‘Indian men, bahut harami’

A slightly shorter version of this piece appeared in Azhimukham, an online journal in Malayalam early this week. For those of you who cannot read the language, here it is.

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot's Woman in Blue

“You mean you are not Slovenian? I thought you were, because you just don’t look Russian,” he said. The lady in the blue evening gown answered politely. “I am Russian.” He was quick with his next question. “And the man you were talking to earlier... are you friends? Is he from Russia too?” Yes, she said. He is from Russia, but he wasn't someone she knew personally. More questions followed. How long have you been in Delhi? 10 years is a long time, do you speak Hindi then? And where do you stay?

I was at a party and this conversation happened across the table. At first I wasn't paying any attention, but soon I was drawn into this game of cat and mouse. The woman was polite and kept her answers short. She had an exhausted smile. Short answers were good enough for the man who continued to grill her.

Soon he popped the inevitable question. “Can I have your number? I can meet you at Vasant Vihar near your place, and we can have a coffee or something.” A small pause, and he adds, “I’ll text you and if you don’t respond that will be the end of it. I won’t bother you.” She made a polite excuse, “I’m thirsty, I have to get something to drink.” He didn't get the hint and if he did, he wasn't ready to let her off the hook. Not after he had tried so hard, for so long. Let me bring it for you he said, before rushing off.

She looked at me with an exasperated expression. “Do you get this often?” I asked her. She nodded. In her 10 years of living in India, she had learnt that ignoring a man’s advances might hurt his ego. And that's just something you don’t want to do. It is instead best to play the role of a courteous ice maiden. “Indian men,” she said, “bahut harami.” Bahut was emphasized, and I don’t think that was because of her accent.

My evenings in KL

At a tourism seminar held in the city, I learnt that France is the most visited country in the world and closer home there is China, Malaysia and Hong Kong. India, according to the travel gurus, wasn't living up to it's true potential. In all these popular countries, apart from the infrastructure and sightseeing options, safety of a traveler is assured.

I landed in Kuala Lumpur (detailed travel account here) late one night in February and hailed a taxi to the city center. I was of course scared and therefore alert, but when the car stopped at the toll gate in the middle of nowhere, I noticed that the night staff was a woman. Her presence reassured me, and sure enough I had an uneventful ride into the city. I don’t think my country returns the same favour to women travelers. The lady in the blue evening gown is just one of the many 'atithis' or guests, who find living and traveling in India uncomfortable. In many places, including our biggest cities, we do not have enough public convenience spaces. The few that exist are dirty and unhygienic. So during the Commonwealth Games, when two women approached me with this question at Connaught Place, I took them to United Coffee House and explained their situation to a sympathetic manager.

Aurélie De Smedt has a special bond with India. She found the man of her dreams here. She has many friends and has traveled and lived in the remote corners of the country and therefore looks forward to her annual pilgrimage to the subcontinent. “But I can appreciate India only in parts,” she says, “Here; I cannot afford to let my guard down. I cannot relax on a bus or sit on a park bench without attracting unnecessary attention. My mind has to stay alert. I am always asking myself questions like - should I do this? Can I go there? Am I dressed right? It is all very exhausting. Back home I can relax and not worry about being attacked in broad daylight. But I look forward to my Indian vacations, though technically I relax only after I go back home.”

Nancy Mueller's Woman

Hungary’s Heléna Kontos couldn't agree more. “When I first moved to India, I was thrilled every time a man gave me a second look. In Hungary unless you are both sexy and 17, nobody gives a damn. But of course, this feeling didn't last for long. I soon realised that these weren't just admiring glances. Now, I wrap a shawl around me every time I step out and don’t go anywhere without my husband. I am an independent woman, but here in India I have to depend on so many people to get things done… my husband, the maid, the watchman… and that’s not a happy feeling,” she said.

