touching a lot of lives.

Wish all of them a once in a life time experience that they will cherish for a long long time. For some this may be a start for more trekking. For some this may unleash a blast of high altitude cold fresh air giving a whole new outlook to life. Among other things the experience may also prompt one of them to document the life changing moments and hit the print soon.

But then a lot of young lives will be touched by this experience. A 'CRY' from the peak.

How are you?

2012-01-26T09:24:00.000-08:00

'How are you? ' comes so naturally to us to greet a stranger or to start a conversation. It must be the most abused 3 word phrase, only second to 'OMG' in the history of human speech.

On an average an office goer would utter the supposedly caring question with stoic siberian frostiness to a co passenger on the metro or while bumping on to colleagues in the elevator or as an opening line while placing an order at a cafe.

Each time one thing is common. Nobody expects an honest answer for the simple reason that people do not expect to hear anything other than 'FINE'. Or may be nobody expects one to confide in the environs of a metro, elevator or a cafe.

Just imagine the plight of a cafe steward. Hundreds of coffee freaks throw this line at him. He thinks: Damn, I have a low paid job which requires me to take orders for more than 10 different drink variants with 15 different flavours, where the milk could be skimmed, low fat or soya with the option to be served with or without froth or cream in different sizes further confused as Tall, Picolo, Primo & Masimo in take away cups or china. WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Next time wish him a good day and save your 'how are you's' for a meaningful moment to express your love and concern for the special someones in your life.

Lost in thirties

2012-01-13T06:57:00.000-08:00

A feeling usually referred to as midlife crisis. Its been starring at me from a few early mornings when one such morning I woke up from a dream with the urge to quit my job, count the things I want to do, the places I want to be and the people for whom I want to spend more time with.

Its not easy if you have a mortgage, dependents and not so an account brimming with liquidity. But that's not an excuse to stop living the life you want to. There are no easy answers, else it would not have been termed as a 'crisis'.

My colleague was at a saloon for a haricut and wanted a different look. The stylist ran his fingers though his thin short unruly hair, half of which have switched their loyalties to the silver shade. The stylist figured it all; 'oh midlife crisis sir'. Its so easily defined these days and people spot it with a glee.

Life is precious and you dont want to wait to recover from an illness or tragedy to wake up and take notice of life. I still stare at the walls with lazy eyes these winter mornings...whats next? I think I know.

Falling clouds, exotic food and chic shopping in Hong Kong

2010-12-22T07:15:00.000-08:00

Eid break in Hong Kong was a brief tryst with exotic food, therapeutic spa moments and lots of street walking, jostling through a sea of brand conscious Chinese flaunting Louis Vuitton and Dior bags – suddenly these brands looked affordable.

After a brief “Q&A” interruption at the immigration that ended in flashing my credit cards, cash and business card proving that I may not end up an illegal immigrant, I left behind a happy Chinese official and boarded the metro to the hotel.

The City is very modern with huge imposing glass buildings … a bit oversized for the average Chinese frame. But inside most of these buildings… everything comes in size ‘Zero’. Small beds ..still smaller chairs and claustrophobic-aesthetically designed bathrooms. Red taxies ply round the clock and while considering to use them remember that other than cash you need to have the street names and building names translated in Chinese. Music from FM channel seems to be unheard of. Almost all of the taxis we used were blaring Chinese news or could it be the communist manifesto? – who knows.

Public transport is efficient and heavily used – elegant double-decker buses, metro and trams. Trams looked like 3 dimensional hoardings on the move - dangerously delicate. The streets constantly smelled of Szechuan and other thousand sauces that left not a single Chinese with sparkling teeth – they looked as if pickled in oyster sauce!

We didn’t really go sightseeing…rather walked a lot in the city. But the ride up to the ‘Peak’ (that includes a mall perched on the mountain top) and the breakfast at Cafe Deco was an unforgettable experience…not just for the view of Hong Kong city from the peak…but for the first time I saw clouds losing their shapes and rapidly falling down in a trance…and then rained down on the city. It rained all the five days…in a way it was a relief from the humid weather. One night while waiting at a hotel reception for the rain to calm down, a lady who rushed in from the rain offered us her umberalla. Incidently it was offered to her by another stranger. For us … that was the soul of the city.

I found shopping cheaper than in Dubai. The iPhone was cheaper by AED 1,300. Spa is big business. We went in for a fish pedicure at the ‘Peak’ – hundreds of small fishes ate away our dead skin….a ticklish weird experience.

Hollywood road (‘load ‘thats how they pronounce) is lined with a lot of café’s, restaurants and pubs. We spend a few late nights in a few of them.

My friend a foodie and with a nose to smell the best kitchen that may not feature in recommended travel guides or in your hotel concierge listings found 3 fabulous places.

Press Room: Located on Hollywood road next to ‘Classifieds’ – a cheese and wine joint. Nothing journalistic about it….yes the collective vocal chord orchestration of the packed place sounded like a press room. Entry is strictly by reservation. Tastefully done interiors and dimly lit. We ordered Marion blanc 1988 craffe of wine; grilled sardines and Salmon ceviche in avocado, chili and coriander sauce for starters. Sardine was no longer a cheap fishe- it belonged to fine dining.

Rabbit rolled in ham bacon with ravioli in white cream sauce and Slow roasted sea bass in lemon and white wine sauce served with spinach and baby potatoes arrived under the main dish category. Not a morsel was left. We ended that day’s late night edition with a fruit gratin (stay away from this one) and Cho Marquise – chocolate fudge with ice cream. May be wrong choice of desserts – we felt like reading ’Page 3′ that’s cluttered with political analysis.

Gourmet Burger Union: You can either make your own burger – choosing the bread, spreads, filling etc or order from the menu painted on the wall. We went for the wall. The best burgers I ever had – unforgettable and didn’t feel guilty eating fast food for the first time. We came back again the next day.

Yung Kee Restaurant: on Wellington road was listed in the top 15 restaurants in the world by Fortune magazine and awarded a star by Michelin guide. It was our last day in Hong Kong and we relished on spicy crabs, minced pork rolled in omlets, steamed vegetables and Vietnamese style fried rice. My credit card company loved the transaction.

But no regrets…we ended Hong Kong on a high note with a heavy tummy and packed bags to the airport.

www.sathvic.com

2010-06-21T13:40:00.000-07:00

For new blogs please visit

http://www.sathvic.com/

The elusive parking space…

2010-06-14T15:00:00.000-07:00

Finding a match in your 30s is like looking for a parking space on a weekend. Good spots are all taken..! I was at lunch with this Arab American friend of mine. It was an unassuming Friday afternoon with a blazing sun outside and a growling appetite spread on the table.

She is in her 30’s and single. It’s been a few arabian summers since she last dated. Finding a date in this seemingly but not really conservative city has not been very lucky for her. She is not alone though. Her friends, all of them in the right and wrong side of 30 are single with no stable dates.

Torn between 2 cultures she feels that she is neither the quintessential western beauty nor a typical arab lass that would make bride material to a middle eastern groom. She silently joins the growing populace of single woman crossing the marriageable age trimming down the reproductive ambitions of this tiny state.

We finished our lunch and walked to the parking lot. She spotted her car. Getting a parking is all about timing. Being at the right spot at the right time. Sometimes it takes a bit too long. Eventually everybody looking for one gets a parking spot. Call it cosmic law.