beingdesh

Category: Personal

  • Are you there?

    Are you there?

    Yes. I am.

    It has been more than a year since I wrote a blog post (or rather posted one). I have written quite a bit since last year but hardly anything has made it to this blog. This has been my longest break since I started the blog and it is strange considering there has been so much to write about.

    Last year and the part of this year  has brought about a number of changes- turning 30, adjusting to a married life, moving to U.S., learning how to drive, and getting used to change in working styles. It has also been about the usual stuff- travelling and eating interesting things, reading new stuff, having conversations on politics and sports, and trying out new things in kitchen.

    But it seems that day by day there is less to talk, and a even lesser number of people to talk with. I own a few more devices now than I did a year back, although I use them less than what I used to do. Is it the age catching up? Or is it just the lack of time? Or just a lack of motivation to pick up things of my interest and record them.

    Apart from the fact that my social life in U.S. has been a bit on the decline, the rest of the parameters have stayed the same. I have enjoyed the lakes, the forests, the occasional runs, the beautiful drives, and the snow. Yes the snow. New York has reminded me of Mumbai and Chicago of what Mumbai can never be. Disney brought out unlimited happiness in me, Niagara stunned me with its visuals, and Grand Canyon was a bit of a let down. Food in America has swung between greasy and over-healthy and “good” Indian restaurants have been hard to find. American History has intrigued me, from the museums in DC to Netflix documentaries to books on Civil War. Winter has charmed and shivered me in equal proportions, Fall was something I totally missed, and Summer seems like something that happened a long time ago. Right now I am just hoping that this winter slowly melts into summer again. And yes that is currently the only thing I wish for,

    And I have missed a lot of action back home, especially the experience of voting in the Lok Sabha elections last year and just talking about it a lot. I have developed appreciation for Ravish Kumar’s reporting on NDTV India and have stopped watching the noisy debates of Arnab totally.

    Between all this what has kept me engaged has been my attempts to perfect my Indian cooking. As my wife says there is a difference between being someone who likes to cook occasionally vs. someone who has to cook daily. It is a big challenge to cook daily. It is more difficult to keep your Daal interesting on a day-to-day basis than rolling the perfect Pizza (which I have tried too). As I learn the art of tinkering with the daily recipes, without altering their simple nature, I do indulge a bit of special cooking from time to time.

    Here is a recipe for one dish which reminds me of some awesome drinking / talking sessions at Raj Palace, and something which I prepare for a respite from the usual routine food.

    Recipe: Egg Biryani

    Ingredients:
    * Hardboiled eggs
    * Rice (Cooked, but shouldn’t be overcooked)
    * Whole Garam Masala (Cloves, Cardamon, Cinnamon, Bay Leaves etc.)
    * Onions and tomatoes
    * Regular masalas from Kitchen

    Put some oil in pan. Add few drops of ghee in it. Put thinly sliced onion in it. Fry till they are nice and brown. Bring them to the sides and keep it in pan, don’t mix with oil.
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    Add Jeera and whole garam masala in oil ghee in pan. I added cloves, cardamon, bayleaf and cinnamon. You can consider adding few others of your choice.

    Then add green chillies, ginger-garlic paste, and some ginger julienne. Add tomato paste and a bit of water. Pull in a few fried onions from the side and mix in it. Not all. We want the onions to be separate and not mash in like a paste.

    Once masala is ready add eggs. Then add rice and mix it gently. Add a bit of coriander.
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    Serve with Papad and Raita.

    Best enjoyed with Old Monk and Thums Up.

    Note: Just to be clear, my wife does most of the cooking but I do end up doing a bit too 🙂

  • पलायन

    पलायन

    घूमता-खोजता, चलता-फिरता,
    फिर निकल चला मैं।
    पहले शिक्षा, फिर नौकरी,
    फिर शिक्षा और दूसरी नौकरी।
    कभी क़स्बा, कभी शहर,
    कभी देश, कभी विदेश।
    हर जगह संभावनाएं खोजता,
    कभी दुसरो को, कभी खुद को ढ़ुंढ़ता।
    प्रवासी कहिये या अप्रवासी,
    जड़ो से उजड़ा हुआ कहिये या जड़हीन।
    घूमता-खोजता, चलता-फिरता,
    फिर निकल चलूँगा मैं।

  • Am I at Sea?