I understand what she means. I grew up in Kerala where 'eve teasing' is as common as taking an oil bath. Most of us therefore, develop a sort of sixth sense about these things, and learn to foresee and avoid them.

Of course, I must also add that I'm not generalizing India as this big, bad, mean place full of clawing men. When I moved to Madras in 2005, I had a tough time adjusting. My sixth sense was useless here. No one gave me a second glance, and there certainly was no eve teasing. For a while I wondered if this was because I was unattractive. As an young girl of 21, I rated myself based on how much the world 'admired' me. I soon figured out that Tamil men respected their women folks. They call her 'amma' or mother, and therefore, even on a crowded bus, she is safe. Of course it is a conservative society, but its conservative nature allows a women to be. In fact, I would even go to the extend of calling it a gender neutral society, and it was here that I felt truly liberated.

Sadly, I can't say the same about the capital. It was a rainy day and Heléna had an open umbrella in her hand. She was shopping at Sarojini Nagar market, when a strong hand grabbed her unshielded breast. Another time, she was on a train with her visiting family, traveling between Kerala and Goa. Sometime in the night her cousin sitting on the lower berth, felt something warm and slimy on the nape of her neck. It was falling from the upper berth. Something white, almost translucent. When she realised what it was, she was too shocked to react.

When these women return to their countries, they might not recollect in great detail the lush green landscape, the big fat Indian weddings, the flavourful meals and the colourful ceremonies that they were a part of. But these experiences - the feeling of helpless outrage, shock and disgust, they will always remember.

Bikas Das's busy streets of Kolkata, India

Thomson Reuters Foundation did a survey in June 2011, which placed India 4th in the list of the world's most dangerous countries for women. The survey predates the much publicized Delhi gang rape case of 2012, or the more recent rape of a photojournalist in Mumbai.

Image for reference only

The rupee is plummeting; and we need foreign travelers to spend their dollars and pounds here. In many ways, our world is slowly waking up to this reality. In a first of its kind initiative, the Government of Tamil Nadu has announced auto rickshaws with GPS systems and a panic button.We now have hotels like The Leela reserving an entire floor for single women travelers. The tourism ministry has also launched an 'I Respect Women' campaign.

Today, more than ever, we need to reinvent ourselves and our image to make the ‘Incredible India’ campaign work for us. We should also learn to recognise women as fellow human beings well worthy of our respect. 

For A Match Made in Heaven

Magical golden city of Prague

If matches are made in heaven, it's only fair that the wedding setting, looks heavenly. That could be why Prague is emerging as the world most preferred wedding destination. It's reputation of being Europe’s most romantic city work to its advantage, and statistics show that there is a steady increase in the number of people who are getting married in this magical golden city.

The wedding rush

I was there last year and had to flight the bride, groom, their photographers, assistants, bridesmaids and family members, to get that one photograph in front of  the astronomical clock taken. In the half hour that I waited for my turn I was outsmarted by at least five separate wedding parties, and their highly efficient team of wedding planners.

Ian, my guide, told me that weddings brought in much of the city’s revenue and the Kempinski Hotel Hybernska hosted as many as 35 weddings during the season that year. Back in India, I did a quick googled and figured that Prague has a lot to offer to a couple looking to marry there.

The ‘Marrying Abroad’ concept has it's benefits. You can avoid inviting the whole world and his uncle to your wedding. Even if they are invited, chances of them loosening their purse strings and traveling that extra mile is not very high. This means your wedding can be as private as you want it to be, without offending too many people. 

For a church wedding

When it comes to locations, Prague has them all. A white church wedding, a non-conventional one in a wine cellar, a Walt Disney inspired fairy tale before a Neo-Gothic castle or an outdoor setting in the vineyard - what you ask is what you will get, and for a fee that is easily affordable. One wedding websites quoted € 250 for a cellar wedding, all inclusive! And if you want to mix in some local flavours, then rest assured because Czech cuisine is as mind blowing as its Bohemian countryside.

