Winter setting in in Chandigarh

Dia

I met her at Tanah Lok temple in Bali. She was trying to sell me some colourful souvenirs with quiet desperation on her face. She had no time for my niceties. She was here to do a job. There are plenty of street children in India trying to sell me stuff, but Dia somehow tore my heart with her grown up almond eyes, neat ponytail, clean clothes and sling bag, translucent flawless skin and serious expression. I could not touch her on the head, as I read in The Lonely Planet that here the head is considered the home of the spirit, and it is very rude to touch it. So I just made eye contact and spoke to her gently, asking her to smile and then showing her the photo on my digicam. This somehow brightened her up, until she disappeared into the crowd of tourists, on a mission.

Of dogs and golfers with soft hearts

What you see is the most expensive grass that a golf course would have - "The Green". No one, and I repeat, no one is allowed to step on it without special golf shoes. And no one (except the caddie) could even dream of hanging out there while a golfer is putting towards the hole. But at Tollygunge Golf Club in Kolkata, the rules are different. Here, stray dogs are allowed, loved and welcomed everywhere.

Meet Julie, supposedly 18 years old. I watched her with my heart in my mouth, shuffling with her arthritic legs to The Green, and lying down there, blissfully soaking up the sun. A group of golfers were all around, and one of them cautiously started approaching her. Just when I though he would tap her with his golf club and prod her to go away, he... bent down and patted her with utmost care and affection!!! Julie is also the only dog allowed within The Shamiana - the open air cafe at the club, where players and guests can have tea, snacks or breakfast. She has her own little food and water bowls in a corner, and is a permanent 'fixture' around. She was sleeping peacefully one morning, until a table of elderly gentlemen (the type I would normally assume hate dogs) was served hot steaming omelettes and toast. Almost blind Julie woke up, smelled the air, and slowly limped towards their table. She stood there for good 5-10 minutes, patiently. Until one of the men lovingly cut a piece of omelette and gave it to her, patting her on the head for dessert. The fact is, The Shamiana was full, and everyone's table was laden with delicious treats. Why did she go to this table?

The next day at breakfast, I saw a lady giving Julie her daily dose of vitamins (!). She told me that on days when the kitchen is closed, she comes especially from home to make sure the old lady is fed and happy!

It would have been hard to miss a horde of small puppies running around. In the evening, the club staff secures them in an old concrete tub, and covers them with cardboard, so that the jackals which abound around the premises, don't eat them up at night. Someone is responsible for taking them out at the crack of dawn. And yes, "a doctor did come around last week to check out their skin disease, madam". And part of the watchman's duties is to make sure the puppies stay off the drive in alley of the club (which he demonstrated proudly, gently using a short stick).

As promised, Mauritius photos

India from the sideview car window

I'm in a relationship on four wheels. Literally. We drive... A lot. For Gurtaj, it's like a drug. As for me... Sometimes I love it, sometimes I loathe it. It allows me to see the best and the worst of India. From the arid, stunning landscape of Rajasthan, to the lush greenery of Madhya Pradesh's natural parks. Picturesque villages, herds of sheep and goats, colourful people, tucked away forts... Rivers and lakes. I wish I had a camera in my head, to do "click" every time I saw something that touched my heart. And then, the other side: runover dogs splattered all over the road, 4-hour long traffic jams of ugly, pollution-spewing trucks with despondent drivers, dirty little desolate towns with piles of garbage along the road. Sometimes, I don't want to see all this. I want to live in a dream... But sooner or later, we are on the road agan, and the movie begins...

We have driven from Bombay to Chandigarh and back (through Rajasthan) innumerable times, in a yellow convertible Merc (this must be the most driven sports car in India); our honeymoon was a road trip; we have done Bombay-Goa in a single night, in an open Gipsy (me the only girl amongst 5 rowdy guys); I have lost count of the impromptu day drives to Lonavala and Pune; we have been to Indore & Mandu (on a moon surface road) in a Ford; we were driven (with Gurtaj looking completely out of place in the passenger's seat) from Chandigarh to Leh, all over Ladakh; for my last birthday, we drove through Madhya Pradesh in a huge silver Mitsubishi Montero.

When we drive, it is just the two of us, in a bubble, in our own world. We are the only ones in control. I know he is watching the road. I know the way he sees it, the way he reacts. I know how other drivers think. I can predict theirs and his next actions. We know how to take care of each other on long drives. He knows when I get sick, he puts his hand over my eyes when there is an accident or a dead animal ahead. I know when he is tired, when to change the Cd and when to hand him the water bottle. It's perfect team work. I've had some of the best times of our marriage on long drives.

It tires me... A lot... And yet once it's a reality, there are moments of amazing thrill. Like driving up through a bustling tiny lane to Deogarh palace (if I take my hand out, I can literally do window shopping from the car). Or discovering a virgin, lush green road in MP (are these rocks on the road a sign of dacoits???).

BOTTOM LINE: We recently bought an SUV. It is the BEST car for India. I don't feel claustrophobic in traffic jams - I am actually at the same level as those traveling on buses (they can't peek into my cleavage from high above anymore!). We can go off road and avoid huge traffic jams. We can go through all the holes in the road. I am not scared of flash flooding anymore. It's like riding on top of my own big grey elephant!