    I often come across as a slightly lost and confused kind of a person. Be it my extreme hyperactivity levels, or slightly irritating ability to connect random things, they tend to add to an aura of confusion around me. I try to be a WYSWYG (What You See is What You Get), with hardly a difference between what I show to the world, and what I am. But do I succeed?

    Deep down I remain an extremely confused person. I am unsure about my life, career, settling down, choosing between poha and eggs for breakfast, or even about what my interests are.

    Although beneath the multiple layers of confusion, both externally and internally, I always stay true to one thing- people around me. I learn things through them, see the world through their eyes, and interpret their tastes to venture into untested culinary territories. I believe my intelligence stems from the people I know, and it will keep growing as I keep connecting and sharing with more number of people.

    But as the number of people I know keeps consolidating into smaller and smaller groups, I am totally at sea with respect to which ones to manage my relationships with. Manage lesser number of people and shrink this unique intelligence network of mine? Or, Keep growing it for an indefinite period and attain Moksha?

    Confusion follows me everywhere, or rather I take it along with me. It is topmost on the list of things I carry, higher than my phone too. So when I was in Goa last weekend it chased me, and I guess it infected my friends too.

    On a hot Saturday noon, we left our resort looking for something interesting to do in Goa. Goa always has options, but my mind was muddled trying to balance my quest for finding a new Goa and my friend’s zeal to discover the Goa I already knew.

    We decided to venture out to this French Beachside place called La Plage (The Sea in French), at the Ashwem Beach. The ride was long and the sun was strong, but my Kokam Juice-powered body was turning the hot winds into a fearless cold sweat. The ghost of confusion was off my back, and I was calmly enjoying the ride. And then we arrived at La Plage.

    Sitting neatly in one corner of the beautiful Ashwem Beach, La Plage is a French Cuisine hotspot run by a French lady. Once we entered the place, I could feel a difference in atmosphere. The decor was crisp, spacious, and well-organized. The tables were marked, and the owner took reservations. No wonder Haute Cuisine and its related culture had its origins in France, they can make even a Beach Side Shack run in an elegant manner.

    I had a brief conversation with the owner. She was a charming lady, probably in her mid-50s. She had beautiful silver hair, a wrinkled yet shiny skin, and a demeanour which was friendly yet authoritative. I sensed perfection, something which had translated into this place, and into its food. She allotted us the table we wanted, having comfortable resting chairs, the kind of which my GrandPa used to have.

    We ordered a Sula Zinfandel Rosé, served perfectly chilled tucked in an ice-bucket. A Rosé evokes fascinating memories of me drooling over Roohafza as a kid, but as the present sinks in, I am channelled back into a more alcoholic mode of refreshing luminescence.

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    Nothing freshens things up as a Rosé

    I picked up the menu, and there was finesse sprayed all over it. The dishes were deliciously described, helping me imagine the culinary outcomes of my order. We ended up ordering Fried Sardines with a Red Pepper Sorbet and a Tomato Crumble.

    I sat back and started sipping the wine back, the conversations were flowing, but I was a bit lost in myself. Probably it was the wine, or it was the heat. Or just me.

    The dishes arrived, breaking my imaginary (order->culinary outcomes) equation with ease. The plates were just like everything else at the place, nothing short of perfection. The plating was so gorgeous that it would have been a sin even touching the dish, leave aside eating it. But then I took the fork, captured the dish, and poked in.

    Sardines were a bit too Fishy and bland for my liking. For someone who prefers dipping in Goan Masala rather than the Sea, it was like eating a tasteless porridge. Probably that’s the way the French make it. But then I discovered the Red Pepper Sorbet.

