Saala Farvari phir se

Putting the ball in destiny’s court I decided to let Nusrat Saab choose the topic for this post. Faal mein misra nikla “Sun charkhe di mitthi mitthi hook, maaiya mainu yad aandi ”. With this fair selection done, let me now slip down through memories. Sit back and relax, this is going to be a fun trip.
On this 13th day since three decades of my birth I start reflecting on all the ending and passing that has sincerely ushered in change. I begin to notice the third person tone that has crept in. Feeling quite smug about this seemingly fancy style that I seem to have chanced upon, I take a deep breath. It appears to be a hangover of the film I was watching.
The Lucknow and Delhi part of my life, the very early years.
Most of my autobiographical sketches start with vivid accounts of the much cited train journey from Chaarbagh Station. The incident of the Bat is trademark of the Delhi days. But as I ponder over those days now, with the wisdom of age, I can spot large patches which amount to sheer legend. I have a general feel of the early days, but the specifics begin to blur in time. Did the remote control car pre date the tennis victory? Could I ride the bicycle when Mamu got married? In fact a closer look reveals two clearly distinct memory tracks; incidents at home, with family and life at school, with strangers. These tracks have their individual chronology but relating them to each other is a little tricky. For instance, during the time when GR was my best friend at school had I shared my first smoke with my cousin?
So what I am getting at is this. There is no point wasting time in this part of history. A little fast forward is a fair proposition. Till then …

ने. काशी यात्रा

कई राज़ खुल रहे हैं. फाक़मस्ती में ग़ालिब की गुज़र. मीर की ज़िद. कबीर के सादगी से तर्शे हुए ख़याल.चारों scripts پڑھ ਲੀਂ. हाँ, कहीं कोने में तुम भी मौजूद हो. मुस्कुराती हुई. खूब कटे यह दिन भी. खून कटीं यह रातें.
गंगा नहा ली हमने.

... and this does it

so the friend has eventually arrived. i feel fantastic. the maker has the uniquest shades of humor ... ever!

bardo

हस्ती अपनी है बीच में पर्दा,
हम न होवें तो फिर हिजाब कहाँ
- मीर

Autobiography In Five Chapters (Portia Nelson)

1) I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
My eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

5) I walk down another street.

चंद तस्वीर-ए-बुतां, चंद हसीनों के खुतूत ?

Let us start with some Meer ...

दिल गया, रुसवा हुआ, आखिर को सौदा हो गया |
इस दो रोज़ा ज़ीस्त में, हमपर भी क्या क्या हो गया ||

इश्क़ करते हैं उस परी-सू से |
'मीर' साहब भी क्या दिवाने हैं?

मीरजी! राज़े इश्क़ होगा फाश |
चश्म हर लहजा मत पुरआब करो ||

...and now the नामौज़ू मिसराs


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so essentially;

हम हुए तुम हुए की मीर हुए,
उनकी नज़रों के सब असीर हुए |

अक़्ल-o-नफस

वफादारी, बशारत-ए इस्तेवारी असल ईमान है,
अगर मर जाये बुत-खाने तोह घरहो काबे में बरहमन को |

- ग़ालिब

कहें क्या जो पूछे कोई हम से मीर

Maanu chacha(Humanyun Zafar Zaidi)passed away the dawn after Diwali. I had met him twice. Once when he stopped over in Chandigarh with his family, en route from Shimla to Delhi. And second, when he came to visit Baba after the femur fracture fiasco. All I remember of the first meeting was that our terrace was completely lined with wet clothes the night the Zaidi clan arrived. And that his sons broke quite a few knobs in our house, across product categories with aplomb. The second meeting was more sober, and I recall reciting Iqbal's Shikwa and receiving appreciation.
We went for his चालीसवें की मजलिस yesterday. One of the best I have ever attended. Meer intertwined with Khayyam, Saadi and Sura-e-Ya.Sin. Kosher-ly sinful. I also found out that chacha was a shaayar himself -
मैं बात करता रहूँगा नए ज़माने की,
मेरे मिज़ाज से पैग़म्बरी न जायेगी |

It was a day well spent. And I'm back on desk thoroughly infatuated. Meer it is.


फ़कीराना आये सदा कर चले
मियां ख़ुश रहो हम दुआ कर चले |

जो तुझ बिन ना जीने को कहते थे हम
सो इस अहद को अब वफ़ा कर चले |

baby steps

so the run did not help much. i was expecting it to distill my emotions. get everything sorted out. raising expectations has its own charms and falls. i fall. you charm.
funny thoughts come when you run long enough. kambakht ishq will end up being our last visit to the cinema. if this is not a joke, what is?
being stuck in the second gear is worth experiencing. one finds out a lot about ones own self. the hidden demons. the raw anger. and the infinite patience.
"learn a new language" she says. i'm having a tough time unlearning the ones i thought i knew!

nusrat's voice is ever comforting:
"वोह जो कल तुम्हारे थे, वोह गुज़र गए जां से,
यह ज़रा बताओ तो, आज किस की बारी है! "

but, we shall overcome.

humpty's fall ... (not a pretty picture)

कृष्ण का हूँ पुजारी, अली का बन्दा हूँ

यगाना शान-ए-ख़ुदा देख के रहा न गया |

खुदी का नशा चढा आप में रहा न गया

ख़ुदा बने थे यगाना मगर बना न गया |

- यगाना चंगेज़ी

तुम इक गोरखधंदा हो

कोई राँझा जो कभी खोज में निकले तेरी, तुम उसे झंग के बेले में रुला देते हो,
जुस्तुजू लेके तुम्हारी जो चले क़ैस कोई, उसको मजनू किसी लैला का बना देते हो,
जोत सस्सी के अगर मन में तुम्हारी जागे, तुम उसे तपते हुए थल में जला देते हो,
सोहनी गर तुम्हे माहीवाल तस्सव्वुर कर ले, उसको बिखरी हुई लहरों में बहा देते हो,
ख़ुद जो चाहो तो सर-ए-अर्श बुला कर महबूब, एक ही रात में महराज करा देते हो!

- नाज़

अलविदा ?

एक तुम के तुम को फिक्र-ए-नशेब-ओ-फ़राज़ है,
एह हम के चल पड़े तो बहराल चल पड़े!

- कैफी

पूरी नज़्म आइन्दा ...

जल्द आ रहा है ...

आज के नाम...

ज़रा देर हो गयी है अभी,
तफसील, फुर्सत से!

