Vacation Recap

So, my vacation’s almost over. And a sad thing that is too.

What did I do this vacation, one might ask. Well, apart from the fun, fat wedding attendance in the first week, the second week has been dedicated to one of the things I love but don’t get to do as much as I would like. Sleeping.

In fact, it feels like that all the all-nighters that I did last year and all the anticipated ones will be made up in this one week.

However, before you get the impression that that is all that I have done, let me set you right. In between the bouts of sleeping, I have also been reading. Currently I am reading From the Holy Mountain by William Dalrymple, who is fast becoming one of my favourite authors – fiction or otherwise.

This book has Dalrymple tracing the journey of one John Moschos – a monk who travelled the silk route more than fifteen hundred years ago, in the then Byzantine empire. The journey starts from Mount Sinai, through Turkey and Syria and I am currently in a war-ravaged Lebanon in 1994 with Dalrymple.

Cover of From the Holy Mountain
Courtesy: Flipkart.com

What I find fascinating about Dalrymple’s style is that it is a beautiful and not-at-all simple blend of humour, knowledge, love and insight. So, while he is travelling though borders patrolled by militia, cities being shelled constantly, looking for places of archaeological interest, resurrecting glimpses of life from many centuries ago, he is also telling me, to what extent all the beautiful history is in the danger of being soon forgotten. The book is also supplemented with some heart-rending pictures – of the only survivor of an Oriental Christian faith, of the ruins of temples and shrines that once teemed with devotees and saints – both real and fake. The bazaars that would have been the envy of the richest businessmen today. All gone into the gaping maws of greed and intolerance. The essence of the book is summed up in the words of Pere Abbe Marcel abi-Khalil, a Christian priest that Dalrymple runs into unexpectedly in Chouf, Lebanon: “In this part of the world, for all our difficulties, religion has not just torn people apart. It has often brought them together. It is important to remember that.”

To temper the slightly heavy content of From the Holy Mountain, I am also reading some light-hearted romances in between and Bullfinch’s Age of Fable. The latter is a retelling of Greek myths, both popular and obscure. Reading through both Dalrymple’s book and Bullfinch’s compilation reminds me of how much I loved studying literature and how fascinating history can be.

I also managed to make time for a couple of movies – The Hunger Games (not as good as the book, too slow and tedious in parts) and The Amazing Spiderman. The second movie was good timepass. Andrew Garfield suffused the character of Peter Parker with a nervous, shy energy stirred with an innocent sense of wonder at his new power. And as Spiderman, he was wry, humorous, chivalrous and responsible. He admits to his failures and owns responsibility for them. Emma Stone as Gwen Stacey was adequate and way better than Kirsten Dunst as Mary Jane. I just could not stand Dunst.

Am religiously following the new Masterchef season but it’s too early for me to get a sense of the contestants yet. I truly hope that Emma does not turn out to be whiner like Dani in the last season.

So, that brings me almost to the looming end of my vacation. Excuse me, while I observe two minutes' silence for its demise.

Until next time, ciao.

From a Train

There is something about train journeys. Takes me back to childhood. The long, long summer commencing with the yearly trip to my nani’s  place in Agra. The city of Tajmahal to most of the world. And to me, the place where I spent a glorious month, playing, fighting, dreaming, escaping and being the children that we could not be the rest of the year.

Today as I bring to you these words from a train coach en route to Agra, I feel suddenly nostalgic. No, this is not a long vacation. No, these are not school holidays. And we are not a bunch of half a dozen kids counting the miles to the annual reunion.

These are precious four days stolen from under the wings of time. From killing schedules and unreasonable professions. To attend a wedding that my grandma would miss. And she would want me there.

So, here I am. On another train journey to the shrine of my childhood. It is a journey that our kids would not really know in this jet setting age. And though the feeling would not last, in this moment, I feel almost sorry for them.

Back Again

So, I am back. From the beautiful mountains, lush valleys, green plains, some moments of blissful solitude and loads of screaming family fun. And I am missing it all already.

And why not? It all started with a big family function at Agra. And my entire family was there! Now that takes some doing if you have a family as large as mine. Assorted cousins, uncles, aunts in all shapes and sizes – from Delhi to Mumbai to Chennai. There were day long addas, leg-pulling and an entire night of dancing.

