Roz naye khwaab sajaata hai
Kisi kamaal ki jagah lekar jaata hai
Kabhi kisi ke dil mein basaata hai
Ya phir yun hi kisi ka asli chehra dikhata hai
Meri khushi ke liye taaron ko nachaata hai
Kabhi chand se meri baat karaata hai
Gar koi mera dil dikhata hai
To mann uss raat mujhe khub hansaata hai
Jab khush hoon to aksar mujhe bhool jaata hai
Darr lagne lage to phir pagla gaata huya aa jaata hai!
Sunday, May 8, 2011
A COOKED UP STORY!
“What if they ask me to cook something?” was one of the first questions I asked my husband of a few hours. He laughed and said what he had been saying for the last 2 years that we were dating, “just say no”. It was easier said than done, especially when you are an atmosphere that’s hostile to put it mildly.
We were to spend the weekend with his family, before going to our own new place, new life. So I was on my best behaviour and hoped it didn’t show. Suddenly I realised I was all alone in a home and family, where I barely knew anyone. I am very different from them and clearly both sides were treading carefully. I must say they tried to make me feel welcome and I realised how the dynamics between the women in a family is what sets the tone. My husband was in the home he grew up in and obviously totally comfortable. The day passed off smoothly and my husband joked in private that I seemed to be enjoying the tv serial bahu role to the hilt! Must say it did feel good when at the dinner table my father-in-law made some stray comment on how once you get to know people pre conceived biases drop. My husband winked across the table. My mother-in-law asked someone to get almonds from the grocers since I was making “halwa” in the morning. I almost choked on the water I was drinking. She asked if everything was ok, I said I was good and of course I knew it was the custom.
This was tougher than preparing for any exam or presentation at work. My husband suggested we walk on the terrace. I tried to be brave but he could sense what was going on. We had our first argument as a married couple. He had no issues with the fact that I was a career oriented person who never had any interest or time to cook. I was missing my mom. She had spent the last ten years at least trying to get me to learn the basics of cooking and I always said I didn’t have the time, I would marry a man who knew how to cook. Thankfully I had, so he spent the next two hours explaining to me how “halwa” was made. I revised, learnt it by rote and kept repeating the recipe over and over again. He never had, or never has, shown as much patience as he did that night.
We were both up and ready at the crack of dawn and he was wishing me luck and assuring me that I would do fine. I had to stop him from going and stopping his mom from calling off the plan. I was nervous and just hoping I wouldn’t drop something or burn something and ruin my reputation for life. He promised to come and stand with me in the kitchen. I said no to that, just requested him to keep his brother’s wife out.
My mother-in-law walked into the kitchen, with both of us following. She asked him to leave and said just she and her new daughter-in-law were permitted in today. Like all moms, she knew exactly what I was feeling. Yet once I started she stood by me and short of making the “halwa” herself, did everything. She kept giving me a running commentary on how it was done in their house and I just kept following her instructions to the T.
You know what happened next. The “halwa” was declared divine and all the elders in the family gave me money and gifts. On the way back home my husband declared that he now knew that not just his mom but even his wife was a pretty good actress!
We were to spend the weekend with his family, before going to our own new place, new life. So I was on my best behaviour and hoped it didn’t show. Suddenly I realised I was all alone in a home and family, where I barely knew anyone. I am very different from them and clearly both sides were treading carefully. I must say they tried to make me feel welcome and I realised how the dynamics between the women in a family is what sets the tone. My husband was in the home he grew up in and obviously totally comfortable. The day passed off smoothly and my husband joked in private that I seemed to be enjoying the tv serial bahu role to the hilt! Must say it did feel good when at the dinner table my father-in-law made some stray comment on how once you get to know people pre conceived biases drop. My husband winked across the table. My mother-in-law asked someone to get almonds from the grocers since I was making “halwa” in the morning. I almost choked on the water I was drinking. She asked if everything was ok, I said I was good and of course I knew it was the custom.
This was tougher than preparing for any exam or presentation at work. My husband suggested we walk on the terrace. I tried to be brave but he could sense what was going on. We had our first argument as a married couple. He had no issues with the fact that I was a career oriented person who never had any interest or time to cook. I was missing my mom. She had spent the last ten years at least trying to get me to learn the basics of cooking and I always said I didn’t have the time, I would marry a man who knew how to cook. Thankfully I had, so he spent the next two hours explaining to me how “halwa” was made. I revised, learnt it by rote and kept repeating the recipe over and over again. He never had, or never has, shown as much patience as he did that night.