लगावट की अदा से उन का कहना पान हाज़िर है,
क़यामत है, सितम है, दिल फ़िदा है, जान हाज़िर है!
- अकबर इल्लाह्बादी

इश्क कहते हैं जिसे सब वो यही है शायद,
खुद-ब-खुद दिल में है इक शख्स समाया जाता
- हाली

happy birthday mr. gandhi

dear bapu,

salaam!

i revisited your autobiography a while back. an abridged version. on a journey back from red hills. it was quite a paradise, red hills.

returned to bangalore after a month and a half in delhi. am here till tuesday, then back to delhi till next year. don't have much to do. as you must be aware, things have zipped past quite quickly in these last few months.

wanted some advice bapu. i feel very overwhelmed and numbed by life right now. strange things have been happening. it all started with john, i think. or papa john. perhaps it started with a harmless morning walk. or a dim conversation, marred by an idiotic interruption. what a ride!

i am not sure what the india of your dreams was. i have a dream of my own. a marwari groom marrying a shia saidani in a church (with a granthi leading the service!). looking forward to your response.

saalgirah mubarak.

yours truly,

of independence and a little this and that

(a still from Nagamandala, courtesy roopinder singh's blog )

Its one of those ineffable moments when the heart wishes to scream out from the nearest rooftop. The pounding just doesn’t seem to pacify and the mind (for a change) connives with it, almost justifying it. It sure is an addition to ones repertoire of those experiences, watching Neelam Mansingh’s troupe (The Company) perform Nagamandala; sitting alongside (almost) Girish Karnad! I admit that the redoubtable Mr. Karnad has been reasonably demystified since I first saw him during the Shoestring Performer’s - A Pint of Pinter (almost two years ago, I remember furtively glancing right through the performance, looking for cues, for Pinter can be quite a task to watch – when to laugh, when not to) but this time it was the charm of observing the writer watching the creation recreated. Translated, remolded, breathing, occasionally hissing; conjured up in a whole new world.
The evening dawned today, complete with signs. Ustad Amir Khan sahib was playing on the radio, his trademark 'ultra' vilambit (meditatively lazy) khayaals followed by an inspired tarana as I was getting ready to leave. The downpour which had been threatening stopped precisely at six thirty and there was an auto waiting just outside the apartment road. Rabidranath’s self rendition of the national anthem preceded the performance commemorating our 61st independence day. It was brilliant.
Never before have I seen the story within a story theme being produced on stage with such aplomb. My craving for Punjabi could be a reason for the impact, but much more than that was the sheer brilliance of the director and her troupe!

Thank you very much.

shukriya ani meherbani

i would like to thank:

• the guru - because guru bina gatti nahin!
  
• my sister meezo for helping me break the inertia and also being a source of inspiration as she practiced what she preached
• the young (jurno) lass from jharkand for ensuring that the momentum did not die away and for enabling the once dormant power to dream
  
• dearest grand-mommy who as per instructions prayed for me and shared little moments of happiness
  
• dearest mommy for making me realize the importance of electrolytes thus helping me deal with cramps; her recommendation of coconut water and ORS were priceless
• dear flatmate n for taking the altered diet plan with loads of grace and suffered unending breakfasts of sprouts and also my ramble each morning after training
  
• dear friends j and n (again) for helping me with procurement decisions and also serving as mute sounding boards, patiently listening to my self evolved stratagems and counter-stratagems. j in his standard selfless style even lent me his cap for almost a month (which i never used eventually)
  
• cousin marry-am from across the globe for providing extremely valuable and tangible inputs (the pasta dinner advice for instance)
• mamu dear for his very practical one line advice "bus dheerey dheerey bhagna ... "
• my elder brother, sports mentor, most dependable coach for the enthusiasm in his voice when i told him about the run ... he might never know how infectious that spark was
• pops dear for his post run wisecracks and a little this a little that trademark talk
• r from the team whose sms provided cheer on the race day morning
• numerous residents of this great city who were out on the streets, cheering and encouraging ... that one random stranger whos "rukna mat, bus himmat rakh" remark still echoes
  
• prema aunty for just being around and ensuring that my running dress was washed daily, also i think she prayed for me when she went to church yesterday
  
• fayaaz bhai for bringing me back home and for playing those excellent qawallis; honest to god had he not agreed i doubt i would have gotten an auto
• youtube, for making available quite a few inspirational clips
  

thank you all. thank you very much!

1382's hero

Emil Zatopek

"Out of the silver heat mirage he ran. The sky burned, and under him the paving was a black mirror reflecting sun-fire. Sweat sprayed his skin with each foot strike so that he ran in a hot mist of his own creation. With each slap on the softened asphalt, his soles absorbed heat that rose through his arches and ankles and the stems of his shins. It was a carnival of pain, but he loved each stride because running distilled him to his essence and the heat hastened this distillation."
- James Tabor, from "The Runner," a short story

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yIbsvMxTgQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d44tCjd6reg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFl829WefFQ&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmaAGDre-iU&feature=related

stumped at chinnaswamy

Life really is a never ending learning experience. I must have been 14 when i last went to a cricket stadium to see a match, its taken me as much time to become capable of appreciating the same. Then i had been foolish enough to conjure up an almost definitive opinion about the futility of such endeavors. It is reassuring to see opinions alter.

It was one hell of a crazy ride from leaving office to reaching the stands. It wasn't a packed house so we managed to get decent seats. Mesmerizing, that is what it was. Bathed in ethereal light the stadium was mantramughd-able, with the players clearly visible dressed in their sharp attire etching out the frame. The lens' limitation became so dramatically apparent, it would not be an exaggeration to say that poor cousin television shows us no more that a quarter of the actual match. There is a magic about the arena; teeming with spectators witnessing the spectacle of man in contest - little wonder the Romans took their sport and stadia so seriously!

The sound of the willow striking the leather, piercing through the din of cheers is etched in memory. The middle of the bat has the power to produce miracles.

A little note of concern: The authorities should make such events more spectator friendly, especially a concept like IPL, whose success rests upon involving the aam aadmi. If these stadiums were to invest in infrastructure, creating more comfortable seatings with well laid out aisles and walking bays coupled with good f&b services, i am certain they would make much more money. If airports can be privatized, stadiums most certainly should. However hats off to the junta who had come, it was one of the most well behaved and fun loving crowd i have ever seen - parents with little children, newly weds hand in hand, old couples dancing, a spirted group of sardars supporting Punjab in full gusto and a bunch foreigners figuring out cricket; what a delight it was to see such an assortment.

My two cents worth on IPL: With the way the teams are progressing the deciding factor for clinching this tournament is leadership. Never before has the role of the captain assumed such significance, with such a motley bunch of players nothing matters more. It is evident too, the teams leading right now have the most articulate and assertive leaders, Warne is doing a terrific job with his boys while Yuvi and Dhoni are marshalling well. The Mumbai team is really lucky as Bhajji's departure has resulted in Pollock assuming the reins and handling his bunch with great discipline. I guess it is now a wake up time for Dada, Laxman and Viru, lest the royals steal the cup away!

a thorn in the flesh

We were halfway through the trek, crawling through creepers and thick foliage when suddenly someone seemed to have gripped my arm from behind. It was a moment of shrieking pain followed by an instant cloud of senselessness. I jerked and stopped, tried pulling my arm free of the grip and turned back. A thorn in the flesh had anchored itself firmly in my arm. It refused to yield to my jerk and the numbed senses could not fathom a way out. Liberation from the firm grip drove the instincts and had there been a reasonable object around I would not have hesitated in employing it, snapping the aggressor free. The urge alloyed with a mind in silence created a moment whose memory will forever remain.

ciei - conclusion

47046.47

company in east india - part IX

Got up a little late, partly because of the late night and partly because Gujju had issued stern instructions, still managed to hear the koel. Today was a day without plans, the day of departure. Fruits had replaced the omelet and I quite enjoyed that change, breakfast done I finished my packing and was all set to leave.