The wedding industry is thriving alongside in Prague with stores catering to customer demands for designer wedding wear, jewellery and gifts. The same can be said about specialty bake stores and florists, not to mention photographers and beauty experts. But what is interesting is that most Prague weddings are of people who chose to marry there, with the maximum number of couples flying in from USA and UK.

Czech livings in the country believe in taking it slow. Post the 1980s' there has been a drop in the number of people wanting to get married. The government has therefore started organising regular Marriage Week since 1998 to encourage couples to marry and to stay in their marriages. Co-organised by churches, family centers and NGOs the Marriage Week has seminars, debates, concerts and movie screenings all aimed at getting this idea across.

But meanwhile if you want to put ring on it, consider Praha. Photography, in most cases at least, comes complimentary.

A wedding in Praha

For Now, Just This

Untold stories, unwritten dramas.. 

there is so much that I have to share, 

but for now, just this travel thought. 

 

Blog updated will soon follow. 

For now, just this

The Journey that Scarred us for Life

Find our Triund adventures here

Around this time last year, Gowri and I, still reeling from our Triund adventure, decided to pack our bags again. Archana had gone back to Chennai, so the two of us decided to travel to Rishikesh over the weekend. We planned to take a train to Haridwar and then a bus to Rishikesh. We didn't make it there. But that journey, which ended as quickly as it began, scarred us for life.

Our special train to Haridwar was from Delhi station. After a 45 minute delay, the still empty train, made its way to Shahdara, the next station. Within seconds, our reserved 72-seater coach was invaded by a saffron-clad humanity. If I’m allowed to say so, the train was ‘overflowing’ with people - they stood at the doors, hung precariously outside with their hands tightly wound around the window bars and squeezed into the smelly toilets. Every seat had a minimum or three travelers and Gowri’s lower berth was also invaded. Some huddled at her feet and others found space at the edge of her seat.

Saffron clad travelers

I had the upper berth and through an aggressive shouting match I was able to hold off people from climbing in with me. I knew that the law was on my side. My seat was reserved, and I had no plans of undertaking an overnight journey squashed between ticket-less travelers. The railway police failed to maintain order and more people tried to get in. As the train couldn't move we were still in Shahdara.

I shut my eyes to block the image, but couldn't do much about the din of the crammed space. Shouted slogans, loud conversations, prayers and somewhere at a distance, the words of the raunchy song, ‘Munni Badnam Hui’. A hand phone on speaker. The collective breath of over 300 odd people, packed like sardines into a single compartment, intensified. I also couldn't block the feeling that they were all eyeing my berth, waiting for me to drop guard. Time barely crawled and I held my breath. 

And then, with an inertia that threw us off guard, the train moved. A late evening breeze made its way through the tightly packed coach. I dared to breathe again. I looked towards my friend - she who hates crammed spaces and crowds, an agoraphobic. Her face didn't reveal much, but she sat still, her gaze fixed on something, and I knew she was struggling to keep her composure. It was past 11.30pm and the train pulled into Ghaziabad station. I shouted, “Gowri, Erangidalama?” Shall we get off? The relief on her face answered that question.

Walking with the Kavads  

I still don’t know how we managed to get off that train, but we did. The empty Ghaziabad station posed our next challenge. How do we get back home at this late hour? Whom do we call? Are taxis safe,? After all Ghaziabad ranks high on the crime-rate map. We decided against the taxis and made a few calls to friends and family, and then waited. Passerbys looked at us suspiciously - two disheveled women seated underneath a florescent bulb on the top step leading down to a platform, in the middle of the night. We didn't paint a pretty picture, but we pretended to not care. That night we lived our worst nightmare. 

But we did learn an important travel lesson. It is not always about 'where to go', 'what to do' or 'how to get there', but also about the socio-political, cultural and climatic diversity of the region in question. And that it is just not advisable to travel sleeper class on North Indian trains. 