We were both up and ready at the crack of dawn and he was wishing me luck and assuring me that I would do fine. I had to stop him from going and stopping his mom from calling off the plan. I was nervous and just hoping I wouldn’t drop something or burn something and ruin my reputation for life. He promised to come and stand with me in the kitchen. I said no to that, just requested him to keep his brother’s wife out.
My mother-in-law walked into the kitchen, with both of us following. She asked him to leave and said just she and her new daughter-in-law were permitted in today. Like all moms, she knew exactly what I was feeling. Yet once I started she stood by me and short of making the “halwa” herself, did everything. She kept giving me a running commentary on how it was done in their house and I just kept following her instructions to the T.
You know what happened next. The “halwa” was declared divine and all the elders in the family gave me money and gifts. On the way back home my husband declared that he now knew that not just his mom but even his wife was a pretty good actress!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The Blue eyed girl
She actually had blue eyes. Saba had inherited them from her Iranian mother. A mother who had moved away when the child was a year old. Saba was brought up by her paternal aunt and grandmother. Of course her dad was around but he had his own demons to deal with. Fifteen year old saba aware of her gorgeous looks and her ability to have her way. She was bright and great at academics and sports. She also wrote poetry and pretty profound stuff. I have read some of it and was impressed. I had heard about saba before I met her. She was friends with the man I had just began dating, a couple of years ago. At 40, he was about twenty five years older than her, but being her father’s friend and living across the road they met often. She refused to call Kunal uncle and he indulged her by calling her dost.
The first time we met she gave me icy cold vibes and I couldn’t understand what was wrong with the kid. I suspected she had a crush on Kunal, who had a natural infectious charm and most of us had the hots for older men in our growing up years. I let it pass and forgot all about it. Being an ad filmmaker Kunal had no fixed hours or schedule so Saba could drop in whenever she felt like. That was the way it had been ever since she was a kid. His home was where she could watch as much tv as she liked and order pizzas and he would foot the bill. Once when I dropped in and saw an ash tray full of cigarette butts I was surprised, knowing that he had given up smoking recently. He casually mentioned that Saba was over and she had taken to smoking, I was taken aback but knowing Kunal he was too bohemian to ask her to stop. I found it odd and mentioned it to him and the fact that she obviously had a crush on him and he was encouraging it. He laughed and I knew he genuinely was amused and said I was being foolish. How could I even consider the kid competition to myself? He had known her since she was born.
Men can be blind about these things and while I totally trusted the guy, I was feeling sad for Saba who clearly was dealing with emotions she didn’t know how to handle. I observed her even when we met in company and how she got all giggly and loud around Kunal. Tried to ignore me and to make sure the attention was always on her. At a picnic by the beach she ventured deep into the water knowing very well that Kunal would come to rescue her. What she hadn’t bargained for was the fact that I am a good swimmer and instinctively I went in to save her. She sulked all day. On the way back even Kunal commented that she was behaving strangely ever since I had come on the scene. Yet he was protective about the kid which I could well understand.
It was a tricky situation. She was being possessive about Kunal and didn’t like an outsider coming into the equation and getting attention. A kid sister, a close friend would do that, I can plead guilty of having been jealous on occasion but that was a passing phase. I hoped this would also be the same. She was taking a lot of mind space and I couldn’t quite get it. Of course I wasn’t jealous of the kid, but I certainly did not want her playing games and creating misunderstandings between kunal and me. Actually, more than that I actually felt sorry for the girl and didn’t want her getting warped ideas of grownups and relationships.
I tried to make an effort and when she did well in her exams I sent her a lovely gift from both of us. She apparently threw a fit and stormed into kunal’s home. She demanded to know how dare he give me the right to buy her a gift. She hated pink and I had got her a pink jamevar stole. She then threw a tantrum and while Kunal was trying to get her to smile she got so close that he sensed where this was leading. He panicked and literally fled from his home. We met up and later went to his place together. This was difficult and we both thought it was unfair to involve the family. Kunal called her over. She came looking gorgeous and sensual, she saw me and made her displeasure obvious. She had been drinking and seemed out to spite me. She was trying my patience and it took a lot for me to see this young girl try so hard to make me feel small. Kunal was being as neutral as possible and when he put his arm around me, it sent out the required signal. She broke down and said she loved kunal since she was five years old. She was sure he liked her too and I was the evil woman who had come and ruined it. I don’t know what came over me but I spoke to her in my calmest voice and explained how it was not about me, it was about her. How she deserved better. Kunal took the cue and told her point blank how she deserved a much better guy, younger, hipper and more likely to stay faithful. She looked at him disbelieving.