Saurabh was in the neighborhood for some work and Gujju suggested that we go and meet him, he ended up picking (and dropping) us. We went to Russell Street and enjoyed some great lassi served in a kullhad along with a plate of mini samosas. Russell Street has these numerous sweet shops run mostly by Punjabi immigrants/refugees and is a great place for street food. I expressed my gratitude for the kurta and insisted that they plan a trip to Bangalore.

Lunch was at home and this time I had ensured that my appetite was intact (had gone steady on the samosas). Some great mutton korma was on offer along with dal, subzi and rice; aunty and Gujju wanted to know my opinion on the mutton (initially I was supposed to make biryani for lunch, but aunty had given me a breather on the condition that I provide candid opinion about the lunch she served) and I told them it was fantastic, which they took as a reflection of my politeness. But honestly, it was fantastic. Lunch done I had a quick shut eye in order to recharge myself, was planning to meet S for a while on Park Street and from there proceed towards the airport after dropping S back home. Got up well in time and bid adieu to my terrific hosts.

S was almost on time and we stepped inside Flurys (so much had happened since my first visit), I had my suitcase which I left with the security guard. I drank some chai while S ate some crepes, chatted and decided to step inside the adjoining music world for a bit before leaving (which we did and bought 2 films).

SRK’s Kolkata Knight Riders had been a frequent topic throughout this trip and once inside the cab it resurfaced. Only this time we had an audience – the cricket crazy cabbie, who in a sense perfected the finish to this terrific trip. The cabbie had played district level cricket during his college days and had a point of view on every aspect of the game. Once I had dropped S off the addition of expletives added to the color of his commentary. Reached the airport well in time and by now I knew my way around pretty well. The flight was on time, I check in my luggage and settled down in the waiting lounge with the Kundera S had given.

company in east india - part VIII

I woke up feeling much better than anticipated, a koel was singing out in the garden. Aunty had arranged for a track record booklet (for the races) and had taken me through the basic terminology and how to look up important statistics in great detail last evening. Today morning she showed me a copy the Telegraph pointing to the punter’s section which elaborated about the editor’s picks for the day. I was all enthusiastic quite hopeful of making a little money. In retrospect, today was one of those days which alters ones view of the world.

Fresh cases of bird flu had again been reported and this meant no eggs, implying in turn no omelets. In a way I was glad, with the way things had gone last night I was all for giving the stomach a break. Breakfast was fruits and thandai (Gujju’s friend had gotten engaged and sent a tokri full of fruits) and once that was wrapped up I proceeded with getting ready. We had to wear formals; I had saved on of my favorite shirts for today and was borrowing Gujju’s shoes. And also today was the day I would finally get to sport my shades. I was the first to get ready and then started the great game of co-ordination with S. She was coming from home along with her younger cousin (who was unaware about the finer nuances of our lives) who (because S was living with her) knew that S had been to Shillong; from my end aunty knew well about my north east sojourns. It was a potentially hazardous situation and fed up playing the sms-ing game with S (in which we pondered over what would be the best recourse), I thought it best to be upfront with aunty and explained the entire situation to her, much to her amusement. Reach the Royal Turf Club just in time for the first race but as S had not arrived me and Gujju got off the car and waited while aunty went in. S arrived shortly with her cousin and we went inside, the security guard objected to our cell phones and asked us to have them deposited at a designated counter, so we stepped out, put them on silent and shoved them inside S’s hand bag and marched right back.

We had the best seats in the house and felt like royalty. Aunty explained the basics all over again for the benefit of S and took us through the basic routine for making a selection while Gujju explained the process of placing the final bets. We had missed the first race and the second one was due shortly, aunty ordered some beer and rolls for us and the bearer was quite prompt. I took a paneer roll as I wanted to go easy on the tummy but could not resist taking a huge bite from Gujju’s mutton roll. Once the race started we were all glued on the television screen till in the final leg the horses appeared, it was fantastic! Gujju had some work and left shortly, but by this time S and I had been quite well groomed and we proceeded towards the inspection parade of the horses saddled for the next race, trying hard to spot a limp or catch a swagger. It was extremely involving and very soon we were debating choices and getting more ambitious with the quantum of our bets. We won some, did not win some and almost won some; it was a splendid day.

Walking out of the turf club S and I decided to explore a bit of the city once again, said our goodbyes to aunty and went towards the promenade nearby. Stepped into a famous ice cream parlors and had some (yes, you guessed it right) ice cream float. I was short on liquidity and there wasn’t an ATM around, we wanted to take a boat ride but the price was horribly expensive and more than that it was the sheer lack on money which prompted us to take a walk instead. After a bit decided to go towards Park Street, took a cab, once there kept looking for ATM’s but weren’t too lucky (they were either out of cash or did not accept my card) and finally S had to make the withdrawal that done we stepped into Flurys for a cup of chai. It was late evening by the time we were through and I had this impulse to grab hold of a roll and sink my teeth (hadn’t eaten much the entire day, was quite famished) so we hopped across the street to Kusum’s and bought a paneer roll and with that in hand took a cab and proceeded towards salt lake. Dropped S near the house and took the same cab back home.

Gujju was glued watching Roadies and I joined right in, it was a tragic evening; Prabjot was voted out. Roadies meant Saturday and that meant that we had to be at another disc promoting Club Mirchi, I have no idea how Gujju managed to find this job, even he doesn’t! I was super tired and did not bother to change; Gujju on the other hand went through an elaborate ritual which culminated in him putting on his dancing shoes. The venue today was ‘Underground’ it was supposed to be much more happening and better than Tantra; to be honest I could not differentiate (except that it was more crowded at peak hour). The place was quite deserted when we entered and I made myself comfortable on the bar stool, several familiar faces were around from Tantra, exchanged pleasantries. Saurabh wanted to know why the north east trip had been cut short and what my take was on Shantiniketan. Once done with the conversation he insisted I give the dance floor a visit, I used my usual ‘nursing my drink’ excuse but eventually had to give in to his enthusiasm. Gujju’s friend’s from that initial meeting in Flurys were also here, one of them had recently gotten engaged was with his fiancée; the DJ welcomed and played a song for them, all this was live on air.

Mid way through all of this Gujju appeared and me for favor, one of his clients (I forget the name now) was arriving and he wanted me to chat with him and preferably use my Hindustani andaaz. I saw no harm and was shortly introduced to the gentleman; the first hour of the conversation spanned how he wanted to build his brand (he was from a multi national car manufacturer) using a similar marketing vehicle and all the essential ‘finding the pulse of the customer’. Then somehow he discovered that I was related to bhaiya chacha and this took the conversation on a different tangent altogether. The last lap centered on theatre (he happened to know Saeed Alam and had seen Tom Alter in Maulana Azad) and how the marketing monies which were being splurged at events like this never managed to reach the stage. Now suddenly (this one paragraph is a condensed version of nearly three hours) Gujju reappeared and asked me to step out, Saurabh had managed it once more.

I followed Saurabh and crossed the street; the big guy from Bangalore was there. It was well past mid night and the streets were near deserted. On the way back I stopped at a pan shop just adjacent to the hotel and bought some candy. Stepped back into the disc and felt psychedelic, it was quite a surreal experience. I mean what were the chances of me being in a disc in Calcutta, at this unearthly an hour; in such blissful a state.