As I write this post, the ‘Kavadiyas’ are once again on the roads, heading to the annual Kavad Mela at Haridwar. Dressed in yellow or saffron, with a red bandanna on their head and a coloured ‘kavad’ balanced on their shoulders, millions of devotees will make their way to Haridwar. If you want to know more about this, check here. In the light of recent events at Bodh Gaya and Uttarakhand, security will be a key concern this year. Garhwal Deputy Inspector-General of Police has issued a statement that sale or consumption of liquor is prohibited as is blaring music or overcrowding in vehicles. 

Even then, unless it is an emergency plan your trip to the hills after the mela. (Photographs for reference only. Copyright: Google Images)

What awaited us in Haridwar

Fair is Foul and Foul is Fair

What are the odds?

The Hindu's Sunday Magazine has an article by Sriya Narayan, which is about how India became the first South Asian country to ban testing of cosmetic products on animals. It is a heart wringing piece, which goes into the details of how testing affects the animals in question. It almost made me want to swear off cosmetics. 

I say almost, because even the most basic sanitation products fall under this category – soaps, shampoos and conditioners. It went on to say that the evolved and educated Indian customer should email the company, in case the products they retail don’t have the Leaping Bunny insignia, a symbol for non-animal tested products. Let’s face facts. We are a nation of bargain hunters, and we don’t question the origins of a product. That aside, what I object to most in this article, is the use of the word ‘evolved’ before the word customer.

The Indian Advertising Industry has proved time and time again, with their blunt and thoughtless campaigns, that we are a bunch of television viewing idiots. When we shop, we leave our brains out of the decision making and wear our hearts on our sleeves. If a good looking actor wearing a bright yellow or pink noodle strap dress, tells us that this product will save our marriage, face or careers, we buy both the product and the argument. 

At a party last month, I met a diplomat from the Caribbean who had just moved to India. While his Asian wife and two daughters were trying to deal with the initial hiccups of the shift, he as a father was worried about something else. An hour- long TV show in India has a minimum of four commercials that advertise skin whitening products, he told me. This was a matter of concern, because he imagined that it wouldn't take long for his daughters to suggest that he start using a men’s fairness cream. And yes, we do have commercials for men's face washes and creams, with lead actors going to war about the effectiveness of their ‘fairness’ product.

Two tones fairer, now that's something

“I’m worried that my little girls will grow to be ashamed of their dark-skinned father," he said. “I considered writing a letter to the complaints department, but decided against it, because I am very new to the workings and systems of this country.” We understand sir. You belong to an ‘evolved’ society which takes pride in the diversity of its people. While we continue to look up to our ‘fair’ colonisers, even as they insist we pay dreadfully high security deposits for travel visas.

The last time I checked a certain Bollywood actor, who is known for her fitness regimes and diet plans, asks her boyfriend if he would continue to love her 'when' she becomes fat. And fat she will soon become, considering she 'cheated' on her diet and ate a deep fried something from his plate. He nods an affirmative, but just in case things turn nasty, Bipasha Basu decides to add warm water and honey to her daily routine. The voice-over in the ad say, ‘It is not just about him loving you; it is also about you, loving yourself!’ And now we have weight obsessed teenagers and couples going through a midlife crisis, making a beeline for Dabur honey. After all, love (even self-respect for that matter) is directly proportional to weight gain.

Save your love life

And have you seen that ad which has actor Mammootty offering a job to a beautiful candidate? He asks her if she had applied for the job earlier and then revelation strikes. “You changed your soap!” he says. Implying in no subtle language that confidence goes hand in hand with fair skin; which will then materializes into a job, the dearth of which is strongly felt in that State, which boasts of high literacy rate. Of course this is just one of those many advertisements which suggest that lady luck is selective about whom she smiles at. Hitler would be so proud if he knew that all of us brown Indians, are trying to live up to his Aryan dream of fair skin and maybe, blues eyes.

Did you change your soap?

