Tales from the life of a palindrome

A is for Alive B is for Believe C is for Cure

2011-07-31T06:45:00.000-07:00

Work took me to St Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis this June. Earlier this year , I had been reading about the contribution to Cancer research and care from this institution in what has now become a sort of Bible in my Cancer Book Shelf – The Emperor of all Maladies .
As in every other page of the book; as with everything else Mukherjee wrote about that began to make such vivid mind pictures in my consciousness, so it was with St Jude. When he wrote about Memphis in the early sixties “being convulsed with bitter racial tension and rock and roll music “, it was the Memphis I already knew about; fan and aficionado that I was of Rock n Roll and the King, Elvis Presley. Memphis was for long identified as that turbulent spot with the “gold and pink of Graceland mansion in its South and the starkly segregated black neighbourhoods in its north”

Mukherjee was telling the tale of a young , impassioned oncologist ; the 36 year old Donald Pinkel who had decided to look at experimenting with a regimen of high dose chemotherapy and brought his Leukemia trial on 36 little patients to this town that was “turbulent ,unpredictable, perennially warm and medically speaking a no man’s land “ . But Pinkel was sure of what he wanted to do and even more sure that he would succeed – he was going to push high dose combination therapy to its extreme and see how the little ones who seemed to have no chance at all be given some ray of hope to live .
The year was 1961 and when Pinkel arrived there , the hospital “ rose like a marooned starfish out of a concrete parking lot on a barren filed “ . Apparently, the hospital was still an unfinished building and barely functional with no track record, no finances, no employees , and not enough faculty.

Something about the struggle those little ones were going through and the manic efforts on the part of the young Pinkel to give them a glimmer of hope and the most unlikely setting portrayed in the book tugged at my conscience and it felt good to read that eventually there was a great measure of success in the trial . I did some fact finding about St Jude for I was very intrigued about a children’s facility being built in the heart of nowhere. All I knew was that St Jude was the patron Saint of Hopeless Causes and that seemed a bit like throwing the towel in already . My research hapenend and a most heart warming story enfolded.
Danny Thomas a little known night club entertainer, was struggling to make a go of it in show business. His family was growing and he was barely earning enough to get by. A stagehand had once confided in him that his prayers to St Jude had saved his wife from cancer and he too prayed for strength to succeed in his profession and promised he would “do something big” in St Jude’s name if he managed to gain a measure of economic security.
He did find tremendous success and popularity eventually and it is said that in the midst of his newly-found professional success, he had completely forgotten his earlier prayers and promises to Saint Jude. But it was not for long and it was this Hollywood star’s renewed devotion to St Jude that was responsible for his gifting the country the now world-famous St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. A shrine to St Jude and a hospital for needy children, a place where they would be cared for regardless of race, religion or ability to pay - a hospital where no suffering child would be turned away.
When I was invited, along with my colleagues from the Max Foundation to attend and present at their soon to be held conference I knew it was not just a coincidence but as Danny Thomas himself once spoke about how he believed the saint helped him ‘It was like a miracle, the way it happened,’ he had said. ‘You believe in miracles, don’t you?’”
We were lucky to have some time away from the conference to meet with some of the most wonderful, dedicated and inspirational people who work in the hospital and see the hospital for ourselves. The wards , the waiting areas , the in house school and recreation facilities for the patients and care givers and the memorial to Danny Thomas. Every corridor, every nook and corner and the whole campus seemed to be suffused with a warm and compassionate light. Utmost care was taken to protect the patients from the well meaning but curious attention of visitors but their courage and determination to combat the challenge they were facing was evident everywhere. The walls had some endearing art work signed by the young artists portraying many milestones of their monumental journey adding to the positive energies we all felt.
I share with you some excerpts from the St Jude ABCs of Cancer – a book I am so happy I picked up at their gift shop ; a book that has allowed me to glimpse into those brave little minds full of positive thinking and generosity of spirit in the midst of their great personal hardship and a world that is seemingly crumbling around them.

L is for Lucky
I am lucky for many things
I am lucky I survived my brain tumour
I am lucky my Mom found St Jude’s
I am lucky St Jude’s is the best hospital
Ever
Christian , age9
Medulloblastoma

V is for Vida (life)
Life is a learning experience
That teaches us to face
Difficult moments with bravery
And to appreciate the beautiful moments
That life brings to us
I love Life and for that reason I am happy
Grace age 6
Neuroblastoma

S is for St Jude
Sickle Cell makes you sad
St Jude makes you glad
Sickle cell makes you cry
St Jude makes you fly
Sickle Cell needs a cure
St Jude will find one for sure
Courtney age 7
Sickle Cell disease

J is for St Jude
St Jude makes me Jump for Joy
I love the Jukebox
I enjoy St Jude
Abigail age 6
AML

A is for ALIVE
All the shots I had to get that made me cry,
And all of that nasty medicine that me
Sick, it was all worth it because I am ALIVE
Thank you St Jude
Asia age 10
AML

Tiffin Time at home

2011-03-01T05:01:00.000-08:00

Yes !! that's me , glasses pushed up on my messy hair , sunken eyes with bags under them , hollow cheeks and drooping brows and a desk load of unfinished paper work .

Sounds familair ? I bet it does !! Am sure most of us are in this state ; of course not looking as awful as I do for sure - I must learn the art of looking glamorous when over worked and over wrought !! and over weight !

Today a problem with my car saw to it that I worked from home and having saved a few hours of commute I find I did have some time to check out on random stuff . Realised I haven't blogged for ages and felt I had to do somehting worth while with those precious hours saved .

At four thirty I got up from my perch , moved aside the laptop and the phones and the other paraphernelia one tends to surround oneself with when in work mode and decided to treat my self and hubby to hot tiffin. Coming back home as I do most evenings (read nights) well past dinner time "Tiffin" in our household is somehting as rare as a tiger is becoming in Ranthambore so the expectant gleam of joy in husband's face was understandable .

It is a delight to be home at this time of the early evening . The sunshine is filtered through the transluscent green leaves of the trees outside leaving delicate traceries on the kitchen counter and dusts everything with duffused gold .

As the oil sizzles on the pan and the mustard seeds explode the whole atmosphere takes me back to my mother's kitchen when this was THE magical moment of the day when she would be dishing out the daily delicacy that was our reward after a diligent afternoon consumed by homework. Dosai , Adai or Vadai , Upma or Puri Aaloo and if a Friday a Semia Kesari or that treat from the UNI canteen , succulent Jangri . No Delhi summer heat or winter chills would deter Ma from doling out these thrills .

Here's to you Maiji and all those lovely afternoons . The only thing misisng today was Madhur Geetham of Vividh Bharti belting out fifteen minutes each of Tamil, Telugu . Malayalm and Kannada film songs . Tiffin time was never complete without the strains of those melodious numbers like Kallellam Manicka and Kadilakkara ....

No pictures not even clip art types for nothing can be better than the mind pictures these memories conjure up .

Where were you when Kapil’s Devils won The Cup in 1983 ?

2011-01-21T11:48:00.001-08:00

We were in a refinery township near Las Piedras (the Stones) in Venezuela and in a close , happy community of a handful of expats . We were a few Indian families amongst American, British, Danish, Dutch, Canadians , West Indians and of course the warm hearted , fun loving hosts the Venezuelans.
Weekends would find us at each others’ homes and / or more often at the playa (beach) celebrating life with cerveza (beer) , comida (food) and camaraderie. We were young , our children were little toddlers and after a week of hard toil our husbands did not need much persuasion to pack the ice box and swimming gear and hammocks and head out !
We missed home of course and so far away and almost half way across the world the little (and not so little) things that meant “home” . Yes you guessed it , food, films and ah that game of the flannelled fools . Starved of this staple diet of sustenance for the stomach and the soul it did not take us long to source ingredients that would assuage the hunger.
Soon we were making samosas and idlis , frying banana chips and rolling rossogullas and gulab jamuns. We would gather around a television at one or more of our enterprising paisanos who would source video cassettes and hungrily watch the latest ( well to us at least) and I still remember oohing and aaahing over Qurbaani !!???
As for cricket oh it was a drought !! Remember this was in the early eighties –no internet , no e mail , no cric info , no way to access live telecast and so it was ear-glued-to- radio - and- share –static – and -scores –and -statistics mode.
My husband’s cricket crazy soul mate was his West Indian colleague and dear friend . They shared something more than their passion for cricket ; their mothers had the same name . This never ceased to amaze me ; so far away from home , a person from another world literally but something that forged such an amazing link. When it was known that their respective countries would face each other in the World Cup Final in Lords it was their friendship vs their patriotic sentiments.
Its all a bit hazy now ; it was almost 30 years ago but I do remember we were all ( most of the Indian families) at one of our homes that Sunday and having pot luck wishing Kapil’s Devils all the luck they needed and trying to keep abreast of the game ball by ball via the radio commentary.
The anguish at being bowled out so cheaply and then that magical innings where India bowled out the mighty Windies !! When we realised it was over and India had won it was an unbelievable sensation. So far away from home yet at that moment we were all cheering and feeling one with all the millions and millions of Indians back home and all over the world in crazy, heart bursting pride.
It was a few minutes before I realised that Venky was not amongst us . He was on the phone with his friend Kit and from where I was standing I couldn’t hear him but saw him and saw in his body language and expressive face the generous heart of the true cricket aficionado – consoling his opponent and gracious in that great , incredible victory.

Kit Graham where are you now ? Every time the World Cup comes around we think of you and remember you with fond affection and shared, sepia memories that over the years have grown more precious !!!

Road Rage capital of the country

2011-01-12T11:48:00.000-08:00

“Pilot runs over and kills man with his car in a fit of road rage” screamed all the headlines yesterday. As one watched in shocked horror the details of the incident in South Delhi’s Sunday shopping destination Khan Market unfolded –all because of an altercation that arose out of a small collision? Unbelievable !
And then everyone nodded collective heads saying oh its Delhi and that’s how it is in Delhi , the Road Rage capital of the country I don’t know which was more horrific ; the happening or its labelling .
This morning on my long seemingly interminable commute to work, I was jolted out of my habitual hunched posture above my laptop by a sudden jerk and the harsh sound of metal scraping hard on metal. It took all of four or five seconds for it to sink in that it was much closer home than I would have liked it and something had actually rammed into my car. From the corner of my eye I could see a huge mass which said “big massive truck” too close for comfort and I froze .
But before I could say , well, Khan Market , my good man at the wheel, AZ, was out of the car and all set to take on the driver of the truck . Soon choice Marathi swear words were clashing with robust Punjabi slang as the truck driver , a blur of orange turban and wild , flowing beard swung his big bulky self from the truck . Injured Maratha pride was no match for good, full blown Jat bluster but it was still a free for all. Fearing for the well being of my foolishly brave AZ I called out to him to get back in and move on. I would inspect the damage later on, I thought , fervently hoping all the time it wasn’t too bad. Better a damaged car than a dead or beaten up driver was what I reckoned.
It was a surprise to realise that the usually quiet and well behaved guy at the wheel of your car can get so agitated and vocal, albeit he was to blame for what had happened , not being the best disciplined when it came to sticking to his own lane . But before I had to resort to any more impassioned pleas to desist the cops were on the scene. Oh was I relieved to see the Pandus walk up to the scene and come in between the two by now almost coming to blows bhau and paaji .
One thing I can say it is definitely the round the clock and disciplined , reassuring presence of the Mumbai Traffic Cop on the city’s streets that keeps its sanity despite the most horrendous traffic snarls day in and day out on every expressway , road , street, lane and alley.
Since anyway thanks to the bumper to bumper traffic, we had only been crawling and the damage to my car though it upset me no end was not as bad as it could have been, all I wanted was out of there and back on my way to work. The minutes were ticking by and I was already late this morning . Thanks to the cops’ intervention matters were resolved and Orange Turban Wild Beard even bent low by my window to ask for pardon saying he was gareeb aadmi (a poor man ) and anyway my driver had no clue as to how to drive a car on the Highway . I don’t know what shocked me more ; his effrontery or (for what it was worth) his humility !!
But his face in my window brought back unwelcome and unsettling memories of another menacing one that had intimated and frightened me just a year ago ; no, not in Mumbai but in Delhi . Yes the Road rage capital.
I was in the private taxi provided by the excellent company that took care of my transportation needs in all my travels where ever in the country . Good, efficient and dependable drivers and road worthy vehicles that could tackle roads between Kochi and Kollam or Chandigargh and Ludhiana.
That evening , on my way back to my guest house in Jor Bagh from Apollo Hospital and on the Def Col flyover I am sure we escaped fate as close to how bad it was for the man in Khan Market yesterday. I don’t know why I have never spoken about this to anyone before this . Strange that yesterday’s news should have been followed by this morning’s incident and unlocked this stored away , scary memory. No accident this I suppose !!
Passing a set of traffic lights we were well onto the centre of the flyover when suddenly from nowhere at all a big black SUV with tinted glasses overtook us and came to a screeching halt right in front of us and a whole bunch of young men in dark glasses and jackets poured out of its rapidly opening doors . While the first one out came straight to the driver’s window the others simply surrounded the car . The door was yanked open and the driver pulled out by his collar . Believe me I have never known what the word “menacing” really meant till that second. Shaking him like a rag doll the first guy let out unrepeatable expletives at my driver and somehow I managed to make out the reason for this assault was that we had overtaken their vehicle at the lights .
For the life of me I cannot remember for how long this went on –the guy venting his furious ire , his companions at times egging him on and then suddenly asking him to let the poor bandha go and some of them peering inside to see if there was anyone inside they could pull out for some more show of aggressive what ever.
And for the life of me I do not know what made me open my door and step out into the horror movie unfolding before me . maybe it was knee jerk reaction maybe I felt the poor driver needed an ally or some kind of support for whatever it was worth !! Maybe I was just so foolish and dumb but I simply could not sit inside while they had their awful way with this young man who had been my trusted companion the last three days ferrying me from hospital to hospital in Delhi and far flung Rohini and Gurgaon .
So I got out but for the life of me cannot remember what I said – all I know is I grabbed the guy bothering my driver by his elbows from behind and he turned around and this I remember , his jaw dropped when he saw me !! I am sure they were surprised by this most unexpected ally their hapless victim seemed to have . I also remember I did not stop yelling at them till they all got back into their vehicle and drove off.
If I thought the driver would be in shock or upset or even say Madam thank you for saving my life oh no ! He just shrugged , dusted his shirt and tucked it back into his jeans , settled me in again and got into the driver’s seat and we were on our way.
Just another day in the office for him , I suppose in the Road Rage capital of the country.

Ps Not one soul stopped or came to our help all the while the guys were at it !!!!

THE STIGMA OF CANCER AND THE CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE

2011-01-02T03:21:00.000-08:00

Had he lived, John Diamond, British broadcaster and journalist, would have been my age. He died of throat cancer at the age of 48 around 10 years ago . “Cancer is a word; not a sentence," he had said once during the course of his treatment . In all my years working with equally wise and never say die survivors this is one of the very many great truths I have learnt.
But it has not always been easy for many who have had to embark on this journey of courage and resilience. Over the last few weeks I have been asked by friends and readers of my blog to write something about my work and what I am involved in and I want to share this experience from some years ago…
The dilemma of two mothers
It was my first meeting with the young lad; a bright-eyed and sharp looking fourteen year old who had just been diagnosed with leukaemia. He was accompanied by his mother who took me aside the very first minute she could to warn me against mentioning the word “Cancer” in the hearing of her child. ‘I do not want him ever to know he has this disease; he will never recover from the shock” she said. It broke my heart to see her struggling with this secret she had sworn to keep from her beloved son ; the heart ache she had to hide.
My mind went back to some weeks ago when another concerned mother had begged me to show the very same consideration to her sons; only this time it was the lady herself who was diagnosed with cancer. ‘Please do not call home ever and do not mail anything to our home address” she had insisted. ‘My sons will not be able to bear the shock of knowing their mother has cancer”.
Both these loving, caring mothers were, without even realising it, being trapped in a web of conspiracy and silence which would only isolate them further with nothing but the stigma of cancer for company. Fear, ignorance, prejudices and the myths and misconceptions surrounding cancer has forever led people to view it as a sinister, contagious and worst of all, a shameful disease maybe brought upon themselves or their loved ones through some misdemeanour on their part.
In both these cases it was nothing but the fierce desire to protect a loved one from the trauma and anguish that exposure to the situation they thought was sure to bring about. What was unfortunate was that the perceived stigmatization and the enforced silence would only prevent the understanding and acceptance that was essential to ensure good management of the disease. Hiding the diagnosis from the patient or /and the primary caregiver would become the biggest deterrent to good compliance and therefore effective treatment.
Prolonged counselling sessions eventually chipped away at the insecurities and unveiled probable causes for the need for the secrecy and silence. Fear of ostrazisation by family, friends, school mates and co workers came first. But most of all it was the inability to realise that in those closest to you, one found support and sustenance. And that, they would move heaven and earth to make the world the best place for their loved ones to be in. And then, what relief once there was no need to hide anything any more.
Like the mother who was the patient said, once she shared the diagnosis with her sons it was as though the greatest weight was lifted off her shoulders. Even the fact that she had cancer was easier to handle now. She had given it a lot of thought when I suggested that if ever her sons learnt about it from someone else or by accident they were going to feel she did not trust or love them enough to share such a momentous occurrence in their lives. Meeting other mothers and families in similar circumstances at support group meetings went a long way in convincing her that her sons had the right to know. In the years following the diagnosis, the proud mother tells me there is nothing she does not know about her disease which her sons have not scoured the internet for and given her the latest updates for. “They are my eyes and ears” she says proudly!! “What would I do without them “
And going back to the young boy from whom his condition was being kept a secret, a secret that was becoming more and more difficult for the mother to keep; the doctor shared with me that the young lad was very much aware of his diagnosis but was happy to let the mother believe that he was in the dark. He apparently was, in his own way; with help from the internet learning all about the cancer for which he was being given this specific treatment protocol. One fine day he confronted his doctor and in turn swore him to secrecy so that his “Ma” would not suffer. He confided in me saying that he was very aware of his rights as a patient but as a son his duty to keeping his Ma happy came first.
It is now eight years since the diagnosis and the once young teenager who was kept in sheltered silence is now an adult lending his broad and capable shoulder for his Ma to lean on and take courage from.

HAPPY DIWALI

2010-11-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

During my growing up years in Delhi , Diwali and Holi were my favourite
festivals . More than anything else , it was what these two festivals stood
for in terms of the changing seasons , that excited me most . Diwali
heralded winter and Holi marked the advent of Spring.
Whether Diwali ocurred (early) in mid or late October or (late) in Mid November and Holi ( again , ealry) in late February or even as late as mid March, our sweaters and razaiis came out of storage and went back into the "petis" no matter what, only the day after Diwali or the day before Holi.

Now , remember , my growing up years were a very long time ago ; early
sixties but even now, after almost half a century , come Diwali , and all the excitement I felt as a young girl comes rushing back and I go back years remembering the little special touches my mother added to make our simple Diwali celeberations really fun and memorable .

Despite all kinds of budgetary restraints we children had new (maybe not
fancy) clothes ; sweets and savouries were made for the household to relish
as well as for distribution amongst neighbours and being a very traditional
Tam Brahm family the ealry morning oil bath was a must !! And we woke up the
whole of Delhi , we "Madrasis" with our pre dawn pattakkas !!

But our Ammas made up for it with the flower soft idlis and laddoos , mysore
paks and murukkus and pakkodams that would be sent over to each house in the vicinity of a few 100 yards or more : ) : )

Today as I was making the "Kolam" in front of the door and lighting the
little lamps on the window sill I remembered and missed with a physical ache
the spacious aangan where we used to make the large rangolis - not the 2x2
landing where first thing in the morning everyone from the paper walla to
the doodh wala will mess it up and the long stretch of the verandah we used
to line up the diyas - dozens and dozens of them. Today I set out six , yes
exactly six diyas on the little ledge of the only safe window space of the
flat !

But you know what ? its not the size of the landing or the number of diyas
you light that makes Diwali so special ; its the size of the world made so vast by
the friends and loved ones in your life and the number of phone calls and
text messages and e mails that flow straight into your heart from the phone
and computer and make your heart swell with love and affection and gratitude
for this great big family that my work too has made me a part of.....Diwali or Christmas , Independence Day or Republic Day , New Year or Holi , Navroze or Idd we are there for each other , with each other and with only the best wishes for each other .....