Appetite had managed to find its way and the plan was to have dinner at Azad Hind Dhaba (it’s famous for MF Husain’s frequent visits) the place usually remains open till quite late, but recently an accident had occurred on that street and the police had stepped up patrolling, forcing the dhaba to close. The street was lined with cars and bikes on both sides and it appeared like a college campus, one of the group figured out a way to smuggle us through the back door entry of another dhaba in the vicinity called Sharma’s. The meal was simple: dal with egg, keema matar, shahi paneer and tandoori rotis; fulfilling (there were around 7 of us, most of them Gujju’s colleagues). As we were stepping inside the car to leave, Gujju’s friend was dropping us; Saurabh appeared with a packet and gave it to me along with Gujju. These guys had bought a fabulous kurta for me, and I had absolutely no clue how to react. The ride back home was short as the city was deserted, reached home, crashed.

company in east india - part VII

Were up early and took a little stroll before getting ready. Prabhat was there on time and drove us back to the station, got our tickets and stepped in. The train was a bit delayed and we enjoyed the Rabindra Sangeet that was being aired on the public address system, while scanning our copies of The Telegraph. The journey back was crisp and the high point was the appearance of a tradition Baul singer he had been preceded by a flautist, both were quite entertaining. In my zest to preserve the memory I even recorded a little bit of the Baul singers’ performance on my rudimentary phone camera. Reach Howrah a little after noon and took a cab towards Park Street, checked with Gujju but he was caught up and could not join us for lunch. Went to flavors and ordered some rice and Thai curry along with sui-mi and soup. It was a fine meal and we walked out with a great deal of satisfaction.

The plan stated that we roam about the streets of Calcutta till about early evening, which is when S would leave for home and I would head on to see the Belur Matt, the ashram which Vivekananda built in the memory of his spiritual guru. S called up a couple of friends to get her basic understanding of the co-ordinates in place and we entered the Park Street metro station. Calcutta boasts of the first Rail Metro in the country and which is in some sense a reflection of that city – the rail network consists of a straight line route spanning from Damdam at one end and Tollygune at the other. We took tickets till Kaalighat (which is how Kolkata got its name, the uncorrupted!) and boarded the train.

It was a swift journey spanning not more than four stations, once out on the street we had to figure our way out a bit. It was the most idyllic of settings, walking the streets of that city in abandon, strolling towards the Kali. As usual the kindness of strangers helped us find our way (in fact one gentlemen who had helped us with the directions, sitting out on the steps of a house, was very much still in that same frame when we were returning back, he asked us if we had managed to located the mandir and we completely ignored his request assuming it to be a random solicitation) and as we neared the usual set of god merchants (that we have gotten accustomed to – from Ajmer and Pushkar to Agra) made an appearance. Completely ignoring them we continued and entered the street just outside that historic temple; it was lined on both sides by double tiered and extremely narrow sweet shops. The double tiering was most unusual, with a fat man crammed below the main shop counter fighting with kadhai full of khoya and vigorously stirring it. We bought some of these pedas from the last of these shops and glanced in through the temple door to get a glimpse of the Kali and moved on.

Once back inside the Metro station S insisted that I buy the return tickets and address the ticket seller in Bengali “Doo to central”, which I did much to our amusement. This ride was a bit more taxing and I got to witness the brasher side of the bhadarlok who made no effort to be courteous or generous when it came to sharing their space (unlike the mumbaikar).

We were now on the college street (near the legendary Presidency College) which was guarded by little second hand book kiosks on both sides spanning the entire length. The coffee house on that street does not serve tea; it’s a complete mess and the waiters no less then the laat sahibs (they once must have served) but that’s not all. The coffee house on that street has a soul and a character and a history; one of those places where I regret the delay of my visit (should have come here when I was still a tobacco smoker). I drank two cupfuls of coffee and shared a plate of butter toast with S, it was supremely refreshing and we stepped out onto the college street to buy some second hand steals! S picked up a copy of Anna Karenina and I found a copy of ‘The theatre of the absurd’ (a book I had almost bought in Mumbai) along with a hard bound edition of ‘Dara Shikoh’ a play written by Gopal Gandhi. Once done shopping S took a cab back home while I proceeded towards Belur Matt.

Took an hour to reach the Matt, it’s a nice serene compound with a long drive way path and is located on the banks of the river Ganga. Trotted along the campus and stood for a long while on the edge, overlooking the river. Then took a path downwards towards the ferry junction, passed an interesting looking Dargah, the stretch was dotted with occasional beggar and jhaalmoori sellers. It was approaching the time of the evening Aarti so I took a chance and entered the main hall, meditated for a while and then witnessed the Aarti followed by some Bhajans and then made a move. And as I had anticipated my shoes were missing, stolen perhaps (first time in my living memory), got a little heart broken and called S who reminded me that I had a pair of Osho’s in my bag. Searched some more then with a heavy heart took out the Osho’s and started the journey back (ate some jhalmoori and drank a khulladful chai) took a cab. Passed over the suspension bridge through a toll bridge and witnessed a typical Calcutta traffic snarl, (which had some five people first discussing then arguing and finally giving up and resuming charge and ramming their vehicles till the lock jam was broken) got off at the junction near the house and walked home!

This was the only evening in the city which I spent at home; this was the only evening I made quite a fool of myself. Gujju was home when I reached and had a nice chatting session with him and aunty told them about the day and learnt that the races were on tomorrow and the passes had been arranged. Then began the line up for the evening, chilled beer paired up with some fried fish which was followed by chicken, interspersed with wafers and concluded by the prawn chips – it was sheer sin, sheer bliss! Me being totally famished hogged to my heart’s delight and by the time dinner was laid my appetite had vanished. To make matters worse aunty had gotten carrot and beans made on my request, Gujju behaved like a complete smart ass and made super fun of

1. my ‘acting’
2. aunty’s supposed naivety (“how could she expect me to enjoy dinner without some mutton?”)

which ended up making me feel quite miserable. It’s very rare to see me waste food, but that night my plate landed up in the kitchen sink with lots of subzi and dal, I was honestly ashamed; but was glad that I did not gulp it down else I would have certainly fallen sick!. The official line is that the prawn chips did me in!

company in east india - part VI

With the usual omelet and toast breakfast I left the house around 8:45, I needed to be at the Howrah station by 9:30 and was running slightly late. The sight of the bridge took me back seven years when I had come to this city for the first time, with Atul and Arghya. We had taken a passenger train from Jamshedpur and arrived here at Howrah. It was unchanged; the same ‘Photography prohibited’ signs were still around (the reason for which still eludes me). Reached the station and bought the tickets to Bolpur (that’s what the Shantiniketan station is called), bought a copy of ‘The Statesman’ and found a place to sit, S arrived shortly. The Howrah railway station can be supremely intimidating and with the waves of passengers sweeping the station in their stride; finding swift and reliable cover is essential. Had a chai in a kullhad and waited for our train to arrive. It was nice to see a group of foreign tourists also waiting for the train; one enthusiast was busy filming anything which moved and watching him was quite uplifting. The train was on time and there were enough seats available in the AC chair car for us to get reservations on the spot.

The world looks so perfect through the tinted glasses of air conditioned spaces – the East Indian countryside looked magnificent. Between the newspaper, the i-pod and the conversation the journey passed by. The only regret was that jahlmoodhi walas were not allowed inside the AC compartment and the lone ranger who managed to make a brief appearance fell short of time serving the passengers up ahead.