It was an evening that was actually being guided by a force above us. None of us was wrong or wanted to hurt the other. Yet this was coming out all wrong. kunal was hurt when i told saba he could not be trusted. Saba was suspicious when kunal told her he wanted to stay single all his life. I was shocked when saba said I was too dull to hold kunal’s attention. Kunal turned on the music and the silence was deafening. Suddenly she started talking about someone in college who had the hots for her. She lashed out at kunal and vented about she had lost so much time because of him.
Saba was a child crying for attention. When she realised she could get it from us without having to get into a rigmarole of labelling relationships she was feeling a lot better. We promised to be there for her.
Kunal and I split in a couple of months. Saba and I continue to be in touch and am so happy to see her happy in university in America. In love with
a wonderful guy...
The first time we met she gave me icy cold vibes and I couldn’t understand what was wrong with the kid. I suspected she had a crush on Kunal, who had a natural infectious charm and most of us had the hots for older men in our growing up years. I let it pass and forgot all about it. Being an ad filmmaker Kunal had no fixed hours or schedule so Saba could drop in whenever she felt like. That was the way it had been ever since she was a kid. His home was where she could watch as much tv as she liked and order pizzas and he would foot the bill. Once when I dropped in and saw an ash tray full of cigarette butts I was surprised, knowing that he had given up smoking recently. He casually mentioned that Saba was over and she had taken to smoking, I was taken aback but knowing Kunal he was too bohemian to ask her to stop. I found it odd and mentioned it to him and the fact that she obviously had a crush on him and he was encouraging it. He laughed and I knew he genuinely was amused and said I was being foolish. How could I even consider the kid competition to myself? He had known her since she was born.
Men can be blind about these things and while I totally trusted the guy, I was feeling sad for Saba who clearly was dealing with emotions she didn’t know how to handle. I observed her even when we met in company and how she got all giggly and loud around Kunal. Tried to ignore me and to make sure the attention was always on her. At a picnic by the beach she ventured deep into the water knowing very well that Kunal would come to rescue her. What she hadn’t bargained for was the fact that I am a good swimmer and instinctively I went in to save her. She sulked all day. On the way back even Kunal commented that she was behaving strangely ever since I had come on the scene. Yet he was protective about the kid which I could well understand.
It was a tricky situation. She was being possessive about Kunal and didn’t like an outsider coming into the equation and getting attention. A kid sister, a close friend would do that, I can plead guilty of having been jealous on occasion but that was a passing phase. I hoped this would also be the same. She was taking a lot of mind space and I couldn’t quite get it. Of course I wasn’t jealous of the kid, but I certainly did not want her playing games and creating misunderstandings between kunal and me. Actually, more than that I actually felt sorry for the girl and didn’t want her getting warped ideas of grownups and relationships.
I tried to make an effort and when she did well in her exams I sent her a lovely gift from both of us. She apparently threw a fit and stormed into kunal’s home. She demanded to know how dare he give me the right to buy her a gift. She hated pink and I had got her a pink jamevar stole. She then threw a tantrum and while Kunal was trying to get her to smile she got so close that he sensed where this was leading. He panicked and literally fled from his home. We met up and later went to his place together. This was difficult and we both thought it was unfair to involve the family. Kunal called her over. She came looking gorgeous and sensual, she saw me and made her displeasure obvious. She had been drinking and seemed out to spite me. She was trying my patience and it took a lot for me to see this young girl try so hard to make me feel small. Kunal was being as neutral as possible and when he put his arm around me, it sent out the required signal. She broke down and said she loved kunal since she was five years old. She was sure he liked her too and I was the evil woman who had come and ruined it. I don’t know what came over me but I spoke to her in my calmest voice and explained how it was not about me, it was about her. How she deserved better. Kunal took the cue and told her point blank how she deserved a much better guy, younger, hipper and more likely to stay faithful. She looked at him disbelieving.