So no, we don’t belong to a nation of ‘evolved’ customers. We don’t care if the bunny leaps or not. What we want are soaps, creams, face washes and honey, which will guarantee us love and/or a career. 

A word of advice to my Caribbean friend; even if you were to write letters or scream from the rooftop until you are hoarse, advertisements made for dummies, won’t change in the near future. But you can press the mute button during commercial breaks. So please don't hesitate to exercise that right. 

PS: Not all commercials are in bad taste. Some make me smile at their cleverness and I wish I was involved in the making of certain others.   

When I got LEH'd

Leh Old Town 

Venus Transit 2012

Last year on this day, planet Venus appeared as a small, dark disk moving across the face of the Sun. The Transit of Venus, as it is called, is a rare celestial phenomenon which occurs every eight years. Before you think astronomy is among my fleeting interests, let me assure you that this information is just a backgrounder for my travel story. For many of us at work, it was an opportunity to travel to the town of Leh, for a close look at Venus from one of the highest observatories in the world. When I landed in Leh on June 6th, Venus had come and gone. I was a part of team II, and our mission was to bring back culturally relevant stories from Ladakh.

Now driving to Ladakh is one thing, landing there is another. The sudden change in altitude can result in mountain sickness, where you might experience nausea, loss of appetite, breathlessness and headaches. This is mainly due to lower atmospheric pressure and lack of oxygen in the air, so it is advisable to rest well and start fresh the next day.

Fresh veggies for sale  

Unfortunately, I wasn't aware of this and had agreed to meet someone that evening. After resting for about three hours, I went looking for Sonam Gyatso, my source in Leh. When I finally found his house, Gyatso was in the yard with his wife and son tending to their cauliflowers. Most houses here have a front yard where the family grows vegetables like tulips, radishes, cabbages, cauliflowers and carrots. They plant the same variety for a whole year so that the soil gets enough time to rebuild its nutrients. In many parts of Leh, the standard Himalayan composting type toilet is still popular (scroll down for photograph) and manure is freely available.

Butter tea at @ Gyatso's

Hill people are the friendliest souls and will take you in like you were family. Almost everyone will greet you with a happy, sing-song ‘Juley’ (hello/goodbye), and that is the first (and only) Ladakhi word I learnt. At Gyatso’s house conversation flowed for long hours and so did the many cups of Ladakhi gudgud cha or butter tea. It is tradition to fill the cup to the brim every time someone drinks up a serving. I had about four cups that day before I managed to convince the host that I couldn't drink another sip. Now don’t let the name butter tea mislead you, because there just isn't any tea in this preparation. Instead, it is a heady concoction of hot water, yak butter, salt and a powder prepared from plants found in the Himalayan region. Yak butter has a very strong odor  but I soon got used to this salty drink, and my chilled bones began to feel its reassuring warmth. They say this portion can prevent mountain sickness, and I know its true because it's magic worked on me. 

The very next day I began work. Nine-storey high Leh Palace sits precariously atop a mountain and is one of the striking architectural masterpieces of Leh. In the 15th century, the (old) town of Leh sprung up just below the palace. While the palace was protected by the ASI, the abandoned Old Town was falling into ruins until architect André Alexander decided to preserve these Tibetan style structures. In 2006, he started LOTI (Leh Old Town Initiative) and after his death in 2012, members of his team, Sonam Gyatso included, are continuing his vision. Old Leh has multiple stupa gateways and 178 stone, mud and timber houses, sandwiched between earth walls. Restoration is a slow and painful process as funds are tough to raise.

Leh Palace, Old Town and Lala's Cafe

Laurent Wipf at @ Lala's

While work was on, to reverse the decay of this Himalayan town, the team unearthed many treasures, the largest of which was a stone sculptures that dates back to the 10th Century. Today it stands outside Lala's Café, a meeting point for those interested in taking a heritage walk across Old Town. It was here that I met Laurent Wipf, a 67 year old retired Math teacher from France, who visits every summer and enjoys his long Himalayan treks. He stays in a rented house in the Old Town and also contributes to the upkeep and restoration of that property.