A crowd of rickshaw walas was waiting as we emerged from the Bolpur railway station. We hired Prabhat who agreed to take us to Shantiniketan which is a little further from the station (I withdrew some money from the solitary ATM; the Lonely Planet had advised that most guest houses here did not accept cards). We had short listed Chutti Lodge based on LP’s recommendation but Prabhat insisted that we see another guest house first (I do not recall the name) and we obliged, only to turn it down without a second thought. With much reluctance he trudged along to Chutti which was exactly in lines with LP’s review. We tried negotiating (had managed a 10% discount in Shillong and were quite kicked about negotiating) but it didn’t work here, partly because the rates were reasonable to begin with and we were way too satisfied with what was on offer (paid for a non AC room with the assurance that incase conditioning the air was required we would be allowed to shift rooms and adjust the tabs). Kept our bags, freshened up and left.

Prabhat was waiting for us and we asked him to show us around Shantiniketan and to begin with take us some nice place for lunch (he demanded ‘chaar paanch sau rupiye’ and had to be informed that we were not ‘firangi tourists’). He took us to Khaarimaati which served traditional Bengali fare. It was a very nicely made place, there was outdoor seating with individual spread out booths (lined neatly in two rows), there was a canopy to keep the sun out and lots of greenery all around. The waiter was quite a character who did not hesitate to make suggestions/additions. We promptly got the masala colas and papad’s, the main course however refused to turn up and as the university shuts down at 4 we were in a bit of a rush; today was all we had. After a great deal ‘anti tada tadi’ the waiter appeared with S’s order; a thaali in which everything was stone cold (S was later to reveal that even tough cold, the bite that she had eaten was quite splendid in taste, also we were extremely hungry). We returned that and asked it to be heated and resumed the wait. After another terribly long 10 minutes I walked up to the guy at the counter and asked him to speed things up as we were quite short of time. Nothing much came from this except a cursory assurance; back at the table the vigil resumed and midway something just snapped and we got up and asked that the order be cancelled. This caused quite a bit of commotion with all the waiters crowding in, none of us lost our tempers but were very curt in explaining our disgust. When one of the waiters cheekily retorted that we needed to pay for the food now that it was being prepared, S suddenly snapped and said “if you are here only for the money, we will most certainly pay!” It was quite a shock to them and before they could recover we had paid for the colas (the cashier was sensible enough to not charge us for the food) and marched out. Prabhat was there and the journey around the great university township started on an empty stomach. He took us on an amusing rickshaw guided tour, explaining minute nuances in great detail especially the kaali badi (which we later read in the next days papers had just recently been repainted) and the many sculptures present there (he had a perspective on each one of those).

The next stop was the museum; Tagore’s house had been converted into his museum – they had trapped him and in turn the city into an abyss beyond time. S was first to point this out and I saw a lot of merit in it, everything about that place was so centric to one personality that his message was utterly lost (Sabarmati Ashram in comparison is far more refreshing and uplifting). We managed to get a view of his Nobel award and other fascinating memorabilia; the constant removing of shoes as a symbol of reverence was annoying and quite senseless. Had a glimpse of Tagore’s drawing room, and I sensed a lot of energy still reverberating what times those must have been; what mehfils this room must have witnessed! Then went around the older part of the house, and the special hutment that had been prepared for the Mahatma’s visit to the university town.

Once out of there Prabhat took us through some other parts of the university where the famous ‘under the tree’ classes are conducted. We were quite famished by now and stopped to buy some minute maid and chatram patram. Came across a puchka seller and S got some churmur made (Prabhat had shown his utter lack of road-side cuisine when asked if that puchka seller would make churmur, his confused/lost expression is vivid in my memory; “why don’t you ask him only?” he had said in all politeness, “how do I know what it is that you want!”) which tasted heavenly and we moved on. Passing by the college canteen I had an urge to go in and have chai, so we halted but the canteen was deserted and the three of us had chai in silence and moved, it was then that the silence of that campus struck us. Were relived to run into a bunch of kids playing around, discovering the joy of the automobile (a scooty to be specific) it was approaching dusk and after inquiring with a couple of auto chaps about the fare they would charge to take us to a place slightly far from the city for dinner Prabhat dropped us at the guest house.

The dinner could not happen as per plan, that place was shut down and operates only when the tourist season in at its peak. So based on Prabhat’s recommendation we decided to visit Ghairey Bairey and were not disappointed at all; all said and done Prabhat knew this town and our tastes quite well (on the way we saw jugnoos and were thrilled, called Ankit to give him the good news). Ordered some nice fish, paneer chops dal and rice along with a cola float. Strolled around the adjoining exhibition but did not feel compelled to buy anything and returned; the service was prompt and the food tasty. Took a rickshaw back and stopped for some water and pan on the way, got a tad more choona than needed and initiated a volley of hiccups for S. Once back we settled our account, had to leave the next morning (it was fun to see the receptionist ponder over my address in the form, shant‘h’iniketan apartments!! She could comprehend that ‘h’ and tossed it out). Slept.

company in east india - part V

Three states and four cities, the span of what today was going to be. Were ready by 7 as planned and went down to the restaurant for breakfast. The same routine, we ordered masala omelets with cheese and mushroom and the waiter amusingly obliged. Gregory was there on time and we started out by 7.15.

A meandering not so hilly drive with a brilliant view of the countryside was on offer (of course I could not resist stealing a nap) and we cruised along at a steady pace. Little villages and hamlets kept appearing on the sides with neat signage – “Mawpen village”. The hutments looked straight out of a coloring book, extremely picturesque and very tidy. Like S said, even the clothes hanging on the lines outside had a great deal of symmetry to them. Just as we were nearing Sohra (the local name for Chirapunji) S threw up again, it was the omelet she informed and it was decided that on the way back she would sit in the front seat, next to the driver (Gregory) to minimize the effect of motion sickness. We did not waste too much time, bought a bottle of water and parked the car near an old fashioned church and started the march towards the caves.

You have to have been inside a cave to know what it’s all about. It is unlike anything I had ever experienced before. The caves are an authority unto themselves with their own laws and quirks. Gregory had brought us to one of the amateur level cave and he hadn’t been around here for a while, so we had to scout around a bit to figure out the entrance. Once there, he unpacked the kit which contained an overall (dungaree), helmets and a carbide cylinder (for the flame on the helmet) and we got prepared for action.

The entrance was a pile of gravel which appeared quite steep and I started the descent thinking that just incase I loose balance I’ll slide down without much damage. Ten meters into the cave and the definition of pitch dark altered forever. There was a trace of a stream along the path and the initial five minutes were spent walking pretty much straight avoiding the water areas. The cave had now started revealing glimpses of fear and death, a little hillock had to be conquered and this was followed by a sharp knee bend onto a large slope. Once aboard the deck of that slope we had to take an almost 4 meter high jump to reach a little clearing beyond which we had no clue what existed. Gregory was leading the way and managed that jump easily, S was reluctant and used a safety rope and I followed with complete awareness without the rope. Half a foot above the clearing we could see a large cavity about three ft wide, Gregory slipped through it with ease and S attempted to follow, tried and then gave up. Her head lamp had extinguished, she had pressed the pipe connecting the lamp to the carbide cylinder. Gregory took of his helmet and used its flame to reignite the lamp then again slid up, S attempted and gave up. We had three hours to our chopper departure, and with the pace we were at we decided it was time to retreat. The descent was a little easy as we knew what awaited us in the darkness and (the image of the first rays of sunlight striking us is still vivid) that little pile of rubble at the entrance which had initially looked scary and steep was now a cakewalk!