The case of Bombay vs Delhi

It happens every time I go to Delhi... This feeling of "what on Earth am I doing in Bombay?!". Delhi has wide, even, clean roads. Big, beautifully landscaped gardens and parks. Less slums. New, environmentally friendly, clean cabs in a very good condition. Same for the rickshaws - and they are painted in cool green and yellow colours!! The houses are huge and it seems there is an unofficial competition of who's garden will be the most beautiful of them all. People are stylish like hell. And since there is something like a winter here (temperatures drop significantly from November to March), they actually have a "winter wardrobe" with boots, stockings, beautiful shawls, jackets, polo necks... It's only in Delhi that I feel like layering and throwing on an elegant pashmina over my shoulders when I go out. The Delhi Golf Club has winter outdoors dining, with the creme de la creme of the city picking up delicacies from al fresco cooking stations, chatting over their Gucci shades, surrounded by blooming chrysantemum.

There is so much greenery in the city, that the bird population is huge, colourful, cute and interesting, unlike the Bombay nagging, ugly crows. Here, you can actually see flocks of green parrots, a peacock here and there, and even deer at the Golf Club (we were sitting at the pub one night and a deer crossed the green in the moonlight - in the middle of a bustling city - surreal!!)

If you feel like cooking here, all the exotic ingredients are easily available - even filo pastry sheets and vine leaves for my favourite dolmades!!! I also love the shopping areas and markets, with all possible goods and brands stuffed together at a walking distance.

When I see all this, I think I can live with the North Indian aggressive attitude, with all the staring and eve-teasing males, without partying on my own till 4 am. I just need one of these beautiful houses with gardens, one of these big kitchens, and a car & a driver to be happy (that itself amounts in total to more than a million dollars but what the heck :-)

P.S. But you see, Bombay loves to hate Delhi. And it's true - Bombay is on the go, it means business, it's kinder to its women, lives and lets you live, its cool quotient is up there and its vibe is uncomparable, it has the vast expanse of the sea... Well, it's also polluted like hell, every hour is peak traffic hour, it's filthy, slum infested, cramped, hot all year round. So the question remains - is it just an illusion that I am happy here?

Rantings of a frequent traveler

I have finally understood… Every single Indian is a CEO! The completely indispensable kind, who has to be reachable 24/7, on his/her mobile of course. I used to get intensely angry at people keeping their mobiles on during flights, despite repeated requests from the flight attendants, but now, I know… You can’t mess with important people.
Especially with the housewife type, which has to call home the minute the plane has touched ground to instruct the maid to start cooking the dal. Or with the bespectacled, middle aged gentleman who picks up the phone while boarding a 5 am flight, looking as if he is striking the deal of a lifetime (but instead giving instructions to the wife on when to go and pick up so and so from uncle’s house).

The pits was a flight from London to Mumbai, when an elderly man sitting next to me kept screaming in the receiver while the plane was picking up speed on the runway (a moment when everything, absolutely every electronic device has to be off). I couldn’t help but glare at him, so he asked the person at the other end to hold, and earnestly explained: “Madam, that’s exactly what I am trying to tell them – to stop calling me now as we are taking off!”. What on earth could I have replied to that?!

Flights to Delhi are the worst. Almost all mobiles on board are on, all the time, and at the moment we touch ground, a myriad of loud beeps and alarms resound from every seat. The CEOs take on a serious expression and start checking their messages, and invariably a thunderous voice from somewhere will say: “Haaaaa? Kon hai? Haaaa! Just landed! … Haaa? Nahin, Rinku teek hai… Uska blood pressure todha sa high hai… Haaaa!” All essential information which has to be conveyed at this very moment.

The same stands when exiting the plane. The CEO tribe is in such a hurry, that seat belts are unbuckled at the very second the plane’s tyres touch the runway. So the beeping of mobiles is complimented with click clack clack from everywhere. The race is on! Everyone around me is on the edge of their seats, ready to pounce. As soon as the plane comes to a stop, the smartest ones jump up, and if their fellow passengers occupying the aisle seats are still wasting time sitting around, they don’t mind continuing to stand in all sorts of contorted positions, waiting for their chance to fling themselves at the overhead compartments to collect their precious hand luggage. A small battle of bodies and wills ensues (all while talking on the mobile), and finally everyone is standing, breathing in each other’s necks, waiting for the doors to open (I agree, it’s not a good idea to be left behind, locked up into an empty plane just because you waited around).

When we can finally go, the rule is ‘gentleman first!’. The competition is so intense, that’s it’s actually a bit dangerous to try and edge your way out of your seat – your feet may get smashed under a trolley, pulled along by some man obviously in a hurry for his kidney transplant operation. My question is: why all this struggle, when we will all end up in the same bus, going to the same terminal, waiting for the same luggage belt to start screeching and rolling out our luggage? But logic doesn’t seem to be the order of the day, and as I almost get pushed out of the bus (I have the audacity to stop to pull out my trolley’s handle and block the way of five cardiac specialists on their way to save someone’s life), I just remind myself… We are all a nation of CEOs.