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    Crispy Sardines with Red Pepper Sorbet

    Served as a dip for the Sardines, Red Pepper Sorbet took me through a dreamy journey of the La Plage kitchen. I saw someone roasting the Red Peppers on open fire inducing a lovely burnt taste. I saw someone blending it, adding Sugar, dash of alcohol and some lime juice to the mix.I looked around for some Ginger in the kitchen. Probably that could have taken it to another level. Probably not.

    The fish dipped in sorbet was another being now. It had a new life, and its renewed life had a new meaning.

    Tomato Crumble looked as a something ready to breakdown, but still so firmly bound. A layer of juicy tomatoes and a crust induced with three secrets of French cuisine (Butter, Butter, and Butter) was mixed with crunchy walnuts and separated by a sheet of melted mozzarella. The side was a simplified Caesar Salad with a thickish, and quite evident vinaigrette.

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    Tomato Crumble with Caeser Salad

    I cut through a sizeable cross-section of the dish to taste. What followed were the slightly sugary notes of tomatoes along with the crunch of walnuts. A thought that Mozzarella and Tomato would have been married to each other in their previous lives crossed my mind. The dish was totally different from the Sardines Sorbet combination, as the results were much more on expected lines. But both the dishes had minimal spicing, and relied on the purity of the ingredients involved.

    We took a break from eating and walked towards the beach. The sun was at its peak but there was a something more pleasant about the atmosphere here. I took a dip and came back to our table. I took a few sips and then closed my eyes.

    I re-entered the kitchen looking for the refrigeration unit. I opened it up and tried to look for the Red Pepper Sorbet but couldn’t find any. I opened my eyes. My friends were back. And we ordered some Sorbets and Vanilla Ice Cream.

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    The Pure flavours of Vanilla and Fruits

    It was simply the best Vanilla Ice Cream I had ever consumed, as it relied more on the purity of the vanilla beans involved rather than anything else. It is a pity that the brilliance of Vanilla has been reduced to a default flavour by commercial ice cream makers. The term Plain Vanilla is both misleading and disrespectful to the delight Vanilla can be.

    The sorbets were an experience, involving a series of tangy strawberry, floral litchi, elegant guava and regal flavours of mango.

    Post the meal I sat with my eyes closed. The wind was blowing smoothly and my feet were tucked in finely powdered cold sand. I had found the new experience I am always on the lookout for in Goa. A sense of eerie calm had replaced the ghost of confusion which always rides on my back. This is what a great culinary experience can do to you.

    I was still at sea, but more sure about my being than ever.

  • Silly Point

    Hashim Amla-Ian Bell
    Hashim Amla driving with Ian Bell at Silly Point. Picture from EspnCricinfo.

    It is unusually close to the batsmen. It is a dangerous, yet a rewarding position. It gives new players a chance to learn the game, the nimble ones a chance to display their fielding prowess, and the wily ones a chance to show-off their “running-someone-out” smartness. But sadly it gives the careless, inattentive ones, a chance to get injured, or sometimes just die. No wonder they call it the silly point.

    Over the years this spot has developed another utility beyond the realms of fielding. The unstructured and sometimes insensible rise of sledging or Mental Disintegration (as Steven Waugh famously honey-coated the practice) in Cricket has provided it more significance on field than ever before, for it is the only position apart from the bowler who can constantly throw a gaze at the batsman. Learning has been replaced with a know-it-all attitude, nimbleness has been verbalized, and wiliness is now wrapped with arrogance.

    What has stayed the same is the fear. Fear of losing your senses for a moment. Fear of getting hit by the thread-infused leather. Fear of injury. Fear of death. Fear of batsman.

    The best silly point fielders are those who overcome fear, for whom the dismissal is more important than the reactionary jump, the gaze more important than showing the back.

    And then there is the stupid thing called life, full of conversations, good ones, bad ones, and those silly ones. In all our conversations we are either trying to learn something about someone, discuss shared interests, evoke a set of emotions, or debate with rationality and mutual respect. On certain occasions the conversations do not go the right way, leading to confusion, chaos, and ultimately a lot of pain.