The big family reunion ended with a party for my parents on their anniversary. They have spent more than three decades together. Gosh. My sister and I had wanted a party at the hotel but we realized that booking a restaurant at such short notice for such a large group would have been a task. So, my aunts pitched in and cooked an awesome dinner. Everyone gathered at my oldest uncle’s home and had a blast. The highlight of the evening: a complete family picture, that the kids engineered. Well, almost.

We set off next morning for Jim Corbett National Park. We hired a car and went by road. It was hot as long as we were in the plains but as we started climbing up and the twilight approached, my spirits soared. The lovely greenery flanking both sides of the road, the gathering dusk and day-dreams. I could not have asked for more. The resort – Wood Castle – an uncle of mine had booked for us was lovely and next morning when we embarked on the safari, it was raining softly. It was quiet and serene. We did not spot any tigers but there were other compensations. The single bright blue kingfisher sitting still as a statue on a tree branch, the river crossing in an open jeep (a first for me) and the playful deer herds, including quite a few Bambi lookalikes.

Next on the agenda were the glorious mountains. The destinations were as much of an allure as the winding roads, looping around majestic heights. The clouds hovering just above our heads and occasionally lowering themselves enough so that we could touch them. The deep, still and rippling Naini lake like a silken sheet of turquoise, the crimson glory of a mountain sunset.

One of my favourite moments was when we walked around Mukhteshwar. It is 7500 feet high and there is just a wooden trail which you can take to walk around. Halfway through the walk, you come to a cliff, topped by huge stones who seem to have been there since time immemorial. There is a sheer drop beyond and you can see the valley spread out in front of you and the white mists hiding the peaks of the Himalayas from curious gawkers. When we stood there, an eagle flew above us, so close that I almost ducked my head to avoid being swooped off. Amazing.

Majnu of the Hills

Our final stop before returning to the hustle and bustle of the city was Ranikhet. We arrived after eight in the evening and the town was already enshrouded in darkness. Being an army cantonment, it shuts down early. It was raining and very cold when we entered the town. We found the right hotel on the outskirts of the town – West End View. Though it was night and wet, the charming cottages and the distinctly British Raj decor (a parlour, a dressing room and fire place to the boot along with the staple bedroom, wallpapered with pretty floral patterns) made sure that we could not go anywhere else. And when the morning dawned, the beauty of the surrounding landscape, the rolling forests, the cool breeze and the warm sun made us doubly glad of our decision to stay here.

We spent the day walking around the town, savouring the sights, discovering nature and some quirky facts. In the Chaubatti garden, the guide told us that the Weeping Willow in the local parlance is called Majnu (the subcontinent equivalent of the doomed lover). Reason: the drooping leaves and branches resemble the tatters and rags that Majnu wore when he roamed the streets looking for his beloved Laila and when it rains, the water running down the tree looks like his tears. Imaginative, ain’t it?

The evening was spent at the Army Golf Course. Acres of rolling, flat green. A couple of families enjoying open air and sunshine. But what I liked most was the wooden bench at the edge of the hill overlooking the wooded valley and the sun setting in the west. It was a sublime moment. I could have sat there forever, waiting for the night to arrive and the morning to kiss me awake. You know how most of us have moments and time we want to return to at least once. This was mine. An enchantment cast for life.

We returned to Delhi next day and from thereon back home. But I left a little of me behind on those roads, the fragrant wind, the fairy mists and the grandfatherly mountains. Maybe they whispered about me once I had left. I wonder what they thought.

And I carried a lot of them home with me. Most precious among all the gifts I brought back was the peace that I needed. I made some wishes too when I roamed those hills. I hope when I lose myself in the chaos of my daily life, they remember me and say an “Amen” for my wishes.

A Love So Grand: Part I

There is a saying in Hindi: Asal se sood jyaada pyaara hota hai. Roughly translated it means that interest is dearer to a moneylender as compared to the actual amount. This is usually quoted in the context of the relationship between grandparents and grandchildren, the inference being that people love their grandkids more than their own offspring. The inverse, I like to think, is also true.

I was one of those fortunate people who had both sets of grandparents alive and healthy for all my childhood.

My Mom hails from a small but hugely famous town in Uttar Pradesh. All through my school life, we had a largely fixed summer ritual. The day after the school closed for summer, we would travel to my nani’s (maternal grandmother) place after a day long journey by train. It was the one month I looked most forward to. The huge assortment of cousins who would gather was the biggest attraction. In fact, I used to think that that was the only reason I used to love spending my vacation there. But now in hindsight, after so many years, I realize that it was not just the kids. It was the sheer joy that my grandparents felt at having all their grandchildren around them that made the months special.

