Category: Travel

Tapas Tales from Seville

For an outsider flipping guidebooks (swiping in our case) and capturing countless images, the Andalucían city of Seville is a perfect destination. It offers the visitor traditional grammar of conflicts, chronicles of rise and fall, and images of an eventful past. A city which balances romanticism with rationalization, it has the frantic pace of a Flamenco performance, and the soothing influence of a symphony orchestra. But above all it has some of Spain’s most innovative tapas, served with a distinctive Sevillan flair.

Seville offers its visitors a delightful array of Iberian ham and sausages, seafood, and vegetables, with preparations aligned to most aspects of Mediterranean cuisine. Some bars experiment with fusion , while others stick to the basics of home-cooking. And with almost 3000 tapas bars, finding the right place to eat at Seville might end up being an experiment in chaos. Although one can be safely assured, that the outcome will not be disappointing.

Over the duration of our stay, our experiments were guided by conversations, guidebooks, blogs, the Queen of Tapas herself (more on her later), and my own distinct sense of intuition.

Chance encounter with Bodega Santa Cruz

While walking down the narrow lanes circling the cathedral, we came across Bodega Santa Cruz. A small crowded place with little space for seating was hardly welcoming, but we entered looking for a quick drink. The bar looked in need for some repair, and definitely a thorough cleanup. I ordered 3 cañas (small servings of beer, mostly Estrella Damm or Mahou) along with a plate of Jamón and Patatas Alioli. I had my struggles with Jamón throughout the trip and this place was no different. But the Patatas Alioli was perfect and a welcome break from its fried cousin Patatas Bravas. A simple recipe of boiled potatoes, garlic mayonnaise, and few simple herbs did its trick. A simple place with simple food, and complex conversations, Bodega Santa Cruz is something one shouldn’t miss at Seville.

Jamon with Patatas Alioli

Lonely Planet suckers visit Vineria San Telmo

Vineria San Telmo shows up as one of the top places on Lonely Planet. Given we were so engrossed in swiping pages, we finally thought of giving Lonely Planet’s food recommendations a chance.

The first dish was their famous skyscraper tapas- Tomatoes, Aubergine, Goat Cheese, and Smoked Salmon. The seasoning was minimal and the Goat cheese slightly tangy. The salmon was fresh, tomatoes juicy and the aubergines mildly cooked. I loved this preparation. In fact I realized during my trip that Aubergines featured heavily in cooking across Spain. They would have possibly arrived here in the age of the Moors, as it was introduced by Arabs to most of the world.

Famous skyscraper tapa at Vineria San Telmo- Tomatoes, Aubergine, Goat Cheese and Smoked Salmon

Another dish which we ordered at Vineria was this tapas of fried mushrooms with caramelized onions. This reminded me of the Mushrooms Amrita prepares with caramelized onions, although in a different format. These were mildly spiced and the mushrooms were crunchier. A lovely dish.

Fried mushrooms with caramelized onions

We also had creamy bulgur wheat with wild mushrooms & truffle oil and a cheese cake to top it all. At the end of the meal, I felt that buying the Lonely Planet and believing in its recommendation was totally worth it.

Lunch with The Queen of Tapas

I first came to know about Shawn (@sevillatapas) on Kalyan’s blog . I checked her blog and loved the amazing details she had shared on the Tapas bars of Seville. So I contacted her on Twitter and we decided to meetup for Lunch at La Azotea.

Shawn is from Canada but has made Seville her home. She conducts food walks for tourists and is also an English teacher. After hardly 10 minutes of meeting her, I could recognize her unconditional love for tapas and the city of Seville, all this along with a warm and friendly smile.

La Azotea was our first closed door meal after sometime, as we had mostly enjoyed our meals sitting outside (with sprinklers providing relief in the really hot summer). Although on a hot afternoon, sitting in A/C was much relaxing. Given I was travelling with two vegetarians, it was finally good to have Shawn for company. And the first dish we ordered was Tuna.

Two large fillets of Tuna (we ordered Ración- double the tapas serving) were neatly cooked with soy sauce and plated with a refreshing salad.

Tuna at La Azotea

Both my friends ordered couple of huge servings of vegetarian dishes which I didn’t bother tasting, but they looked really good.

Veggie platter at La Azotea

Mix veggie tortilla sin jamon

And then came the desserts, out of which the Ginger and Orange Custard with mint ice cream was one of the best ones we had during our trip.

Ginger and Orange Custard with mint ice cream

A blast of chocolate at La Azotea

La Azotea was a good experience but talking to Shawn was even better. She gave us an insight into the eating habits of locals and tourists, her preferences of the best tapas bars, and finally a set of recommendations on where to go next.

And the best place of them all

Our visit to Catalina was accidental. We had planned to visit the Vineria San Telmo and when we reached there in afternoon, it was closed. But Catalina next door was open. We sat and as usual first ordered our three glasses of beer.

Couple of glasses refreshing Estrella

At the bar was a young lady, with noticeable spectacles, tightly pulled back hair, and a firm demeanour. She walked us through the menu and we ordered quite a few gems.

The Aubergine, Cheese, Paprika special; Rice with Wild Mushrooms and Truffle Oil; and Crema Catalina

Our first meal here comprised of the Aubergine, Cheese, Paprika special; Rice with Wild Mushrooms and Truffle Oil, and Crema Catalina. The first one was something which we got used to during our stay at Seville, but this aubergine was better cooked and suited my taste. Rice with wild mushrooms had a risotto like texture and was my favourite rice dish on the trip (beating the most famous rice dish in Spain- Paella by quite some distance). Crema Catalina tasted brilliant in its simplicity and later influenced me to pick up a liquor with the same flavours.

Our second meal at Catalina consisted of quite a few of Mojitos. Of what I remember later was the taste of nice Chorizo sausage. And yes we tried their version on the tower dish (aubergine, goat cheese, veggie combo), again different from two earlier preparations, with a strong sweet sour taste.