    Over the years we have changed and so have our conversations. We are trying too hard to talk at times, but too little to connect with others. Changing technology has increased the volume of our conversations, but its value is questionable. Changing social structures and behavioural patterns has led to people vigorously competing for attention. Conversations are being used as tools to please people, to judge them, and many a times to inflict insult or to demean them. Learning has been replaced with a know-it-all attitude, rationality with trivial emotions, and respect with arrogance.

    What has stayed the same is the fear. Fear of losing your senses during an important conversation. Fear of getting hit by a verbal blow. Fear of insult. Fear of conflict. Fear of losing a friend, or a loved one.

    The best of the conversations are had without any fear and inhibitions in mind, where measured responses take precedence over  maintaining an image, and conclusion is more important than outcome.

    Never be afraid of making an honest point which you truly believe in. In life, as in Cricket, even a Silly Point is not a bad idea.

    If you liked the post, try reading this one: Well left

  • किम्कर्त्व्यविमुढ

    सब कुछ  था स्थिर, अविचलित, शांत सा,
    अचानक से इस दुविधा ने लाया एक बवंडर सा।

    क्या करे क्या ना करे के दोराहे पर मैं हु खड़ा,
    असमंजस से जूझता, पर इरादों पर अड़ा।

    इस पार है निराशा, उस पार आशा की किरण,
    बीच मझदार का सफ़र है, जिस पर तय होगा जीवन-मरण।

    -अभिषेक ‘देसी’ देशपांडे

  • A Very Long Walk to Freedom

    There is a continuous buzz in my ear, but I neglect that and keep running. I see him clearly, the colors are crystal clear, Hi Definition, and beautifully bright, even in the pitch black darkness of night. I can see the rolling ball at his feet, about to leave them, but still hesitant, like a first-time school going kid. I can’t see him now, I can just see the ball as it starts curling towards me, wait curling away from me! I dive and snatch it out of the sweaty, seafood-smelling air. I stopped a certain goal. But now it is my head which is curling.

    I am high. I think I am on a beach. A few hours back I was on my campus writing my final examination. I can’t recollect events post that, but I can piece together a sequence of images- phone calls, a run towards Bandra Terminus, a ticket bought for Vapi, lots of beer and whisky picked up on the way, a bottle of beer breaking. Oh yes, I remember now. I am in Daman.

    It is new years eve and a group of football-loving, women-hating young men (or the so called losers) have accompanied each other on a short trip to Daman.

    And yes, I am on a beach. There is sand. There is a small shack cooking chicken and frying fish for us. There is a small campfire. There is music. There are a billion bottles of beer and a trillion empty pegs of whisky. There are people- my good friends, my acquaintances and few unknowns.

    But where the hell is water???

    All of a sudden I shudder. Am I actually on a beach? I am walking on a thin rope between the real and the surreal, and I am afraid of falling, just that I don’t want to be on either side.

    I do the normal checks by pinching myself. I go ahead and slap one of my friends and he abuses me back with his favorite abuse. Oh yes, maybe things are real. I am actually on a beach with no water. Is it possible?

    The clock is about to strike 12 and I am feeling awkward about things. I corner a couple of my friends and ask them have they thought about the no water on the beach thing yet? I see a look of negligence on their faces, maybe they have known it all throughout, even they are walking the same rope. Their look changes to one of curiosity, their eyes burning with inquisitiveness. We look at each other. Let’s go and find the bloody damn water!

    We start walking towards the pitch black horizon. It is a moonless cloudy night, with minimal tinges of shiny sprinkles on the pitch black sky. So there is no reflection on the seabed. We do feel the wet sand touching our feet after walking some distance, but there is water yet. No sound of tides. No boat on the distant horizon. I still think we all are dreaming.

    Three of us have left our friends far behind, the sounds have died, the fire we had lighted on the beach is slowly smoldering now, it’s all in the past. We are standing in the middle of nowhere with a wet feel on our feet, and see a sea of nothingness in front of us. My ear is still buzzing. I think it’s the alcohol. But I hear water. I look towards my friends, and even they heard it. We start running towards nothingness.

    Splash.