HAPPY DIWALI

So what if The Danube is not Blue

2010-09-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

There is a God above there somewhere indeed.
After a busy three day patient advocates meeting I attended in Austria this summer I managed to get a couple of days off to spend in that beautiful city called Vienna. Making good use of some leave I had accumulated it seemed the perfect thing to do, but before I knew it, it was time to get back. As I set off for the airport on my last morning I could not help wishing I could have just one more day. If you could have seen the glorious sunshine and the brilliant blue of the sky and breathed in the fresh, golden morning air you would have understood my greed my gluttony even! This was the ideal day for that stroll down the Danube I had not had time for and that pitcher of good Austrian beer I had not partaken of yet. But I had a flight at 8am and had to be going on my way so I tried not to feel too bad and was happy to say auf Wiedersehen and be grateful for the two days I had spent there at least .
At the airport, I checked in the baggage (sweet Jenny at the Austrian Airlines counter who looked at my passport which said birthplace Trivandrum and shyly shared that her parents came from Kerala too and asked if I spoke Malayalam ) went through Security , had tea at the Lounge and made my way to Gate A only to be told that my flight was delayed by more than a couple of hours . This meant I would not make the connecting flight out of Munich back to Bombay and already I had visions of a messed up day and maybe lost baggage and the whole works. Soon it was apparent I was the only one going on to that part of the world and while my co passengers settled for a wait or another flight, I was asked to go to the help desk all the way back to Gate C and get my flight re booked ! Try doing all that walking carrying a laptop and your cabin baggage dodging other passengers ( just a bit mad and jealous that they had no delayed flights to contend with ) all the while wondering what ordeal is in store for you. While thanking God I was wearing sensible shoes and comfortable jeans I realized I had (most foolishly) packed all my chargers in the bag I had checked in having had that much faith in my carrier Lufthansa.
Determined not to forget to get my checked in baggage in case I was held up at the airport for more than a couple of hours I went on to wait at the queue in the Service Centre which was , at 8am in the morning, (wo) manned by one single person and she was totally engrossed with another customer . I was some fifth or sixth in the line which kept growing as long and restless as the worried furrows on all our brows. It did not console or comfort any one of us that there were others too with similar problems I had been foolish enough to think mine would be the only rebooking request –it was obvious there were other delayed or cancelled flights happening or not happening in this case !!!
Finally , more staff turned up as did my turn and the by now harassed young woman took one look at my tickets and with a sympathetic smile began looking at her computer screen fingers flashing over her key board as she looked at other flight options. And those options came at me in swift, efficient tones; To Istanbul Ma’am at 4 this evening and then on the Bombay at 3 am or maybe the Austrian direct to Delhi ? with a 8 hour stopover till the connection to Bomb ay? Or no this is good , we can put you on an Emirates at 8pm today and then on to Bombay tomorrow from there and the options went on and on each one needing me to hang around longer and longer in the airport .
I kind of went “Whoa” and reigned in all those enthusiastic suggestions telling her I really did not think it was such a good idea to have me spend the whole day in the airport waiting for such late flights ; was it not possible to put me up in the city and I take the flight the next day ? All those other flights were anyway not getting me back home any earlier were they?!! And she looked up, a bit dazed and in gratitude for suggesting an alternative solution and said oh! Will the Hilton do then Ma’am ?
Will it do ? Will it DO? There! I had my extra day in sunny Vienna and a decent place to park meself in and as Pippa would have said
The lark 's on the wing;
The snail 's on the thorn;
God 's in His heaven—And once I had my baggage collected
All was quite right with my world!
Read on for some Viennese memories …
The last day of the meeting dawned and after another delicious breakfast at Hemmingway their restaurant (never did find out why it was named so –one of my favourite authors; though it was unnerving to see him preside over all those delicacies!!) I set off on my little break. I then had just two days in Vienna and had decided to spend one day there walking through that beautiful city and the other in Salzburg with my memories of, yes, The Sound of Music !
Even though I have travelled a lot, my kind of travel is never planned or organised; never the tour and tourist specific kind. Usually it’s a couple of days stolen after a work related visit and I just let those days dawn and take me where they will. I have realised that you see a place the best when you seek out the people there and simply go with the flow of the few precious hours one has to spend there. Just as though you lived there and the day on hand was just another day in your life. No expectations; step out and let the day take charge, and enjoy the bounty that followed. And this particular visit was even more like this than any other. I had been told so much of this wondrous city and asked to look out for many things that would capture my fancy and be worthy of my attention but all I had was two days and three evenings . I just decided to let each hour follow the previous and go where the next would take me .
The little hotel I had checked into was charming and had the kindest people , helpful and eager to provide any kind of information I would need. I was persuaded to spend the first evening at a concert happening just a few blocks away for which the hotel could provide me tickets. Not wanting to waste even a minute of the lovely evening I took directions and tickets and set out memorising the name of the street on which the little hotel was so I could find my way back . There was this nice big street sign up and it was hard to miss.
My first stop was at a coffee place ; difficult to miss these and a crime not to so at every possible opportunity I was darting into one of these most elegant ( even the simplest of them were so cool) cafes and sampling the best coffees and apple strudels. I am afraid the famed “sacher torte” left me unmoved but the strudels were to die for.
Warm interiors , done up in a manner such that each one of them looked like the living room of a gracious household. Welcoming from the outside and cosy and comfortable from the inside one can spend hours in one of these savouring the beverage and watching life pass by.
Walking in Vienna is pure pleasure . The architecture breathtaking and the summer sky with its late , mellow light casts a magical glow all over . Walking back from the concert which was a simple one put together obviously for visitors like me; a collection of well known favourites from Strauss and Mozart, I was in a state of total contentment and decided to turn in early for I was to leave for Salzburg at six the next morning .
Feeling very clever about remembering the name of the street I turned at the sign only to be very sure that this was not the street where my hotel was. Quelling the flicker of panic in my breast I walked a bit further and then some more and finally through one narrow lane spotted my café and found my way back . That was very silly of me but I was happy to be back in my room safe and warm.
The morning of my day trip to Salzburg dawned wet and windy but nothing would dampen my spirits and believe me sometimes a grey sky can be so much more dramatic and evocative. The drive to Salzburg via the lake districts and its breathtaking vistas ….am still so overwhelmed that I actually was there – will let the pictures speak for themselves. I must thank the lovely couple from Ireland who gave me such wonderful company. At some point in the day when we were exchanging notes about each other I found out they had a daughter who was a cancer survivor and they that I worked with cancer survivors! The Universe at work I say .
The day we had landed in Austria and having a few hours to spare before our meetings started, a small of group of us had decided to take the train into the city. Whenever I travel in one of these MRT systems in any city in the world I am always deeply saddened as to why we cannot have something like this in Bombay . Maybe not in my life time but sometime please? It doesn’t have to be a fancy , sleek , shinning – bullet like but a system that gets us from one place to another with our dignity intact ? Something else that surprised me (though it should no more ) is the number of people , especially youngsters in Europe who smoke . A random glance at the tracks made me do a double take indeed!!
Any way that afternoon sortie had helped me get the lay of the land so to speak so I had an idea where I would let my feet take me when I set out the next day . And they took me places indeed ; past majestic churches and government buildings , museums and palaces , narrow streets with little shops and some more intriguing little cafes.
At the hotel manager’s indulgent insistence I had reluctantly agreed to something I never do as a rule - that is sign up for a trip ; a city tour and as expected hated it all along till we came to the beautiful Schönbrunn Palace . More than the palace the grounds and the Rose Gardens were enchanting but this was where I decided to abandon the bus much to the guide’s chagrin. But it had been torturous sitting inside the bus and not being able to be out here in the sun and see and feel the city. But it was in the bus that I met Lin and her lovely daughters who were as miserable as I was and waiting to do an AWOL from the tour too so we hatched our plan. Lin if you are reading this do you know I realise that I have no pictures of the three of you in my camera? Thanks for the sweet friendship of the day!! And the lovely dinner that night oh what a great time we had !!
So we escaped the Tour and while Lin and the girls went off to the markets and from there down town I decided to walk towards the museums and try and catch the Klimt show at the Leopold. A lovely hour long walk through the tree lined avenues took me there with an unexpected bit of art work right there in front of my eyes which I share with you and another sweet interlude with this little guy who tamed the wild African elephant here . But I was disappointed to be told that the Leopold was closed on Tuesdays and there went all hopes of seeing the works of one of the greatest artists of the Vienna Secession Movement. As I turned away in dejection the lady at the information desk called me back to say that I could go on to the Belvedere Palace where the permanent Klimt collection was on display . Oh joy and glee!! but it was quite some distance away she also said. Well, no pain no gain said I to myself and set out to find my way to find the Belvedere. The Underground first it was and then a tram ride and a twenty minute walk is what it took but oh was it worth it !!
The first hurdle was getting the tickets . I always find it unnerving to have to conduct a transaction with a machine ! Just having mastered our recalcitrant ATM machines back home is achievement enough for me and these huge , unfriendly , super efficient monstrosities can reduce me to a nervous pulp with all their flashing lights and the unfamiliar language and change required . And in case one has a problem (like I always do) there is no one on the other side to smile at or some kind person who smiles back at you and lets you know they understand you are nervous and its ok here’s your ticket and change me love; just all those buttons you push and clink clank , if you are lucky and pushed the right ones and fed the right change hey presto the transaction is done !
Anyway the urge to Klimt was very strong indeed and I prevailed and found my way and back !! And a rich memento adorns my wall at home now in fond remembrance of my mad jaunt .
I must admit that it was on the last leg of the long walk back to my hotel from the Underground that I discovered why I had missed my street that first night . Ahem ! EiNBAHN I soon realised meant ONE WAY !!!!! So much for the well travelled me I thought and went back giggling all the way at my stupidity !
I cannot sign off without listing the high spots of that last stolen day in Vienna – The long walk by the Danube and the beer ( bliss), the man who sold me the beer and the man with the most handsome dog I have ever seen who gave me such gallant company and some awesome history of drinking beer on the banks of the Danube , the late lazy lunch in some park where the sun was like a diamond glittering through the leaves of the trees and watching the day’s World Cup matches at a series of side walk cafes finishing off with the last one on the giant screen of the Hilton lobby !!!

Shenzhen Shenanigans

2010-09-11T01:46:00.001-07:00

Shenzhen was in the papers today – about how President Hu Jintao in beijing had hailed the southern export hub that lies cheek by jowl with Hong Kong as a miracle in the world’s history of modernisation and industrialisation. Apparently there were some other dubious distinctions too but we will not dwell upon that. The emphasis in the report too was on how all this incredible growth had provided the necessary blueprint for China’s economic reforms.
Considering I had returned from that very special economic zone just this last week and then to read about Shenzhen in the papers, I thought it was too much of a coincidence. And this has egged me on to blog –once again after a long break
So what did I really do in China? Well Shenzhen to be exact? Having gone there to attend an International Cancer Conference actually and not having read the afore mentioned report, to me Shenzhen seemed quite the poor man’s Hong Kong or Kuala Lumpur. A newbie South Asia city I thought nevertheless , a thirty years new/ old modern urban statement ; one of those special economic zones that just grew up to be a shinning conglomerate of business like Lego blocks dressed in chrome –glass –steel reaching out its metallic talons into the blue and white sky . Somebody stop me I can go on and on and on!!! I was so, so impressed by the monstrous edifices.
So it was not really China at all you see what I mean? Even though we did the “border crossing” from Hong Kong which took us three full hours; the lugging of all our luggage from conveyor belt in airport to shuttle to immigration shed to bus to hotel in Shenzhen, (Will I ever learn to travel light ? Not carry so many clothes and pairs of foot wear and my own shampoo and hair dryer and this and that ??? No! never in light years . ) it was just from one steel and glass show piece to another!
Any visions of the China I had nurtured from my long cherished and dog eared Pearl S Buck and Somerset Maugham collections or even ok a Crouching Tigers and Hidden Dragons viewing ,were just that – Hidden !!
But to give its due the place seemed the perfect place for a conference – hotels all snuggled together around the snazzy conference venue all walking distances to and fro and a Pizza Hut , Mc Donald’s and Starbucks just around the corner for good measure in case any home sick soul was starving !!
So our first meal in China was at the Pizza Hut – and do not laugh!!! We ( my colleagues Pat and Mei Ching and I ) were neither home sick nor starving but just in a hurry to get lunch over with and get to the Registration counter in time !! But we had not bargained for the young lady there speaking no English at all so it was a while before even our pizzas of choice made it to the table. So another Chinese myth busted; no they are not all learning to speak English in China. And despite Mei Ching’s attempts with her knowledge of Mandarin and Cantonese (Respect Mei Ching !!) we did struggle a bit there.
So while we wait for the pizza / pasta let me say a few words about the conference? The big UICC (International Union against Cancer) meet where the best and most devoted in cancer care get together for sharing best practices and learning from each other ; networking with peers and catching up with old , dear friends and gurus ; fellow advocates and leaders in the field. I attended my first UICC conference in 1994 in New Delhi where 4000 participants converged for a brilliant meeting (and this despite the Surat plague scare mind you) and I became a fan of UICC for life. Next year I was sent to Brisbane on a UICC Fellowship and thus began my apprenticeship in cancer care and counselling. For the next eight years the UICC gave me a platform to learn from and polish what I learnt and I will forever be indebted to the experience I gained. Two terms as the Asia Pacific Regional co ordinator and each conference I attended and participated in only grounded me more and more firmly in what by now had become my calling in life.
Pizzas and pasta and salad by now consumed we were ready to head out to the conference venue.
Clean, neat and tidy; wide roads and orderly traffic and so walking to the conference venue was never a problem except that it was so hot. Proximity to the huge water body and the rising temperatures made for SWELTERING conditions. Hurry as we might , we were defeated by the traffic lights for the green would turn red in all of a minute and half which meant that even before we were two thirds of the distance to the other side of the road, vehicles in some mean haste would begin to bear down upon us eager to take that right turn most rightly of course .
But we had nothing to fear for we soon found out that among Pat’s very many skills was this one too – bringing China to a halt!!! More than once Pat with her imperious look and a regal wave of her hand was able to hold at bay any bus, car or taxi that came in our way, leaving the zebra crossing safe and clear for us . Halting China in it’s tracks – I like the sound of that and who but Pat to do it with such panache and style !!
I must add that we never saw anyone on a bicycle in Shenzhen!!!
Once at the venue it took all our skills in time management and speed walking to ensure we were where we should be .Walking the length and breadth of the humungous conference venue trying to get to the sessions on time and sitting in those meetings `, session after session did wear us out and it became imperative that at some point in time during the day we seek some sustenance at that Mecca of rest and recuperation we had spotted en route . So it was not too long before we found our way albeit a bit sheepishly and guiltily to grab a cup of Seattle’s best and sank happily one late afternoon into the welcoming couches at the neighbourhood Starbucks .
When in Rome do as the Romans do and when in China please do not steal their china should have been stamped on my passport. Those who know me well know I can be worse than a bull in any china shop given my passion for collecting cups and mugs so when the poison of my choice was served in this most elegant and distinctive Starbucks mug I knew I had to have it. White, streamlined and with an unusual addition; a delicately detailed leaf in three dimension on the outside just right to twirl tautly the string of the tea bag around it. Sadly though, I was told this particular style was not on sale. Oh no please I almost wailed and gave a pleading look to the young man waiting on our table. You can imagine my surprise and glee when with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes, he said that maybe someone would break this mug back in the kitchen that day or maybe even he had never served me my coffee in this mug but in one of those Grande paper cups so would anyone miss it if I just put it in my bag?
So yes, I did walk away with their china ; touched and impressed by the gallant and customer savvy attitude of the staff. He endeared himself even more to us by painstakingly obtaining the address of the Hard Rock Café for us and writing it out in Chinese so our taxi driver would know where to go – though it is another story that we found out it had shut down.
Our sessions and net working meetings did not really leave us with any time to look around or even sample the apparently “super” shopping Shenzhen was famous for but we did manage to ride the very efficient MRT to an Italian joint for a superb dinner the last night with some of our co conferencers. – so my first and last meal, in China were both Italian and what does that say?
And oh yes did I begin this post saying Shenzhen was in our papers the other day? Well, I was also in Shenzhen’s papers the other day .

And oh did I get to see the Great Wall ? See for yourself : )

Massage and Message from my Maalish Mausi

2010-05-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

Mausi ,hailing from a village near Ahmednagar about a nine hour bus ride from Bombay , is maybe sixty five years old or even older ; she says she does not know but working backwards from the number of children she has had, and the children they have, whose ages she told me , I am sure I am not too far from her correct age. But she is fitter than I am , fitter than someone even younger than I am and goes about her work in the neighbourhood I live in with a discipline and diligence that can teach any professional service provider a thing or two.
Mausi ‘s hands have a magic of their own and she gives massages to newly born babies, their weary , worn out mothers, random grandmothers and aunts and didis and whoever is lucky enough to be home when she comes around. I say that because even though I could enjoy her services every and any Sunday, my being home and not working on the day of Sabbath is such a rarity that I miss her every time she comes around .
But not today and one look at my S shaped back (been plagued with the mother of all backaches for the last few days) she would listen to no excuse; brook no opposition. I was home on a Sunday after ages and with all the travelling and not being able to take any time off to catch up with household chores I had loads of laundry to attend to and all kinds of random stuff. But she had a determined look in her eyes and said she would wait till I finished all my work but a back massage she would surely see I received today.
She settled herself comfortably on her haunches in the living room and watched with bemused amusement the fare being dished out on Channel V while I finished those chores. I was a bit wary actually not wanting to aggravate the back with any external intervention but I had had enough of muscle relaxants and the really uncomfortable belt what with the heat so I eventually gave in to her ministrations.
Coconut oil, Mausi’s strong, coaxing palms and fingers and FM radio’s Sunday special of old songs and I was transported to another world. For over an hour and a half she kneaded, crushed, pulled, pressed, and stretched my aching muscles till I was on another plane altogether ; outside of my aching, bone weary consciousness and entering a world of numbed bliss.
It was nothing short of magic for I realised that the excruciating pain was gone and only some residual discomfort remained. As Mausi was working her magic she also had her own opinion to share about why my back had folded in like this. She blamed the stooping over my “computer machine” completely for it and also the fact that today one did everything sitting in such bad postures .
Patting her flat stomach which had seen as many as eight pregnancies ,and stretching to her full , supple and wiry height she said with all modern conveniences like counters in the kitchen and chairs and tables for eating and working there was no way stomach and back muscles got any kind of exercise.
She dared me to sit on my haunches with my feet flat on the ground like she had for the past two hours giving me my massage and chuckled at my pathetic attempts to do so. “See , if you sat like that , automatically your abdomen would remain firm with the pressure and all the repeated sitting and standing that would follow such a posture would also give your back muscles the required exercise and strength it needed.
It all made such simple and practical sense and as Mausi got up she asked me not to look so woebegone and guilty and told me for my age I still was pretty ok as far as fitness went. She showed me an exercise which she said would help keep such back aches at bay.
I asked her if I could write about all she had told me on my “computer machine” and share it with my friends and if she would also let me take a picture of her showing me how to do the exercise and she was all blushing smiles saying in all these years no one had taken a picture of hers !! And anyway her “old man” is no longer around to object she adds.

So she sat on her haunches and showed me how to touch the right knee with the left elbow and vice versa saying this would ease all the pressure from the shoulders to the lower back.
Something about her shared confidences and our interaction today made me feel a strong bond with her and I asked her name – I know her as the whole neighbourhood, only as Mausi (Aunt) .
She said no one in years had ever asked her for her name or called her by it – she was Aaii . Aji , Mausi or just “Budhiya” or old woman to everyone . I gently pressed for it and with another shy blush she said “Kalavati”
Kalavati I think means one who is skilled and devoted in her art (Kala) and I cannot think of a more fitting name for my sweet Mausi for it is indeed a fine art she practices , her heart right there in her finger tips as she soothes aching muscles into peaceful and painless state.

Back to blogging with a very personal sharing

2010-05-16T02:57:00.000-07:00

This happened one morning towards the end of last year. Young Mangesh had been approved into the patient assistance programme I work with the week before and he came with his mother, a daily wage earner, on that day, to collect his first supply of medication that would keep his leukaemia under control. Bright eyed and with a warm, happy smile reflected in those eyes, he had attracted attention on the first visit itself. The calm , unquestioning acceptance by a child of this life altering event never fails to move me – into an awed state of total admiration.
As I entered the building that morning, unusually early myself, I was in time to see mother and son being turned away by the Secom Business Centre's watchman (my office is housed in the basement) asking them to come back at 11am when visiting time began at the MI Office.
Sensing their disappointment I shepherded Mangesh and his mother into the office and thanked the watchman for his concern at the same time, It was barely past half past nine but I asked Ashok our office assistant to take his papers out and requested Gita my colleague if she would attend to the case. Recognising the young lad Gita was only too happy to talk to them, guide them through the process before beginning her day's work with e mails and so on.
I was happy that having come so early they could at least be taken care of. If I had not encountered them as I walked in I suppose they would have just gone and come in later.
But that was just not it. A sequence of events occurred, each linked to another that resulted in giving Mangesh great happiness and eliciting thrilled gratitude towards all of us at the office.
Catching sight of a photograph of super star Salman Khan on our wall with one of our patients, Mangesh wistfully said to Gita he adored the star and being in Bombay nursed secret , impossible dreams of maybe seeing him some time . Coming from the interior district of Yavatmal, being in this big city itself was a source of wonder to him. Hearing him say Salman I just decided to take a chance and see if I could get the star on the phone and at least maybe give him a chance to get a part of his dream come through!!
Salman never takes morning calls as he is in his gym till almost lunch ( in all the years I have known him, I think only once have I ever managed to get him on the line before noon) but I nevertheless tried my luck seeing things were anyway all happening for Mangesh today!!
Unfortunately he did not pick up the phone and I had to console the young lad whose bright eyes had dimmed in disappointment, promising him I would try the next time he was here. Nodding his sweet acceptance of what was not to be Mangesh left the office to go and collect his supply and Gita and I exchanged helpless glances too.
Not a minute after the duo left the office my cell phone rang and it was Salman returning my call!! I could not believe it when I saw his name flash on my little screen and I was like Oh my God someone call them back . I rushed out, all the while talking to Salman and telling him why I had called him and would he please stay on line. Salman, the sweet guy he is was cool and began talking to me about his Foundation "Being Human "(of which I am on of the Trustees so we keep touching base)
Outside, as I walked towards the street there was no sign of Mangesh and his mother and reluctantly I had to let Salman go telling him I would call back if we managed to get the patient back. Saying he was off to the studio for a day long shoot he was happy to have me call him back.
The watchman returned too, saying they were not to be seen anywhere and I went back feeling a bit sad that Mangesh had lost this wonderful chance when all of a sudden something jogged my memory and I remembered the mother's cell phone ringing while I had brought them in the morning. Seeing that we had a number for her in the data base Gita quickly called and was actually able to ask them to come back immediately.
Getting Salman back on line was no issue for it seemed he was waiting for the call and picked it up on one ring saying " ok Viji ji , put my new friend on the line" and believe me , listening to the conversation that followed and looking at the expressions that flitted across Mangesh's ecstatic face it did seem like a new friendship was born that day.
Merits of Salman's latest films were communicated, his choice of co stars appreciated and the latest songs from his new, hit films admired.
Some very eager nodding and rolling of eyes obviously meant Mangesh was listening to exciting confidences and we later found out Salman had told him all about the latest film he was shooting for.
Mangesh's cup of joy overflowed that morning and we will never forget the wide, happy smile in his face as he spoke with his idol super star Salman, all from the corner of our little office. And the sun shown that morning in our windowless basement office for sure through Mangesh’s beaming eyes .

In search of er er er er erotica !

2009-11-19T11:07:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to dear , sweet Geet through whose enthusiastic and eager , loving eyes and heart we spent a wonderful weekend in Orissa ; Geet who grew up in Bhubaneshwar and loved the city and its sights and wanted to show us everything beautiful and interesting and exciting in her "ilaaka" . After spending a lovely morning visiting the temples that dotted the city we were all set to go to Konark and then get a glimpse of the famous Bay of Bengal and if we had time then maybe even drive down the Marine Drive hugging the beach all the way from Konark to Puri.

Geet was very keen that we visit one of the temples just outside of the city which she said had some very interesting paintings but she was not very sure of its name or location . Intent on getting to Konark before it got too late and the Sunday crowd peaked no one really gave much thought to this suggestion . Seeing how restless she was we did say somehting like maybe we would if there was time but that was it. All the way , once we were on the road , one did realise she was desperately trying to recollect where it was. One of us asked what was so special about it and amidst some blushing and umming and errrr...it came about that the temple had some absolutley calssic , erotic paintings. That was enough to alert the antenna of the guys with us and soon they too joined in trying to locate the temple , pressing the driver of our Innova to see if he knew of this place.