Local volunteer @ Donkey Sancty

Much like him, South African photojournalist Joanne Lefson is also doing her bit. She visits every year, and with local support runs a Donkey Sanctuary, where carrots and donations are always welcome. On her first visit to Leh she was moved by the plight of abandoned and injured donkeys that roamed the streets. Today, further up in the mountain, beside a gurgling stream, the donkeys lead a happy secured life. And if you want to sponsor one, all you have to do is donate to the cause, and the sanctuary will mail you pictures and news updates about the status of your pet.

My most precious Leh memory is of the last night there. The freelance cameraperson we hired for a multi-cam set up had a wedding function to cover that night, and he invited us to join him. Along with two other colleagues (Deepak and Adil), I attended a Ladakhi Muslim wedding. When the groom arrived, everyone from the bride’s side lined up on either sides of the road to welcome him, and he in turn handed out money. The family insisted I join them in this ceremony, and I got a crisp Rs 50 as a souvenir.

My smile says it all. Wedding money

Islam and Buddhism are the two main religions in Ladakh, and it is not unusual for a family to have relatives belonging to both. The bride for instance was Muslim, but her cousins (once removed) were Buddhists, and all of them were present at the wedding. Men and women were seated separately and butter tea was served every few minutes. And as I sat there in the women’s section with my new friends, sipping cha, I wondered why the rest of us didn't follow the Ladakh's example of hard work, hospitality and unity. 

When I said Juley to Ladakh the next day, I promised myself I’d go back and I most definitely will be visiting the wedding house to renew my friendship.

After the summer showers in Leh

Himalayan composting type toilet ( move the stick and aim right!)

Kutna Hora: Feel It In Your Bones

Yonder, the Prague castle

It is easy to be mesmerised by the beautiful setting of Prague… the historical Old Town with its astronomical clock, churches, castles, cobbled pathways, Charles Bridge and the quite flowing Vltava River. Just around the corner, is the Jewish Quarter and here sits the holocaust memorial alongside the Old Jewish Cemetery. The Cemetery has 12,000 tombstones, with bodies piled 15 people high. The varying size and the positioning of the tombstones reflect the urgency of the situation and the chaos that must have prevailed. The Jewish memorial is close by, and the walls record the name of every single person who died during the Nazi era. There in the eyes of a silent visitor, I saw reflected the pain of the past. The Spanish Synagogue is a less forlorn structure. With its Moorish design it looks more like a mosque, and is by far the most ornate and beautiful synagogue I've walked into.

Tombstones, Moorish interiors and the wall memorial 

My partner and I wandered through the alleys and the lanes of Prague for a whole day, and as night fell reluctantly made our way back to the hotel. Our accommodation was further away from the city center and we had to take both the subway and the tram to get there. The whole exercise took nearly half an hour, and because we weren't sure about the frequency of trams along that line, we decided to settle in early.

Bohemia - of vineyards, churches and cottages

Kostnice Sedlec Ossuary

Travel brochures at the hotel advertised day trips to Kutna Hora for € 35 per person, and though a group tour was an easier thing to do, we decided to figure it out on our own. At 10 am the next day, from the main station Hlavní nádraží, we took a train to Kutná Hora hl.n. The ride was a little over an hour and getting there early would ensure that we have more time at Kutna Hora before taking the 6 pm back. At Kutná Hora hl.n we stopped to grab a cup of coffee at the only shop in the station, but this delay cost us our connecting ride into town. The next one would take 45 minutes. Of course we blamed each other for the mistake and started on a silent long walk along the now empty road. But nature has its way, and when we saw a tree laden with apples we forgot our differences and ran towards it like children in a park.