Second meal at Catalina, their take on the tower dish, Chorizo, and few Mojitos

By the way I also tried Gazpacho at Seville for the first time. I had never tried it earlier so I ordered some fried squids as backup. After the first few sips I started paying more attention to the squids. This cold soup didn’t cut any ice with me.

Of all the places I visited in Spain, Seville was the place I loved the most, and I will always recall Seville as a place where we had our first good meals in Spain.

October 19, 2013
Istanbul Day Tour: A Small Bite of Turkish Delight

In addition to the ticket price one of the key factors which made me book a Turkish Airlines flight to Spain was the Tour Istanbul– a free day tour offered by the airlines to all its transit passengers (subject to some conditions related to transit time). And I can happily say, it was the right decision. I don’t think there could have been a better way of experiencing Istanbul, in such limited time.

After landing at the Istanbul airport, we were guided towards Passport Control, where after a simple police verification of Passport we were granted a Tourist Visa (USD 20 or EURO 15). All Indian citizens having an active Schengen / US visa can apply for a visa on arrival. We then walked towards the meeting point, where the Airlines staff wrote down our names and asked us to wait for the tour start time.

Our tour guide, Yaprak welcomed us and explained us the itinerary and plan for the next 6 hours. Elegantly dressed in a white top, she had the charm of a young student and the authority of a knowledgeable history teacher. Unable to pronounce her name, I kept calling her leaf (meaning of her name in Turkish). She provided us with stories and insights, which were both informative as well as enjoyable.

As I left airport on my first ride in Europe, the perfectly manicured roads, lack of people and abundance of discipline, and sparkling blue sea reminded me of my distance from Mumbai, both literally and hygienically.

Sparkling Sea of Marmara

Our first stop was the the Sultan Ahmed Mosque famously known as the Blue Mosque. The mosque was closed for prayers so we decided to grab some lunch. At this point on the trip we met Naresh, a fellow Indian on his way to Romania and a Kolkata-based family, an encounter which triggered a series of conversations praising Istanbul and wishing if things could have been better back home.

At lunch came the most heartbreaking part of the trip. They served us Köfte (Turkish meatballs, or simply beef kebabs). The last bits of Hinduism left in me denied me any indulgences, and I had to contend with a fava bean based veggie salad (which was very fresh) and some lightly cooked mushrooms and carrots. At this point I had already started missing masala back home. Dessert was Helva, a Turkish version of our sooji halwa, cooked in olive oil and garnished with pinenuts. I was talking to the staff, one of whom tried to act oversmart, walked towards me and whispered in my ear, this is Helva, Turkish Viagra. Boss if this is Viagara, then Pfizer should be Natthu Halwai!

Sultanahmet Kebab place, where I didn’t eat any 😦

A nice veggie meal at one of the best “beef” kebab places in Istanbul. I loved Ayran, turkish take on our chaas

After the meal we walked towards the Blue Mosque, considered a masterpiece of Ottoman style architecture. Although the shades of blue are not dominant till you enter, the countless numbers of tiles and beautifully arranged sequence of lamps inside the mosque tend to dominate the vision once you enter.

Blue Mosque

The blue mosque was followed by a visit to Hippodrome Square. The Hippodrome of Constantinople was built as a chariot-racing track when the Romans ruled Constantinople. As Yaprak narrated the tales of chariot races and the details of track layout, I couldn’t help but start imagining the classic chariot sequence of Ben Hur.

Hippodrome Square

The next place we entered was the Basilica Cistern, a huge ancient water tank, one of many such in Istanbul. On this hot day, this place provided us a refreshing coolness and a sudden chill after watching the flipped head of Medusa. But it also gave us an opportunity to appreciate the utmost care taken by authorities to maintain and restore these ancient buildings.

Basilica Cistern

We then walked towards Hagia Sophia Museum- a church, then a mosque, and then a museum. I had some bits of appreciation for Kemal Ataturk for resolving a disputed issue with such ease. But can reason triumph over religion so easily? Certainly not possible back home.

The structure wasn’t as brilliant as I had thought of. My expectations were heightened by the visuals of Skyfall (which my friends were hearing as Nightfall as I described the sequence, side effects of the sad Viagra joke I guess). Although it was a precursor of my trip to Spain, as I later came across similar structures which were inspired from both Christianity and Islam, triggering vivid imaginations of the Holy Wars, complicated definitions of secularism, and questions of religious coexistence.

Hagia Sofia

Although we wanted to visit the Grand Bazaar to taste a few kebabs and do some shopping, we had to get back to airports. Before we boarded the bus we enjoyed some Ayran (Turkish variant of chaas, slightly thick buttermilk) and refreshing apple tea.

Multicolored candy at Istanbul

Apple Tea at a Cafe near Hagia Sofia, Istanbul

On the way back to airport in an open bus, I enjoyed the sparkling view of the sea, and promised myself that I will be back here. For the thoughts, for understanding this country better, for visiting the bazaars, and quite certainly for the kebabs.

Additional information:

The airlines offers two tour options (9 AM-6 PM) and (12 noon – 6 PM). The itinerary changes on a daily basis. You can reach out to Turkish Airlines for further details. All expenses related to museum entry, transport, and meal are covered.

Also if you are flying Turkish Airlines flight, do ask for Peynir during the meal (Turkish Cottage cheese), you will surely fall in love with it.

Pics from the camera of Nishant Dolia

September 4, 2013
Kerala: Backwaters and Beyond

It was the first week of monsoons in Kerala. The distinctive muddy scent of first rain had faded and given way to an imagery of vivid greens all around, which had started dominating my tired senses. Already 20 days into my travel, I was exhausted and a bit disappointed. But I ended up jaunting across the beautiful backwaters of Kerala. I was a bit frugal, a bit naughty, and a bit too easy on time. But in the end I was refreshed and ready for what lay ahead.

I was hosted at Kochi by my friend from college. After an evening which involved engaging conversations on Krishnadevraya and Southern dynasties over a few beers and banana wafers, I packed my bags and accompanied him next morning on his sales field visit to Kottayam. I had tweaked my itinerary a bit, as I had a sudden urge to revisit the backwaters of Kumarakom and Alleppy.