Munna our driver cum guide rolled into one seemed more intent on getting us to Konark telling us we would find all that and more in the famous Sun Temple . Geet tried to get some information from her brothers with whom she had been there before and tried to get the help of GPRS on her phone to try and download some information but it was no go . We teased her mercilessly all the way to Konark where we definitlely were not disappointed.
In fact we were stunned into an awed, admiring silence looking at the undeniable magnificnce of one of the greatest examples of erotic scuptures and architecture.
Nothing could diminish the impact of the granduer we were face to face with. This marvel in stone had weathered all kinds of storms over centuries and here we were blessed to be able to revel in its beauty. Who has not seen countless images of this temple with its perfeclty proportioned chariot wheels and the squat , black pagoda like tower ; seeing it in real life simply took our collective breath away. Munna bhai our garrulous charioteer decided we would benefit from the service of a proper guide so that we had a

" history knowledge" person to take us around, left us in the hands of a very eager and earnest looking little man who lost no time in taking command of his troop. And oh boy did he take over ! We were all soon in splits over his seriously over enthusiastic and graphic expalnations of the er er er well there was no getting away from it , the erotic images. He seemed to get more and more carried away with the descriptions and we were subjected to a serious dissertation of "sexual activites " of "that time " of how and when and with "whom all" and it took all our collective efforts not to dissolve into helpless laughter at the poor man's totally sincere efforts . He told us of the three levels of man's life cycle and how childhood should be spent in play as depicted in the lower portions of the temple with images of elephants and horses; of how in the second level of life , one's youth was to be indulged in "sexual activity" ( he loved the term and did not lose a single chance to use it ) and finally as the third level of the temple carvings showed, how life in its final stage had to be devoted to spiritual pursuits.

As we gazed at the panels and the columns and the intricate carvings and the beauty , the incredible beauty of what we were gazing upon sank into our consiciousness , believe me not one of us needed any guide's ministrations or commentary to tell us what it was that was being unravelled before our eyes. The absolute beauty of the human form , the conjoining of male and female in simple adoration of the life force left us all in a stilled state of silent wonder. This was a true celeberation of life ; true worship of man's prowess in gay abandon ! Oh dear from whence came this prudery then , in which our society shrouds itself now ?

We walked around , gazing in rapt and silent wonder at each of the 24 wheels of the massive stone chariot , and I think even our guide finally felt that no one needed to say anything more ; the silent stone was saying it all and we were hearing its story ourselves in speechless wonder.

As we posed for one final picture we were a silent , subdued group knowing we had become a part of something that had been handed down to us generation after generation , a lesson in worship and love ; in the cycle of life and creation and we were blessed !!

But , we also realised that Munna and the guys were still doing some energetic research on Geet's lost temple for they had apparently been told by our guide that he knew exaclty what they were talking about and (of course) he knew where this particular temple was. So we all piled into the car in pursuit of further enlightenment with carefully given directions and instructions as to how to get there . Plans to proceed to Puri were abandoned and after a quick diversion to the beach ( I was not going to sacrifice a viewing of the Bay of Bengal , erotica be hanged !!) where we took in the unbeleivable blue of sea and sky , we were off in search of that demmed elusive temple

For over two hours we drove , over bad roads, past gorgeous emerald fields , pulling up everytime we spotted someone who could confirm we were on the right, albeit pot holed track and finally came upon the temple . It was tiny , beautiful and an incredible bit of architectural marvel but definitely did not loook like it had erotica enshrined in it, no sir. The setting sun burnished it with a golden glow and a bunch of school children picnicking by its side further put paid to any chances of even remotely erotic possibilites

Moreover the last crushing blow was dealt when we read upon the little board that the intricate carvings and paintings in this temple were dedicated to secualr themes.
So the search goes on for that elusive temple that Geet has all of us in earnest pursuit of !!!

The Secret of the Ninth Planet

2009-11-19T09:52:00.000-08:00

It was my first visit to Bhubaneswar and I must share a very enlightening conversation I had with the priest in the 7th Century Parashuram Temple, one of the temples we went to in this beautiful city of many ancient temples . It was as an after thought actually, that I had ventured into the inner sanctum ,the entrance to which had eight figures engraved on it. Something familiar about the engravings made me hang behind and take a re look for something told me I should know what these were. The Pujari noticed me linger and came up to me and said they were the “Grah” the Planets and I was like, Eight planets? What came to mind immediately was a memory from almost thirty five years ago when at the Kapaleeshwara temple in Mylapore I believe young Sankar my nephew had stood beside the Navagraham idols and asked if this is Navagraham then where is Nagesh? (Only Tamil film aficionados will understand this profound question)

The question in my mind however was that if these were the “Grahams” then were was the ninth one? Were there not nine planets? Nava graham? The Pujari then explained to me , an understanding smile on his face and a knowing twinkle in his eyes that “the ninth planet had not yet been discovered sister , this temple was built in the 7th century and so we see only eight” He further told me that I should take a careful look at the Mukhteshwar temple ( 11th century I think) when I went there after this , where I would find the ninth planet for “by that time you see it had been discovered” This was not just enlightening , but amazing and awe inspiring and absolutely surreal . Even now when I think back to what was revealed to me , it makes my hair stand on end and my heart leap out in wonderment at the great truth of our universe and its eternal , undying magic. Phew!! I was privy to mankind’s supreme attempts at harnessing the wonders of the galaxy all those centuries ago…

The precious heritage of its ancient and awe-inspiring temples is obviously cherished and maintained in a manner that is an example other cities can learn from. Temples built from hundreds of years ago are carefully nestled in the centre of neatly laid out gardens with enough room for devotees and tourists alike to pay their respects.

This city of a thousand temples also is home to the modern temple of IT culture the impressive Infosys campus. More impressive than the campus is the size of the heart of its “talent” as they call their personnel. They threw the campus open for my patient support group meeting and not only that, gave of themselves and their facilities with a charm and generosity that will forever endear them to my heart.

Bhubaneswar or BBSR as this charming city is called by its gung ho citizens was a revelation. I had not known that Le Corbusier of Chandigarh fame had designed a great part of this beautiful, charming city and was delightfully surprised by its wide roads, gracious bungalows and some very interesting murals on the walls that hugged the streets. Apparently that was the idea of one of the city’s Municipal Commissioners and she had some of the most immensely intricate designs typical of the region, its aappliqué works, pattachitras and handloom designs adorn the walls along the roads. It gives the city a perennially festive look and surely keeps ugly posters and pan stains (hopefully) off them.

No machine can do the work of one extraordinary man.

2009-11-17T10:28:00.000-08:00

But what do you do when the machine is also extraordinary as is the story behind it ? I have the nicest two guys in my living room re doing the upholstery of the sofas - such skill, such patience and working with amazing speed and precision . Old world charm and dignity - perfect craftsmen and the most charming conversationalists .Their sewing machine , an ancient Adler , whirring like a dream .....am blessed !!
Bhaiyya ji tells me the Adler belonged to a refugee from Lahore and it was the one personal possession he managed to bring with him during Partition. He knew his life and the future of his family depended on it. The respect with which Bhaiya ji is handling the machine says it all. He tells me he takes such good care of it for he knows what it meant to the person who finally sold it to him.

When you meet someone who is devoted to his craft, respects and values his tools and approaches the job at hand with dignity and discipline you feel proud to be a part of his world

Three Women in a Train and other stories

2009-11-17T08:45:00.000-08:00

(with no apologies to Three Men in a Boat)
But our hats we doff to the four gallant German gentlemen we shared our tatkal compartment with but that comes later in the narrative.
So, back to the three women in a train and the weekend we stole from our lives to steal away into the mountains for a long promised, planned and plotted retreat.

For years and years the three of us, dearest friends of more than forty years had been talking of just going away for a while and catching up with those very forty years. Bela’s mother had this place in Bhimtal and every time we would meet up at some occasion or the other Bela would say “let’s go, the three of us one of these days to Bhimtal”. What with our full lives and different schedules, and though the spirit was willing and eager, somehow we never really got down to it. I still don’t know what it was that triggered the sudden decision that we would do it and do it now but we did it and how!!

I think it was the “now or never “ tone of the e mail that Bela wrote saying hey girls if we are going to do it then we better begin planning ! or maybe the timing was right, for both Sindhu and I wrote back saying we are game !! The onus fell on me to give confirmed dates during which I was not travelling for I am always doing just that and also with both of them based in Delhi I did have to figure out when I could get there and out of Bombay for a long weekend.

Dates were decided and marked upon the calendar, tickets were booked for the Ranikhet Express and every week updates sent by Bela telling us how many places we had inched up in the waiting list. Of course we were sure by the time “the” weekend came by we would have confirmed tickets. This of course was not to be for while our return tickets were confirmed we realised if we were going then we would have to resort to the “Tatkal” booking convenience the Railways were offering.

Eventually Tatkal it was and then it was rendezvous time at Old Delhi station. Late one Thursday night in September and amidst all the hundred and twenty thousand people and random piles of luggage and other unbelievable stuff covering every possible square inch of the platforms, the three of us managed to find each other and a coolie too who very soon threw up his hands in despair of course at our (to him) unreasonable demands. He refused to hang around till the train came and left us to our own devices with our bits and pieces of baggage.

We must have definitely attracted some attention for soon a couple of firang fellas squatting most comfortably beside their back packs amidst all that chaos and looking very much like the seasoned travellers that we, definitely were not, were giving us kindly looks and explaining to us that the train was yet to pull in so we would just have to wait and it would be no problem at all.

Taken aback by this obvious display of “ah! damsels in distress “ angle happening we re arranged the muscles and expressions upon our faces to look as nonchalant and travel wise as possible and moved just that bit ahead and out of their radar range.

The train of course as predicted pulled in and there was pandemonium as we tried to find the coach (it was right there in front of us mind you) our names on the Tatkal announcement, our seats and get the bags in too!! Hoping against hope that we would have decent berths and not the side ones ,we got in only of course to realise that for sure , as Tatkal passengers as wont to.we had been allotted three of those horribly cramped side berths , two on top and one below . No amount of remembering chirpy Geet on one of those very berths in Jab We Met helped make it easy for us and we had to reconcile ourselves to our lot .And not even a good looking Shahid Kapoor or any other “dude in distress” to take our minds off the disappointment of not having our First AC compartment.

Once we had finished tsking tsking and tchah tchahing we realised we had company across the passageway on the four decent berths that made up the rest of our space in the compartment. Our concerned firang friends from the platform already very interested in our situation and quite happily eager to be of service if required!!
Smiles and nods were exchanged, just that bit reserved and cool but by the time we were ready to turn in I suppose we had become friendly enough to exchange more than just pleasantries. And since we were bringing in Bela’s birthday almost as soon as the train pulled out, it was good to have some bass and baritone joining us when we warbled Happy Birthday to her .We found out that they were Germans and as one of them charmingly conceded, “hippies, old hippies” who came every winter and stayed on in the hills and they of course had to know our mission. Gallant eyebrows were raised in admiration and disbelief expressed when it was found out that we were friends for over four decades and obviously close to them in age!!

What was good to know however was that one was still fit and agile enough to clamber up, if not gracefully, then at least without falling off our perch as one of the poor guys in the next vestibule did . We jumped in startled shock as the man simply fell on his head and back while trying to get up and then sat in shock after that contemplating what would happen to us and that too with an audience of four (gentlemanly of course ) hippies !! But of course all went well and we settled in for the night waking up just in time to sense the change in the atmosphere – AC compartment or not we somehow knew we were in the hills – KAATHOGODHAAM said the board on the station outside and soon our still sleepy senses were assailed with the aroma and sounds of garam chai !!
Nothing, nothing to beat this ….as we stepped down and breathed in a lungful of the cool crisp air we were like this is it!! Our holiday has begun!!

I was coming to this part of the country after thirty five years; last having been to Nainital for my honeymoon in 1974. In fact the name of the train we took, the Ranikhet Express brought amusing memories back of this guy who kept telling us newly weds ‘ O Saab, Memsaab, there in that valley is Ranikhet where Kati Patang was shot. Rajesh Khanna was here, right here!! Oh those innocent seventies!! Newly wed husband by my side had not in anyway stopped me from going open mouthed in star struck wonder at this bit of trivia. Not for nothing had pictures of Kaka adorned insides of cupboards and bathroom walls. He was heart throb material those days like no one has since been ….

We got into a taxi and were in no time winding our way up to Bhimtal – it was so simple to get away was the thought that kept creeping into my mind, so easy! we were looking forward to three full days of doing nothing but eat and sleep and chat and chat and then chat some more and the three of us were champions at that.

The house was situated at a further elevation and the view as we got down and climbed the little pathway was breathtaking. The house itself was a treasure with all of dear Aunty’s special, elegant touches and we gave ourselves up to the pampering of the sweet couple who looked after the place.

What followed was nothing short of three days in Paradise. No meals to cook, no beds to make, no bathrooms to clean; no clearing up and no washing up!! Delicious meals, warm sunshine, snug razaais and occasional trips to literally greater heights.

Bela’s birthday lunch was this absolute treat at a little place she had discovered, tucked away in the valley. The food, the ambience, the service and the vistas – simply amazing. We ate and soaked in the atmosphere, drank to Bela’s health and thanked the universe for giving us this time together.

The next morning we drove up to Mukhteshwar hoping to catch the view of the snow capped peaks of the Himalayan ranges supposed to be visible from there. The clouds, however , reached before us and we were disappointed; but as we climbed on we did have quite a few awe inspiring views spread out for us.

At the famous Shiva temple in Mukhteshwar we met a young lad who appointed himself our guide for free and took us a little distance so we could get to one of the view points. Back at the Shiv Mandir the old lady ( the mother of the Pujari) seemed so sure we knew each other and kept asking me why I took so long to come and see her again : ) She actually greeted me as though she had all along been expecting me to come and said laughingly "chalo acchii moti taazi banke aayi ho " . ( I swore to myself that second I would begin my long suspended morning walks ..moti taazi indeed !! ) Her totally unaffected and genuine demeanour stirred something in me deep and caring ; she had so much love she gave so unquestioningly I stopped resisting and just gave in to her ministrations. Maybe we did know or knew each other in another life and there in that 350 year old temple she saw and recognised in me some one she had known before! It was amazing!! I succumbed .

We stopped for chai at a little place on our way back only to be welcomed by yet another friendly, easy going mother – son duo who rustled up the most delicious bhajiya and ginger tea for us. The people we met here, each and everyone in the mountains are just so openly and eagerly friendly and caring it does something to you; melts the wall of ice cities build around your hearts. Whether it’s the taxi driver or the boatman in one of the lakes or the boy and Mata ji at the temple, simple love is yours for the asking given with little nuggets of gyan no amount of experience or expense can get you.

And yes, the three women did eventually get into a boat too at the Naukuchiya Tal . A boatman with a penchant for regaling his passengers with all kinds of P J s took us around and by the end of the hour we had been subjected to jokes ranging from “cute” to “cute but coarse” and we were only too happy to be out of the boat and on terra firma. Surely our suppressed laughter and mild indignance at his ‘ Ji ek aur chutkula ho jaye” would have capsized the boat had we been on board for even one more second .

Before we knew it, it was time to head back home and good thing we were not in Tatkal ; the return journey was uneventful, our confirmed reservations in our comfortable First AC compartments giving us time to get back into Amma Mummy Memsaab mode.

A Bend in the Ganges

2009-10-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

Of Basel and Patna
the Rhine and
the Ganga
Two cities I visited almost back to back ; two rivers I gazed upon –rivers that wind through several cities and landscapes but I have seen them hug the shores of maybe two at the most three cities . Did I ever imagine that in my life I would at some time gaze at the Rhine flow through Frankfurt ? Or watch it hug the railway tracks between Frankfurt and Cologne or through the town of Basel? Never in a hundred years no !
But I had seen the Rhine in Frankfurt and Cologne and in Basel too.

And the Ganges ? for years I have wanted to go to Benares ; since childhood wanted to experience the piety and purity that the little sealed copper urns that had their own place of respect in my mother’s puja room contained . The Ganga Jalam. The closest I had got to the Ganga was the Hoogly awesome in itself and I have sworn to myself I will ride a barge on the Hoogly someday and pass under the Howrah Bridge – One day!!

But to get back to the Rhine , I did see it shimmering under an Indian Summer kind of blue sky just a couple of weeks ago. Work took me to Basel and it was easy to snatch some time in between meetings in that little town to gaze upon the unbelievable cobalt of the river and breathe in the crystal clear atmosphere. And I fondly remembered that I had been lucky enough to see this bright blue ribbon of water thread itself through those other cities as well ..ah !! I said to myself , blessed again in Basel.

Whenever one is in foreign lands one cannot but exclaim at the pretty and picturesque vistas that abound , the clean and tidy streets , the gorgeous architecture and the impeccably maintained facades of the beautiful heritage buildings and the efficient and shinning new as a pin public transport carriers . And breathe a sad sigh and wonder if only we had even a modicum of these astounding “conveniences” at home!!

On every return to the well worn and familiar roads of Bombay I nevertheless feel this sense of having come home ; having come back to civilisation ; yes even when I returned from Basel I felt that way for isn’t home where the heart is and all that?? This time on my return from Switzerland I had to almost immediately go to Patna. This was my third visit to this city in less than that many years and I have grown quite fond of the place for it has many pleasing memories so I did feel like I was coming home all over again.

My first visit here was to meet with one of the most gracious ladies ever and write about her triumph over leukaemia and through her wonderful family’s eyes I had seen a loving and friendly city peopled with human beings who cared. You can read about this elsewhere in this blog. The second time was when I was felicitated by the Bihar Health Minister and the Regional Cancer Centre ; an immense honour that humbled me more than anything else for what I do is nothing compared to what the physicians and his team do in their Institute , facing challenges from many quarters . Their dedication to the patients and their mission is exemplary to say the least. So going there for the third time and that too for a patient peer support meeting was something wonderful to look forward to .

After admiring the mind blowing modern architecture of the Novarits campus in Basel it was time to marvel at some elegant and enduring period architecture in Patna ; the Patna Women’s College on Bailey Road and gracious old Patna University campus with its institutions of learning carrying on the heritage of Nalanda . How I wish I had taken pictures of these gracious buildings but I do have pictures of the most common mode of public transport in Patna , the cycle Rickshaw . Still outnumbering the auto rickshaws that are the bane in other cities these gaily coloured contraptions with glittering canopies embroidered with elaborate designs are all over the place. Pink Taj Mahals jostling for space with maroon Hanumans !! No silent elegant green and yellow trams here but screeching rickshaw bells and blaring car horns and Chor Bazaree on every possible airwave . Jiyo ! Jiyo!!

And the Ganges – oh the majesty of the silent one . Not the bright blue ; not the stunning cobalt of the Rhine but a staid and dignified slate reflecting the dull gold of the setting sun , calm and becalming . Wide oh so wide that the bridge spanning it , the Gandhi Sethu is the longest in the continent !! Not a river that runs through the city but a vast expanse that shoulders its living and absorbs the departed as their mortal remains are burnt by its side.

What is it about the flowing river that makes you pause in awe and wonder ? Be it the Rhine or the Ganges knowing that the rushing flow you see beside you has just one purpose – to become one with that big body of oceanic vastness and that if you flow with it you too can become one with the world ?

In Dublin's Fair City

2009-09-03T11:12:00.001-07:00

Where the girls are so pretty

I first set my eyes on

Sweet Molly Mallone

As she wheeled her wheelbarrow

Through the streets broad and narrow

Crying cockles and mussels

Alive Alive a ho ......

One of my favourite , favourite songs from childhood and for so many years Dublin meant only this song and the images of sweet Molly my young mind would conjure up .

I came upon the tribute in bronze to this first lady of Dublin , well for me at least , in the main market square and well though this was not how she was in the mind picture I had of her , here she is holding court in all her beauty...
The song continues in a sad vein
She died of a fever
And no one could save her ........
But her ghost wheels her barrow

Through the streets....

At the innaugural reception of the conference I had gone to attend there was this lovely young lady playing the harp and I asked her if she could play my song for me on her beautiful instrument. She smiled and said she did not have the music for it but of course knew the song . The next day at the conference dinner there was this musician playing the Irish pipes ( he showed me how they were definitley different from the Scottish Bagpipes) with the elbows pumping the "bellows" and he was so kind enough to play Sweet Molly Mallone for me. After whcih he said shyly he was very surprised to know that the "Lady from India" knew this old Irish song !!

O'Bhaiyya this one is for you : )

In search of The Winding Stair (way) to Heaven

2009-09-02T12:05:00.000-07:00

“There’s no going back …. No revisiting some precious memory or getting a chance to savour a special experience once again or so I’ve been told or have read; maybe in not these very words but you get the gist right? I was in Dublin last week on work and had one free afternoon to myself and was hoping to go and yes, re visit a favourite spot of mine in that charming city. It had been five years ago that I visited Dublin for the first time and chanced upon a quaint bookshop and spent a blissful afternoon there browsing amongst its very interesting collection of books. It had hit me then that almost all writers I admired were from Ireland ; Jonathan Swift to James Joyce , Oscar Wilde to Bernard Shaw and my favourite poet Yeats …reader, you may fill in the others !! My already strained budget, then stretched to its very limits prevented me from splurging and I had somehow scraped together some money that time for a special edition of a collection of Yeats’ poems and a cup of hot chocolate in the café upstairs. There was an ancient curved flight of stairs , I remembered , that led to the charming café where one could sit and look across the land mark Ha’Penny Bridge , nurse your drink and leaf through the treasures you had bought . Stairway to heaven indeed !! I had no memory of what it was called nor the name of the street it was on; just that it was across that lovely white bridge over the river ; the pedestrian bridge on the Liffey. This time I had the time and some money put away too ; now if I could only find the shop !! I had my colleague from Russia , sweet Sasha with me and I dragged her off with promises of rare and interesting tomes she could lose herself in . Actually I was quite sure I would not be able to locate it despite the famous landmark for I did not know where that was either . The last time I had just hopped off the Hop On Hop Off bus at the pretty bridge but this time we had to find it ourselves.

Soon we were walking down the busy O’Connell street towards the gleaming silver Spire that seemed to reach into the very skies. Strolling across the wide concrete bridge bustling with late afternoon shoppers and traffic , I happened to look to the other side and there it was a slight distance away , the Ha’Penny Bridge . Thrilled and excited we walked down the side of the little street hugging the river and crossed the bridge . My eyes were scanning the buildings that lined the other side and right enough there it was , “The Winding Stair” not Crooked Steps or Quaint Cottage or anything like that and as soon as I saw it I knew this was it. Entering it my first thought was to look out for that little door that led to the stairs up to the café but I found the wall completely lined with book shelves ; floor to ceiling and I wondered oh was this indeed the place ? It was of course the very same place but I was missing that little door . The person behind the counter raised enquiring eyebrows and came out to see if I needed any help – haltingly I asked him about the stairs upto the café and he said of course I was right but some five years ago the “authorities had , maybe rightly , decided that those stairs were not safe enough and walled them out.” But the shop was the same , the amazing collection as enticing and I realised this must have been exactly after I had been there last and I suppose I could not keep the disappointment out of my voice and visage for both the kind man (Regan the Manager ) and the sweet lady ( Book seller Emee) at the counter with him were quick to reassure me that we were welcome to look around and browse and the café was still there.
Finding the store was joy enough for me and I could see Sasha was equally enthralled and then began the dilemma..Which of the ones I picked up do I take with me ; books are heavy na?