    One of my friends falls tripping over a small puddle of water. We have found some water and there is hope to find much more ahead. We keep running. We have left everything behind, our friends, our fears, our inhibitions, and maybe ourselves.

    A few seconds later our feet start touching the foamy beginnings of the sea, and we are there, in between the saltiness, and gushiness of sea-water. We jump into it. All three of us. The water is cold, cold enough to take the heat of alcohol from our brains and the buzz from my ear. A sense of freedom creeps in, a freedom for all what we feared of. I know it is all real.

    After regaining some sense we know it was a low tide day and the water had receded quite far away from the shore. As we are sitting in water, we can listen to the sounds of our friends rejoicing, few fireworks go up in the air. It is the start of a new year. It is a new beginning.

    As we begin our long walk back towards the shore laughing at ourselves, we leave behind the darkness and move towards a bright, hopeful new year.

  • The Healing Chill of Hebbe Falls

    A chill runs through my body, crossing my spine, and within touching distance of my brain. I can only feel the cold water massaging my bruises, playfully interacting with platelets busy constructing a clot. I can sense a relieving burn crawl over my scratches, and it is extremely refreshing. Suddenly all the tiredness faces an existential threat. I feel a rush of energy pass through my body. Water can do that to you. Chilled water can do it better. A super chilled waterfall after an injury-laden trek tops it all. It can pump life in you within seconds and make you feel alive.

    A couple of hours back…

    Ah, the beautiful landscapes around Kemmangundi (Karnataka), and the soothing winds blowing on this hilltop. Why should we leave all this and go for a trek? Down-treks are easier these guys tell me. I have never been a trekking person – up or down – nothing excites me. I am just going on this one to keep my friends happy. I have been told about this particularly scenic Hebbe falls some 8-10 Kms down the trek. Waterfall!!! So much pain and trouble just to see a waterfall. I am not the kind of person who would trade relaxation for effort on a holiday. Or maybe I am?

    We start the trek as a cheerful, semi-drunk, happy high sort of a group. Few beers had been gulped with an afternoon barbecue featuring my Ajwain Flavored Paneer Tikkas, but it’s the sights and sounds around which have made me high, or so I think. As with most treks in India, this one starts as a dusty and dry trail. Being a down trek we had already started slipping and losing control over the trek.

    A few minutes into the trek and I start laughing rather unsympathetically over a friend slipping. Before I realize I trip and start rolling down the hill. A chill runs through my body, full of fear, of injury, or even death, and I close my eyes. Darkness. Till Infinity.

    As I open my eyes caught in a thorny shrub, with distant voices of my friends falling on ears and prickly and intense pain running through my body I realize it isn’t that bad. My friends come rushing on and apply their healing dosage of Water, Antiseptic, and a healthy serving of trekking gyaan.

    Right now I feel terrible. Ashamed. Dead-like. Tired. Fail. Stupid. Maybe a mix of everything.

    And a few moments back…

    I am slowly realizing the extent of damage- a number of scratches, a couple of cuts on knees and elbows, and countless small bruises all over my body. But somehow I know I am walking towards something special. I don’t know what it is, but the afternoon heat metamorphosing to the pre-evening chill, and the dusty lanes transforming to Hulk-Green surroundings are giving me signs of things to come. All of a sudden through those green leaves I spot Hebbe Falls. I can smell the wet scent of earth, and hear the profound sounds of a waterfall. I had lost sense of all my senses sometime back. But as I stand in front of the waterfall, I have regained them, feeling every bit of the waterfall. I throw my bag and jump in.

  • Spicy Hot Summer, Served With Buffalo Dip

    There are summers, and then there is that idiotic summer.

    I was interning with an organization studying tribal arts in the Rathwa tribe dominated Chota Udaipur region of Gujarat. In a constantly sweltering Sun, which was seldom in mood to bend itself below 45 odd degrees, we roamed across villages exploring styles of Pithora Paintings and scouting opportunities to work on other tribal art forms.

    There are summers, and then there is that romantic summer.