We stopped on the way and stuffed ourselves with some lovely appam and stew. I told to myself for the n^th time, the vegetarian food in Kerala is so underrated.

Appam and Stew at some place between Kochi and Kottayam

My friend dropped me around 11 AM at the main square of Kottayam. The streets were busy, but still carried a eerie sense of calm, something so omnipresent in Kerala. Men jostled around wrapping their mundus almost flawlessly, women moved around hurriedly in semi-crisp saris with their long hair, oiled, slightly frizzled, and clawed perfectly in middle. People had a strong sheen on their body and face. Probably it was the high humidity levels, or it was the excess coconut oil dripping, or perhaps being in the literary capital of Kerala, the seat of Malayama Manorama and the first city with 100% literacy, it was the shine of knowledge.

I walked towards a bakery. A bakery is Kerala is much more than a mere bakery. Although one can’t beat their puffs or Sharjah milk shakes, bakeries represent much more than selling baked goods and a joint for leisure-time snacking. It’s a place for breakfast, for buying household items and groceries, a strong PoS for multinational consumer goods companies, a place which a working father visits every evening post work to buy sweets for his kids, and a place where retired folks execute their Kerala version of a Bengali adda.

I couldn’t resist having an egg puff and a Sharjah. The former a beautiful combination of boiled egg with caramelized onions inside a layered pastry, the latter a banana, dates, Horlicks-infused milkshake which will make you forget even our worst losses to Pakistan at Sharjah. Ok, probably not the Miandad sixer one.

I inquired about the bus to Kumarakom village and was immediately directed towards one across the road. I took the bus and got a comfortable seat. While I was busy clearing the small flaky remains of a thoroughly enjoyed egg puff of my t-shirt, I was shrugged off by a set of ladies to vacate the seat. I got up politely and then got lost in a series of nonsensical thoughts for rest of the 10-12 km journey.

I got down at Kumarakom town, just another one in the rather continuous series of never ending cities and towns in Kerala. Being densely populated, the state has evolved as series of habitations, in sharp contrast to the open agricultural spaces one is used to seeing across other parts of India. I strolled towards another bakery, sipped a tea, inquired a bit about the locality, and started walking.

The road towards Vemabanad lake slowly unravelled itself, the scenery evolved from a small residential town to a leading holiday destination, as the resorts grew in both number as well as size. Being a tourist-lean season one couldn’t see much activity around. I was now in desperate need of a conversation to drive my day forward, and so I entered one resort. And what followed was never planned for, it just happened.

Somewhere in Kumarakom

I got a salute from the security guard, and a lot of steps later, a smile from the receptionist. I introduced myself as a HR of famous IT company, in search for good resort for my middle management outbound of around 150 people. Smile changed into happiness, it was like this rainfall after a tough hot summer, like a weekend after a tough week of work, or quite simply, the feeling of selling some rooms in the off-peak season.

Suddenly I saw activity all around me, staff started moving around, a Manager was called for, I was asked what would I like to drink, to which I quite egoistically replied, something alcoholic. I was handed over quite a neat menu, of which I happily picked up a Pinacolada.

In the mean time the manager came up, quite visibly just up from sleep. He started asking for my requirements which I kept generating on the fly. He then gave me tour of the resort, from the spa and pool, to the gardens and business centres. What caught my eye was the beautiful Vemabanad, what caught my ears the sound of raindrops plopping on the lake, what caught my nose was smell of freshness. Sorry, but the manager was just pure noise.

I spent sometime and then bid goodbye with the promise of sending them the plan. I had been a bit naughty today, but given the long trip, I think I deserved some pampering.

As soon as I left the resort and started walking towards the jetty, there was a sudden gush of rainfall. Initially I couldn’t find any shelter, but then a small home cum kirana store in between a sort of a plantation came to rescue. Aunty running the store offered me a cigarette, but I pleaded for a tea. Semi-wet and slightly shivery, I cupped the warm steel glass of tea tightly. There were a few duplicate Parle-G’s to dip, beautiful sound of the rainfall hitting the banana trees in the their plantation, and some sweet noise of the aunty chattering in Malayalam.

I thanked aunty for the tea, made payments which she refused to take. I offered to buy out her entire stock of cream biscuits (10-12 packs), to which she gleefully agreed. I got a pat on the back, some sweet chatter, and oodles of smile as a farewell gift.

I walked towards the Jetty, the sun had come out again, but clouds still lingered on waiting for the right moment to strike. I boarded the ferry to Muhamma Jetty. More than a year back I had paid INR 12,000 for browsing this lake on a houseboat, today I paid INR 12!

I distributed few biscuits on board. There were school kids, office goers, men and women on just another journey. Water transport is so unique for an outsider, so normal for a Keralaite, and its effective too. Infact the public transport system in Kerala is one of the best in the country. The journey went for around 35-40 mins. It was peaceful, with Vemabanad silently playing with clouds, people on board mostly in an afternoon siesta mode, broken by the clicking sound of my camera, and the persistent buzz of the boat. As soon as I reached Muhamma, it started raining again. I rushed for the bus stop and caught a bus to Alleppy.

Leaving Kumarakom Jetty

Clouds vs. Vembanad

Somewhere before Muhamma

Alleppy or Alappuzha is often compared to Venice, the entire area is a well connected network of canals leading to backwaters. The city was preparing for the upcoming Nehru Cup (Annual Snakeboat racing event), and there were 100s of posters all over the place. From politicians, to film stars, to jewelry brands. Vijay’s Jos Alukkas looked like a clear winner in terms of promotion, beating Mohan Lal’s Malabar Gold by a significant margin. I landed at Mullackal Road which seemed like the city center. Markets were busy selling bright and colorful stuff, things looked pretty chaotic. I had a sudden realization that I was still to have a full meal since morning. I consulted the traffic police guy, and suggested me KreamKorner.

I opted for a Sadya, and asked for additional egg curry on the side. The usual suspects- boiled rice, sambhar, rasam, and avial were present. The Kaalan (kadhi like preparation) and payasam were perfect. Egg curry was a bit of a disappointment, but combined with the papad and some lovely sun-dried stuffed chilies I washed down couple of heaps of rice. I walked out of the place- content, happy, and full.