There was no way I was going to leave behind the beautiful collection of A A Milne’s poems nor the Tales from Ireland I picked up for the grandkids nor the little gem on Jazz and Blues that I had earmarked for my brother and the copy of Dame Doubtfire for myself ; well even if I kept that aside , as the lady told me it would make no difference it hardly weighed anything.
(By the way Mom finished reading it in a day and simply loved it)

Some of the books on display brought back memories of childhood for here were publishing houses their logos imprinted in my mind from days long ago and collections like the Girls Annual which I grew up reading. And I simply had to sit down with the Pick of Punch collection …..Nostalgia in its purest form.
Took permission to take pictures and blog this charming experience from the manager and the young lady and came out happier than ever . For some reason we did not go up to the café ; maybe it was because the experience was anyway complete and the charm of the crooked , winding stairway was denied to us anyway . Going up a normal staircase would forever mar the memory I had of the pervious experience. So we walked across to the chocolate shop ahead and ordered steaming hot chocolate and chatted with the other friendly Dubliners there sharing with them our little experience at the Winding Stairs. People are so, so friendly in Dublin ; everyone we met and interacted with had a ready smile and kind words for us and as two ladies prepared to leave making place for us at the tables they promised to go check out this “charming bookstore” that had me waxing eloquent !!!

Oru Whisky Oru Masala Dosa - apologies to Quick Gun Murugan

2009-05-01T09:11:00.000-07:00

Ok small correction -No Whisky and five different kinds of Dosas. Now how did that happen ? A dinner with my Chennai Friends of Max Volunteers http://www.friendsofmax.info/ earlier this month and the venue was the Quality Sabari Inn in T Nagar. The choice was between their Chinese restaurant upstairs and Rendesvouz the Multi Cuisine buffet set up downstairs.

Chinese in Chennai? I bullied the bunch into agreeing to try the buffet downstairs , the well lit spacious area with enough seating and elbow space more conducive to our meeting cum dinner agenda. And the buffet did look good enough to hmmm eat !! But what caught my eye was a display card that said "Dosa Dhamaka" exhorting one to eat as much as one could and went on to describe an array of mouthwatering fillings for more than eight different kinds of dosas - Drat!! I should have taken a picture of that enticing announcement for this post !! Now, I am a staunch fan of dosas whether in Bombay or Bangalore , Chennai or Chicago and if I had to eat dosas day in and day out you will not catch me complaining so I looked at the card and asked the young boy who was waiting at our table if I could have one of those dhamakas . Charming smile in place but in a very firm voice I was told Madame , that is on offer only between 3pm and 6pm and then 11pm and 3 am . Curbing the desire to ask him if people really stayed up and came out to eat so late in Chennai I asked him if he was sure I was told yes Madame very sure only . No dosas at 8 pm. Please see Madame it says right there . 3 pm to 6pm , 11pm to 3am only ; not now .

Not to be placated by his arguments nor bothered by this minor hindrance I asked if that was the case , then why this announcement sitting right there in front of me , raising my hopes and making my mouth water only to be told this was Madame an advertisement . So I came back , very sweetly of course saying then why is this not where advertisements were supposed to be ? In the newspapers or on the board in the lobby or anywhere else but where a hungry , dying for a dosa visitor from Mumbai could only have her hopes dashed so uncaringly ? Mr Charming smiled and wrung his hands and excused himself and extolled the charms of the Buffet - but the message was clear . No Dosas .

Resigning myself to a dosa less dinner I eyed the spread at the buffet table but really could not bring myself to go there and busied myslef bumming the salad off Nagendra's plate . Stubbornly I refused to go and get my own plate and by now the gang was having a nice laugh at my expense giving full marks to Mr Charming for having actually managed to get the better of Amma !!

Finally it is the practical Sasi who says Vijima if you don't have dinner then the meeting will never get underway so please ? And as I got up to do so the Chef walks up to our table and a hush falls upon the laughing group. Yes Madame I believe you want to have the Dosa Dhamaka says the suave looking Chef , his white hat stiff and bright and a twinkle in his eye belying his formal demeanour and I am like wow !! this rocks !

Yes please I say , in fact if no dhamaka then even just any dosa would do for I really want to have a nice hot crisp one if you please ? But I am in for a surprise as the Chef says but No Madame we will try our best to see how many of these fillings we can get for you ; if not eight then at least I can ruslte up four or five ; will that be alright with you . By now I am so impressed and so touched that I can only nod in happy consent .

And with a fourish he walks out and in a few minutes my dosas are brought in one by one , hot and delicious all five of them with innovative fillings , crisp and delicious . Take a bow Chef and I hope you do not mind that I have used your picture without your permission but I did find it on the Quality Sabari Inn page. You rock , your restaurant rocks but most of all the young charming man who waited on us rocks for having brought my persistent request to your attention . And I did not even have to do a Quick Gun Murugan and who missed the Whisky ? Not me - I was on a high anyway already !!

HAPPY GOES LUCKY IN PUNJAB

2009-04-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

It was the beginning of March and I was traveling to the Punjab on work .My itinerary went something like this; arrive in Chandigarh Thursday, drive to Ludhiana for meeting on Friday, drive back down to Chandigarh for another meeting on Saturday there and then cool my heels on Sunday and attend the Medical Oncology OPD on Monday morning and fly back to Bombay on the 1pm flight. It is quite a challenge to do these official trips with my well meaning, super efficient but totally impractical counterparts / partners from the corporate world. They have their deadlines and pressures and God knows what other unavoidable circumstances that cannot be well, avoided and I fully commiserate with them but I am someone who likes a lot of time in between meetings and simply cannot press buttons and “get into presentation mode” one after another like some automated robot. Though that is exactly what I have been doing for the last few months and in the bargain become so very disoriented and cut off from my own life with no time to step back and see where the days are going, be pleasant to loved ones and catch up with their lives they so would like to share with me and …. not to mention post stuff in my blog !!

So back to the Punjab / Haryana trip - Every time I have gone to Chandigarh previously (or anywhere for that matter) it has always been in a frenzy trying to pack the trip’s agenda as tight as possible and then rushing to Delhi in an effort to “might as well catch up with pending work in AIIMS before returning to Bombay” or some such efficient but totally mad and hectic schedule. Weekends disappear swallowed by work that never ends and before I know it I am back in the midst of the mad whirl that life is in the vortex called Bombay (Jude thanks for letting me use your totally apt word for the city we live in) and it is time to catch another flight to someplace else.

Anyway, looking at all the to - ing and fro - ing this particular schedule seemed to have, I decided to do some rearranging of the travel plans that had been made for me and seriously looked at fitting in something totally "unrelated- to - work" I have been longing to do - before all these meetings began. This was, to go visit the Golden Temple in Amritsar .

Every time I go to Chandigarh, Balbir one of our most active patient volunteers who lives in Amritsar has never failed to chastise me for not even making the effort to try and go visit him and his wife Indu there. So this time I decided that would be exactly what I would do !! Go to Amritsar and the Golden Temple.

Then my dear friend Pankaj in Chandigarh waved his magic wand and made all necessary arrangements.Upon getting out of the Chandigarh airport I was smartly and sweetly welcomed by Gulshan who was to be my chauffer, chaperone and chief commentator on the political climate and the state of everything else I wanted know about Punjab and Haryana and the whole country if I so pleased. And I was whisked into a car that would take me to straight to Amritsar.

What followed was one of the best car trips I have ever had – lovely roads, lovely vistas of golden mustard fields ( You MUST believe me when I say Yash Chopra , yes , the very man who re packaged the mustard field and so profitably made it the USP of his films) was a co passenger on the flight from Bombay from Chandigarh and if I had stopped by and looked carefully I might have seen SRK serenading another lady love for his camera all over again .

But what I wanted was Saag and Makki ki Roti which Gulshan Bhai promised would be waiting for me soon. In the meantime we stopped off at Lucky ( what else could it have been named?) Dhabha for a quick chai . The afternoon was glorious and the river Sutlej as blue as the bright sky , the trees low and green and swaying gently over the sun dappled water.

The hours flew by as smooth as the miles the car ate up and as captivating as the snippets of random information Gulshan fed me. Close to four in the afternoon we stopped at this place called Haveli where indeed the Saag Roti lived up to the reputation that preceded it.

Now it was non stop to Amritsar and the setting sun showed us the way . The only regret , and Gulshan felt it more than I, was that we would not be in time to witness the Retreat at the Wagah Border, for the sun set as soon it led us into Amritsar. When I told Gulshan in passing a while later that I had been to Lahore it seemed to make him feel just that bit better that we missed Wagah .

AMRITSAR

The first words of greeting I heard in Amritsar set the tone for the whole of my absolutely awe-inspiring visit in the Punjab. Hello Madam ji, myself Harinder Singh Happy – please call me Happy ! The most honest and humble pair of eyes met mine and with the sweetest smile in them , the warmth of the handshake and the voice brimming over with hospitality endeared him to me at once. Happy ,I learnt , was Balbir’s best friend and he was there along with Balbir and his wife Indu to greet me at the hotel. Along with Happy was also Balbir’s nephew Sunny whose disposition matched his name and I could not have asked for better company. Sunny’s gracious mother and Balbir and Indu’s closest friends and their young children completed the reception party. In less than ten seconds I was made to feel so wanted , so welcomed and cherished by my ready made family from Amritsar.

As soon as was possible we set off for the Temple or The Harmandir Sahib Gurudwara .

THE GOLDEN TEMPLE

In the last light of the day my first glimpse of the temple was nothing short of ethereal. By the time we had left our footwear in the orderly cubicles in the huge area set aside for that purpose and entered the complex, the sky had turned an inky blue and the Golden Dome glistened like the sun itself would have. Those who have been there know what it is like and those who have not, nothing I can say will do justice to it. The aura of peace and purity, the sanctity and the feeling of oneness with all the other devotees, the awe inspiring cleanliness (no where else in this country, in no other place of worship where you are asked to enter bare foot do your feet remain spotlessly clean) and the soul stirring prayer songs relayed from the sanctum sanctorum, all of it in one word is indescribable. The photos I was able to take have not captured even a miniscule part of the experience.

With intentions of returning as early as possible in the morning we left and then it was time to have dinner. Every one who had come to meet me stayed on for dinner and we went to the Bharawan da Dhabha, "World Famous since 1912" said their board proudly and feasted on simply sumptuous simple Punjabi khana – Roti , Chhole , Maa ki daal and Raita.

I agreed to leave only after extracting a promise from Balbir that we would come there again for breakfast the next day. Saying good night and good bye to the lovely people who spent the evening with me was tough ; in the short span of a few hours it was like we had known each other for ever and when I hugged them good bye I had tears in my eyes . Happy and Sunny were both going to be at work the next day and the children had to go to school . I was so touched and humbled by the unconditional love they gave me – an unknown lady from Bombay they were meeting for the first time ever .

Next day the cool morning dawned and as planned we were at the Temple with the first morning light and spent a most satisfying couple of hours in the hallowed atmosphere. It is amazing how clean the water is , devotees bend down after darshan to scoop the holy water and drink it as sacred prasad and the meetha prasad that is given, sooji ka halwa , rich and sweet with the ghee dripping is nothing short of heavenly ambrosia,believe me . The halwa left one's palms all greasy with the ghee and I looked around to see how that could be wiped off. When I realised what the others were doing it seemed to be the most natural thing to do ; rub it on you hair or beard and on your arms and feel the dry skin soften and glisten with the glow of this holy moisturiser !!

We sat at the Langar and had sweet , strong tea served in sparkling clean steel mugs and once again it hit me that this was a place where you were truly one with everyone else. Your faith put you and marked you as one amongst hundreds just like you. The feeling hit me with great power .

And then there was the restored Akal Thakht that was completely destroyed during Operation Bluestar - Indu tells me with the greatest regret in her sweet voice of how it was the saddest thing to ever happen; that such a Holy place could be defiled by the militants .

But on this morning it is bright and heaven blessed and everyone there wears the golden burnished look – proof of being touched by the aura of this place.

Whether it is this newly married couple who let me take their picture or Balbir and Indu’s joy and pride , little Pari as I named her .

I of course , am still glowing!!

Jallianwala Bagh is just a five minute walk from the Golden Temple and one had to go there and pay homage right? I have never been able to process what happened there. Not all the history books, not all the films , not all the retellings can ever make the horror of that carnage seem real but actually walking into the place through that narrow little alley from where Dyer, that misguided soul took his police force in, managed to bring the reality of that horrific action and it hit me like a ton of bricks it did !!

Today in that little maidan , the walls with the bullet holes has been encased in plastic and the well where the poor people threw themselves in to die one upon another, is enshrined, and the rest of it is a pleasant , picturesque public garden . It seemed like the peace and calm in that sun drenched garden with its green lawns and smiling, happy folks enjoying a late winter morning’s warmth must surely bring some solace to the tortured spirits of those who fell to those cruel bullets that rained on them.

We were humbled, incredibly humbled.

And then it was time for the promised breakfast at Bharawan da Dhabha and I ate like lunch at Ludhiana was days away instead of just four hours!!

When it was time for me to go. Balbir would not let me leave without two things Amritsar was famous for ; one the tall glass of Lassi ( actually I had two) from the little back alley behind the Dhabha and a pair of classic Amritsar Joothis .

LUDHIANA

So lassi peeke , joothi khakhe I was on my way to Ludhiana with Gulshan Bhai my sarathi in kind attendance . Ludhiana to me has meant, for some reason, cycles ! and when I said so to Gulshan , he said of course and with some good reason only Madam, for the country’s best cycles come from here and then like Gowri reminded me , of Lal Imli woolens and other hosiery advertisements from my Delhi childhood days . I had never been to Ludhiana before, ever and here I was entering what was looking like a smart city for sure; so many cars and did I see some really fancy ones whizzing past me.

The next day I found myself nodding my head in agreement when Dr Rohit told me this was the place which had the maximum number of Mecedez Benzes per square mile or so –some amazing trivia to know about this Pind in Punjab !! And the maximum number of courteous and helpful men too if one could go by Dr Rohit who took time out of his busy schedule in the morning to take me to a book shop. I had left my book behind in Amritsar and needed one desperately to keep me company the next couple of days while I waited in between meetings.

So he took me to this Book Café ( Only Books no Coffee though) where we browsed and found some interesting titles a couple of them recommended by this guy who we were sure was the owner going by his ummmm proprietorial behaviour . Nice looking guy, smart in his red turban and very friendly and very knowledgeable and eventually it turned out he was also a customer, a regular who spent his free time in the book store happy to meet fellow discerning readers. He wrote down there and then for me a list of books I must read and DVDs I must watch.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Gulshan and it was like saying good bye to a close friend . We had broken bread together, prayed at the Harmandir Sahib together and exchanged so many important views and thoughts,shared parental concerns ; he on his married daughters and me on my married sons and listened to music together; he had enjoyed meeting Balbir and Indu and was full of praise for their lovely Pari and wanted to know all about leukemia. And his smile when I asked him to keep the Dilli 6 CD for his car made my eyes mist over.

I set off then in a private taxi for the two and a half hour trip to Chandigarh. I must say I was missing Gulshan Bhai and Dilli 6 !!

CHANDIGARGH

Early March is maybe the best time to be in this part of the country. The air was fresh and cool , the sun caressing in its golden warmth. Before I knew it we had pulled up at the hotel in Sector 24 and I waited just till I could check in , dump my bags and then was out again book in hand not wanting to miss even a second of the golden afternoon that remained . On my agenda was a quick lunch of paratha / daal and finding a place where I could sit and relax with my book . The whole of the lovely Saturday afternoon stretched before me.

Sector 15 I was told was the nearest market where I could find some place to eat and I was sure I could walk it down. But some ten minutes later I realised I was kind of lost and when an auto rickshaw spluttered to a pause by me and a kind Sardar looked out asking me if I needed a ride I thankfully got in and said “bas Khana khana hai aur thodi dhoop sekhni hai “and he nodded sagely with a conspiratorial smile as though telling me he agreed with me that this was what the afternoon demanded and merited indeed. In a couple of minutes he dropped me right in front of that very market place that had eluded me for the last fifteen minutes. "Jee pichwade ki taraf line lagee hai dhabaon ki – badhiya khaana milega" he said and then pointing to an expanse of green dotted with trees just ahead told me "aur bas araam se apne kitab mein kho jaaiye !! " And then he left , just like that ! refusing to charge me for the ride . Talk about generosity - of the heart and mind !!

And exactly as he had told me , tucked behind the shops fronting the market I found Dhabha after Dhabha lined up offering fare that turned out to be just what I was looking for. Crisp , melt in the mouth rotis , garam garam daal and succulent paneer mutter . Heaven !!

What followed was a leisurely lunch in the sun accompanied by one of the books I had picked up in Ludhiana and washed down by a tall glass of lassi. Across the road the lovely park awaited me and I sank into the grass, propped by a massive tree trunk and spent the rest of the afternoon in the most wonderful kind of stupor .

When the phone rang I reluctantly answered it but once I began to understand what Dr Pankaj ( the magician who conjured up the Amritsar trip) was telling me I was left open mouthed in surprised pleasure . Seeing that I had a Sunday with nothing to do in between the evening meeting and Monday’s appointment he had organized a day trip for me – to Shimla . 7am next morning , he told me the car and driver would be there along with two of the Volunteers from Sahayata who were to be my companions for the day!! Just what the doctor ordered so no disobeying this one !!

SHIMLA

So it was becoming a mini Bharat Darshan as you can see from the length of this post . I had never been to Shimla in my life . Shimla to me meant an old, faded but much loved photograph from the family album .

That of my father , taken more than half a century ago on one of his official visits from Delhi . Dapper and debonair like he always was, in his pinstriped suit , his pipe held oh so elegantly with one hand and the fir tree in the back ground. My first thought was Oh Shimla ! Maybe I would find that fir tree Babuji posed in front of and made immortal in my mind’s picture of Shimla. So all through that day one part of me was looking out for that probable spot !!

But then I am jumping ahead - 7am on dot the car was there to pick up and you can imagine my happiness at seeing it was none other than Gulshan who was there to take us to Shimla that day; and the lovely ladies who had surrendered their Sunday with their family - what can I say about them ! I was indeed blessed . What I take back from that day about both of them is Nimmi's infectious laughter and her courageous anthem that she says has helped her cope with all the lemons life has thrown at her - "Jaati Baharen hai ji - jiyo !!" And Mrs Puri , gentle and lovley, all the time misisng her husband who she had abandoned for the day back home but who was determined to show me her Shimla !! In fact , she detailed her daughter who lived there in Shimla and that lovely girl too gave up her Sunday to take us over the beautiful hill station.

In less than three and a half hours ( a stop at the apparenlty cult like Sardar's for breakfast included) Gulshan had us up there in Shimla and we took the quaint lift up to the Mall Road to soak up sun and atmosphere.

So we set off - the day was bright and clear , crisp and cool and a look at the pictures will tell you all that we saw and all that we enjoyed.

The brilliant blue of the sky , the tragically run down architectural marvels , the monkey playing with the Kali Bari Mandir ka prasad ,

the stark and historic church and, oh the most wonderful place in Shimla the Viceregal Lodge and thanks once again to Jude for this quote - " Imperial power poured out to affect the millions of people across the subcontinent from Afghanistan in the West to Burma in the East and as the British Empire climbed to its High Noon some one -fifth of mankind was ruled from this hilltop mansion - the Viceregal Lodge in Simla" ....see for yourself !!

and maybe I did find the fir tree, Babuji's tree from all those years ago!!

I boarded the flight back to Bombay after a morning's work at the hospital on Monday thinking of the wonderful four days I had just got to spend and the beautiful people I had met and how much they touched my heart - and not just the people I met . The Punjabis are adorable - period. The Gabru jawans and the soni Muthiars so full of life and so honest in their zest for that life ; so happy and simple !! By the way all three nights in each of the different cities there were wedding parties going on full swing and in one of them another Happy was going to live happily (of course) ever after with his Son(u)i kudi ...

And oh by the way , the young boy who drove me to the Chandigargh airport was called Honey !!
And he was as sweet and charming as his name !!

DILLI Tchah!! apologies to Dilli 6

2009-02-09T07:15:00.000-08:00

Hey , don't get me wrong , I love Dilli , unconditionally and unreservedly . I grew up here and every time I come here the city simply wraps itself around me . And everytime I come back to Bombay I want to bring back with me its lovely flyovers and trees and roads and maybe some time the Lodhi Gardens too but oh spare me the airport and its pitfalls especially if you have to change flights oh oh now you know where the Tchah and why the Tchah comes in ...
So last week I get off an Indian Airlines ( calling it Air India I find very vague for to me AI is not IA ) flight from Patna and need to get another IA flight to Bombay. Even though my ticket says it's the same terminal I am told by a helpful , meticulous - both in appearance and manner- IA personnel that I need to get to Terminal 1A and that just outside this terminal bus # 2010 , parked outside the Balaji eating place will take me there. I am totally impressed by the IA personnel, both on and off the aircraft and seriously feel the other airlines need to relax a bit with their over made up and umm well...you know what I mean.
But I digress; to get back to the terminal hunt - with the airport and its surround area in total shambles with all the construction work going on - some day it should be worth all the trouble I hope , trying to wheel your overnighter over all that rubble ... so I get to the hopefully designated spot to wait for bus # 2010 ( it's still 2009 my stupid mind says - just one year's wait ) and looking around notice only one of those huge ungainly tourist buses proudly proclaiming to be Panicker's and tell myself don't panic the bus coming for you is one of those sleek beauties whizzing past you ; just wait for 2010.
Soon other travelers join me and we excahnge tentative hopeful glances feeling comforted we are not the only ones waiting but WHERE IS 2010? We do have a connecting flight and there is no sign of the bus . As one little travel weary girl clutching on to a very fresh as a daisy Barbie doll wails " But Mamma our other plane is goin to go now ". I echo that thought too and now we are at least a dozen or more of motely passengers getting a bit irritated. By now we hear first and then notice Panicker's slowly revving up and spewing exhaust all over the place lumbering up and away and I wonder where he is off to - all empty . Maybe we can hitch a ride?? By now the grumblings in our group gets audible and attracts the attention of a young airprot attendant who is wheeling a winding trolley serpent past us . He looks at us languidly , waves a careless hand towards Panicker's and says " woh bus hai ji aapki 1A tak chalegi" and wow do we Panic ..er all helter skelter running towards it waving arms and laptop bags and Barbies ...phew !!
So what hapenned to 2010 ? This is the bus to 1A ?? Hullo Driver ji? Driver ji points to a handkerchief sized muddy paper stuck to the corner of his windshield which does say albeit faintly To Terminal 1A Come Ye Come One Come All ...ok ok I added that last bit ..anyway all of us suitably chastised pile into the bus and Bingo the bus takes a long u - turn and brings us right back to where we were at least so it seems ; or all this construction / renovation simply makes it all look the same .
Now I am sure , to complete my misery I will be told to go back to the same terminal but thankfully no, it is Terminal 1A I need to be at. Great , I still do have some time to catch up with some work before checking in and maybe even a coffee and hey there's cricket too and India is batting chalo chalo .....
Think again ; I hunt high and low for a plug point to charge the dying laptop but no go so I say ok God meant me to watch Dhoni go for it and can you beleive it not one of the 15 odd TV screens have the match showing ?
Oh the unkindest cut of all ...yeh Dilli hai mere yaar !!!