On the way back we took a little break in a shack in Sohra market. S’s last attempt at discovering local cuisine resulted in a plate of coarse rice and some boiled potato. The ride back was equally splendid and sitting on the back seat this time indulged in sleep to my heart’s content. We arrived at the air base well in time, paid and thanked Gregory and went in. The guard informed that the chopper had not yet arrived and was late so we kept our baggage in his sentry room and went for a stroll; he was the most cheerful guard I have ever seen on duty. We reached the airforce museum nearby and went in for a quick dekho. It was a motley assemblage and what stood out was the biography of Arjan Singh, some (more) mannequin-ish entities and the skin of a python (who had swallowed a deer) on display. Came back to the base camp and waited patiently chit chatting and catching up on old times (Mr. Das called in the middle to discuss some job offers that he had received).

Swift is the one word which captures the essence of what happened next. The chopper descended, all conversation ceased, a man came running and took our ticket foils, a woman went running to the chopper, a pilot stepped out and stretched, we were signaled to come over, a man took my suitcase and put it in (for lack of a proper word) the chopper boot, I was signaled to sit in, S followed, an uncle-ji boarded on the seat behind us, a woman came running and got some papers signed, someone shut the door, we began flying.

An intimidating display panel and an old box of candies, these are the first images that come to mind. The pilots kept chatting trough their headgear and the landscape started dwarfing out. We tried clicking a few pictures but the batteries were dead. Landed in Guwahati shortly, took out the luggage from the boot and tried thanking the pilots who were busy talking animatedly. Tried locating the Indian Airline counter from inside the port, but realized that we needed to step out.

The next Indian Airline flight was at 7 in the evening (according to what we had researched on the net it should have been at 16:00) and as our bookings (the planned departure was on Friday by Indian Airlines) were on this airline we wanted to replace/reschedule them with today. This was quite a situation; we were terribly hungry, tired and sleepy. Tried calling the travel website through which we had booked (yatra) but all their lines were constantly busy, S even braved standing in the local pay phone booth queue to attempt calling (with 2 super irritating and over smart men, one who was making some random small talk on the call, blissfully ignoring the queue behind him and the other who tried breaking the queue with all innocence). With luck refusing to rescue us we got fresh booking for a Kingfisher flight scheduled to depart at 4. A contributing factor for getting the new reservations was that we were horribly hungry and the only food available was inside the port lounge, which could be accessed only with a valid travel ticket!

It was bliss to be inside. S bravely entered the lone café and returned triumphed with a sandwich and a big tumbler of cold coffee. We munched away and followed this by a round of idlis and a pack of cheetos. Moved on to check in our luggage and proceeded to board. There was a long queue at the security check and once trough, we waited in the lounge. The flight on bang on time and S’s distant cousin who we had managed to escape on the ‘to’ flight had caught up with us on the ‘from’. Things were a little messy now, but as luck would have it we had managed the emergency exits once again and were in the middle while the cousin was serving at the rear. The flight was small and we managed to watch a bit of Kuknoor’s latest flick (disappointing) blended with vignettes from the great Indian laughter challenge.

Calcutta airport was in a mess when we arrived. The unions had gone on an indefinite strike, protesting against the drive to privatize airports (Bangalore and Hyderabad) and basic services had been badly affected. Quickly transferred some stuff from my suitcase to S’s bag and took a pre-paid voucher for salt lake. Once out of the airport we could see the union members sitting in agitation and a leader giving a motivated speech in Bengali. This seemed more like the Calcutta I had in mind.

The cab driver refused to go on till Alipur after dropping S, this meant that I had to get off at salt lake and take another cab home. The ride back home was long but the weather was really kind and I was asleep most of the way. It was nice to be back in 12A, had a nice cup of chai and surfed the net waiting for Gujju to return.

Today happened to be Varun’s dad’s birthday and Gujju and aunty insisted that I come along. It was going to be a small family affair and I was more than happy to be invited. Had a quick shower and got ready to move.

Pappu uncle is quite a rock star and it was a pleasure meeting him. Scotch was served and I indulged, Chaaya aunty (his wife) played the perfect host with a stream of starters – some fish, paneer, more fish, and prawns. Varun, Gujju and me moved out onto the terrace and recalled Sunday evening, suddenly it all seemed so distant, and it was as if I had been in this city forever. Went out to park street for dinner, tried flavors but they were shutting down so settled for Mocambo.

Gujju insisted that I eat crab meat and it was one of the best recommendations I have ever received from him (except for that other one which he gave under the tree at chota over a cup of lemon tea, two years ago). The main course was a steak called ‘surf n turf’ which had a beef steak topped with prawns. I was super stuffed at this stage and made did with the turf, dexterously avoiding the surf. A round of tutti fruity ice cream followed and I was yearning to hit the bed, the evening came to a close, good byes were said and we headed back to Alipur. I had to reach Howrah station early next morning and dozed off quickly, Gujju tried intervening and there was some conversation which I cannot recollect at all now. Tomorrow we were heading to Shantiniketan.

company in east india - part IV

Living in the center meant witnessing the city rise; with the drawn curtains the visual component had been blocked however the sounds of the city managed to creep in. Sounds of people talking, shouting and bargaining punctuated with the occasional motor car honking. It was a late morning for us and once ready we proceeded to the restaurant for breakfast. Nothing extra ordinary, a simple spread with efficient service, we ordered for masala omelets with cheese and mushrooms much to the amusement of the waiter. The restaurant, like the room gave the same side view of the bazaar, with the ‘Maphi Dei’ poster looking more prominent as we were now on the second floor face to face with it.

With the weather being quite divine we decided to walk and explore the city. Ward’s Lake, botanical garden and the national museum were on our list. Also, we thought it prudent to explore other hotels along the way. Getting to the lake was simple; it was beautiful and deserted, deserted because it is closed on Tuesdays. This wasn’t the best of omens for us and quite soon the excitement that Shillong had promised started wearing down. Near the lake we went to the Pinewood resort, a charming property which was completely booked for a week (the reason we guessed was the heightened political activity which the state capital was witnessing, a hung assembly had been thrown up in the recently concluded state elections).

It wasn’t the pleasantest of walks with taxis constantly zipping past us. Tried looking for the museum but weren’t lucky, discovered what looked like the botanical gardens, but did not attempt exploring it, the weight of spending a week here was beginning to exert itself. Stopped at a small grocery store to buy some batteries and get a hang of where that museum was. The lady at the store was quite amused at our predicament and had her tenants (who were just about to leave in their swanky new yellow i-10) drop us over till the museum. Nothing much can be said about the museum but for that it was

1. nice and cool built with straw and bamboo and laced with a CCTV
2. had three sections
3. had lots of murals and mannequin –ish stuff

The same campus also had a library which was far more fun, quite an eclectic collection with Ghalib, Kundera and Khasi poetry enjoying each others company. The lounge just outside the library was being used for some rehearsal and the strains of music could be heard outside. The weather was divine and we started walking back, passed the post office went in to drop a post card (an act which has almost become a ritual) but weren’t successful as there were too many people everywhere. It was quite a feeling to be in the holiday mode in a city where it was a regular Tuesday for everyone else. People were queued waiting to pay their electricity bills, school children were returning back home the streets were buzzing and here we were wandering blissfully.