Sadya at Kreamkorner

A short walk, followed by a bus ride brought me back to Muhamma. In between I had picked up a couple of cans of beer for company, both poking out of my pockets, demanding attention. As I waited for the ferry at Muhamma (which it seems was delayed quite a bit) an uncle pointed out that the can was about to fall. I asked him whether he would like to have one? His agreement to this suggestion was reflected by a toothless smile. Both of us turned our backs towards other people, sat down and enjoyed our beers. I was looking at this:

At Muhamma Jetty

Did I feel better now? Certainly. Will I do something like this again? Definitely.

Ok, probably no more of that HR roleplay.

Tried out Tripline, pretty good tool to animate maps. Here is a summary of my trip

http://www.tripline.net/api/tripviewer.swf

June 22, 2013
Episode II: What to eat in Varanasi or Story of Italian Food in Varanasi

Continued from Episode I: What to eat in Varanasi? where I touched upon a range of desi delicacies. In this part I will cover a bit of what I learned about what Varanasi learnt, from its foreign visitors. And yes, the title does remind me of the Stanley Kubrick classic, but I can safely assume that a city like Varanasi and its food will surely survive a doomsday scenario too.

Varanasi houses a number of European eateries, not only as a direct response to the influx of foreign tourists, but also due to blending of foreign nationals with the local population. A blending which has been facilitated through common interests, strong friendships, and in many cases, marriage with a Varanasi Local.

Amongst all western cuisines, Italian seems to be the most popular one. One can find a number of joints offering wood-oven fired pizza, or Spaghetti Bolognese, or Home Made Pesto. I was quite intrigued by this Italian invasion of Varanasi and had a series of conversations with locals around this. I will share the one I found most convincing, narrated over a cup of Hot Chocolate and crumbly Apple Pie by Mr. Anil Singh, caretaker of the Vaatika Cafe (at Assi Ghat).

Vaatika sits neatly at one corner of the string of ghats, beneath a shade at the entry of Assi, with a green refreshing interior and peaceful surroundings. This place was started by Mr. Gopal Shukla, around 20 years back. Back then while Mr. Shukla was learning tabla, he met Gerrad, an Italian who was in Varanasi for learning Indian Classical Music. The two struck a friendship which continues strongly till date. Gerrad belonged to a family of Pizzamakers in Italy. The two thought that given the number of Italians (and Europeans) visiting Varanasi, a Pizza place could be a profitable proposition. And in 1992 Vaatika started serving its delicious pizzas, at Assi Ghaat.

Vaatika Cafe

Anil Singh Ji recalls the early days of the place, where the seating capacity was limited, but it didn’t deter Pizza fans to visit the place. Most of the customers were foreign tourists, dough was rolled in a limited quantity, toppings were few to choose from, and options were limited on the menu. Along with the secrets of Pizza Making, what Gerrard also shared were the procedures of producing Mozzarella from Buffalo milk, and the importance of growing fresh herbs and veggies. Slowly and steadily the menu evolved, and other favorites like Pasta and their famous Apple Pie were added to the menu. Also the place learned from the incoming tourists, and incorporated items, dishes like Raviolli were taught to the owners by an Italian visitor.

The place also started drawing interest of locals, who had never tasted Pizzas in the pre-Pizza Hut/Dominos era. Amit Singh Ji fondly recalls the days when Pizzas started becoming mainstream in in India when few of their Indian customers, who were so used to Vaatika’s crispy thin crusts and sumptuous toppings, that they totally rejected the thick chewy doughs at Dominos.

I got a chance to sample some Pesto infused Spaghetti, Apple Pie, and some good Coffee. I missed out on eating the Pizza as I was already quite stuffed. I also avoided the temptation of ordering a Huma Qureshi Pasta (Gangs of Wasseypur unit spent a considerable time at this cafe while shooting). But I could totally imagine the tastes of this place, oozing with taste and freshness, of ingredients, and of friendship.

Nice crumbly Apple Pie at Vaatika

Huma Qureshi Pasta at Vaatika

Other prominent cafes and bakeries include the Brown Bread Bakery (run by a German baker James, some amazing stuff), Bread of Life and Open Hand Cafe.

Open Hand Cafe* offers another inspiring story. It was established in 1999 by a traveler Christian, who after marrying a local Varanasi lady, started a non profit helping local artisans. He established Open Hand as a shop to sell their goods, and the cafe followed. They have branches across Leh, Delhi, Goa and Kochi now and their sales have benefited a large number of artisans. The place serves some great variety on the menu, and is surely a place filled with inspirational stories and some good coffee.

To end the post on Varanasi, I felt I have missed out on one critical piece of the Varanasi culinary journey, the Paan. Paan and its colorful outcomes are present throughout the city, and I ended up tasting about 6-7 different varieties. I think with so much of it around, there was nothing great to like about them, but I liked this one at Dashashwamedh, after a tiring walk across the ghaats on a hot afternoon.

Banarasi Paan

Drop me a line in case you are travelling to Varanasi sometime soon, will be happy to throw some interesting ideas especially those related to food.

*Open hand story was narrated to me not by the owners but by their staff, and other cafe owners, might not be factually correct in all aspects.

April 11, 2013
Recalling Indian Coffee House

I am a frequent visitor to the multiple coffee shops in Mumbai. During these visits I have developed a special affection for the filter coffee joints at Matunga, and a growing admiration for the multiple homegrown and international brands setting shop in the city. But for me, and many more like me, coffee had humble beginnings. Sometime it was the whisked, often cardamom-flavored home made Nescafe, or the shake-shake-shake blue plastic shaker mixed cold coffee, or the tongue-tingling espresso served at weddings. But none of the experiences have left a deeper impression on my memory than the turban-clad waiters of the Indian Coffee House. And more than the Coffee, this note is about the institution which will always remind me of the word Coffee.