THE OTHER TAJ - A TRIBUTE

2008-11-28T12:06:00.000-08:00

For more than a hundred years she has been that iconic image that comes to anyone’s mind when you say “Bombay”. This unimaginable, horrific image of the Taj Hotel, I know, is bringing an ache to every heart in Bombay today. Have we not all loved and cherished this grand old dame keeping an elegant watch on the shores of our city; a city that looks at her in turn so much with pride. As I write this I am watching on television her burnt shell, blasted windows and charred columns, a fire raging inside; both her and me . I cannot believe it. I am weeping but the tears do not douse that fire.

Just twenty four hours before the mad carnage began I was at the poolside of the Taj enjoying the cool night breeze there with dear friends ; sipping a glass of red wine and laughingly telling the sweet, bright young man who waited at our table to guard my laptop with his life while I went to the ladies’ room. My dear child, I pray and hope you are safe home and in the bosom of your family and may no one ever talk to you again of your precious life as lightly as I did. I hope you will forgive me for that thoughtless remark. I cannot bring myself to think of what you may have undergone just twenty four hours later ; today I read in some newspaper report that the pool was red with spilt blood , as red as the warm wine you served me by its side.

The Taj – every one I know in Bombay has at least a handful of special memories associated with this beautiful edifice which is much more than just the #1 hotel. My young friend Alakta was married here; “Oh Aunty,” she wailed to me on the phone today, “in that very suite that has been burning all day! Oh my heart is broken seeing that”!

I will never forget my first visit to the Taj. A visit that was as special as special can be. It was in 1976. My husband and I were invited to dine with my favourite Uncle and Aunty (I have always called them that, everyone in my family calls them that including my parents whose best friends they were.) who were visiting from Hyderabad. I had practically grown up in their house (during my childhood years in Pondicherry) and they were meeting my husband for the first time and were seeing me as a young mother; yes, my six months old first born was with us. Before taking us down to dine at the Golden Dragon that Mecca of all Chinese Restaurants that is one of the gems that shine in this Taj, Aunty had ensured that a baby sitter from the hotel would stay back in their charming room to look after our sleeping baby. Oh what luxury and what kindness shown to a young, gauche mother.

More than thirty years since that first time and till today, I have caught myself, like so many others, very often being drawn to the gracious portals of the Taj.

The Taj in my “welcome to Bombay” guide book is a mandatory stop for anyone who came to visit with me. I simply had to take my guests there to have a look at that marvel of an architectural masterpiece. And to listen to the oft recounted (maybe not entirely true but worth the telling anyway) tale of how this mammoth hotel was by mistake built with its front facade facing the back streets of Colaba instead of the sea ? And how the French architect killed himself in grief?

I love this picture of my dear friend from land locked Chandigarh exulting in the beauty of the hotel and lovely sea breeze that caresses your face as you stand looking out at the waters.

At one time the lobby was an amazing, classy and beautifully designed work of art. I can still vividly recall the intricately patterned , deep velvety carpet , the stylish sofas around it and the gigantic flower arrangement ; the centerpiece adding the final classy touch with its colour coordinated gladioli and chrysanthemums . I remember we would save up for a once- in -a -while treat; the brunch at the Shamiana which in those days was just off this charming lobby and offered quite a feast.

And after the brunch it was mandatory we step into Nalanda the “little” bookshop which however seemed to be big enough to have place for any title one was looking for.

Then suddenly one day they changed the décor; to garish gold and patterned marble with shades of Dubai sheen and shine both in the lobby and the foyer outside – ouch! The simulated waterfall was even worse. But then we forgave them this trespass for was I not able to, anytime, walk into the Taj and powder my nose at their most comfortable “facilities”. I will today shamelessly confess that many is the time I have just walked in, while in that part of town, returning gracious, polite smiles of the wonderful staff and popped in to visit the well appointed Ladies’ Room. On the way, every single time I would stop to gaze in delight at the glassed enclosure on the wall that contained some of the rarest most beautiful photographs of the Taj's famous guests. Queen Elizabeth and Jackie O , Maharani Gayatri Devi,a breathtakingly lovley , young Shobha De, John Lennon, the dashing Nasser and so many others .

One also forgave them, then, those momentarily misguided souls responsible for the new décor for did they not leave the heavenly Sea Lounge untouched and un spoilt?
Another favourite haunt , the Sea Lounge where one could sit at a secluded window and look out at the calm , beautiful waters of the Arabian Sea lapping away gently at the steps leading to the Gateway of India . I have regularly put away a little of my pin money to splurge on a bottle of chilled Kingfisher while catching up with my work there on many a quiet afternoon; I have brought special friends and family to spend charmed, precious moments together here and one evening after thrilling to Titanic at the Regal I came with my mother, to soothe our nerves with the smooth sea under the windows and trying to forget the disturbing waters that swallowed up handsome D’caprio .

The kindly steward who shared his name with my old college librarian and the gentleman with the magic fingers as they slid over the piano keys added to the perfect atmosphere of this magical lounge on the first floor of the heritage building.

And was it not to the Sea Lounge that my husband and I brought our newly wedded son and his lovely bride one Christmas eve? Yes, it was, and where we met someone,also a familiar frequentor of the Lounge ,the gracious Rusi Lala and his lovely wife ( Mr Lala, author of For the Love of India — The Life and Times of Jamsetji Tata and my Guru in Cancer Care) And it was to the Sea Lounge we came a few years later,with our other son and daughter in law, to drink to the health of our granddaughter, the day she was born in far away Montreal. One day we will bring her too, so she can sit and sip wine in the hotel where years and years ago her Papa, when he was six months old slept in sweet comfort under the watchful eye of the hotel baby-sitter!!

Wah Taj , I wait for that day .

Calcutta again

2008-11-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

See that "6am on a bright November morning picture I posted" ? Its the Victoria Memorial in Calcutta (in case any one did not know which in itself is a dumb assumption -everyone would, well, should know that). What maybe some of us may not know is that it costs Rs 4 to enter the Memorial gardens for a constitutional or whatever may take one's fancy to be busy doing there at 6 am on a bright November morning or any time of day or any month for any reason.
Work takes me very often to Calcutta and I stay at this quaint old club on Shakespeare Sarani ( the only road I know on earth named after the Bard - the Bard as in you know who ; not as in how the dear citizen of Calcutta would call a winged friend ) Who were also there by the way ,walking alongside me , enjoying the beauty of the well manicured gardens.

This beautiful, ethereal edifice and its surrounding gardens is just a brisk twenty minute walk away from the Club and it is very difficult to resist the temptation to rush off there for a morning walk. As with Anjeer ice cream, Long Island Ice Tea and other temptations, I do not resist; I simply give in and set off each morning I am there, to join many like minded persons briskly walking around the grand memorial.

So last week when I gave in to temptation I kind of forgot there was this Rs 4 business and all I carried with me were my room keys and my I Pod. Uh uh oh now what? It always pays to be honest so I walked up to the ticket counter , smiled a bright good morning and asked the slightly harassed looking man , " Ticket lena padega na ? " A quick upward glance combined with a vigorous nod and he was back to arranging the coins given by conscientious walkers that morning. I edged closer, putting my best, bright Bombay face forward and said, “Boss, mein to Bombay se ayee hoon aur maloom nahi tha. Kal doongi tho chalega?" Again he looked up about to brush off this intruder of his coin managing ceremonies but maybe my pleading eyes did the trick. He peeled off one bright yellow ticket and waved me away with an actually indulgent smile. Not many would have begged to do this I thought to myself and he must have felt like indulging this earnest request .I hugged my joy at this little victory to myself and went in to pay respects to Victoria. Already my mind was playing the scene that would unfold, inshallah within 24 hours, when I would come with Rs 8 and clear this debt so trustingly given. I was determined to come back the next day and do the Bombay spirit proud. But till then I had a whole hour and the brightest of mornings to revel in. The next day I had to, along with Rs 8 bring the camera too. The eastern morning light in all its glory and the beautiful memorial against the porcelain sky - oh yes I was in the city of joy. Enjoy!!

Ps the next morning it was a wonderful feeling to walk up to the man , hand over two sets of Rs 4 and see recognition and a mildly surprised , happy look of justification of faith randomly given. Now I have let the camera speak .... Also watch this space for what happens on the streets where you live in Calcutta 5 30am onwards.

6 am on a bright November morning

2008-11-21T09:26:00.000-08:00

PARIS IN THE SPRINGTIME

2008-08-24T09:05:00.000-07:00

I love Paris in the springtime.
I loved Paris earlier this year when we went there for a holiday and found out, much to our surprise that voila! the French now spoke English and even some Spanish; Quite a change from the twenty nine odd year ago experience when we were stranded in the city with two bawling babies in tow, thanks to a cancelled flight en route to Venezuela. When the only language we heard then was harsh and unfriendly and decidedly un romantic. I remember mumbling Bogart style to my husband, sotto voice “We’ll always have Paris” to remind us of that horrendous voyage across the world from home.

So that , in 1979 , was my first glimpse of Paris, well longer than just a glimpse; in fact a good look that lasted as long as it took us to get to Orly from De Gaulle. Sitting inside an almost glass bubble like bus we were whizzed across the city and I remember telling myself this is where Bogart romanced Ingrid Bergman in ’48 and “Sabrina” Audrey Hepburn in ’54 and where a little earlier Leslie Caron’s heart wrenchingly adorable Gigi loved and almost lost her gorgeous Louis Jordan. Closer to home this was where La Tagore did her swimsuit number cooing ‘Ja Ja” to Shammi Kapoor’s “Kaho Pyaar Hai Tumse” one gorgeous Evening in Paris. And oh how can I forget the hand bag in the window of the store in Champ Elysees that Vyjayanthimala would have died for? That beautiful and elegant Radha of Sangam who wowed the Parisians walking down the streets of their city draped in her graceful white and green silk saree and who amused those matrons on the Eiffel Tower as she adroitly avoided the kisses of Raj Kapoor. Or how, dressed in the lampshade and drapes of her honeymoon suite in Paris she eventually managed to saucily seduce him and keep him away from the cabaret down the road in the Lido. Oh yes Paris to me then was most definitely the city these two made their own in that mother of all love stories, Sangam.

Sitting in the bus that day with one son asleep in my arms and the other gazing in jet lagged stupor from my equally jet lagged husband’s lap, I made myself a promise. Some day I would come back here to this city and walk down those elegant avenues and lounge on those lustrous lawns of its gardens. Maybe even get my husband to romance me up the Eiffel Tower? And I would wear my saree with as much grace and elegance as Vyjayanthimala.

Thirty years is a long time to wait but was it worth the wait Mon Dieu! It was!

The Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triumph ; the river Seine flowing through the heart of the city or the awe-inspiring Louvre by its side ; the Notre Dame or the imposing Pantheon ; the Luxemburg Gardens or the Sorbonne ;the Bastille memorial or the Grand Palais , Montemarte or the Latin Quarter - every thing was breathtakingly beautiful. A city with atmosphere that seeped into your consciousness; a city steeped in history with an architectural beauty that left us breathless with wonder.

We would get up every day and after a leisurely and delicious breakfast served with charm and care by the lovely lady in charge at our tiny little hotel (my husband had to tuck in his head into his 6ft 1 frame to enter into the café and it was a wonder we did not break any elbows and knees navigating our way from bed to bathroom in our handkerchief sized room ) we would step out into the crisp, cold air of a late spring morning. No map, no tour guide, no agenda.

We just followed the river which we found to our delight was just a few hundred yards ahead of the hotel and let its undulating course lead us . Day after day that was what we did; held hands and walked.

Crossed the quaint and beautiful bridges at our will but always coming back to the Left Bank to savour the odds and ends and hundreds of old books and posters and paintings on display in the row upon row of roadside stalls.. These old pavement book stores can give our Churchgate wallahs a good run for their money.

If we saw a museum on the way, we wandered in ; only to be mildly surprised that the imposing structure had been a railway station a hundred years ago! If we were enticed by the narrow alleyways and streets of the working class neighborhood, then we strolled in them; if the aroma of coffee from one of the street side cafes was too irresistible, then we simply succumbed. If one lady who waited tables at one of those cafes was rude (it happened only, only, yes, only once so we forgave the city it’s that one single trespass) we smiled, turned the other cheek and walked on.

On one such foray we crossed the river from the Left bank on an ancient but sturdy wooden bridge (upon which slept the most handsome man I have ever seen) and walked into this magnificent courtyard which was simply the most beautiful place I have ever seen – a large fountain surrounded by magnificent apartments of what surely was a palace.

We just followed our feet that seemed to be drawn of their own will and crossed an imposing arch that looked out on yet another , if possible, even more grand courtyard and foaming fountain and then it struck us ,when our eyes got accustomed to the glare from the glittering crystal pyramid that we were actually at the Louvre !!

That was it: all one had to do was cross a river and walk across the road and just find yourself at what was first a fortress built some 900 years ago,

then converted into a palace and then a museum like no other

…so of course we simply had to go and pay homage to that simple lady with the enigmatic smile, wife of a wealthy merchant from Florence, whom da Vinci made immortal.

But what really took my breath away was Venus de Milo whose simple beauty is so enthralling you can feel her armless embrace captivate you and hold you spell bound. And to think she lay submerged in the wet embrace of the sea for so long!!

We were mildly amused to see that there was no getting away from the da Vinci Code influence I am afraid and a special guided tour awaited those who were Dan Brown fans: the da Vinci Code trail or some such sensational, best selling deal. Well , if a tacky Abhishek Bacchan and Lara Dutta can sell their “ticket to Hollywood” and do that inane dance on those classic streets of Paris then let us not grudge Dan Brown his moment of fame there.

We knelt and prayed our grateful hearts out at the Notre Dame and remembered Esmeralda and her hunchbacked Quasimodo. We did not go up the Eiffel Tower but my husband took me out for ice cream every night on the street just outside the massive gates of the Sorbonne. That was romance enough for me.

We drank beer on Champ Elysees and waved out to the friendly man in the HSBC office. We wandered in the beautiful Luxemburg and Tuileries gardens and enjoyed the bounty of the city that has exhibitions under the open skies for all to enjoy.

At the Place Dauphines we stilled our hearts when we thought of the unfortunate ones whose heads had fallen under the guillotine.

I must confess we did not look too hard for the tavern owned by Madame Defarge, nor Café Flore of existentialism fame but took the metro and slaked our thirst at the Hard Rock Café.

Was it Oscar Wilde who said that when good Americans die they go to Paris? We managed to be neither but still got to go. Oh! And I found and bought my Parisian hand bag too, a roomy, brown concoction in the softest of all leathers that hangs on my shoulder holding wonderful memories of a beautiful, charming city.

Glimpses of Patna - The stairway to the highest seat of learning - Nalanda

2008-05-06T12:58:00.001-07:00

Glimpses of Patna - The stairway to the highest seat of learning - Nalanda

2008-05-06T12:58:00.000-07:00

Glimpses of Patna -The Ruins of Nalanda

2008-05-06T12:54:00.000-07:00

Glimpses of Patna - at the ruins of Nalanda

2008-05-06T12:49:00.000-07:00

Glimpses of Patna -The Yellow House

2008-05-06T12:38:00.000-07:00

Glimpses of Patna - On the Gandhi Sethu above the Ganges - the longest bridge over water

2008-05-06T12:27:00.000-07:00

HOW (NOT)TO GO TO PATNA

2008-05-06T12:15:00.000-07:00

Work took me to Patna last month.This was the first time we were going to have a patient support group meeting in the state of Bihar. Our Mantra for 2008 “to reach out to regions as yet not visited” was going to be set to tune first in Patna. I had been warned that getting to Patna might mean a via Delhi – Ranchi route and some 8 hrs flying time but looking at flight timetables we found out much to our delight in the MI Office that there was indeed a DIRECT flight to Patna from Mumbai – this was great news but the bad news was it was a 5 am flight – not to be deterred by such a small inconvenience I set off from home at like 3 am , a bit bleary eyed but lots of excitement . I was carrying kit bags from the Bangalore Meet and lots of educational material in Hindi so it was a relief to get to the check in counter –cartons and all.

With a very cheerful expression on his face the airline staff wished me a bright Good Morning and asked for my ticket . One look at it and the brightness dimmed a bit and I said to myself “Oh – flight delayed!! But it was worse than that. Struggling to look still cheerful and with a “its not my fault “ tone he told me , “Ma’am the flight is cancelled ; Please go to the Supervisor’s counter that way and they will take care of you “

At 4am in the morning being told that your 5 am flight for which you woke up at 2 am to leave the house at 3 am is cancelled is not the best deal but I kept the panic and disbelief and some anger at bay and I could hear myself ask him in a most uncomprehending tone –Cancelled? You mean I cannot get to Patna ? But I have to be there today; I have a meeting to attend and I am carrying all the material and how ?what? when ….. ?

The guy was helpless – he motioned me towards the Supervisor counter and was already attending to the next passenger in line after me who was on his way blissfully to Chennai and whose flight was NOT cancelled . Some people have all the luck. Especialy at 4 am in the morning

I headed towards the Supervisor’s counter, feeling worried and terribly upset at this totally unexpected turn of events – was the airline not supposed to let you know of cancellations and delays and would they put me on another flight ???? Would I reach Patna in time ?

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of much clamour emanating from the very Supervisor’s counter I was approaching – there were at least two dozen harassed people creating all that hungama and it needed no Sherlock Holmes to tell me they were also Patna hopefuls just a bit more vocal than I had been a while ago. But soon it was obvious that there were a couple of “gentle” men who were more vocal than the others and the words they were using were not very gentle at all. In fact the pretty young girl at the receiving end was pale with shock and fear as threats were being made to break her monitor if she would not find them other flights that would get them to Patna RIGHT NOW. The gaalis grew less and less pretty or more and more ugly if you would have it that way

Even though the” I want to get to Patna right now “chant was what I was saying too I was not sure those were the means I would use to get to Patna . I quickly did a turn around half way and rushed back to the cheerful (well, he was not as cheerful now) young man at my first counter. The vile threats were very audible and I looked pleadingly at him , willing him not to turn me away and expect me to fight my way through those you know who . For some reason ( maybe all the luggage I had and my totally harassed expression and the fact I had not raised my voice ) the young man decided to see “what he could do for me “ He asked me to stay right there with my cartons and bags and rushed off . Some minutes later he came back with two boarding cards – one for the flight to Delhi in an hour’s time and then another to Patna from there. I could not believe my luck but soon it was panic mode again when he told me “Don’t worry Ma’am – you will be in Patna by 6 pm today ‘ I heard myself wail “ But I have to be there before 3pm – patients would have already started coming from Bhagalpur and Sitamarhi and Beghusarai!!” I cannot NOT be there.” I mean, if I had wanted to be in Patna by 6pm I most definitely would not be there at Mumbai airport willing to check in at 4 am !!

The young man, to his credit, a very well mannered and polite member of the ground staff , was once again reduced to throwing his hands up in despair saying this was the best he could do . I begged him to look at other alternatives – the Indian Airlines flight that was to leave at 8am , never mind if it did full UP Darshan; was there a way to go via Lucknow ? I would have taken any mode of transport from anywhere but I simply HAD to get to Patna. Umesh Tiwari had promised to come , Surendra Rai had promised to come all the way from Bhagalpur and Umesh Sharma from Motihari , young Manoj Kumar was looking forward to meeting me , like all others , for the first time ; there was no way I could let them down. But the airline was not delivering!!
.
The map of North East India was slowly unfolding in my mind – and I thought suddenly, Oh Calcutta! well, Kolkota ! All the while I had been thinking UP but realsied West Bengal was an option too. And I knew there was a red eye flight to Kolkota from Bombay – had been on that many a time and in fact taking it again in a couple of weeks .
I also realised that the verbal volleys at the Supervisor Counter had slowed down. Sleeplessness, for some of these men had flown in from Cape Town as I later learnt, and total exhaustion had lessened the intensity of their protests. Realising that I couldn’t make this work on my own I made my way to the midst of the angry , tired guys and tried to see if they would listen to the voice of reason , even though it was female ( at least in their opinion)

We were twenty seven most unlikely bedfellows but with a common mission – we had to get to Patna. I said, Bhai saheb log, do you know there is a flight to Kolkota in about an hour or so and Patna is just a half hour lap from there? We took our suggestion to the folks at the counter and it still surprises me as to why it did not strike them to suggest this option . For once they found out that we could be accommodated by the airline in that flight they also told us they themselves had a flight to Patna from Kolkota that we could take – it was going to be a tight fit but we could just do it !!

All this while I had been trying to get in touch with my volunteer Prashant in Patna for dear Prashant was to come to the airport at 7am .

Anyway to cut this long story short, it was Kolkota and then after a tense wait for the baggage, a rushed check in and finally we were in Patna – well in time for the meeting that was attended by almost 150 people - what an afternoon it was.

All of us know of the great cultural heritage of Patna and the state of Bihar –Pataliputra as it was known in early times is steeped in history –It is here that great dynasties like the Guptas and Mauryas established their golden reign ; It is the birthplace of Guru Gobind Singh the 10th Guru of the Sikhs and it houses the final resting place of Lord Mahavir’s sacred ashes in the beautiful Jal Mandir – above all this is where Gautam Buddha achieved his Nirvana , giving to the world the message of peace and renunciation . The Holy Ganges runs through the city and on Sunday, the day after the meeting we drove alongside its banks to visit the ruins of Nalanda.

The pictures speak the story of this wonderful architectural marvel – still in perfect condition after centuries.

Thank you my friends in Patna for a wonderful meeting and lessons in culture and heritage. “Simple and respectful” is how a dear insightful friend described the people he said I would meet in Patna and they were all that and more.