It was past noon and a nice appetite was building up, not content with last evening’s search we went on hopelessly exploring the bazaar for that solitary ‘Paradise[1] or Tea Pot[2]’. The hunger overtook the explorer right at the end of the bazaar street and we went into what looked like a decent dhaba. Did not experiment and made did with a roti some rice along with dal and subzi. Thought of returning to the hotel for a nap, passed one quite old and interesting looking chai shack and made a mental note of it. Came back to the comfort of the room and enjoyed a short n sweet power nap. We had been extremely cautious of the lunch and hadn’t really indulged, woke up with a decent appetite and started the search for some local momos.

If you are not a pork eater there isn’t much you can do in Shillong, this was the harsh reality that revealed itself on us. Tried three joints, but couldn’t manage vegetable momos, then retraced our steps to that interesting looking chai shack. That interesting look was all that was on offer, and we were about to leave when a chance glance inside the cooking area revealed a middle aged man jumping on a long log of wood and flatten a ball of dough. These guys apparently made there own chow fascinated by that sight we ordered a plate with some chai. Returned to the safe refuge of Bombay Bites, S was delighted to get the cola float and I settled for some more chai. Went to a local cyber café to figure out our travel alterations.

By this time we (S) had pretty much decided that it was time to get moving, that Shillong did not deserve the five days we had give her and that there was so much more we could do instead. The café was like an air drop sans a parachute into the past, obsolete machines crammed into a badly lit basement room – an exact match with my memories. Nothing of great consequence emerged and we headed ahead. Reached the tourism office and managed to get a contact number for the caving organizer, he was a little caught up when contacted. We moved on trying to make some sense of this vacation in search of the helicopter service’s office. The official there informed us that two flights were scheduled for the next day, one early around 9 and the other at 1 post noon.

Continued the random walk, now that I look back it had nothing to feed on except hope. The streets were narrow and extremely similar to the ones in mashakgunj (Lucknow; specially the gallis towards rakabgunj subzi mandi) where I had wandered on many a summer morning, noon and evening. Located hotel Polo Towers, the last on our radar and were glad that it wasn’t out of the world (I mean thank god we didn’t miss out on something!). Returned back to the hotel without a plan. The help desk in the hotel gave some more numbers for caving organizers and somehow we got lucky. Have no clue how it materialized, but in less that a minute we had a plan on hand – check out from the hotel tomorrow morning post breakfast and go caving (near Sohra, Chirapunji), come back and catch the chopper to Guwahati, take an evening flight back to Calcutta.

Dashed to the helicopter service office to buy our tickets, the official there was most concerned about our plans, he expressed his point of view about how we should leave well in time so as to enjoy Chirapunji as well as be back in time to catch our chopper from the base camp at upper Shillong. With the chopper booking done we marched towards the Delhi Sweets House for some more chai along with garama garam julebis, it sure was a moment worth celebrating – we finally had a concrete plan of action!

Dinner was at Bombay Bites where we had managed to create ‘our table’ tough were still short of ‘the usual’. I cannot recall the exact order, but there were some paneer pakoras with rice and something else. Once done we hopped across to the hotel, settled the bill and informed that we would be checking out post breakfast, the women at the reception were extraordinarily sweet this time (as compared to when we had checked in). Checked with Gregory about the finer aspects of tomorrow’s plan, he would pick us from the hotel at 7.15 and take us caving towards Chirapunji and from there drop us back at the air base in Upper Shillong.

The bar in Hotel Center Point is called cloud 9 and is supposed to be the most happening place in town. With the plan firmly in place we thought it only prudent to give the bar a visit, it had a nicely spirited ambience with a lot of empty tables. Selected a nice table near the window, the ‘Maphi Dei’ poster was once again very visible and a light breeze was blowing. Had a breezer each and S narrated a fascinating account of how the locals prepare their wedding feasts – they take a cat and feed it on water for an entire day to flush out its insides, the next day its fed a lot of rice and the day after its chopped up and the rice from the tummy served as a delicacy.

Once back a little bit of packing was done, an innocent recently washed piece of clothing had to be dried and the good old fashion heater was brought into the frame. Watched some TV and went through the plans once again. And then slept.

---

[1] Paradise: A kick-ass pizzeria we had discovered in Auroville, and since then a benchmark for gastronomical serendipities

[2] Tea Pot: Another benchmark discovery in Fort Kochi which cannot be put into words

company in east india - part III

This was the big day, I was about to alter records – Shillong was soon going to be my new eastern benchmark (the east most point that I had been to on this planet!). Got going with the omelet and toast routine, took a cab to the airport and was their in time. The companion was trailing by half an hour and had to meet her brother who had just arrived at the confluence of the ‘arrival – departure’ zones in the Subhash Chandra Bose Airport. Trust the companion for such familial reunions!

The flight was marginally late and we had to wait for a while. As the craft was scheduled to use the aerobridge we had the chance to sit in the waiting lounge just overlooking the runway. The conversation like the view was refreshing, also the fact that we had managed to get the emergency exit seats was quite a mental balm. Just one little cloud hung over our heads and that was the fact that the companion had a cousin who works for the same airline that we were flying, and that the cousin usually flew the same sector. Familial reunions, as I recently told were not rare however this one here was a potential irritant.

It was a swift flight and we were in Guwahati in an hour (companion managed to watch 10 minutes of F.R.I.E.N.D’s in-flight). The airport in Guwahati is quite like any other in a town that size. We went to the Meghalaya Government’s Tourism department counter and were handed over a little brochure about the splendid state; they also helped us in getting a cab – the journey to Shillong had started.

The distance between Guwahati and Shillong is around 100 Kms and almost all of it happens to be a hilly terrain. Upon entering Meghalaya we stopped over for refueling, most cab drivers who operate on that route prefer this arrangement (refueling in Meghalaya) over their own state Assam to benefit from the arbitrage in tax rates. Meghalaya is the only state in the country which has a matriarchal societal setup; women could be seen participating in all forms of life right from ‘manning’ petrol stations.

The companion was sitting on the right, right behind the driver and was getting quite uncomfortable with the sunshine to avoid which a nice royal spread-out nap was taken. The routine half-way stop at a local eatery was mildly disappointing as our craving for some Magi noodles could not be satiated, we settled for a cup of lemon tea which was nice and reviving. The journey resumed, this time with the air conditioning on and I managed to get some sleep. The companion did not take the hill driving too well and was looking quite terrible, we had to stop once for the motion sickness to be vented from then on it was all uphill, literally!