Another 12 hours in India...

• Yesterday 2.30 pm - I leave for the airport. I am flying to Delhi to attend the reception in honour of the Bulgarian Prime Minister who is visiting India. I am flying Jet Airways, so I expect no surprises.


• My driver is again imagining he is on a Formula 1 track. I try to buckle up, but the buckle is neatly concealed behind the seat. Who needs seat belts in India anyway?


• At the airport, I indulge in a Baskin & Robbins English Candy ice cream. Mmmmmm! Delicious!


• I have printed out my boarding pass, so I am ready to go through security. Suddenly, a problem - a new rule has come into place - even passengers who have checked in online have to physically go to the check in counter, show an ID and get the boarding pass stamped (oh how much we LOVE stamps in this country!). I refuse to go back. Luckilly, a Jet employee is hanging around, so he stamps my boarding pass after an incredulous look at my Indian driving licence. The girl who is searching me is so thrilled I speak Hindi that she continues chatting oblivious to the growing queue.


• I go in and start watching the news. India has fired a test missile. A VIP passes by, dressed all in black, with a mignion from the airline carrying his briefcase and newspapers.


• Boarding. Everyone is rushing as if they are going to miss the plane. Surprise! Another hand luggage screening at the boarding counter... Only for Delhi-bound passengers. Those going to Bangalore just go through... Bombs are only allowed to Bangalore today! I am tempted to make a joke, but remember that at American airports just mentioning the "b" word may land you in prison. So I keep quiet.


• Desperate paging for someone who has left their mobile phone at the security check.


• On the plane. Have a great seat but the lady next to me decides to partially drape me in her sari.


• The Jet crew have new awesomly handsome uniforms. Just as I admire them and mentally praise the finish, the material and colour, I notice the cheap transparent plastic buttons and the horrendous pumps (how do I even describe them?). Why invest in new uniforms and forgo the small last details?


• Have the best airplane nap ever!


• Arrive in Delhi. It's 6 in the evening and its 36 degrees C!!! At the moment we touch ground, people start flipping out their mobile phones, despite repeated requests from the crew not to. Dinner cooking instructions and "han ji"s start resounding. The crew gives up...


• On the bus, a member of the crew rushes in and asks passengers if anyone has mistakenly carried out someone else's laptop bag.


• Trying to get out of the bus, I am almost trampled by three netas (a word for politicians which I would like to think is derogatory) who abide by the rule "gentlemen first".


• Now the interesting part comes - trying to get a pre-paid cab. I first go to the government counter and I am quoted a ridiculous price (500 bucks to just drop me to Chanakyapuri). At my astonishment they answer "Then go to Easycabs" - which is basically their competition. I notice a new booth and go to enquire. A rerale decent Delhiite informs me that these cabs are very basic and don't have a radio, but it's my choice. I almost choose this company just for this guy's sake, but decide in favour of Easycabs. While there is a long queue at other counters, Easycab is empty. I ask them why. Thyey say it's because they are more expensive and have better cars. Tired, I just go for them.


• I get out of the airport and as usual am surrounded with touts offering hotel rooms and cabs. I finally find my cab and driver and get in. I explain where I am going and how exactly I want to be taken there. He gesticulates reassuringly and seems as if he has taken this route thousands of times. I am promptly taken by the wrong, longer way, of course. En route, he stops to put air in his tyres. And the car makes an incredible noise, as if the wheels are going to fly off at any moment. To reinforce the fact that it is an AC cab, the blast is to the maximum, and the deep freeze ironically adds to the fire of my anger. But fortunately, in this car, the seat belt is fully operational and I have the semblant of a feeling of security in Delhi's frenzied traffic.


• At the moment I reach the Embassy and crash on my mom's sofa with a sigh of relief, I get a call. A cheery voice: "Hello, M'am, I am calling from Indian Airlines!" (I am flying them on my return). A bad predicament creeps up my spine. "I am sorry to inform you that your flight has been delayed by 1 and half hours! But you can come to the airport right now and we can give you a booking on an earlier flight." COME BACK TO THE AIRPORT??? I try to keep my cool... And decide to just "f..." it and enjoy the evening.


• The reception goes well. I meet the honorary council of Bulgaria in Calcutta, and his son happens to be married to the daughter of my newspaper's chairman. That's India for you - one billion and still small like a village!


• Next day, I go to the airport and manage to get onto the 9 am flight. I am rushing to the gate, but a security guard directs me to another gate for "my class". At the other gate they send me back to the first gate. I run there and the guard tries to send em back to the other gate. I scream! And soon enough I am in the business class bus full of netas in white kurtis and lunghis. Of course, why should they fly economy if they have so much of public money??


• It's a 9 o'clock flight, but needless to say, we only fly out at 9.20...


• Finally back home. I love the first few minutes of being in Bombay - the faces, the manners, change completely. People mean business here and touches of coolness are everywhere. To confirm my feeling, a bright red Bentley with a huge sign "government of Karnataka" overtakes us. The driver is wearing huge silver rings depicting bones and skulls.