BLUE SKIES AND GOLDEN APRIL SUNSETS

2008-04-11T21:24:00.000-07:00

Am I obsessed with sunsets ? Maybe . But again maybe it is Marine Drive . Something about that intoxicating curve into the sea entices me at least a couple of times a week to just "swing by" and soak in the best skyline in the world and if it is that time of day when the sun is dipping then all the more better. Dear friend Cyrus took this picture one sun drenched evening last week and it has motivated me into blogging again after a three month drought. Here's to you Cyrus and our lovely city and more evenings on Marine Drive

ANOTHER YEAR GONE ANOTHER ARRIVES

2008-01-01T02:06:00.000-08:00

31/12/07

another year upon us
another day
another morning
to live
love and learn
together
i saw the sun
set this
evening
over haji ali
and tomorrow
morning
may the Lord
bless me
with sunrise
over the dombivili
hills
another year
another day
another morning

1/1/08
The sun rose
over the
dull blue hills
this morn
I am indeed
blessed

Ganga's Mother sits outside the Pediatric Oncology Wing

2007-11-03T23:16:00.000-07:00

Ganga’s Mother
herself so young
pliant
vulnerable
searching for
shelter from the
storm

Her baby
who once
danced by
the reeds
on the river side

Needs to be
carried across
the smallest of
streams
now

That life force
in her
has lost its
direction
and
is taking her
away

Beyond bridges
unknown
the current
too strong
unrelenting
uncaring

And
Ganga’s Mother
pleads with her
eyes

But does not
forget to
smile her gratitude
for the smile
you sent her way

THELMA AND LOUISE PART II

2007-11-03T02:12:00.000-07:00

May be we are the original Thelma and Louise and the inspiration for Ridley Scott...This is Pat and I , Pat my friend and soul sister in Seattle !! And we set out on our rather ambitious seven day drive to California and back in the summer of 2006. Both of us had time we badly needed to take off from work and I was totally won over by Pat's idea that we take the week off and combine it with the misison of "Bring Pablo back home from summer camp and give the rest of the boys a good time while doing that " Ambitious and brave considering "the boys" were Tomas , Alex and Matias , Pablo's brothers and Pat's sons ! Those poor guys !! imagine on a Road Trip with Mom and Mom's friend - they must have surley thought "whose idea of fun was THIS ??"

..but then again we never had a sky blue Thunderbird like Scott's girls ; not even this peach one I found parked in a bylane in Seattle that summer, though every morning as I passed it on my morning walk I did try to devise plans of just running away with it ...but i digress. To go back to the Thelma and Louise saga - we had not killed anyone and no police detective was behind us though one of their tribe did catch up with us but that comes much later in the story .

And we never drove our wheels off the edge into waters of anykind -oh no we stayed put and faced our challenges .

Our challenges , our charges , four young energetic, demanding, absolutely adorable young men all of eight years to fourteen years ; Pat's four sons !! I have already introduced them of course to you but let me also add that they are, each one of them, my dearest friends -I have known them for over five years now and in these five years they have , every summer, made me so welcome in their home , sharing home and hearth and bathrooms, mealtimes and late night cereal snacks and shopping trips and day trips to the mountains , their camp tents and everything a family does togehter in the summer - I simply adore them !

Very reluctanly we let go all dreams of the Peach Thunderbird and packed our selves and our charges and food and games and movies and books and bags - sleeping and otherwise into the sturdiest of all wheels - a Suburban with room for all of us and any excess baggage any of us carried too , waved good bye to Gramma ( I can still see the look of sheer peace on Gramma's face knowing she would not be seeing us f0r the next ten days ) and we were like California Ahoy !! Here we come all the way down NH 101 from the grey and misty North West to sunny skies and blue seas - Surfing USA playing in our minds!!!

Hit the Road Pat said I who was chief Navigator -this will tell you either how brave Pat is or how desparate -me navigating the drive down to California , someone who has never driven a car in the US and has never even held one of those Rand Mc somehting or the other in her hands . But there is always a first time so we did indeed hit the road . When I was not wondering at the incredible blue of the sky I was speechless at the gorgeous roads and wondering where all the other traffic was - anyone who has driven down a road in Bombay - you cannot miss the other guys joslting for space just cheek by jowl with the bumper or mud guard of the neighbouring car so will you just look at this picture ?? I became a brave and confident navigator knowing we would have no problem in locating our various destinations and pit stops en route to where ever I was taking Pat and the boys - I realised all you need to know to drive in this country is to know how to read - and not just the map in this picture below

The signs all the way along the freeway are amazing . Exits and underpasses and rest areas - you keep your eyes open and alert and you cannot make a mistkae - soon I was like Oh I can do this for the rest of my life !! Well there was the ocassional sign I missed and the ocassional times I nodded off to sleep but we did not get to any place we should not have and got to most of the places we should have !! The problem was the gaping / gawking tourist in me that kept taking over from Ms Navigator . Pat of course had the gun to my head so woe betide me if i goofed up time and again !!! But then Pat , don't you love the pictures ???

Having been in Seattle almost every summer the last few years I had grown to love Mt Rainier and the incredible manner in which it seems to loom over the city - no clear summer day was complete unless one had caught a glimpse of the towering peak. Completely magical !!

Now as we drove past Tacoma and then Portland Oregon well on our way South there loomed ahead of us Mt Shastha , not as big of course but as beautiful with the white fluffy clouds floating around its peak and the ever greens adding the picture post card effect to the scenic view. Every few minutes ahead and every bend in the road meant views even better than the last

Before we knew it the Suburban was eating the miles and soon we had left behind us the mountanious (well almost mountainous ) terrain and the road ahead was flat - I will never forget how what at first seemed like fluffy clouds on the horizon turned out to be some kind of huge fire the closer to which we got the more ominous and frightenning it seemd . Creeping almost right on top of us till we realsied we were going to go past it un affected. On our way back we weren't so lucky - a similar fire managed to keep us in the midst of stalled traffic for hours and forced us to take a detour which put Ms Navigator to work but more on that later...we were well on our way now !!

The boys were perfect - they were already through two of the DVDs and had still not tired of watchng Pirates of the Carribean. Soon we got a chance to stretch our legs at the gas station , clean the grime off the windscreen ( this picture I showed to Ashok who drives my car in Bombay and he was shocked that in Amreeka you have to clean the windshield yourself ??!! Why , no one to do it there or what? Not only that Ashok but there is no one to fill the tank too - you park the car , get out , fill the tank, pay by card to the machine and you are on your way !!

Our first night's stop was Eugene , a picturesque little college town housing the University of Oregon . The boys were delighted with the pool at the first of the Green Tree Inns we stopped at and soon their hot, tired bodies were splashing in the cool waters while Pat and I decided to walk in the campus. Strolling through those tree lined streets and looking at the Universtity buildings , some amazing architecture indeed , my pet ambition was brought back to my mind with a kind of aching longing -to go to school in an American University and study American History ; maybe I still will do that one of these days who knows ? What say Pat? The summer evening was cool, long and delicious and as heady as any drink that would answer to that description and our wandering around brought us into the sports stadium where the trials were being held for an inter University sports meet. The raw but controlled energy of the sprinters , the gorgeous , fit physiques of the athletes, their faces and bodies shining in the setting sun's golden light ; it seemd as though some gleaming Greek Gods had come down to earth to display their skills ! The next morning we were back for one more glimpse of the beautiful campus and were in time to catch a student lovingly water the young recently planted trees in a mechanical contraption - up at 6am to earn some extra , much needed green backs !!!
After breaking fast on hot, warm muffins and "make your own" waffles smothered in butter and drowned in honey (Matias my teacher ) we were off -the next stop being Corning (no, said Pat when I looked at her with eyes widenning in recognition , NOT the Corning of the Corning Ware dishes ) Corning in the midlde of miles and miles of Olive trees planted with precision , the dull muted gold of their foliage perfectly setting off the uninterrupted porcelain of the blue sky - I had to get in a metaphor to do with ceramics - dishes or no dishes !!!

I wish I had a picture of the sun set that greeted us as we took the exit turn from the freeway into Corning - your's truly, photo queen was stunned into unbeleiving imobility -huge, orange and flaming , the ball of fire was sitting on the deceptively close horizon taking its own time going down under. The sky was awash with hues of pinks and mauves , orange and vermillion and scarlet I am sure i will never see again -only Mother Nature can carry those colours all of them togehter with such elan and elegance !!! Fooood !!! screamed our churned up insides after all those hours on the road and to our delight we discovered a quaint Mexican joint with the crispest Nachos I have eaten and the best Guacomole ever this side of the Hard Rock Cafe in Montreal (yes !! beleive me)

And when we came out it was pitch dark and a huge silver moon was out - she must have been just waiting for the showy sun to set to begin her night of charm ...the picture below does no justice though we walked the parking lot trying to get one that would do just that - see if you can spot the moon rising behind the motel windows !!

The Corning experience would not be complete if there was no mention of the Olive Pit - advertised on all intersections of the freeway on huge hoardings " The Olive Pit" had us dying of curiosity - what was this magical place promising all kInds of enticing exotic wares we wondered ? Was it a casino? was it a boxing ring ? was it a pub ? We discovered to a mild sense of disappointment that it was none of the above but a kind of coffee shop cum general stores which except for the coffee which thankfully came from coffee beans sold wares all derived from , yes you guessed it - OLIVES !!! Earrings , beads , spoons and other innovative odds and ends or bric a brac made from golden olive wood besides olives to taste and buy in little jars . There was this young handsome lad whose eyes were as warm and golden as the bead necklace he sold me and who was sharp enough to catch me huming in recognition the song that was playing on the juke box - Wham's Wake me up before you Go Go !! And oh how it dated me when he said , you know this song? not many people remember this old number !! Jitter Bug that was the number yes

So then it was back on the road again to our destination for the next two nights - Reedley -where Pablo was ! The boys could not beleive they would be seeing their brother by the end of this new day but it was a long wait as we drove almost all day to get there - the unbroken route getting no relief from miles and miles of olive trees slowly giivng way to the fruits the

sunny California plains are famous for .

Our Lunch Break was extended as Alex brought out the foot ball and we stretched and excercised stiff limbs . The ball game was exhilarating and all of us unwound -soon we were ready for the last lap and it was Reedly here we come !!

Already thoughts of walking by the beautiful, peaceful river I had espied as we turned into the motel were crowding my mind ...

Tired but oh so thrilled to know we would finally meet up with Pablo the next day we readied for bed - Pat , Super Mom and Super Driver was looking forward to a good night's rest and I was happy to , after a hot shower slip into my night gown and curl up with the book I was reading - a word about my night wear which was a bright bold red, voluminous and flowing kaftan which even though the boys had gotten used to (what with my floating about the house back in Edmonds in it on my various forays into the bathroom or kitchen ) sent Pat into paroxyms of laughter every time I wore it which was every night - I love my red night dress yes.

So while this mild banter was going on there is this sharp , insistent knocking on the door and a deep voice saying Police !! Open up!! Oh My God what had we done was the first thought that flitted through our Thelma and Louise minds - we had not been speeding , we had not jumped lights , we definitley were not DUI ( Intoxicated by the summer night's heady atmosphere yes ) and oh my God was the red night gown a no no in Reedley?

Openning the door just a whit Pat , trying to look as nonchalant as a frightened mother hen who had her brood to protect and a mad Indian woman in red to boot could look , said yes ? what is the matter Officer ? Did you drive down in a big blue Suburban just now Ma'am ? Can we look at it ? Where is it parked? Yes ! yes? yes of course ; the affirmatives tripped off Pat's tongue nervously . Good , came the reply in the deep , censorious tone of the law enforcement officer -there has been a hit and run involving a car such as yours according to eye witnesses ma'am and we need to do our duty ....Huh??? The last exclamation was brought on by my having wandered into the range of his vision , a blur of protective bright red folds coming to the rescue of Pat , holding the angelic looking Matias by the hand and a who? me ? hit and run? in this red robe ?? To this day Pat is sure the apparition I made let us off the hook ( of course the fact that they found no impact marks on the vehicle too I guess ) AND OF COURSE WE HIT NO ONE if you don't consider the assalut on the sartorial senses of the Officer poor man maintians Pat still !!

While Pat and the boys made their way to the camp site ( beautiful with weeping willows and green lawns and happy tired children catching up after eight weeks with threir parents and siblings , I took my i pod and laptop to sit by the side of the river and catch up with some work and e mails - I might be on a road trip with Pat and the boys and on a week's well earned vacation but there was no break from my India work so feeling very virtous I settled with a plate of Nachos and salsa and a chlled beer to yes beleive me - work. There is photographic evidence ; see my lap top? of course the guy is an optical illuiosn !!!!!
And PABLO WAS BACK IN THE BOSOM OF HIS FAMILY AGAIN !!!

And Mom as pleased as Punch but arms akimbo , was ready to begin the trip back home - painstakingly planned , Pat had a fantastic route for us to take back - up the Sierra Nevadas to Yosemite National Park and then down and back to edmonds - Seattle by the coast line.

I had grown up reading Yosemite Sam comic books and here I was actually going to the National Park -nothing, no other memory and no number of years passing from now , or any other sight I might see will ever diminish the awe I felt and the sense of wonder at the majestic grandeur of nature that unfolded in front of our eyes !!

No not even the glowering looks of the four boys seen in the picture below

These were four very unhappy bored guys eager to get to the next pit stop , tired and resless and quite impatient with these two women doing "touristy" things !! One more photograph and I think we would have been lynched .
But I had some advice for Pat - keep this picture carefully , I told her and show it to them when they have their own children and are all ready to take them on a much looked forward to road trip !!

But to make up for this the boys did get their share of excitement when on our way back down the Sierra Nevadas we were forced to stop by bush fires !!! This time we were not able to just drive by but witness to some heavy duty fire fighting by helicopters above us and the inevitable traffic pile ups around us .

Till now navigating and being chief guide had really not been such a problem as we had stuck very prudently to the routes as per the road trip but now here was my chance to prove myself - Our next destination where we were to stop for the night was Manteca but now we had no notion how to get there what with all the accesses shut off - we turned around as everyone else was doing and went on following them till one by one all the cars ahead of us took confident turns and all the cars behind us over took us with even more confidence took thier turns as well. It was obvious no one was going to Manteca . I owed it to Pat who had been champion all along singlehandedly handling all the driving to read the map well and keep my eyes peeled for directions. The boys were tired and hungry and signs of their misery were evident . The empty water bottles had started flyimng all over the car . Ahead of us lay beautiful country , undulating fields of soft , warm golden grass swaying in the breeze but all we needed was to see signs of Manteca. Another reason we needed to find the blessed place in a hurry was because my sister in law was meeting us there for dinner ; she was already en route there from Dublin ( no NOT the Irish one but the Dublin near San Francisco where she worked and lived in) Pat can still not get over how at every possible location in the US I seem to have family ! Oh the omnipresent Indian Diaspora I tell her , that is all.
Well, to cut a long story short we did reach Manteca eventually and in time for dinner with dear Jai and her Mom and Jai, long time resident of the US charmed the boys into their happy moods once again over hot burghers and chips .

Now came the last lap of our marathon effort - on to Eureka / Arcata on the coast across some of the most breathtaking mountain roads with Pat surpassing all past driving achievements . Even the boys were stunned into gaping and gawking at the beauty around us. We drove up higher and higher with the ground to our left sometimes and suddenly to our right dropping down to a rushing river curving all along the climb till we reached the quaintest one store , one road, one sign post little town ever - Douglas City here we come !!!!!

This old store and its olde world facade begged for us to stop a while and savour the cool crisp air and the true blue sky above us and of course the thisty ones went in for soda and other kinds of succour !! the Sign on the store front caught my eye ....look at the picture here and I will tell you what it says for it is not very clear

DOUGLAS CITY - Elevation 1650 M or L
DOUGLAS CITY - Population 60 G or T

I called out to Pat and said hey, look must be a nice little place , of course a couple of digits have faded from the sign board - do you think it must be only 6000 the population ? Please dear reader remember I come from a city where at least that many people travel in the local train to work with me every day so I could not understand why Pat should double up with laughter at my query ? Anyway I still had another question for the boys - what on earth did M or L and G or T mean ? Tomas looked at me with pitying eyes - and with all the patience he could summon said More or Less Viji and Give or Take -there are about 60 people living here give or take a couple here and there . I was stumped . I don't think my dropped jaw came back into position till we reached Arteca and Eureka !!!! where did the blue skies go???
It looked like we were back in foggy Edmonds !!!
Blue skies and warm air was replaced by the mists that came rolling in from the sea as we descended and by the time we reached the motel we were freezing !! This was typical weather here we were told ; the sun stayed behind the mountains . The warm and cosy motel made up for the cold grey outside and the boys simply adored the heated pool and before one could say Eureka they were in it !!

The next morning saw us on the road again but not before we explored the lovely little town of Arcata -famed home of the hippies and of course the beach to fly the kites Pat had packed.

We took the road that went up the hills into the The Redwood forest and that was breathtaking - just look at the picture and you need no words !!!

We drove all of the late afternoon to the last night's stop at Grant's Pass after that and then it was back home . Oh the welcoming sight of Mt Rainier made us realise how much we had missed home but California you were something else !!!

COLOGNE , EAU and I

2007-10-14T10:33:00.001-07:00

Ever since I found out that Eau de Cologne meant water from Cologne and that Cologne was a place I have wanted to go there. And this was since I was ten or so I found it incredibly romantic to think that somewhere was this city where the water smelt so glorious, so full of blue skies and golden flowers. The almost cone shaped, ribbed bottle , with its golden coloured , precious liquid would stand nestled amongst my father’s spotless white handkerchiefs and every morning a few drops would be carefully dropped into the neat knife like folds of one of them and set beside his suit of clothes for the day by my mother. One had to pay a big price to inhale this heady delight but it was worth the price and more. Oh the joy of feeling that aroma waft out of the ice cool wet folded strip of cloth on my fevered brow ; it made the fever and the cold ache inside the bones of my throbbing body almost welcome. A few drops of Manna from heaven.

Back to Cologne; the place, the city that I actually went to, almost five decades after all that longing and wanting to be there …and to see those bottles, in different shapes and sizes, peddling that precious once so exclusive and special liquid from every visible display window .Well, it wasn’t the same. Of course in the intervening years I had realised that the Eau de Cologne did not flow through that land like some river of honey, but Hello then again maybe it did.

We got onto to the train to Cologne from Frankfurt. The really kind and lovely young lady who shares her last name with Wagner ( all the foreigners recognize my name she says with a pretty blush) at the ticket counter in the station suggested we take the train that took a longer time but cost some fewer Euros and went hugging the Rhine all the way there …and I found the river of Honey , my Eau de Cologne swelling and swaying beside the train all the way following the curves it hugged , all the way into the city of my fevered brow , I mean dreams !!!

Nothing can be more dramatic that the vista that unfolded before our eyes as we approached Cologne. The awe inspiring grey twin domes of the famed Cathedral reaching high up into the sky, challenging the charcoal clouds crouching around them to just chill if you please, the now mellow Rhine reflecting the biblical sky over it and the girders of the bridge looming alongside , letting us glimpse the city in its fractured tantalizing beauty through them . .

Germany would never have been a chosen tourist destination but work brought me here and some convincing brought my husband there with me. No regrets. Beautiful country, breads and beers to die for and people who smile and let you take it all in alone ; streets you can take to the other end of town, trams that you can jump into when you tire and gardens you can cool your sore toes in .

And Hotel Chelsea, bang in the middle of town with its café spilling onto to the side walk where you can sit and nurse your beer for hours till the resident pigeon wants its share of the dregs in your long drained mug. Hotel Chelsea with its black and white floors, its walls modestly displaying some amazing art work and local poetic outpourings , its dark brown wooden tables and chairs reminding you of hey the Irani restaurant on Grant Road back home and the warm and friendly eyes of the most charming waiter ever.

And the huge picture windows in our room up on the fourth floor that open all the way to let in the golden summer light even at ten in the night. And on the building across the street the picture windows each reflecting a different vista like someone had stacked picture post cards to play a last game of Solitaire before the light faded from the burnished heavens above still raining its Manna

On the Beach !!

2007-10-14T10:23:00.000-07:00

HOLY COW !!!!!

Here comes the sun

2007-10-14T10:18:00.000-07:00

Or rather , the sun finally seems to have set on this year's monsoons and blue skies and gorgeous sunsets are on display once agian

FINALLY THE GREY HAS COME TO STAY

2007-07-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

We put up a great show for Gowri and the girls from the Chaibagan

2007-07-15T10:47:00.000-07:00

Late June -still waiting

2007-07-15T10:28:00.000-07:00

Monsoon Clouds gathering over the skyline early June

2007-07-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Monsoon after monsoon in Mumbai -Nature's wanton display over the sky line leaves you speechless and simply begs to be documented -been trying to capture some of it over the last few weeks

MAY SUNSET IN MUMBAI

2007-05-29T10:50:00.001-07:00

Enjoy the blue skies , daimond bright and crystal clear till the grey "clouds of mystery pouring confusion upon the ground " happens !!!

Happy May before the Monsoons Mumbai !!!!

Mmmmmmmmmmm Malaysia

2007-05-29T09:24:00.000-07:00

That's Wirat my colleague from Bangkok - thanks Wirat for letting me use some of the pictures you took !!!

Somehow I realise I keep writing about food when I write about places I visit -what to do I am like that only!! This quaint eating place in Malacca serving Nyonya cuisine was where we met the core volunteer group memebrs of our Max Family in Malaysia for the first time and over steaming plates of Nyonya delicacies our bonding began - Nyonyas and Babas we learnt was the name given to those born of the union of the lovely local ladies and their Chinese husbands -Chinese traders who were so busy amassing their fortunes they did not even spare time to return to their homeland to look for brides for themselves. So in this delightful restaurant with photographs of many Babas and thier sweet Nyonyas looking down benignly upon us I began my discovery of Malaysia all over again , on my third visit to this amazing country. Reading the word Sayang on the neon sign an old Hindi song from the Shammi Kapoor -Padmini film Singapore came to my mind and I started humming it "O rasa sayang re rasa sayang sayang re , hai pyar ka hi naam rasa sayang sayang re " and discovered Sayang meant "love" and it was a very popular folk song - soon we were all humming this catchy tune !! What lovely people and so much love and affection ! The night is young we were told and no visit to Malacca was complete unless we took a walk down the famous historical Jonker Street so that was excaclty what we did. Touristy yes but utterly charming with all kinds of wares displayed and some very intersting architecture out of which the most intriguing was this bar with bright yellow walls and green shuttered windows and the inside full of the most interesting photographs and maps which distracted us enough to miss out on the beer for lack of time !! Smiling prettily at the bartender we got away with some precious minutes to take pictures inside too even though we could not stay to sample their wares - Raja later on told me this was the famous National Geographic Bar. How could I have missed that beautiful Globe up there !!!!

Walking leisurley , slowly collecting little packets of souveniers to take back , still humming Rasa Sayang Re , there came wafting towards us on the humid moisture laden atmosphere along with some stray rain drops , strains of the unbelievable ,but sadly not unmistakable , voice of yes , Himesh Reshamiyya going oh dear surooor and we were sheepishly searching for the source of this assault on our ears ( pride in our new national icon of music be dammed and all) when we found it in this brightly lit rickshaw . Ramchandra Guha in his new book India after Gandhi has summed it up very well. The (almost) last lines in his book state that as long as people watch Hindi films and hum its songs India will survive. In Malapuram or Malacca !!!

