India

Two days after our wedding, and a day after my arrival as a new bride in the city that is now second only to Delhi in my heart, I could not resist my long held desire to see the Daulatabad fort that figured so often in my long talks with my husband in our courtship days. As I was falling in love with him, I also fell in love with this fort that he described to me in the murmurs over the phone in the stillness of night. He told me how high the summit of the fort was and he wondered how the king got to his palace at the top. He told me about the many gates, giant and small to the building to be used as defense in case of attack, the steep slopes around the fort with just a single point of entry, about a moat that surrounds the fort which at a time swarmed with crocodiles with just a small bridge connecting the fort entrance to the outside world. He told me about the hathi hauz, the elephant tank, about the bats that housed themselves in the now empty staircases and dark passageways where not a ray of day light can creep in, the mendi tope, goat headed canon that is stationed in the fort overlooking the views of the barren landscapes.  I could see through his voice his childlike excitement over what sounded like an incredible place to which he must have gone first as a child. As a child, I myself had read in my text books about Devagiri which was the capital of the Yadavs and I thought wasn’t Delhi always supposed to be the capital of everything in India and I wondered which this other place that rivalled Delhi’s position is. Daulatabad, I …

Writing a travelogue usually fills me with uneasy feeling mixed with nostalgia, desire to go back or displeasure in returning home. But, as I right the travelogue for Amritsar I have a smile on that runs from ear to ear. The reason is, well, I don’t like going there because I am made to go there too often, and the purpose of travel is usuaully family and not vacation so I know I will return time and again to this city which is rightly regarded as the center of Sikh world and also a sort of center of my family world. Every third shop in Amritsar is a restaurant/dhaba/halwai/tandoor/tikkiwaala or sells something edible. And they are all proudly “pure desi ghee” preparations. If you are travelling from Delhi, you will be please with the menu and the prices quoted but will be scared to see the portion size and thick butter floating along with sabzi and masala. They say, it is the last frontier of pure milk and pure ghee in India. I agree adding that if you throw a stone in Amritsar and it will fall in the big kadhaai full of rich creamy milk with boiled cardamom and other condiments sold for Rs. 20 a glass. Lassi and Kadhai dudh is the speciality of Amritsar, glass of which outsiders cannot even dare to lift. Special kulfi faluda, punjab famous Bharawan da dhaba, Gyani tea stall di special chai, beera chicken, kesar da dhaba, makhan fish, chajju da palak paneer…this city has more than what one stomach in one visit. But my favourite that I could accomodate each morning for breakfats was the special Amritsari Kulcha. Baked to such perfection, no matter where you order it, you would be forced to grant that no one can do tandoori stuff …

I wanted to go there to see what the other side looked like, for a peep through the gates, to confirm if they spoke the truth when they said the people looked like we do, to check if the grass looked the same on either sides, to see for myself if what lay beyond the boundary was not a land drastically different from ours. I wanted to go there to perceive the reason that caused all the madness through the ages, to cry for a moment for those who died in the name of religion turning the green of the rich field into red and the holy water of five rivers into blood. But I failed. I failed because they wanted me to masquerade my curiosity behind the veil of patriotism.I heard the Pakistani tunes first. It felt like a marriage party, a typical Indian (or Punjabi, if I may say) style wedding reception. It was my favorite Punjabi singer Abrar-ul-haq on the other side. I thought they were playing music so that people on both sides could have fun. I saw the sight of a flag on the other side, a big Pakistani flag held by the people on the stands across the border. I looked at them full of awe I saw some white caps and long beards. I thought for once we were having a cross border party. But then I heard the tunes of an Indian patriotic song with some school girls dancing in the center. I instantly got the joke which was a serious business at that point. The next to come was people shouting from the stands, and loud slogans which were orchestrated by someone running from point to point signaling the crowd to jeer, clap, shout, whistle and sing.It was all in good …

The following images are from the Dastakar fair held every spring in New Delhi. Check it out this spring if you are in the area.  

“Am I returning in the next two years?” The crystal answered “No!” “Will I return with him?” the crystal answered, “No!” Both of these answers left me bitter, worried and scared. I am not returning here in the next two years meant for me that I am not going to be travelling and not returning with him again meant the end of the world in another sense. It was 5th October 2008. Well, the bad news turned into even better news on January 7th, 2011 as I sat by the window covered in mist, the vistas of Delhi barely visible, I leaned on the pane and saw my two companions looking at me. We exchanged smiles and the thrill of what we had undertaken and what lay ahead – Our first all girls’ trip in India. If you are a girl, the idea of travelling alone on an overnight bus will scare you. But it was the discussion around this trip with my colleagues which made me realize that the idea baffled guys even more. Tones of advice some welcome some not so welcome, suggestions on alternative destinations, last minute glitches and changes in plan, invective outbursts of an angry Tibetan travel agent who told us “Shame on you never seen more bad people” and kept scaring us of the Karma which will bite our asses for last minute booking cancellations. The first night of travel from New Delhi to Dharamshala I was told by him would be “worst night of my life”. I was ready for the bus to topple in the extreme cold weather and fog of which our colleagues had warned us. We peacefully slept through the night and woke up to the call of “Kangra!, Kangra!”. The three chattering chickies who did not sleep a wink …

In the city where coffee shops are mushrooming all around, where do you go for a cup of tea that is not flooded with water and tastes likes the tea that our Indian taste buds are more akin to. Well for a flavorful cup of chai that is sweet, spicey and milky try out the Passion cup of tea in Vasant Vihar. My personal favorite is ginger, saffron tea served in glasses that look like kullarhs burning hot. It could easily be the best tea I have ever had. If you are into the cooler version of the drink then one of the places not to be missed is the Tea Shop in Noida. It’s a small shop which is a famous hangout for the college students at nearby private university. Deceptively, it looks like any other kiraana shop in a regular mohalla but what is unique is the khadi yet high quality feel of the place. However, it is one of those happening hangouts which are hidden in cornered location known only to locals. The shop is owned by retired Captain Mehra who runs the place with his wife. The day to day management is taken care of by Narayan ji who is extremely friendly and courteous. He has worked with tea shop for over 10 years and so have the other employees. The menu is really simple with wide offerings in teas iced or hot, priced just right for a student’s pocket. The food menu is nothing extensive a few sandwiches, muffins and momos. My personal favourite is their unique drink which is by the way not tea, it is coffee. They call it Carribean coffee and it is coffee unlike I have ever had. Muffin and chicken salami is my favorite on their snacks menu. The tastes …