Barapani is around 17 kilometers before Shillong, famous for the Umiam Lake which gives it its name. Hotel Orchid, the government run resort is situated on the banks of this lake and is a very charming old world type of property. The man I met in AHA (refer part I) had recommended this place, we however chose not to stay there largely because it was almost deserted and distant from civilization even tough the view of the lake from the rooms was splendid and did tempt us. We moved on and reached Shillong shortly, there aren’t ‘first impressions’ that come to mind except that it seemed like a nice charming city in the way similar to most hill towns. On the cab driver’s recommendation, aided by our understanding of the city based on a mix of the Lonely Planet, Outlook Traveler and the tourism department’s brochure we decided that Hotel Centre Point situated at the heart of the city in Police Bazaar would be an appropriate place to halt. We checked into the fanciest room which presented a perfect vantage point view of the town square and retired for an hour (the drive had been taxing and it was approaching night). Once refreshed, we stepped out and bought a nice sweat shirt for the companion, who had managed to leave her woolens back home. There was nice nip in the air which pepped me up and we went for a stroll around the bazaar street looking for some place to eat. Tried looking for some local specialties but were not successful and settled for Bombay Bites, a simple place with an extensive spread (and quite a life saver as we would realize soon). We ate some pizza and a vegetable sizzler which was serviced with utmost dexterity by the ‘tara zameen pe’ waiter and were well content. This place was just opposite our hotel which meant that we were back in our fancy room even before we could burp. Watched a bit of television and retired for the day. We were now in the center of Shillong.

company in east india - part II

Given the late night partying that preceded the first dawn in the great city I was up quite early, this could be attributed partly to my general disposition towards rising early and largely to the fact that the geography student in me was all eager to witness the ‘early’ dawn in the eastern climes. Of course all I got was Gujju’s ire because he simply refused to comprehend my enthusiasm an issued strict instructions curbing my verve.

Sandwiched between meeting the ‘to-be’ brother-in-law and the marriage of a colleague today unlike yesterday had an explicit agenda at the outset; that the lower loaf of this loosely concocted plan would fall flat was unknown.

Flurys the legendary tearoom on Park Street was founded in 1927 and has since become an institution; it’s their version of Koshy’s and it was here that I had fixed up my first meeting for the day – with the brother-in-law ‘to be’ aspirant. Arrived five minutes ahead of schedule and waited patiently. Arrival happens and the gift is handed over, pleasantries exchanged. It might be interesting to note here that Gujju had chosen to air his bluish tinted shades, and being prescription lensed could not be removed even within intimidating environments. Of all the days today had been especially chosen for Flurys the tearoom to be out of tea and even coffee for that matter. “Nothing hot!” we were informed. So a round of cold coffees had to be settled upon and conversation started. Grinders in mines have a protective coating on the walls was largely the crux of the session, which was an interesting collection of some really fascinating incidents like Gujju’s friends coming in and discussing my exploits at Tantra the night before (not that there were any to mention) and the girl winking as she walked past through the windows which opened to a spectacular view of the charming Park Street.

Several hours had passed since we had last used our molars and this is a considered a very severe situation in these parts so some food had to be consumed – lunch. The boy his friend his girl and her cousin (Gujju being the boy) after a little discussion proceeded towards B-B-Q. Gujju is a marshal in combat when within the precincts of restaurants, in a matter of minutes we had placed our order (S was smart enough to realize her folly when the kebabs she had ordered turned out to be rice, gravy and a little this and that). The nice leisurely lunch was followed up with a relaxed stroll, passing through St. Xavier’s we preceded towards SatC for a round of early afternoon tea. Upon returning back home I realized that it was way too late in the day to attempt a siesta and ensured that Gujju also realize the same. Between then and the visit to Varun’s house I basically did the following: chatted with aunty, went for a stroll with Gujju when the power went out, saw an amazing miniature Koran and ate moodhi.

The last session of the day had been reserved for the wedding. It took 3 seconds to alter it. Saurabh after much prodding had managed to strike gold and it being a direct sign from the Lord could not be ignored. The setting – a penthouse atop Tivoli Court; Tivoli Court: a landmark building at 1A-B-C Ballygunge Circular Road, Calcutta's very first multistoried complex. The only nuisance a nearly blind, evil looking extremely old dog, aptly named Caesar. A round of drinks followed by the herb with a spectacular view of the city, truly the city of joy!

Varun’s, Gujju’s cousin who had been played host till now, shifted gears, literally – he was now the driver (as he was the only one who had not indulged) and it was destination Arsalan, Marina Garden Court, 191 Park St. Dinner was royal as usual, some fantastic chaap and paranthas with mutton biryani followed by some not so great feerni. Came back home and crashed, it had been a terribly long day and I had to be up early, for the real vacation was yet to start – Shillong.

company in east india - part I

Arrival in Kolkata was on time, in spite of an hour’s delay from Bangalore. Gujju, as expected was almost there, an altered hair line blended with the unchanged casualness. Nitin needed a cab for Hind Motors and Gujju after expressing utter disbelief that anyone would want to go there got around to cab hunting only to declare that “it’s a bloody nexus!” A gracious offer to give a ride till he found a cab was grabbed and the vacation was declared open!

The drive ended at 12A Judges Court Road, Alipur – what royalty. The most fantastic omelet along with a toast set the agenda for the gastronomical expedition that was to follow. The first destination was the AHA located near Ballygunge; I was given express instruction to jump off a moving cab which had somehow managed to maneuver its way almost towards the edge of the road divider, the gap had to be bridged by one large impertinent stride which resulted in a few brake screeches and perhaps some Bengali superlatives. Once inside the safe haven of the academy I was largely left to my own devices and quite enjoyed the air conditioned comfort which aided a quick power nap. Then lots of things happened in quick succession almost all being insignificant and utterly life un- altering. The girl at the reception kept sir-ing every moving object with great delight. I was taken in to meet a man who tried to hard sell a resort near Shillong. I was escorted out of the academy chamber into an inconspicuous (rest) room and was made to spectate a sutta break, this done I was lead out back to the open streets of the great city. Destination was the club, SatC and the occasion was lunch. I must admit here that en route we passed a guy selling biryani (on the street), the aroma of which still lingers on in my imagination.

The Saturday Club is an institution which was established in 1875 for the Sahibs. A great blend of the British legacy coupled with the laid back and relaxed tropical hospitality of East India. I fall short of words to describe the epitome of luxury which the rest rooms have at offer, the damn loos have aaraam kursis! A barrage of bearers saluted Gujju who was evidently in command ordering them to lay out a table, what followed was nothing short of bliss. Chilled beer and a host of what can best be described as ‘this that and the other’ topped up by a siesta. I cannot think of a better way to redeem a hot summer afternoon. Learning: An afternoon paan is not the best of ideas.

The Roadies live in camps, are rude to each other, attempt strange drills and stunts usually at odd hours. The Roadies keep voting out one of amongst them each week. The Roadies are a bunch of mammals still struggling to rise up the evolution chain. The Roadies are on air each Saturday night. The Roadies are addictive.

Tantra, they say is no longer the best of places to party, it is opined as a mid level pickup joint. It was here that Club Mirchi was partying that night. And of course it was here that I partied that night. Between the cricket match (screened on the bar TV) and the dance floor I was so completely at home, mildly high, highly happy. Dinner was in the Park Hotel. Poor service, an incensed Saurabh, a delightfully vague Manas, an indescribable Gujju and the most amazing fish and chips. That was dinner. That was day one.