Back to food - did you know that evenings in Malaysia are not over until you have had supper ? Don't be fooled by the sound of that - this is no sober six o clock supper but a rollicking indulgent feast to be had after dinner preferably a nice hour's drive away from home in the company of friends and family and who ever wants to put in their luck with the famished lot !! An hour's drive away from Malacca is Umbai (add an M and a few miles and you get Mumbai yes, but let me quickly say Umbai is defintley no Mumbai so lets not get distracted ) well - maybe the nariyal paani is the common factor but saying that is not fair to the huge cocunut shells , full of sweet , chilled with ice, nectar like water we were served at the open air restaurant we were taken to -take a look at this prize speciment here !! Mumbai nariyal paani walas - wake up to the magic an ice cube or two can do to your nariyal paani !!

Besides the iced cocunut water we were allowed to further whet our appetites with coconut jelly another mouthwatering concoction that was consumed faster than the rate at whcih the replacements came in !!! Then came the steaming , succulent servings of rice wrapped in banana leaves and cooked in coconut milk which kept us busy till the specially chosen fish barbequed in the huge grill finally found its way to the pride of place on the table ..the happy smiles tell you the rest of the story !!! Well, there was one bee in the bonnet or should i say one bee in the tee shirt of one of the gang who provided some excitement -poor Tan Fui got stung but luckily the ministrations of Dr Razak and Sr Tan saw to it that all was well. We all decided that a 24 hour watch was needed to see if the wings would sprout a la Spider Man and who knew we might have our own Bee Man to take back to KL with us !! But the next morning saw our would be Bee Man all smiles and saying , as he hugged me , Look Ma - no wings no stings !!!!

The Stand up and Live for Life Workshop that we had come to attend (see http://www.themaxfoundation.org/ for report and coverage) was concluded thus with many hugs and hand shakes and we were on our way to KL .

The roads are beautiful , the trees and foliage lining their sides green and lush oh what are these little Asian Tiger cubs doing right that Sherni India is not and when will have roads that simply like satin ribbon thread their cities togehter !!??

Soon the Twin Towers loom above you -that metal marvel , that unmistakable steel silhouette that no Sean Connery serenading C Z Jones or Kareena seducing Shah Rukh can diminish into mere props - day or night they stun you into awed silence !!!

One Last Supper begged everyone and we were taken by Fan that master motivator to sample Satay served with sugar cane juice and the most mouth watering peanut sauce - Sated or Satayed anyone ?? !!

Of Kappa and Kappad Beach

2007-05-13T10:48:00.000-07:00

The best way to get to Kappad Beach which is about 30km North of Calicut is by road. If you can get someone to take you pillion on his motorcycle like I did all the better for the feeling is indescribable. The wind on your face and whipping though your hair (my half hearted, I am ashamed to say half hearted, enquiries about a helmet was met with careless impatience by everyone – Amma, no one wears helmets in Kerala) cools and releases the sticky sweat that has been your constant companion all day and it is fun to speed through the winding lanes with coconut trees on either side and the occasional little brat yelling out “Saipu! Saipu!” “It is because of your short hair and cooling glasses” says Shajahan my “sarathy” for the evening shouting his laughing explanation over his shoulder with the wind. Soon you can feel and smell the water getting closer and closer –there is a sameness to the approach to the ocean from the inner land world over I think; the sharp turn from the main road, highway, freeway whatever you call it, the narrow bumpy almost mud track flanked on either side by little thatched homes , coconut trees and a multitude of urchins happy and free and oh so vociferous. Whether it to Kappad in Kerala, Uran or Alibagh in Maharashtra or Chichiriwichi in Venezuela this little stretch signaling the approach of the water is the best part , a kind of inexorable hurtling to the end of the earth and the blue-green waters waiting ….

By time we navigate the meandering mud track then it is sunset time and by the time we find our way to the famed rocky platform on the beach the sun is throwing its last orange lights for the day on the shimmering surface of the water ..I draw my breath at my first sight of the “Arabi Kaddal” this side of Marine Drive …the pure aquamarine is slashed with oranges and pinks , colours which in turn are re - reflected on the little grey clouds gathering slowly on the burning horizon .Finding a foothold on the rocks and looking at the sea on one side and the swaying palms and sandy beach on the other we could all well be part of Vasco Da Gama’s band of sailors who landed here on this now historic beach in 1498 ( there is a small monument en route to the beach commemorating that landing we would have missed if it had not been pointed out to us) - the band of seafarers all the way from Europe.

We threw ourselves down on those rocks .With me was the tireless band of volunteers who had worked hard to make the patient group meeting held earlier in the day a big success; now it was time to relax and continue with the bonding that had begun earlier in the day.

Soon of course, in spite of the feast we had partaken for lunch our stomachs began to demand something more substantial than a beautiful sunset and animated conversations. Sanjeevan came up with a wonderful idea which found support even before he finished voicing it –we were all to go to his home not too far away where his mother and sister would only be too happy to prepare a true Kerala style Meen Curry for us.

So once again we were all back on the road and before we knew it those dark clouds which just a while ago were looking so innocent came rolling down from the still red horizon. Big, fat, cool drops of rain fell upon us bringing beautiful relief from the oppressive heat and cooling the atmosphere. Soon the drops became a torrent but thoughts of the Meen Curry kept us all going and what was a little rain anyway.

In no time at all it seemed, we were there, it had grown dark as it rained and picture this as we neared the village. The earth all soft and wet, exuding the aroma of rain on mud, the coconut fronds still dripping cool water as they swayed this way and that, the banana leaves even more shiny and slithery , the breeze carrying excited voices of children playing and then all of a sudden poof ! The lights go off. Just as we pull up in the yard of Sajeevan’s house . But the bright smiles on his family’s faces is enough to light up the night for us and as we all troop into the verandah and into the warmth of his cozy house it really is as though we have come home again –to love and food and shelter –shelter from the storm . There is warm sweet water for us to wash our face and hands and feet before we sit down and with no further delay plates of the fierce red curry poured on beds of steaming hot kappa are brought in. This is not the first time I am having steamed kappa but I have also had it as an accompaniment or a side dish. Here now the “melt in the mouth” kappa ( Tapioca to the uninitiated) is heaped on the plate as rice would be and the generous portions of the fish and curry poured over it. Plate after plate of this manna from heaven is brought out from the kitchen where it was apparent Chechi and Ammai had begun preparations on a war footing to feed the battalion as soon as they knew we were heading their way.
The smell of the wet earth fought for predominance with the aroma of the steaming food and soon the only sound besides that of the raindrops on the roof of the house were the ecstatic ooohs and aaahs as the curry hit the spot .

TWENTY YEARS OF MY LIFE NOW

2007-05-12T10:39:00.000-07:00

Time to tell folks about what I do – for the last twenty years I have been working in the field of cancer care ; Cancer Awareness and Education, Prevention and Early Detection, Counseling , Palliative Care ….and for exactly five years now now I have been working with The Max Foundation. www.themaxfoundation.org A major portion of the work I do has to do with looking after people and their families facing a diagnosis of two specific kinds of cancers one of them a form of leukemia. We have all come together as a very unique peer support group calling ourselves “Friends of Max” and spend whatever free time we have catching up with each other – face to face or on cyber space – each one of us seem to feel incomplete if we have not had some kind of communication every day . so many of us , all over the country and communicate every day? Yes there might be a few raised eyebrows but yahoo group zindabad – blog Bandhus zindabad.Our motto is Together we Share and Learn and that’s exactly what we do – all the time share and learn .
I must , before I say anything further , put on record the incredible generosity of Novartis , the Pharmaceutical Company that gives at no cost Glivec , the magic bullet that keeps our Friends of Max on top of the world.

Some pages from my diary I want to share with you all from ‘The Book of Stories” we bring out every year so we can all share and learn ……

Nobody asked me to tell my story but I desperately want to say a few things .All of you who know me know how difficult it is to shut me up when I begin talking and also yes, writing , so maybe that is why nobody asked me .

But indeed it was me who asked everyone to write their “story” . Isn’t it strange, calling real life, excruciatingly real and live being termed as a story? I am surprised not one of you turned around and said “What do you mean ‘ our STORY’? We are having real life experiences here not some fairy tale or” ghar ghar ki kahani “ . Instead each one of you just put down your lives on paper and gave them to me – just like that . for this alone a very big Thank You . Some of you thought it an honour , some were happy to share , others wanted to share after learning from others that it was indeed possible to talk about yourselves – and Rajeev wrote only because I threatened never to hug him again –Hey Rajeev, caught you there –I would have never carried out that threat !!

My favourite writer P G Wodehouse once said “There are two ways of writing …(one is ..) a sort of musical comedy without music and ignoring real life altogether ;the other is going deep down into life and not caring a damn.

My friends of Max here have chosen the latter and definitely not given a damn but I can hear music in their stories and the magic of pure laughter in these outpourings. These are not stories but songs set to the purest of melodies taking me on the wings of love and laughter to a place where there is only hope and happiness and lessons in yes, love. Unconditional and uncomplicated love.

Seriously, it is all about love and learning, both timeless and endless. One can never love enough, one can never learn enough . So you keep on loving and keep on learning and take everyone you meet on this voyage with you. This is what the last five years with all of you has meant to me. So much of love and so much of learning.

I have been allowed to witness the trauma of families who have been sucked, helpless and floundering into the vortex of a life threatening disease and then seen them rally around and with the twin weapons of love and faith emerge strong and secure in their love for each other . In the end love is all that matters; all you need is love.

I would like to share with all of you a couple of “ stories “ from my diary..read on

2006
I spent a major portion of today with two fathers and their respective sons . Ajay, newly diagnosed and only son of his father Nandlal and Ashwin, newly diagnosed father and his physician son Sushil –
their love and concern for each other , their courage and faith in each other , their reversed roles of care giver and protector in one to the other taught me all over again why I am at once proud and humble of the work we are doing.

Ajay’s father came on his own with the application from his physician, but believe me, even though Ajay wasn’t there , in every nuance of his father’s expressions and his loving manner while speaking of his beloved son I could see the boy as vividly as though he were sitting in front of me. It was apparent that putting aside his grief at the trauma of his diagnosis , foremost in his mind was the well being of his son in whom rested all his aspirations. Such pride and joy when he spoke of Ajay , wanting nothing to come in the way of his ambition of becoming a computer engineer , hiding the heart break and the feeling of hopelessness, telling himself more than me that he would do everything to see his son live his life completely and did all he wanted to do .

And then in came young Dr Sushil , a general physician practicing in the inner city , with the application for his father who used to drive a taxi in the city before he retired . The role reversal was so poignant – Sushil was ready to go to any length to protect his father from the knowledge of the severity of the diagnosis telling me how all he wanted for his hard working and tired father at this period in his life was peace and a stress free life and how he would bear the responsibility of seeing he got it . It was his father’s tireless and selfless years of driving a taxi in the hot and murderous roads and traffic of Mumbai that had paid his son’s way through medical school and Sushil was so thankful that he was going to get the best treatment in the form of Glivec.

No time is better spent than the time we get to spend with our patients and how much they teach us , how much of life and its vagaries we get to learn !!! respect and consideration , pride and selfless devotion and above all the desire to shield a loved one with all one’s might – today I learned what it is that makes a father – son relationship so very precious.

2005

This ray of sunshine walked into office half an hour ago. Shivam. Studies in 6th grade and would love to play cricket the whole day - “par Naani ji nahi maanti” (but my grandmother will not allow that) Diagnosed in January this year - lost his Mom and Dad to Tuberculosis five years ago and lives with Naani ji, Mom’s Mom - who has two teenaged sons herself "Han, kabhi kabhi jhagda karte hain lekin hum log Masti bhi bahut karte hain!!!"
(Yeah, we fight but we also have great fun together!!!) Naani ji works as domestic help in a couple of houses and they live in Pune. They will return today to Pune as there is nowhere they can stay here in Bombay and tomorrow after Naani ji will finish her work in the two houses they will come to Bombay to collect the supply - by then the formalities will be done and Novartis will sign the release letters. Guys, this picture doesn't say enough, doesn't say anything at all about how bright and beautiful this boy is. My heart, as I write to you all is bursting with love for him and I mean EVERY word of this last sentence. All the while he was here that crinkly smile never left his face and now I cannot wipe the smile off my face. Is it possible for one person to make another so happy? I feel like I have seen and understood the meaning of this whole world in the unquestioning acceptance I have seen in Shivam - of everything that has happened to him in his 13 years. He simply radiates joy and love –

Sweet, shy, simple uncomplicated Shivam. I cannot wait to see him again.
2004

I met him first almost four years ago, weak from Interferon therapy, alone and friendless and very afraid in Mumbai, around 21 years of age ( he comes from UP). Some pehchan walla from his village had guided him to his pehchan walla in Jogeshwari and he was totally lost. Once on the programme and on the magic bullet Glivec he soon began to feel physically better and when he came to meet me the next time he was looking so much better but still restless and not knowing what to do to keep himself busy. I spoke to his penchan wala ka pehchan wala to see if they could put him to some work . Sab ko yeh phikar thi ki isko who wali bimari hain...after convincing them that nothing of that sort need worry them he was taken on in a bakery . It seemed to be the best thing that ever happened for Mohamamd seemd to found his calling...everytime he would come to see me he would literally be blooming - looking better and better and loving what he was doing..baking pastires and cakes and bringing samples for me.
One time he said to me , Mummee, mujhe koi hotel mein kaam dilva deejiye na ..main isi line mein kuch khas karna chata hoon..mujhye yakeen hain main bahut achha karoonga ....
It was such a coincidnece - I met Vithal Kamat at a book launch that week itself and just casually I asked him if he would have place for a trainnee in his hotel Orchid ( it is another story how VK let me have a patient group meeitng in his hotel for over 350 with chai and dinner thrown in ..on the house ) for a leukemia patient who had what it took to do well in life - belief in himself and the willingness to work hard and learn...and VK took him in, just like that ...this boy then worked and worked , without a break or without taking leave , sending someone to pick up his supply, taking a day off only when he had to see his doctor...today he has been made a permamnaent employee of the hotel, promoted, bakes the most lazzeez pastires and just look at him will you ...my pride and joy

He calls me Mummeee and I just love him so much...he made my day today when he came with his father and a wedding invitation – his .

2003

Today Alfreda came to the office . From Tata Memorial Office after her Bone Marrow Aspiration. As always she was full of chatter and laughter wanting to ask a hundred curious questions and wanting answers to all of them even before she finished asking them . Every once in a while she would hold on to her lower back and grimace in pain – the needle was very big and the doctor was tired , more tired than I was after the procedure , she said to me with an impish grin on her face . I asked her if it still hurt and she quickly lay down flat on the ground and said No – see I can lie down !!

Up in a trice she dug out cards she had made for everyone in the office and was happily distributing to them around .

Next she very proudly she took out some newspaper cuttings and showed them to me . Alfreda in her crisp white school uniform receiving a trophy from Sonia Gandhi – Courage Award from the Calcutta Telegraph for going regularly to Tata Hospital for her Bone Marrow procedures year after year . For coping so bravely and cheerfully with the diagnosis of Luekemia

Alfreda , all of five years old and so brave and matter of fact.

2002

Tall and broad shouldered, incredibly handsome ,eyes a warm amber never without a smile in them , a fine figure of perfect health ,
persuasive with a voice that can cajole a parrot off its perch Ashish is someone who can make you abandon anything you are doing and go along with what ever he wants you to do . I have never seen him open a door with his hand or use the door knob..he will come into a room simply with a shrug and heave of his wide shoulders and then envelope you in his warm hug. You are putty in his hands. Especially when he is never without the trademark flowers he brings for us .

I met Ashish during the early months of the programme and my first memories of interacting with him is when he gave me a ride to an important appointment I was late for . Viji ji , why are you so worried , come I will drop you na and since then there has always been this feeling that I can just take my problems to him and he will solve it –anything , everything except telling us his story ; Arrey Viji ji , aap batao meri Story – you know everything there is to be known about me – so go on .

So here I am telling Ashish’s story – as he told it to me in bits and pieces over all these years I have known him , as his life has happened to him over all these years .

Ten years ago , when he was twenty years old , a fresh graduate doing all the things twenty year olds did including “line maroing” all the pretty girls in his college ( yes you must say that he tells me) he took a train ride that changed his life. Boarding a Churchgate bound Western local from Goregaon that evening all he had in mind was having a good time with his friends who were waiting for him.

And then he fell off the train – somewhere between Lower Parel and Elphinstone , at 8 in the night and lay there between two fast locals whizzing their way on either side of his inert figure just missing the tracks . All he remembers is that for a long time no one came his way and he drifted in and out consciousness. He next remembers a havaldar coming with a helper and being put on a hand cart and taken to the platform.

He has vague memories of an FIR being filed, questions and answers and forms and shock and pain and then being taken to a hospital the pain in his shoulders becoming unbearable . He knows somehow he got in touch with his brother Sandeep ( how I wonder he tells me , in those days did we manage without cell phones) and Sandeep and his Bhabhi were there beside him .

Only a dislocated shoulder by the grace of God thought everyone till the nagging, persistent low grade fever necessitated blood tests and a shocking diagnosis of CML raised its ugly head changing his life forever .

Hydrea , Interferon , hopes of being enrolled in the STI571 trials coming to nought but all the while going on with life – setting up a flower business with his cousin , helping his father out with the family catering business his days began at 4am and went on till late night .
Glivec finally brought his enlarged spleen back to normal and brought his blood counts under control .

With Pratibha his sweetheart turned wife by his side – I don’t know why she married me –ask her ! he went about the business of living with CML , and became one of the first friends of Max , dropping by our office whenever he would come into town or to see his doctor .

At the Max India office he is our consultant for all things important in life – from what to order for lunch for the three of us to how to organise food for the 1000 odd participants we expect to come for our meetings.

These days we, Pratibha included, have to share him with this beautiful girl who has taken over his life completely – his absolutely adorable little daughter.

Mirabai's Krishn - Mandir , Jaipur

2007-02-26T00:03:00.000-08:00

On the climb up to the Amber Fort in Jaipur, if you chance upon an ancient,beautiful temple,do break your ascent and go inside. The locals call it Mira ki Mandir and it is centuries old. Inside the cool, calm interiors is a black wooden idol of Lord Krishna-Mirabai's Giridhara Gopala. There is somehthing about this beautiful image that strikes you speechless and moves you immeasurably. I felt a strange kind of aweinspiring peace engulf me and was transported to some place in time that seemed to be beyond me and at the same time that embraced and acknowledged my "spiritual" being in its presence. The Pujari told me that this was the "very same" idol that Mirabai had held close to her bruised,tortured heart and worshipped with all her devotion.It took a while for this information to sink in and once it did I was lost in wonderment -
Being able to visit that Mirabai ki Mandir was an unexpected privilege and delight, something that came my way without any warning and no extra effort on my part and therefore all the more precious.To me Mirabai's bhakti has always seemd a very courageous, independent and private form of devotion - private but never hidden. She put her love for her Lord into the most moving poetry and shared it with all the world to feel and experience . And here, in this temple , her Lord Himself was enshrined for all to see and worship. When I spoke of this experience to a dear , young friend of mine he immediatley sent me one of Mirabai's most beautiful songs which i would love to share here.

Strange is the Path of love

Do not mention the name of love,
O my simple-minded companion.
Strange is the path When you offer your love.
Your body is crushed at the first step.

If you want to offer love
Be prepared to cut off your head
And sit on it.
Be like the moth,
Which circles the lamp and offers its body.
Be like the deer, which, on hearing the horn,
Offers its head to the hunter.
Be like the partridge,
Which swallows burning coals
In love of the moon.
Be like the fish
Which yields up its life
When separated from the sea.
Be like the bee,
Entrapped in the closing petals of the lotus.

Mira's lord is the courtly Giridhara.
She says: Offer your mind
To those lotus feet.

- Mirabai

Hmmmmmmmmmmm Calcutta

2007-02-22T08:30:00.000-08:00

Hmmmmmmm Calcutta !!!! Not able to say Kolkota still - Just got back from a five day work related visit to Calcutta and let me see if I can share effectively my feelings about this city .....

Till I went to Calcutta for the first time which was exactly ten years ago, the city to me was first just the home town of all the Bengali friends I grew up with in Delhi; and then as a member of a totally cricket mad family, it was the location of Eden Gardens but most of all , to the Hindi film aficionado that I was (and am) it was the city of Howrah Bridge . Howrah Bridge – these two words not only meant Calcutta but carried with them images of Ashok Kumar and Madhubala and Helen and the incredibly romantic and mysterious aura of the film and its evocative music – till today the visuals of Madhubala singing Aaeeiye Meherbaan with Ashok Kumar and K N Singh vying for her attentions or Helen cha cha ing to Mera Naam Chin Chin Choo takes me to the Calcutta of my childhood imagination. . Eden Garden of course now brings to my mind pictures of Vinod Kambli walking away from the pitch in tears after that miserable match against Sri Lanka and as for my Bengali friends they were gorgeous looking, their mothers so gracious in their Dhaka Sarees, their fathers handsome and intellectual , they sang so melodiously, painted the most beautiful pictures and to me were the most cultured, talented and admirable community .

On that first visit we stayed with dear , dear friends and for most of the time we were pampered in the warmth of their home and hearth .Of course as local tourists in Calcutta one “did” all the usual, expected tourist attractions but with two young distracted sons and a slightly disinterested husband it wasn’t much to write home about . We were en route anyway to Darjeeling so Calcutta remained an en route stop.

Since then I have been to this city at least five times, the latest ten days ago and work has brought me here each time. Surprisingly (?)it is in the midst of visits to physicians and hospitals and patient group meetings that I have been able to understand , appreciate and grow to love the city for what it really is – a grand old dame , definitely past her prime but with grace pride and dignity intact . Each time I have felt this wonderful, warm city reach out to me just a little bit more than before and slowly wrap her tired but welcoming arms around me. And every time I have this urge to wipe with delicate care and love all the grime and dirt that lies upon her sad countenance for I know that the most indescribable , incredible beauty lies beneath. Slowly, little by enchanting little bit , she has been enduring my ministrations and allowed me to see tantalizing , heartbreaking glimpses of the beauty she once was.

So let me take you with my dear friends Rajat da,Naren and Neel ,my tirelss escorts in between appointments and meetings on a pictorial tour of this beautiful city the way she let me see, feel , hear and enjoy her bounty - from the trams and ricksahwas cheek by jowl with the yellow taxis and Metro, her lakes and the Hoogly , havelis and hovels, roadside Masala Dosas in North Calcutta streets and saffron laced tea down Elgin Road in the South...to cricket fans watching Sourabh Dada on make shift TV screens on Shakespeare Sarani -yes, the only Indian city where the Bard has a street to himslef , but promise to look at her with all the love and awe she deserves.