Indian Coffee House or ICH are restaurants run by a set of co-operative societies across the country with strong presence across Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and some other cities including Bangalore, Kolkata and Shimla. They have their origins in the Coffee Board of India, and were the first proponents of the coffee-promotion movement some 60 odd years back. Apart from the Coffee they serve, their menu also includes breakfast snacks, primarily South Indian, eggs made in different styles, cutlets, their unique version of Chana-bhaturas, with some branches even serving the full meal. They also have a catering business spawning majorly Public Sector Enterprises.

Indian Coffee House at NTPC Township, Korba

As a child growing up in a small Chhattisgarh township in Korba, ICH was the epitome of having a good time. In those days when eating out was a rarity and swallowing fizzy drinks a luxury, ICH was a break from the routine, one of the only ways of us spending some money on pampering ourselves. It was a destination for family dinners and get-togethers, for some memorable birthday treats, and the best place for watching the annual ritual of township Dusshera celebration (it was mighty difficult to get a good spot, but a Gold Spot did come to rescue).

Drawing from the words of my childhood friend, there was and always will be a certain charm about ICH. I might expect some of the younger kids to go in and find the place a bit morose by coffee shop standards, but then perceptions of all things which I fancied as a kid has changed.

At ICH the dishes were served on thick china plates, something we were not used to at home. The waiters moved around in a quick orderly fashion, with the right hand carrying the serving tray, exactly raised to shoulder length. Their walking was accompanied with a clinging sound of shiny Salem steel cutlery hitting the china. We also learned our first lessons of slightly alien-table manners (using cutlery- knife and fork, wiping hands using tissues), although I personally never got a hang of it. I am still not comfortable eating that way. The glasses reminded me of a curved conical frustum, something which we did come to haunt us during our X^th board Mathematics examination.

The interiors were mostly dull with the only striking colors noticed on the ribbon stripes of turbans wore by waiters. I could never figure out the color coding though, it was green for some, and maroon for others, with a rare occurrence of navy blue. The smell of Sambhar dominated the air, pleasantly interrupted by the fragrant whiff of Khus from the Water Cooler and the scent of freshly brewed Filter Coffee from the kitchen. Add to that the wonderful sound of forks and spoons hitting the cutlery while eating and ICH ruled all our senses.

But the sense of taste was never undermined. All variants of Dosa were served fresh and crisp, and yes you could always ask the waiter uncle to make it extra crispy. The Chutney was more daal than coconut kinds, and the sambhar had a majority share of pumpkins and drumsticks. The Wadas were crisp, Idilis soft, Omelets as trustworthy as ever, French Toasts unique, and Cutlets delightful with those chunky pieces of beetroot and carrot. Rs. 14 could buy you a Masala Dosa, Rs. 16 a Special Masala Dosa (with two pieces of cashew nuts in the masala to make it special), Rs. 12 a plate of Idli, and Rs. 6 a filter coffee (this must be the rates in the mid 90s I guess). And yes the Coffee was a delight. I was introduced to the magic of Filter Coffee here, for which I would be forever indebted to ICH.

I have faint memories of dessert too, they kept Dinshaw’s Ice Cream (a Nagpur based brand prevalent in Central India), a kitchen-made Vanilla Ice-Cream (frozen custard, topped with Fruits). The Lassi Ice-Cream combo was good too.

And when the meal ended, the bill was always brought to you neatly tucked in a pile of saunf. Tips if any were all stuffed in a common piggy bank kept on the manager’s desk.

Indian Coffee House at The Mall, Shimla

Over the years I have got a chance to visit Indian Coffee House across various cities. Delhi’s ICH is at Connaught Place is now a poor cousin of the much popular United Coffee House (not related to the society) and is not in a good shape, and Shimla’s ICH is a place dominated by Lawyers and Government Officers at the Mall which does give it a very true to the ICH feel (there is a new one at Kasumpti now, very dull though). ICH’s across Kerala are the busiest, with people from all age groups coming in for a Coffee and a Cutlet (Beef Cutlets were visibly selling more), and the Bangalore one has been relocated to a neat and new location on Church Street from MG Road post the Metro construction. But it is MP and Chhattisgarh which have kept the institution running outside Kerala in a well spread out and popular manner. I do want to visit the ICHs across Kolkata though, have heard they still retain the old world ICH Charm.

I am scared that like all things good, ICH will cease to exist in a few years from now. So what is the place of an age-old institution with socialist roots in the new India with chic cafes and upmarket restaurants?

Their place is sealed in my memories, forever.

With inputs from Amey.

February 10, 2013
To Sri Lanka, with Love.

Hi Sri Lanka,

I am quite to used to writing letters, just that it has been some time since I felt like writing one for someone. But then I couldn’t resist dropping you note.

It has been a month since I left your shores, and I have thought about you quite often. Before I met you, I had known you only through Cricket, the legend of Ramayana, and sometimes through the history of long running conflict between your children. As a kid who enjoyed bits of the Ramayana (through the eyes of Ramanand Sagar and Uncle Pai) and lots of Cricket, I grew up visualizing you across these two dimensions. But then actual meetings do break notions and change perceptions.

My week long journey took me across your coastal waist line, a bit towards your mountainous heart, and slightly up towards your brain full of knowledge, culture, and tradition.

I have always been attracted towards a curvy waistline like yours. But in your case the attraction was more a result of your immaculate shores and cheerful inhabitants. Sitting on your shores, where the clean waters of Indian Ocean playfully stroked the sands at Hikkaduwa and Unawatuna and skies promptly changed colors through all the shades of a Doordarshan-VIBGYOR, I felt completely at peace. It was a relaxing, a Po-like feeling, sound-years away from all the noise of the city I live in. It was here that I found your kin of happy, beach-cricket playing Buddhists flashing their toothy grins, and flaunting their attractive dark shiny skin, with long flowing Malinga-like hair (probably as a result of their protein-rich seafood diet). In between those smiles, I also came across a few broken grins, carrying wounds of the Tsunami which violated your shores some years back. But the smile of my toothless Scuba Diving instructor assured me that you and your children had moved on.