My nanaji (maternal grandfather) was a lawyer – highly successful and respected. I remember people coming from far and wide to discuss legal issues with him. The courts also used to close for summers and his vacation largely coincided with ours. He liked to cook, especially for us. He would prepare huge mounds of sandwiches and gallons of thandai every morning for the horde of ravenous children (there were eighteen of us, ranging from teenagers to mere toddlers). Always had some input for the lunches and dinners. Special requests for mithi guzhia was always granted.

But what I loved most about time with him were the quizzes and puzzles that he set out for us to solve. These brain teasers were fun and interesting. He would ask about and tell us trivia in the hot afternoons while we demolished plates of mangoes, watermelons, berries and melons. He would peel and cut the fruits, distributing it fairly amongst us, coaxing me to eat the melons, which I did not like and trying to protect the mangoes from being pillaged. And then there were stories too. Of Akbar and Birbal, Tenalirama and Mulla Naseeruddin.

He liked gardening and if any of us were around while he watered the plants, he would tell us about the flowers and the fruits that he had in his garden.

He loved reading too. Children’s magazines like Nandan, Chandamama and Champak were subscribed for him, along with intellectual reads like Wisdom and Reader’s Digest. I think I inherited the love of reading from him. Yeah, I am quite sure.

He had answers and infinite patience for all our questions. Celebrations and parties for our academic achievements were sponsored by him. Ice creams and chocolates. Taught us new card games and new tricks too.

Not that we never got dressed down by him. Oh, countless number of times. We were extremely naughty, especially the oldest six, which included yours truly. We considered sleep a waste of time since this one month was all we got in an entire year to spend together. And as we grew older, there was a sense of urgency to pack as many conversations and games in as little time as possible. The chats and games lasted late into night. This was all very well if we were sleeping in a room separate from all the adults. Obviously, when the adults were sleeping close by, we had to be more cautious – whispers only. Once, three of us were busy making wild plans, which included opening a detective agency and its potential branding, with nanaji sleeping in the adjacent room with the connecting door open. At one point in the discussion, we got extremely excited (we could not decide whose name should come first in the partnership) when a bark to shut up from Nanaji made the decision for us.

It’s been so long since I had the benefit for his stories and his admonishing. Nobody makes mithi guzhias like he used to.  Sometimes, I wonder if he saw me today, the person I have become, the successes I have had and the failures that I have chalked up, what would he say. Would he be proud? Would he be disappointed? He would have retired, perhaps but forever busy. He would have spoilt his great-grandchildren. He would have been one more vociferous voice cajoling me to settle down. I can almost hear him say this in the same voice as when he asked me to eat melon or drink thandai.

Ah, nanaji. I miss you.

Coming Up for Air

It is Saturday today but we have full-day office. Because we got an unnecessary Tuesday off last week, courtesy our ever-conscientious trade unions.

But since it is a Saturday, I think I can take out half an hour to day-dream a little. Mainly about my upcoming week off. Now, there is a big smile on my face.

A whole week off! What a relief. It’s been more than a year since I went on a vacation (and lovely was the trip to Himachal last year). This time, though, I am not really going on a trip to explore some new place. I am going to another city, catch up with cousins and old friends I have not seen for a couple of years now.

Sometimes, I am surprised to discover that though I have been to this city – let’s call it Eden, for the time being – I have never really seen it. And it is a city which people claim, has to be experienced. In the past, my sojourns to Eden have been on official tours – zipping in and out. Between meetings and travelling all over the city, I barely ever had time to meet a friend for coffee.

So, I have decided to make amends. It will be a week full of gluttony, sloth and visiting all the landmarks dotting Eden. Hanging out and reminiscing with friends who have gotten married and become parents since I last saw them. Get introduced to a whole bunch of nieces and nephews – some familial, others honorary – and hoping that they would remember me the next time they see me.

And I vow not to think of work even for a second. Not to worry about all the mails and commitments waiting for me when I return. Not to obsess about the last mails that I would send before taking off and the possible replies that they would evoke. Not to wish for my laptop to check just one mail (Facebook excepted, of course). Not to wonder if the meetings for important presentations have been set up. And most definitely not to agonise over my career choices.

I always have promises to keep but these I would, with pleasure.