Boney grail 

Kutna Hora, the small town just outside Prague is known for two things. Kostnice Sedlec Ossuary, a chapel which was to become the highlight of my trip and Saint Barbara's Church, a Gothic structure which is on the UNESCO world heritage list. There is nothing pleasant about the Czech sun, but after a long walk we found ourselves in the shady grove of the Ossuary. In ancient times when burial grounds were scarce, especially after a catastrophe like plague (Black Death) or war, dead bodies were buried in temporary graves and the skeletal remains later moved to an Ossuary. There are bone chapels in other parts of Europe (Paris, Austria or Portugal) but none can beat the might of the Kostnice Sedlec Ossuary.

At the gate we were given a printed document, with statistics, history and other details associated with this chapel. In the 19th century the aristocratic family of Schwarzenberg entrusted the upkeep of the Ossuary to František Rint, a woodcarver. I suspect this talented man was fascinated by death, because it was he who used the excavated bones to create décor pieces. At the entrance sits a giant bone-made chalice – a rather imaginative replica of the Holy Grail. The Schwarzenberg family’s coat of arms is on the right and behind is a heap of skulls and bones, arranged to form a large pyramid. According to the pamphlet, the artist hasn't used any wires or strings to hold these in place. They are simply piled in a certain angle. An intimidating bone chandelier, which is said to include every bone in the human body, forms the centerpiece of the Ossuary. 

Centerpiece Chandelier

Crucifix, Coat of Arms and bone pyramid

The crucifix is in the far corner, but I couldn't imagine someone sitting down for a prayer. Surprisingly, I didn't find the place spooky either; it felt more like the insides of a museum. Little boys ran amongst the skull structures making lots of noise and sometimes tugging impatiently at their mother’s skirts. The loud clicks of the cameras and the hushed whispers of the visitors broke the silence of the room. I was fascinated by the macabre, and I think, it is by far the most crazy, surreal thing I've laid eyes on - the fleeting nature of life, expressed through bone art.  

In the medieval town 

We then walked towards Saint Barbara's Church. Kutna Hora is a medieval town in the Central Bohemian Region, and in most parts time stands perfectly still. Winding paved roads, red tile roofs, neatly planted vineyards and in the centre of it all the tall steeple of the church. It is only natural that this town of silver mines would pay their tributes to Saint Barbara - the patron saint of miners. The Gothic exteriors of the church seemed far more appealing than the stain-glass interiors, or maybe the lure of fine Bohemian wine (sold just outside) got the better of me.

Still buzzing from its impact, we waited patiently for the bus to take us back to the station. At the end of the day, arguments, long walks and tired legs can be justified if the adventure you've had is worth it. At Kutna Hora, for half the money advertised on the hotel pamphlet, we managed to have the time of our lives. 

You will too. I can feel it in my bones! 

 

Saint Barbara's Church  

The Scarlet Pimpernels of the Mountains

A bunch for Rs 10

I was in Mussoorie two weeks ago, and the timing couldn't have been more perfect. As luck would have it, I managed to witness the last of the rhododendron in bloom. A week too late, and I would have missed this wonderful phenomenon, though at that time I knew nothing about either of them. But I am getting ahead of the story here; so let me put things in perspective.

Thoughtful @Happy Valley, temple in the background

We drove from Delhi to Mussoorie, my friends and I. After long hours on the road without any incidents, if you don’t count occasional arguments, over eating and back seat driving, we were at Mussoorie. The trip was unplanned and we didn't have a reservation, which meant we drove for a while trying to figure out a place to stay. We eventually checked into a  decent hotel and our chaperone and acting chauffeur Anurag, decided to take a nap. So the two of us, Gowri Sundararajan and I, partners in crime, decided to explore Mussoorie on our own.