I left the comfort of your waist and followed your partially ruptured network of railway tracks, and neatly laid out roads towards the central highlands. It was at Kandy where I found the lost tooth of your child’s smile, quite amazingly being that of the Buddha himself. It was the Temple of Tooth which gave me an alternate mythological narrative to the India-Sri Lanka relationship, so deeply engrained in the Ramayana, where the story of the tooth depicted through a series of paintings “Amar Chitra Katha-ed” me. Beyond the temple, with the noise coming back Kandy had started feeling a bit more like home. If your waistline gave me peace and comfort, your heart palpitated between the noisy and the normal, between the brawn and the Buddha.

The City of Kandy

A trip southwards of Kandy would have led us to the beautiful highlands of Nuwara Elaya and Horton Plains, but we chose to navigate northwards. The trek to the royal seat of Sigriya, crossing its recovered 4^th Century A.D. compound, its neatly reconstructed gardens, its faded frescos, and artificially constructed staircases helped me overcome my curiosity. It might have been the ruling post of the mighty King Kashyapa, but for me it was my small seat of enlightenment. Sitting atop acres of dark forests, and a murky set of clouds passing at a knee-length, I felt like a learned man. I was happy that I got to know and experience you a bit more. And I finally had an answer to why those Lions are printed on your dress. I wish I could have traveled deeper into your brain towards Anuradhapura, but then the time was less, and I had to caress your hand on my way back home.

The Road to Sigriya

I chose your right hand, the industrious, populated city of Colombo. I saw your children working hard, be it the stock exchange white-collared executives or the street vendors at Galle Face. All of a sudden you were as noisy as my own country, and the lines between you and India blurred. But I noticed more happiness on the face of your children. They all seemed content. You it seems are content after the war has ended. You also have a strong leader running your country. You are lucky.

It was in Colombo where I truly discovered your passion for the gentlemen’s game. From the kids playing Cricket on the Galle Face promenade, to a nostalgic and gastronomically satisfying evening at Cricket Club Café, my last moments in Sri Lanka were spent in the company of a sport we both equally love.

Cricket Club Cafe, Colombo

And there was the food. Yes the food. Oh, those angelic prawns, devilled dishes, and liters of EGB.

I saw you talking to others to my friend. A lot of travelers come from western countries looking for what I found, but I could notice the special bond you shared with Britishers (probably the aftereffect of the Raj), Australians (influence on Cafés, Steaks, Burgers, and the City of Galle which shares a deep, but recent connect with the continent-nation), and Indians (with whom you share a love-hate relationship). And yes then there were our new friends, the Chinese. I know they are building you bridges, but do remember who built the first bridge to connect your country with the world.

I miss you a bit and so I will be back. For watching a Test Match at Galle, or probably to wander through the remains of Anuradhapura, or for a dive at Trincomalee.

Thanks for the hospitality and comfort you gave me.

Peace. Quite truly.

Desh

Photos were clicked by either Nishant or me.

February 4, 2013
What to eat in Sri Lanka?

Angelic Prawns, Devilled Chillies, and lots of EGB!!!

My journey across Sri Lanka flipped me through a variety of experiences, but the ones which stood out were the Prawns (in salads, curries, butter garlic, cocktail, and an endless list), the devilled recipes (chicken, prawns, vegetables and a brilliant Maggi flavor), usage of some vegetables and fruits which we don’t find that commonly in India (such as Leeks and Avocados), and an ability to merge western influences with local cuisine, both from the legacy of the British Raj, as well as island’s Australian linkages.

Sri Lankan food bears close resemblance to the food served in South India, especially that of Kerala, with bits of Tamil Nadu in it too. But there are some heavy influences of Indian-Chinese cuisine too. And given the growing presence of China in the region, it seems even the cuisine will be dominated by them soon.

The Complete Sri Lankan Meal

After a brilliant experience at Sigriya, Saman’s Guest House was the best thing which could have happened to us. Situated close to the Cave Temples at Dambulla, they serve (or claim to serve) an authentic Sri Lankan meal. The meal included a heap of steamed rice served with (starting from far right corner in clockwise order), Breadfruit, Cabbage, Beetroot, Mango Chutney, Dal Curry, Cucumber, Chicken Gravy, Fried Pappadam and Fried Chillies.

Complete Sri Lankan Meal at Samans, Dambulla

The meal had heavy influences of a Kerala meal, but was way less spicier than any type of Indian cuisine. The Breadfruit preparation was unique, and a new experience. Prepared with coconut, it was a bit like Jackfruit, but still quite different. Chicken Curry was very meek, and so were the other veggies. Although we were happy to have a simple meal after days of Devilled dishes.

But for a SLR 800, I think we deserved a bit more than mildness.

Breakfast Items

Sri Lankan breakfast borders on similarities with South Indian cuisine, but just as you feel you are eating the same thing, there is always a difference which pops up in mouth. An interesting thing which we noticed was the breakfast serving style (common in Lankan bakeries too). A heap of available items is served on a plate and you can pick and choose what you want, and they would keep a track of what you eat and how much, even in a Buffet format.

Common items include Hoppers (our own Idiyappam), Roti (Rice Flour Bread) served with Fish / Potato curry, and Vadai (in various styles, ranging from regular Medu Vada, Vada made from slightly roughly grounded daal, and the weirdest of them all, Vadas with Prawns and Crabs stuck on them, a popular Sri Lankan Railway snack too).

Prawns Vadai, you can even see their moustache!!!

On our way To Dambulla, we stopped at a small place for breakfast. It was a breakfast buffet, where I picked up hoppers with Pol Sambol (a tangy mix of fresh coconut, chilies, and onions, with tones of tamarind), Vadai and Potato Curry (really mild). The spread also included a Fish Curry and Roti, something which I can never eat for breakfast.

Bits of a Sri Lankan Breakfast Buffet

Picked up this platter at a small hotel near Colombo bus stand, similar stuff just that we got some hot sambhar (Tamil style) with some fresh coconut and tomato chutney. Vadai was very rough, and cold. But breakfast for 3 came to 180 SLR!

Sri Lankan Breakfast, Tamil Style!