    I remember squeezing out time to go through multiple books at the same time. I fell in love with Arwen from Lord of the Rings and the landscapes of Shire as described by Tolkien, before the book eventually consumed me. I fell in love with villages, with the way Indians lived, took pride in our deep heritage and diverse art forms, and developed a significant admiration for tribal women with their shiny skin and confident demeanor.

    There are summers, and then there is that delicious summer.

    From the 10 year old kid who took me behind his hut at night to mix Gin for me in a earthen pot, to the old uncle who showed me the distillation process for Mahua made liquor, I discovered the existence of Alcohol. I remember taking the first sip, and it was hot, as hot as the Sun on top, it burned my food pipe for a second, but left a deliciously hot aftertaste. Then there was my new found addiction for soft-drinks (the one I always regretted), to unbelievably and brightly colorful Re. 1 shaved-ice candies, popularly termed Jaundice flavored candies by my Professor. But the taste which stayed for me forever was having Huge Makai Rotlas (Maize-Flour Bread, almost 10 inches in diameter), served with spicy hot red-chili garlic dry chutney.

    There are summers, and there is the one that comes alive.

    “You look like a Yamraj”, my friend shouted.

    “I am one, bwhahahaha”, I replied.

    Here I was on one of those idiotic summer days sitting comfortably on a buffalo-back, rekindling my romance with my sense of freedom, with a couple of delicious drops of water flying from the pond and vaporizing of my parched tongue.

    Earlier in the day we had helped our host in the village with some clean-up of his house and then offered to help him take his buffalos for a cleanup. But as I cleaned the buffalos in the village nahar, I slowly soaked in the mood, and didn’t even realize when it became a little adventure involving me and my friend, our host’s son, his friends and the friendly buffalos. We all took a dip in the small pool which had formed at the side of the village stream, saving ourselves from the occasional burst of energy by the head banging buffalos. It was even better with them laying in pool with us climbing on backs, playing “desi” cowboys, or enacting Yamraj and feeling awesome about acting stupidly.

    And suddenly in that one moment everything I did that summer came together, all those images of intense summer heat, beautiful paintings, the earthen pot distillation unit, that spicy chili garlic chutney. And my summer came to life, with a bit of spice, and lovely Buffalo dip.

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    Have you ever gone dipping with Buffaloes in a village pond? Or Elephants, maybe?

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  • Thali Memoirs and A Visit to Rajdhani

    Honestly, I have slightly moved away from the Thali format (by Thali I mean the Unlimited Thali formats, representative of the scores of Marwari-Rajasthani-Gujarati style platters). My initial indulgence in Thalis was a result of petty bets on hogging more rather than any particular interest food. We took so much interest in wiping clean watis of aam-ras, popping those mini-puris and puran–polis, or having more servings of Khichdi-Kadhi than each other, that we hardly noticed the freakishly amazing array of flavors on offer.

    But it helped that in the prime of my hogging days I was based in Ahmedabad, the capital of thalis in India. Slowly I was getting educated about a culinary tradition basic to Indian cooking and eating, the Thali. It took different meanings- from the thali eateries outside Baroda station which were a simple and affordable replacement for home cooked food, to the luxurious experiential dining at Vishala in Ahmedabad. One of my favorites was Pakvaan at Ahmedabad (Near Ellis Bridge), for me it stood for affordable luxury, especially in the cash-strapped days of engineering.

    But then there was what most consider to be the Holy Grail of all Thalis, Govardhan Thaal, at SG Road, Ahmedabad. I remember sneaking past its 56 dish-written whiteboard on multiple occasions, just to be turned-off by the Rs. 120 price tag. I recall when Dad came to visit me and asked for a place where we could go out for Dinner, Govardhan was the place I chose. And I still remember that meal, from the rose-petal-water handwash, right to the rasmalai.

    Times changed and once I came to Mumbai, Rajdhani at InOrbit, Malad gave me an opportunity to relive those Thali memories. Sometimes I feel Thali eating is more about an interesting company, you don’t get time to talk between that quick serving, but you can easily talk with your gestures, eye movements (about to pop-out in case you have had more than enough) and more often than not, a Burrp.