Sarma Tea House, opposite the ancient Gurudwara on Elgin Road , where the tea is sweet, rich, thick with aroma and laced with saffron strips and served in matti ki gilass - ambrosia no less and if you are hungry then there is puri aaloo or samosas and kachoris that can be washed down with one more chai . And if you ask him prettily , as i did , telling him how absolutley delicious the chai was he will give you a re fill on the house. People walk on to the sidewalk at all times , or ride up on their motor cycles, cars or like Mr Crow here simply perch on someone's car for a hot , tasty meal.

And if you thought Calcutta was all about Rossu Gulla and Mishti Doi well then think agian - for my friends in Calcutta , hard core Bhadralok all of them it was dosas - dosas on the pavement in North Calcutta that Rajat da took me to can rival Mani's in Mumbai or Sharavana Bhuvan in Chennai .
And then Naren treated me to breakfast at , hold your breath, Ramakrishna Lunch Home in the Lake District after an early morning row at the Rabindra Sagar Lake courtesy the Bengal Rowing Club...RK Lunch home where people have to wait for at least half an hour to get seating space on any given day / time. Inside the rather innocous doorway of the ground floor of a 1952 aparment block are marble topped tables set in dormitory style - stark and simple , with servers in sparkling white veshtis and benign smiles serving you piping hot "Madrasi breakfast delicacies " as Noren put it And if that is not enough , just around the corner is Udipi Home proudly displaying on its board " We are hounoured to have served the Honourable President of India Shri Abdul Kalam on his visit to Kolkota"

I don't know why I keep writng about food -Let me move ahead to some of the most beautiful architecture I have ever seen...Long windows with wooden louvres, balconies that look like works of art and a treasure house of paintings and sculptures in the "Marble Palace" or Mullick Bari hidden amidst gullies and goonchas Guru Dutt wrote about in Pyasaa....see for yourselves

Mullik Bari - Ancestral home of the Mullik family of Zamindars - Marble floors in colours of the rainbow , a billiard room the size of a Ball Room , Belgian Mirrors the whole length of the wall that make you look like a million dollars , original , ORIGINAL works of Ruebens and Ravi Varma , marble Venuses and Apollos and a courtyard with intricate stone work and actually words fail me ..I thought i had wandered into Alice's wonderland when i saw the pelicans walk by my side !!!!!

. And when i walked out of Mullik Bari it was another kind of wonderland that still awaited me ...the lanes are narrow and the buildings block out the sky - underneath years of grime and decay though one can still see the breathtaking wood work on the balconies and doors and windows. The roads are busy and NOISY - I don't think anywhere else is the "Horn OK Please" dikkat obeyed so blindly - every one is honking and oh so LOUDLY !!

In the middle of the road suddenly amidst the trams and rickshaws there is temple where undisturbed by all the chaos the good Lord is being propitiated.

Then of course with Shourav Dada back in the picture there is another kind of deification going on - at the traffic signal of Shakespeare Sarani a hurriedly put togehter "come watch Dada thrash them" party is gaining momentum - The tricolour is flying high and the TV installed under a canopy of a colouful bed spread and the crowd is going crazy - "Dada! Dada!!"

Oh ! Calcutta indeed !!!! and i will leave you with a few more shots of what else ? Howrah Bridge -

Dancing to our tunes - a wedding in Islamabad

2007-02-18T09:12:00.000-08:00

Gardens of Imran Khan's Shaukhat Khannum Cancer Hospital in Lahore

2007-02-18T09:09:00.000-08:00

The Canal ( Rabi) that runs through Lahore

2007-02-18T08:55:00.000-08:00

Imposing - THE Mosque in Lahore

2007-02-18T08:46:00.000-08:00

The Beatles too - Cool hookah / coffee joint - Islamabad

2007-02-18T08:40:00.000-08:00

Misty Murree hills - further up from Islamabad

2007-02-18T08:29:00.000-08:00

Chenna Jor Garam in Islamabad

2007-02-18T08:12:00.000-08:00

Mouth watering Pan at Food Street Lahore

2007-02-18T08:06:00.000-08:00

Freeway between Lahore and Islamabad

2007-02-18T08:00:00.000-08:00

2007-02-18T07:03:00.000-08:00

The Pakistan the world does not see

2007-02-18T06:57:00.000-08:00

This was written in May 2005

So I went to Pakistan last month and came back with a glow inside – am sure you can still see it outside and all around me too.

Never in my life have I felt so cherished and cared for. Each time one said “yes” to ‘Aap India se aaye hain?” it simply meant the rolling of the red carpet – everywhere I went and from everyone I met.

It began right from the time I set foot into the PIA aircraft on the flight to Karachi and surrendered myself to the caring ministrations of this beautiful stewardess who looked like Saira Bano in her hey day, to the ego boosting query from the chief purser on my return flight a week later, “well young lady, a last cup of black tea before we land?

The “young lady” (it’s at least 30 yrs since I could have technically got away being called “young lady”) was more welcome than the cuppa but what touched me even more was the fact that he had noted that I had asked only for black tea throughout the flight. PIA scores for sure.

Landing and walking into Karachi Airport evokes the same hopeful and at the same time hopeless query that a visitor from Bombay to any airport in the world has been asking for years, “Oh why cannot the airport in Bombay be like this?”
Both Karachi and Lahore airports are esthetically and functionally admirable and traveler friendly. Willing, helpful hands saw to it that not even once did I have to lug the luggage (is that why we call luggage luggage? Because we lug it along?) on to the X ray machines.

Whatever trepidation one might have had at the prospect of an unfriendly or severe Immigration Officer, fast melted away. The officer on duty at the desk took one look at the Indian Passport and beamed at me. While asking me to fill the Police / Security Registration form he must have seen the nervousness flit across my face. In the next second he had leaned over the counter, taken the form and my Passport from my (slightly) trembling hands (I am a frequent but very nervous traveler especially when it comes to Immigration counters) and actually filled in the whole form. Not even wincing once at the twenty two alphabets my full name has.

With his patiently given advice on what I had to do to register with the Police in the city and his “aap hamari mehman hain” ringing in my ears I walked out into the sunny warmth of Karachi . It felt like home, like Bombay .The sky and the sun and the wind were the same that I had left behind just a couple of hours ago. It was the same Arabian Sea’s moist embrace I felt on my bare arms and face. Delhi or Chennai needs more adjusting to was my first conscious thought.

With grateful relief I saw my name on the hotel placard and after that by now familiar to the frequent business travelers sensation - the instant acknowledgement of two pairs of eyes searching , questioning and recognizing each other , had been done with , I saw that the Pharma company I was visiting on work had also very kindly sent an associate to receive me with armed security guards.

I was told later that it was company policy that all visitors be accorded this attention and believe me, at no point in time during my week long visit, be it in Karachi, Lahore or Islamabad was I without this security and the most chivalrous escort of a member of the company. And of course the armed guard rushing to open the car door for me every single time quite spoilt me forever I must say.

Unnerved at first with all this attention I eventually surrendered myself to the cool interiors of the limo and soon we were cruising along wide, smooth roads of Karachi towards the hotel. The driver of the car kept up a steady stream of conversation, all the time holding my eyes in the rear view mirror with his warm welcoming gaze. When he found out I was from India and indeed Bombay, his first comment was, “Aap India mein to bahut aage nikal gaye hain”. I must confess I had reservations about that comment especially when I began to think of the conditions of the roads in Bombay we needed to take to get ahead of anywhere and anyone at all!!!

He told me about his parents’ family roots being in Allahabad and his hope that one day he could visit India too. Everyone I met, simply every single person I met in Pakistan had this desire to come to India once at least. It was like being wrapped in the softest of all pashminas, this open, warm and unconditional love and affection that radiated from everyone. Later that day, at the hotel, the elderly person from the laundry who came to collect my sarees for ironing spoke to me for all of fifteen minutes about his Walid’s home in Agra and his Walida’s in Lucknow and said that he would love to see the Taj Mahal once. He admired my sarees and said he was so happy to be able to offer his services to his Bahen from sarhad paar. By the way in Lahore, the young ladies of the hotel staff could not stop admiring my sarees and swore to let the management look at changing the uniform code of the hotel staff in favour of the saree!!

“As’ Salaam Alleikum” is the greeting with which one is welcomed each time. From the doorman to the young executive at the reception desk to the staff in the coffee shop. Every one says “As’ Salaam Alleikum” to each other. And responds to each other with “Waleikum as salaam.” “God bless you “and “May you too be blessed by him”. This is the greeting mouthed into the cell phone by everyone too, not “Hallo! Where are you?” This greeting and the Allah Hahiz” and “Inshah Allah” that peppers all conversations are still ringing softly in my ears.

This sincerely stated implicit faith and hope in the power of the Almighty to care and look after his people is the humblest of all attitudes I have seen ever. It was with the greatest of pleasure that I began to return the greeting. The appreciative nod from the hotel doorman later in the week was my reward.

Pakistani men are indeed the most chivalrous men I have ever met. This was proved over and over again but on my first evening in Karachi I had ample evidence that quite made up my mind for me. Dr Wasim, my colleague in Pakistan came to see me at the hotel (we were meeting for the first time) with a lovely bouquet of flowers and a little gift. His absolutely spontaneous and charming demeanour as he stood outside my room with the eager question- “Do you guess who I can be?” simply endeared him to me at once. Wasim had also so very thoughtfully got me a SIM Card for my cell phone so I could be connected in Pakistan. This was taking care and concern to great limits actually. Once we had exchanged pleasantries he was all set to escort me to the Police Station so I could register my entry into the country- the FIRST thing both our Governments need to do is to abolish this requirement that like some criminal or Tadi Paar, Indians and Pakistanis need to go and do Haazri at the Police Chowky.

Any way to go back to the need to visit the Central Police HQ in Karachi, of course by the time we reached there, they had closed the counter for the day, being as it was well past 6 pm.But there was this very courteous security guard who gave us all the information needed for us to come back the next day.

One of the requirements was four copies of my passport sized photos with which I had to report at 9am the next day. Meetings with Novartis were to begin at 10 am so you can imagine the press for time. And, I did not have even one copy of my mug shot let alone four. (Rule no 1 for traveling – always carry copies of mug shot) No sweat said Wasim Bhai; all we need to do is get to a photo studio and get a quick Polaroid job done. So off we went to the Sadar Bazaar area near by and as luck would have it Karachi was actually facing a shortage of Polaroid film so that was that.

Row upon row of little photo shops put up their hands in a gesture of helplessness. It was definitely not the will of Allah or so it seemed. Any photo studio, even if it was open at that hour, it was close to half past 8 by then, would take 24 hrs to get the job done!! Wasim was not one to give up so easily and we went hunting for a studio that would do an “emergency urgent” job for us and we found one – the magic “ India se Aaye Hain” words were invoked and 200 rupees exchanged hands and Wasim agreed to do duty at the studio so the owner did not have to pull down his shutters and close shop while he disappeared into the inner depths of the market to get my pictures developed by a “good emergency friend”.

So I was taken inside, given a mirror to arrange my features into a pleasant countenance and privacy to accomplish that really difficult task-have you ever seen a passport size photo make you look good? However hard you try to re arrange your features? Anyway, the chap was so eager to please and clicked away and in 20 minutes flat, returned with actually pretty decent pictures and as a special gesture, the negative too. Wasim was Rs 200 poorer and me 4 copies of my picture richer and speechless at the speed, efficiency and good humour and good will all this had been achieved with.

Earlier in the evening I had realised that though I had brought my cell phone with me, I had oh so foolishly forgotten to bring the charger but nothing seemed to be a problem for Wasim and soon we were zipping across the Karachi streets to this brightly lit, bustling bazaar which he told me stocked anything I might need under the sky to do with electronics and soon enough he was back with my SAMSUNG charger. All that was left was for me to do was to change some money so I could pay Wasim back and that was taken care of by him too. We found one money changer still open at that late hour and I was equipped with Pakistani rupees. The one thing Wasim did not do was accept the money I tried to repay him! Well, you can’t have every thing your way I suppose.

Next morning it was off to work with another associate I was meeting for the first time. What immediately warmed me to him was the fact that he had the most impeccable taste in music and had my favourite music playing in his car stereo. It was enough to break the ice and soon we were trading opinions on our favorite songs. Hindi film music by the way is all that you hear in Pakistan- in everyone’s cars, in hotels and restaurants and open air food courts, little chai ka addas and music stores. The roof top restaurant in the old Lahore bazaar where we had dinner it was Lata Mangeshkar’s ghazals we were treated to, in the hotel coffee bar in Islamabad the crooner was singing old Kishore Kumar numbers, the folk musician at the ethnic restaurant by the beach in Karachi played old evocative S D Burman and Madan Mohan tunes on his flute. He was delighted to add a couple of Roshan (Roshan Sr by the way) numbers to his repertoire for the night on my request. Again the “aap India se hain?” syndrome working its magic! At a music store in Islamabad, while I was searching for some Nusrat Ali favorites of mine I had to literally wade through countless Indian music CDs to hunt for them. The store was stocked to the gills with Indian movie DVDs and CDs. And it’s not all old music all the time - Dhoom and Veer Zara are reigning supreme there just now. Just for the record, I was not allowed to pay for the CDs I bought eventually. Including the very popular number ‘Lamhe” from the film Zeher which is all the rage now in both countries, sung by the Pakistani singer Atif.

Talking of stores, for the mehman from India, everywhere there were special prices. My colleague’s wife was indeed the perfect shopper’s guide taking me to little places where I could choose from distinctive hand woven material and traditionally crafted ear rings all brought down to the special visitor friendly prices. My only regret was that I was carrying my small cabin size bag and could not therefore shop to my heart’s content. The tight schedule which saw us fly to the three major cities and at times go straight to the hospitals and patient meetings from the airport itself meant that I travelled very light and efficient. I had sworn to myself I would travel sensibly and not end up with embarrassingly large and cumbersome luggage. So shopping was minimal.
Lesson no 2 learnt is, when traveling to Pakistan carry a bag as large as their hearts and to hell with worrying about what the guys will think of all your excess baggage!!

So this was all food for the soul and what about food for the stomach? Pakistan believe me, is a food lover’s paradise. Let me tell you I ate the most fragrant rice and the rotis that melt in your mouth and the best makki ki roti and saag ever.

I ate at the home of Wasim, whose lovely wife Zohra Jabeen (Wasim says he sings “Ae mere Zohara Jabeen’ to her often) served the most delicious cutlets for high tea the day I visited them keeping my vegetarian sensitivities in mind and was so disappointed when I told her I was an impure vegetarian and had been enjoying lovely kebabs and other such delicacies since the time I had been there.

At my cousin Shelley’s home both she and her lovely husband Haseeb fed me like there was no tomorrow and one night we all went to eat at this place called The Okra which had some awesome Italian food and atmosphere to go with it .

In Lahore we ate, at a place called Coco’s – on the roof top one magical night, looking out on the imposing domes and minarets of the Badshahi Mosque on one side and the Lahore fort on the other. The kadhai chicken and sheek kebabs fought for attention with the aromatic black dhal. The golden brown paranthas were to die for. I was told that Coco’s is run by the son of one of the dancing girls who lived and worked in the four storied haveli that now housed it – he is also an artist and there were some very lovely paintings on display –poignant paintings portraying the lives of the women who lived and worked there - not much of the décor had been changed it seems from all those years ago. It was easy to get lost in the atmosphere and think back to what it must have been like during the times when the beat of the ghungroos and tablas and the music of the sarangi would have been ringing in those rooms where we now sat listening to mujras from old Hindi films.

One night in Karachi we ate at the Village which is this sprawling ethnic restaurant by the side of the sea and I have never seen a buffet spread as all encompassing as this one was…you name the kind of food and it was there and the best sugar cane juice ever.

Another meal that was unforgettable was the one we had at an Afghani hotel in Islamabad, sitting on the sidewalk under a cool black sky. It was at the end of a long day when I thought things couldn’t get better than the delicious lunch of makki ki roti and Saag we had had at the Pay First food court – or the leisurely 5 o’clock chai in an adda in a sunken garden- a day when my gallant escorts had taken me boating on the Rawal Dam and up the mountains for some stunning views of the city

It got even better is all I can say that night when upon our return to the hotel (I was staying at the Marriot) while entering the hotel who do I bump into; literally bump into, to my shock and absolute delight- but President Mushharaf. There he was just handshaking distance away with his Begum, very calmly walking out the door, if you please. At the same moment, it registered that four black Mercedes Benz cars had indeed drawn up beside the kerb and a gun toting guard too had materialized. Good thing one of the persons with me put out his arm and restrained me for I was about to lean forward with my hand out stretched. In an undertone he also muttered – wait, the guard will shoot you first and then ask questions if at all. Well, I said to myself, someone back home is sure to ask me,” So, you went to Pakistan eh? Did you meet Mushharaf and give him my regards?” I had an answer to that predictable question – an unpredictable answer at that. “Yes indeed, I did and I don’t know about anybody’s regards but I sure said Namaste and got a smart salute and charming smile in return”

Inshah Allah next time I will convey your regards.

April 2005

Venky's newer Car

2007-02-17T07:34:00.000-08:00

The Chevy Aveo being christened on 7th Feb 07

Venky's new car

2007-02-04T07:55:00.000-08:00

Breakfast At Mani's

2007-02-03T23:53:00.000-08:00

For some months now, ever since his work became really demanding and I began to work more and more late nights, not to mention all the traveling, we began to realise that meeting each other and spending quality time together, or even getting together for a meal was becoming something rare and sometimes impossible for days at a stretch. Both of us had our own busy schedules outside of work too and trying to find time for our responsibilities at home was also eating into our rather precious moments together.

Just after the monsoons last year I had a brilliant idea. He works in Nariman Point as South as South Bombay can get and I go to Worli in the West and we both have to drive past Matunga in Central Mumbai to get to both destinations. Matunga to me means Venkateshwara Stores, the aroma of coffee powder, the fragrance of the flowers from the rows and rows of rose and jasmine garlands and of course Mani’s.

Why didn’t we meet on Saturdays ( since both of us work the sixth day of the week too) for break fast at Mani’s and catch up and exchange notes on the week’s happenings and enjoy a nice relaxed “date” with each other .

Mani’s Lunch Home established 1937, tucked in between Ruia College and Hindu Colony, beside the Matunga Gymkhana grounds under the cool, swaying leafy shade of the tall trees that have been there for ages.. One tiny little eating place that can seat maybe twelve inside but during peak hours has dozens and dozens of customers spilling out on the sidewalk and then some more being served in their cars by the curb side.

Seventy years of the world’s best Vadais , Dosais, Upma , Idlis, Adais and on special days Ulundu Dosai and Masala Vadai with the generous and never ending accompanying portions of Sambhar and Chutney that discerning aficionados of South Indian cuisine in Bombay have quietly but diligently been coming to eat regularly. Phew!! that was a long sentence but not longer than the line of customers waiting to find seating space. Never mind the cramped “inside room” space, the rickety little plastic stools outside nor the noise and bustle of the street nor even the ubiquitous parking attendant making a killing with his little book of parking chits .

So we started meeting at Mani’s on Saturday mornings. He would put aside his morning newspapers in his car and I my lap top in mine for this mid –way stop on our way to our respective offices and the charming ambience of old Matunga would take over. One of the eager, fresh faced boys, all of them, affectionately, Thambi to all, would come to take our orders and over the following weeks came to know it would be first an Upma for him then maybe a Vadai Sambhar and for me first the Vadai Sambhar and then a Rava Dosai – and of course Vadai Sambhar for both our drivers followed by a strong Kaapi without sugar for him and maybe a mosambi juice for me.

It was simply a brilliant idea this relaxed Saturday breakfast – oh so much better than my hurried and laboured chewing of toast at home washed down by juice. The Vadais crisp and the sambhar heavenly and the chutney divine; the Rava Dosai melting in your mouth, well, my mouth sorry.

It was not that we had never been to Mani’s before. My first visit there was more than thirty years ago, when I came to Bombay as a bride from Delhi. I soon realised that nothing had changed at Mani’s since then. Not the taste and size of the offerings nor the unlimited amount of Sambhar and Chutney and no, not even the price of the sumptuous feast.

All of what we ate and the packed stuff he would sweetly buy for me to take to work for my colleagues would not cost more than what two burghers or one pizza would cost – ALL of what we ate and packed to take away .

The first day we went there he showed me Pai’s Hospital, where he was born, right in front of Mani’s and immediately the place became even more precious and special!! And then once we walked after wards to the edge of the Gymkhana grounds to a small park where his mother would bring him to play in the evenings when he was a little boy. This place was getting to be magical. And of course my own sons had studied in Ruia College and Poddar College both just around the corner.

Soon we realised that we were not the only regulars at Mani’s on these special Saturday mornings. Other couples, some oh so much younger than us but as much lost in their own world as we were in ours , Matunga Mamas tucking in after their constitutional , hordes of excited , noisy , sweating young and aspiring cricketers in their what were once cricketing whites, their large vociferous coaches giving gyan and guidelines , students from Ruia and Poddar Colleges stopping by for cheap , nutritious nourishment in between lectures , painting contractors discussing the shade of pink the lady from Lal Bagh wanted for her balcony , the old lady whose driver would get her the plate of crisp Dosai in the car – the whole world came to Mani’s on Saturday mornings.

We began love it and look forward eagerly to these mornings if we have to miss it because one of us is traveling or for some other reason cannot make it then we wait eagerly for the next Saturday.

The other day I stopped by at Mani’s on my way back home to grab a quick bite as it was late and I knew I wouldn’t make it till I reached home which was at least an hour away. I knew he too once in a while stopped by to pick up something as a stop gap measure on his way home or for lunch the day his lunch was not packed at home. I wondered if both of us had the same thought that day and if we would run into each other.

Thambi came to the car and took my order and hung around for a couple of seconds looking around. Then he came back with my Dosai, shuffled his feet and continued to throw glances hither and thither. When he came again to take the plate and give me the bill I could see he was trying to initiate a conversation so when I gave him the money I asked him if all was well.

“Did the other “Aiyyah” (Sir) who lives here not come with you today Amma? “He asked. I said, “Which Aiyyah? I don’t know any Aiyyah who lives here.”
The “Aiyyah you come to meet in the mornings? Sometimes he comes also on his own and takes a packed Idli plate or Upma plate. He did not come to meet you today?” By the time he finished he was blushing and stammering …” No, never mind Amma, I only..Just like..That…thought …I , no , never mind ….” I sat there, a bit puzzled and confused till it hit me and this big grin spread across my face...oh my God he meant Venky!!! I could not wait to get home and tell my husband that Thambi (maybe not just him but the other Thambis too) thought we were this clandestine couple rendezvousing at their café on Saturday mornings!!!!!!!

Now Venky will just have to take me to Breakfast at Tiffany’s!!