Last of spring at Rusty's Mussoorie 

I grew up with Ruskin Bond’s books, and to travel to Rusty’s town was almost like a dream come true. On rainy days in Kerala, book in hand, I used to wonder what spring would look like on the mountains of Mussoorie and Doon. In my mind’s eye, I imagined wild violet flowers growing from the cracks between the walls and small white flowers blooming all along the forest trail, just like the writer said they would. Walking away from the town towards Happy Valley, which has India’s first Tibetan temple (Shedup Choephelling), I noticed that spring was everywhere - in the air, in the mountain cracks, on rotting tree trunks and on tall trees. Photographing these flowers almost became an obsession. 

But it was en route to Dhanaulti, that I noticed wild red flowers growing on tall trees along the steep mountain side. Tucked between dark green coniferous trees, the flaming reds of these flowers looked like mountain fire. As the roads coiled and curved, I strained my neck for a better view.

A 25-km drive can take close to two hours on the mountain roads. Worried that we might be on the wrong track we stopped and asked for directions at an intersection. There, in a small shop facing a scenic mountain drop, I noticed rows of scarlet bottles with pictures of the now familiar flower. That’s how I found out about rhododendrons, locally known as Burans. Interestingly, these red rhododendrons are Nepal’s national flower and closer home in Uttarakhand they are recognised as the state tree and the locals consider it a gift from the Gods, with divine powers. It is said to be good for the heart and the liver and is also used in treating diseases like asthma and high blood pressure. Traditionally, house guests are greeted with a glass of homemade burans juice. Chutneys and pickles made from this flower are local delicacies.

Scarlet blooms

According to the annual report (2009-10) published by the Uttarakhand Forestry Research Institute (Haldwani) burans is a tough crop to grow; because the seedling survival of this variety is only 10-12 per cent. Put this alongside the ratio of deforestation for fire wood, and things don’t look good for these scarlets. But an increasing awareness about its uses and the international market gravitating towards organically prepared burans juice, this tree named in the Guinness World Records as the largest rhododendron, might still stand a chance.

Back in Delhi, I ration my burans juice intake; because I have just two bottles and I need them to last through the summer. It is a refreshing drink with a strong scent of rose water, which is used in the preparation of the concentrate. The one I bought has sugar mixed in, so between the sweetness and the scent of roses, I’m not sure what the burans really taste like. The shop keeper told me that the petals are sour but the sac has sweet nectar. I also know that for the people of Uttarakhand it is nature’s greatest gift - one that plays a central role in their everyday lives while also sustaining their forest's ecosystem.

A summer drink

Partners in crime at one of the many winding roads

Wild white roses

With my 'chaperone'

My Dahlia Day of Love

On Valentine’s Day last year, I bought myself a big long stem yellow Dahlia. It was late in the evening, and the flower seller near home was about to shut shop, so he gave it to me for ₹ 10. At home, I made myself a drink of hot chocolate and with the flower in hand, curled up to watch my favourite TV show. I spend a fair amount of time with myself and it was a special evening.

It is cozy!

As an educated woman I understand that this hoopla around Valentine’s Day ultimately boils down to money matters - it is about cards, flowers, chocolates and gifts. So why then, did I buy myself a flower?

Did I act on a whim? Was I lonely or did I feel bad for the florist who looked at me with hope filled eyes (not that my single flower did much to his business).

I'd like to think of that day as my Dahlia day of love, (yeah something like that eureka moment in the Platinum Day advt on television where the guy and gal looks into each other’s eyes and figure that they'd be lost without one another... Revelation!!)

I was a lost soul myself. I wandered around always looking for meaning, appreciation, respect, happiness... I walked, strayed, stumbled, found my footing, got lost again and in the whole process rediscovered me. I’m no Jane Austin heroine, and I’m not largely proud of all the things I have done, but they helped. Each and every right and wrong and the grey areas in between has made me the person I am today. And of that, I’m mighty proud.

Last Valentine's I had a Eureka moment! I have learnt to live with myself and it looks like I like it. So yes, I celebrate Valentine’s Day. With myself. And it is my dahlia day of love.