    But then offlate my eating capacity has taken a dip, and the more I have explored food, the more I have started resisting thali. It has become very difficult for me to consume in high quantities, and also I need time and space to absorb a dish, both aesthetically and through my digestive system. Needless to say sometimes the Thali restaurants do come across as slightly intrusive, with their hands popping out of all directions with food, allowing little peace of mind.

    So initially when I received this invite for Rajdhani, I was slightly tentative to go. But then I thought, let’s go, for all the great memories…

    The Visit to Rajdhani

    I will not talk much about the food on offer, because there are few people (Gaurav, Shirin, and Krytie) who have already talked about it. To be short I loved the starters (Patra and Vatana Pattice), then I was lost in the middle with lot of servings, and then regained some ground with the Kheer, a piece of Jalebi, and some Kadhi-Khichdi, and ending it all with a gorgeous Paan-Shot (I like the one served at Punjab Grill much more, guess they use an actual Paan). It’s not like I didn’t like the food, but somehow as I mentioned above I have moved away from the format. But that’s my perspective, a lot of people do love this format (like almost all the members in my entire family).

    I think it is much more important to highlight the processes straight from sourcing to cooking, from serving fresh to developing a signature serving style, from expanding the concept from a single restaurant to a chain, and above all for serving fresh food, daily. So here are two things which stood out for me during my visit:

    Serving FRESH food, daily: Most of the successful players in the business tend to be experts in minimizing wastage, reusing stuff and taking pains to source good quality stuff at minimizing wastage. And yes these are traits more important than having a wide menu, or a great ambience. If you are not getting what I am trying to explain, read something about the restaurant business like Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, its all about minimizing wastage and keeping your costs in control. So a lot of places you go to actually don’t end up serving “FRESH” food, because it doesn’t make business sense (remember the times when you had so much Garlic in your Daal Tadka, or on a Sunday Brunch you had 2-3 types of Shredded Chicken Salads).

    I love Rajdhani because it serves FRESHLY COOKED FOOD. You visit the kitchens and see limited quantities of a standardized menu being prepared, and you notice the limited cold storage, you know you are eating fresh stuff. And given the tough Industry this is, it is a big USP. And believe me it is a USP. It is one thing which makes Rajdhani food similar to food at home, along with the service which is full of Love (or as we do in India, with Ghee).

    Check out this video of our Kitchen tour (and you can take one anytime during your visit to Rajdhani). Mr. Nair, the VP of Khandani Rajdhani, guides us through the cooking process, the techniques, and the history of Rajdhani.

    Speaking the Language of Food: Goto any restaurant and you see people from all over India working as part of serving staff. But go to a Rajdhani and you will only see people from Rajasthan. Why? Simple, these are people who have grown on Daal Baati or a Gatte ka Sabzi, they will serve what they know. Plus these guys have developed their own code-language of communicating to cut down on service time. We got this small demo at Rajdhani.

    The effort which the staff puts in serving is something unachievable in any other format, they know about the food, they contribute to its creation, and also create a new affectionate language around the same, and the feeling is communicated to its customers. I was reminded of this quote from the Italian movie Life is Beautiful.

    You’re here serving, you’re not a servant. Serving is the supreme art. God is the first of servants. God serves men, but he’s not a servant to men.

    Serving really is a supreme art at Rajdhani. (Although as I mentioned above I have moved away a bit from this format, still I appreciate the effort they put in their service).

    The things which is commendable is that apart from achieving the above two, they have been able to replicate the model, and scale it to create a sustainable and a profitable business model out of it. On the sidelines of the visit when I was chatting with Mr. Nair, I recognized his love for Thali format and the cuisine, heard stories of his early days in business running Thali formats in Gujarat, and realized where all this love and affection in the staff comes from.

    And he too like me, loves Govardhan Thaal and rates it as the best Thali Restaurant in India Smile

    I believe that if you are fond of Thalis, Rajdhani is a must visit place, for all its good service, and freshly prepared food. For people like me, I believe there is space in the market for a slightly slow-paced Thali restaurant.