My Mamaji always tells me that the person who loves eggs, will never be in a situation of not having anything decent to eat in any part of the world. And this Cheese Omelet at Anura’s Café inside Galle Fort didn’t disappoint.

Plain Cheese Omlet

Prawns

Honestly by the end of my Sri Lankan trip I was slightly bored of eating Prawns. Poor prawns had been curried, grilled, fried, devilled, cocktail-ed so many times for me, that their entire species will be planning revenge on me soon.

The best ones I had were these Tiger Prawns at a sweet little Unawatuna Beachside Restaurant (which showcased some random Sri Lankan Folk Dance and Fireplay along with an open kitchen). I sucked on to these prawns as if there will be no tomorrow, and wiped them off with some steamed rice and Sri Lankan curry (which at these place was more like a mild Thai Curry with bits of Lemon Grass and Kaffir lime leaves). The meal was washed off with a glass of good quality Arrack and Coke.

Butter Garlic Tiger Prawns, with rice and curry

Devilled food

Devilled food forms a key style of Sri Lankan out-of-home eating experience. Devilled format is simple, it is a bit sweet, and but rates extremely high on the Scoville Scale. I have seen Devilled dishes (like Chicken and Egg) in some parts of Kolkata too. It is quite clearly an offshoot of the Indian-Chinese cuisine with extensive use of crunchy leeks and capsicums, eggs, and options of sea food, chicken or red meat. And yes it also has a Maggi flavor, with Sajid Khan’s muse and Sri Lanka’s most well-known face outside Cricket as its brand ambassador (Jacqueline, how did he get her!!!).

The Devilled Chicken at Mama’s Shack, Hikkaduwa was neatly done. It was our first meal in Lanka. The Chicken was crisp outside and perfectly cooked, with lots of leeks (giving it a nice crunchy, fresh feel), and a sauce which beat the hell out of Mr. Scoville. (if there was ever one)

Devilled chicken at Mama’s shack, Hikkaduwa

The Devilled Chicken Rice platter for SLR 350 at Lyons Restaurant, Hindu Kovil, Kandy was good value for money, but the taste didn’t match upto the Mama’s standard. The platter had rice, devilled chicken, gravy, and boiled eggs. Two of us couldn’t finish it fully. Tough place to find once you are in Kandy, but once you enter the Kovil area, it welcomes you with Vijay posters, some Tamil signboards, and Tamil Movie CD shops.

Devilled Rice Platter at Lyons, Kandy

Street Food

Vegetarians in Sri Lanka can rely on street food for two of its more popular items, Rotti and Kottu. Rotti is a stuffed Maida Paratha beaten to death with oil with stuffing ranging from the humble veggies to eggs, bacon strips, and the more outrageous Nutella. Although if you are a vegetarian, Rotti is one of your best options for a tasty snack.

Cheese Garlic Tomato Rotti

Kottu on the other hand is a popular dish down in Tamil Nadu. Broken pieces of the same Maida Paratha are scrambled with veggies, and/or meat. Surprisingly we had the best Kottu at the World Trade Centre Cafeteria, near Galle Face, Colombo. The vegetarian one had boiled chana added to it, along with cabbage and capsicum.

But the most satisfying one was consumed after a night long party at Hikkaduwa.

The Making of a Kottu

Other street food items included the Prawns Vadai (mentioned earlier), Tamil street food items like Sundal and Boiled Peanuts, and other breakfast items sold on street-side. I came across these Coconutty Jalebas too while walking near the Kandy Station. Their size reminded me of Indore, but the taste was something I couldn’t connect to.

Coconutty Jalebas

Bakeries

Bakeries in Sri Lanka were quite simply, disappointing, a bit like Jacqueline, beautiful looking, but with no substance. We visited Whitehouse and Bakehouse at Kandy, a Bakery near Galle Station. All of them were average, but very inexpensive.

Kandy Bakeries

Beverages

When it came to drinks, there were experiences both good and bad, but drinking EGB was something special. From the first sip I had at the Colombo Bus stand to the last sip I had at Mumbai, EGB was as special as Old Monk with Thums Up in days of pittance, or like a properly made Thandai for Holi, or probably a bit more than that. EGB is Sri Lankan brand of Ginger Beer (non-alcoholic), a fizzy Gingery drink which goes amazingly well with Sri Lankan food, especially the Devilled stuff. It’s tagline of No EGB, No Food was our food anthem during the entire trip. (SLR 95 for 600 ml bottle)

Giving some tough competition to EGB was Milo. Yes the same Milo which was launched unsuccessfully in India by Nestle few years back, is sold as a cold malted beverage (with Sri Lankan Cricket’s future Angelo Matthews as its Brand ambassador). Somehow I got extremely hooked on to its taste, consuming a significant number of boxes on the trip. (SLR 40 for 200 ml)

Other items included the Sri Lankan team (Sweetish, low on colour, less on fragrance, and mild), popular local beers (Lion’s was consumed in significant quantities, nothing special), Arrack with Lime and Coke (surprisingly delicious), and coconut water. Some local cold drinks were also tried out, including the popular Cream Sodas, but nothing came close to EGB.

My favorite bar on the trip was Sam’s Bar at Hikkaduwa. Run by Sam and his twin brother, this place boasts of a decent crowd, good discussions, a pool area, and a knowledgeable cricket and football loving audience. They serve really good burgers too, with the steaks deriving a lot of influence from Australian style of steak-making.

Another decent drinking place was The Pub at Kandy, a bit on the costlier side though.

Apart from the above we had a brilliant Avocado Milk Shake (along with a Mango shake, and they were selling Mangoes at a lot of places too) at Peddlers Inn, Galle Fort (one of the most beautiful café I have come across).

Mango Shake | Avocado Shake

Avocados are tropical fruits (popular for Guacamole dips) which are grown abundantly in Lanka. We also had a Pesto dripped Avocado salad at a beachside shack in Unawatuna, a very unique taste indeed, much different from the dips we are used to.