    Featured Image by Gaurav

    Disclosure: Restaurant’s Public Relations agency covered all the expenses associated with the food tastings mentioned above. For more details refer my disclosure page.

  • Fear of Motion Sickness

    The idea of traveling is often accompanied by a variety of emotions and a switching mental state. Love, laughter, disgust, amazement, fear, curiosity are all significant emotions one can relate with travel. But nothing disturbs our mental state more than the fear of motion sickness on travel.

    Motion sickness is a condition in which a disagreement exists between visually perceived movement and the vestibular system’s sense of movement (Wikipedia).

    In simpler terms it involves travelers puking, or feeling uncomfortable in an about-to-puke stage (called nausea) while traveling on different modes of transport. Interestingly throughout my life I have been through all of the above listed emotions when it comes to motion sickness.

    As a kid I was completely occupied by the idea of vomiting on travel. I recall the bus journeys we took to Bilaspur to catch trains, or the long drives from Korba to Jabalpur, or the shared taxi rides from Bhopal to Devas, I had left my mark on an entire state. Avoiding food, gulping soda, keeping a clove in my mouth, drinking less water, popping Avomine pills or keeping the window open- I tried everything, but everything failed. The constant fear in my mind of vomiting on road journeys, the disgust of actually doing it, and the love of my parents when they helped me clean up sort of sums up how I traveled on that dusty, warm, red-soiled, bumpy, teak-wooded M.P. landscape. Just to add  I was traveling on the worst roads in the world.

    And one day it stopped. I went through an entire road journey without throwing up. I was amazed by the sudden stoppage of uneasiness and vomiting. What a relief it was!!!

    But nothing can actually beat the relief one gets immediately after the act of vomiting. The freshness which follows vomiting is in a close competition with the event of a first rain, or that of taking a dip in an icy chilled Ganga at Har ki Paudi, or drinking water having saunf.

    But I started missing it, motion sickness was inseparable component of all my travels as a kid, almost as inseparable as a Digital Camera is to any travel nowadays, and from that day the way I traveled changed forever.

    Although like all things motion sickness came back again and again in all my travels, and non-travel situations, stirring up various emotions and creating memorable instances. Few of them which come to my mind:

    1. I was almost about to land in Mumbai when I saw the acres of slum encroachments visible near the landing strip of Mumbai Airport. All of  a sudden I smelt a strong smell too. I was amazed at the degree of stench and filth of the slums that it was able to reach the interiors of plane flying above it!!! Till I realized that a kid sitting behind me had puked.
    2. We had just had a brilliant Kerala style ayurvedic massage in Munnar and stepped out for a light bite. All of a sudden I see my friend who had undertaken the same treatment running all over the place and vomiting. The situation was extremely funny and evoked a sort of a contagious laughter with all other friends catching on to the situation.
    3. Every morning we used to reach Shimla bus stand early in morning, in between the steaming chai vessels, an army of sweepers cleaning the stand and the buses coming out of yard. One significant feature of Himachal buses are their vomit-stained sides from the previous days. In Himachal I realized that motion sickness is just a way of life. If spitting outside the window and leaving a Guthka mark is common to buses in M.P., vomiting is normal to people in Himachal. So when motion sickness came back to me after so many years on road travel, I felt normal, without any guilt or disgust.

    More than the stories I guess if you are or have been suffering from this sickness I have my own set of cures for the same. Please try them at your own risk:

    1. Never ever brush your teeth by Colgate in morning before you leave for journey, Colgate Gel works but not regular Colgate
    2. Mix three tablets of Hajmola in one glass of cold Limca and drink it, works wonders
    3. Avoid dairy products and high on sugar drinks
    4. Have fruits which leave a kasela swad in your mouth like Jaamun, Amla
    5. If you stop on the way on a temple, and if the prasad is Coconut, keep it in your pocket and eat it after the journey

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    Do you have interesting stories related to motion sickness or some whacky cures for the same which you would like to share?

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    Featured image by Prasoon Gupta