Avocado Salad with Pesto Olive Oil dressing and Greens

Cricket Club Café

Among all the places visited, I think Cricket Club Café (Colombo) deserves a special mention. The place is filled with nostalgia and so much cricket that anything else would hardly matter. From the memories of Ian Botham to Sachin to Akram, the décor of the place will surely evoke lot of memories and give you some Goosebumps.

But more than anything which would appeal a Cricket fan is its innovatively laid out food menu. The dishes are designed and named after Cricketing greats, and either includes some of their favourite dishes, or a brilliant superimposition of the player’s name or personality with the dish.

So the dishes were named from the slightly dim-witted Alan Lamb Chops, to the more intelligently named Holding’s Lips (Potato Wedges resembling Holding’s thick lips, and spice representing his fierceness). Some were named to maintain a rhyming theme like Compton Cashews (Spiced and fried cashews with curry leaves), and some were the player’s favourite recipes like the Bradman Special (Pancakes with syrup, fried bananas, ice cream and crushed peanuts). And there were cases where I couldn’t deduce any logic, like Jayawardena Special Pasta (very tasty though). Also lot of items on the menu also had a strong Australian lineage owing to its owners and Sri Lanka’s close ties with the island continent.

Cricket and Food at Cricket Club Cafe, Colombo

The trip to Sri Lanka was surely a memorable one (evident from what I had), but I hope I could have tried food at a Lankan home, that would have given me a really real sense of thier actual cuisine. Although to keep the tempo going, I got myself a kit of Lankan goodies I loved.

Devilled Maggi, EGB, and Milo back in Mumbai

Do read this brilliant post which I came across before visiting Sri Lanka, surely inspired me to go and eat more.

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In case you have visited Sri Lanka, how did your culinary adventure span out?

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February 1, 2013
Brain Freeze and Defrost, Gangtok Style

Standing there, I was witnessing one of the most stunning visuals of my life. A semi-frozen lake, solid on the edges, and covered on the sides with ice-shavings. The breeze was light, and the Sun was just making a friendly appearance once in a while. Tsangu Lake can be amazingly beautiful. And that day, it surely was.

Traveling with an entire extended family can be a pleasure, but equally a pain. Eating out on travel becomes frequent, and a lengthy process. So do the tea breaks. Some health concern always pops-up. Kids end up fighting. Women end up fighting with the local sari and shawl shops. Teenagers end up discussing their crushes and romances. And Men end up finding out ways to smuggle in a bottle of Whisky. Like all group travel experiences the entire group splits up into smaller groups. But the problem is, that you can never abuse. And an even bigger problem being a teenager from a Hardcore God-Fearing Brahmin Family is that you can’t drink!

But at that moment I could only see Tsangu, all the fights in the background over tea cups, and lays packets was just secondary.

That wasn’t the only visually satisfying experience from the day. I remember the drive and then the walk towards Nathula Pass, me and my cousins hugging the Chinese Army officials who spoke a very sweet version of Hindi, and the snow laden mountains around the area. Extreme whiteness reflected extreme purity, sadly corrupted by the impurities of a 1962 initiated conflict. But the experience was silky smooth, across the ancient silk route. But then, Murphy had to strike.

Our driver drove us towards one of the countless snow point. This area had all the usual suspects. Beautiful looking girls selling Yak-Milk tea and coffee, along with sumptuous bowls of Maggi and trays of Momos; frivolous salesmen selling so-called Sikkim Handicraft; all-pervasive cameraman carrying a photo-album and a hardbound address book with a dusty shutterbox; Gum-Boot and protective clothing lenders and tyre-snow-ride fellows commonly found along the Himalayan belt, from Rohtang, here till Nathula. I along with my slightly nut-head cousin sister and my most notorious cousin brother walked past all these. We saw snow and we saw a spot at some height, we just started running towards it.

On the way we exchanged volleys of snowballs, fell many a times on the soft snow bed, did some sliding Shammi Kapoor style, used an imaginary bottle of Roohafza to pour it all over a snowball and eat it, and did all the stupid little things. We reached the short peak, sat on the soft snowbed and felt really nice.

But just as I got my cousins spoiled the day for me. First my sister hurled a huge snowball towards me which hit my face and created a cold fusion reaction all over my head and eyes. Total Brain Freeze.

As I was recovering from the blow, my cousin brother pulled my pants (they were loose) from behind and pushed heaps of snow behind. That was massive. As if a brain freeze wasn’t enough, I just had my first ass-freeze.

To make matters worse I slipped and slid down the entire length of the snow track. All the memories of the Chinese smiles and the Tsangu beauty were long lost. I felt as if I will die soon, with half my body refusing to retain any sense of sense.

The cold was so bad that I couldn’t even shout at my cousins, who were visibly quite scared. My uncles and aunts and cousins started coming towards me with all sorts of remedies. A bowl of Maggi, yak-milk tea, blanket, towel, a strip of crocin, a booklet of Hanuman Chalisa. Bloody, get me a brandy will you!

Amongst all of this one of little cousin sister told, “Dada, why don’t you take a hot water bath!”. I felt it was a stupid idea. But then I realized what it can do to me. And yes there was hot water being prepared in drums by melting snow, being used to make Maggi, Tea and other stuff around. So I asked the cruel culprit cousin of mine to run and get a bucket of it.

He came running back saying that the guy asked for Rs. 50. I asked my uncle to give him 60 and get the bucket soon. I started removing my clothes on the side, without feeling half my body. Although the brain was slowly returning back to normalcy.

My cousin got me the bucket and I stood there with my briefs on, naked in that white gloomy snow-filled setting. The Sun at Tsangu didn’t happen that long back I thought. I used an old paint dabba and poured the first batch of hot water on myself. I felt a sudden rush of blood back in the body, it was as if all the old mills in Mumbai had all of a sudden started back in a single day, and were already producing at peak levels. It was a rush of energy, I loved the fact that I couldn’t have a brandy today, or I would have missed out on this. At that very moment, all my senses were alive.

All the mistakes were forgotten, things were being laughed about, and for once even the Yak Milk turned tastier.

November 5, 2012
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.

October 29, 2012
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.

October 21, 2012