It was an evening that was actually being guided by a force above us. None of us was wrong or wanted to hurt the other. Yet this was coming out all wrong. kunal was hurt when i told saba he could not be trusted. Saba was suspicious when kunal told her he wanted to stay single all his life. I was shocked when saba said I was too dull to hold kunal’s attention. Kunal turned on the music and the silence was deafening. Suddenly she started talking about someone in college who had the hots for her. She lashed out at kunal and vented about she had lost so much time because of him.
Saba was a child crying for attention. When she realised she could get it from us without having to get into a rigmarole of labelling relationships she was feeling a lot better. We promised to be there for her.
Kunal and I split in a couple of months. Saba and I continue to be in touch and am so happy to see her happy in university in America. In love with
a wonderful guy...
Saturday, February 19, 2011
MUSINGS
Bina mile kisi ko jaan lena mumkin hai
Yeh aapse seekha hai
Khwaab mein hi rehna mushkil hai
Yeh haalat se seekha hai....
Yeh aapse seekha hai
Khwaab mein hi rehna mushkil hai
Yeh haalat se seekha hai....
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
My dad, My hero
All through my teens, when I look back, if there was one person who I held responsible for all my woes it was my father.
He was just from another planet. He was so unlike everyone’s dad. My kid brother also thought so. One day when some asked him at school, what does your father do, without a moment’s hesitation he said. “My dad reads the papers and smokes”
Actually that’s all we saw dad do. Read papers and books and write furiously all the time. Ma went to office and we had strict instructions not to disturb him if we were home. So we tip toed around him.
Of course he was fun when he was in the mood. Cooked the most yummy food. Took us on nature walks. And to see plays which were mostly boring.
Yet there were too many restrictions. We weren’t allowed to see hindi films or hear filmi music. We didn’t have a tv at home. We didn’t have a car. We never went out for dinners or vacations.
Yet my mother was always smiling and looking at him lovingly when he read something out to her every night. I found that strange and asked her one day when I was fourteen that didn’t she wish she was married to a normal man. She looked angry and hurt. Said I was too young to understand but my dad was special. At that point special sounded like spastic to me...
When he was occasionally in a talkative mood, he spoke to us a lot. About things we didn’t understand. About marxisim and che guvera. About urdu poetry. About the naxalite movement. About the acute poverty in the villages. In my mind I wondered if people could be worse off than us.
Then dad got an award and the media came home to interview him. I was so thrilled and dressed up and hovered around the room. Baba pulled me close and looking into the tv camera said “This young lady is my inspiration, her smile is what keeps me going” I felt like a princess.
My brother and I thought we were the award winners and preened in school and in the colony. We spoke about how soon dad would be writing tv serials and films and we would have Mercedes. Nothing of the sort happened.
Instead some tribals came home one day and dad was so thrilled. They were scared of the flush in the bathroom and wouldn’t take the lift. Dad wanted to know how they made chutney with red ants. Uggh. My dad was really strange. When they were leaving I saw baba give them money. Our money, the money he had won. I cried so much that night. There was no point telling mom, I knew I just had to get to college and soon move out of this mad house.
Both my brother and I started spending more time away from home. Of course we rebelled and the fights increased. When I was eating a burger at home my dad one day started lecturing me on how a vada pav tasted as good. I retorted that he wouldn’t know and he was welcome to his poverty, let me enjoy myself. Mom slapped me and said dad cried because of what I said.
I was so glad when I got admission in a college in delhi. I missed lucknow, my kid brother and mom but never dad. I was great at academics and gradually got involved in theatre. I loved it and excelled in it. I devoured the classics in Hindi literature and drama like they were going out of fashion. My professor was very pleased. He got me some more plays to read from his home and said they were deeper but thought I would understand them.
In the stack was one of my dad’s books. I didn’t tell anyone but stayed up all night reading the play. Over and over again. I cried for hours. It was about their love story. My parents.
I called at the crack of dawn. Woke up my neighbours and asked them to call ma. Baba came on the line and was so concerned, since this was an out of turn call. I said sorry to him. Sorry for not realising how special and precious he was...
I went on to become a theatre actress and activist and the daughter of this year’s sahitya academy award winner!
He was just from another planet. He was so unlike everyone’s dad. My kid brother also thought so. One day when some asked him at school, what does your father do, without a moment’s hesitation he said. “My dad reads the papers and smokes”
Actually that’s all we saw dad do. Read papers and books and write furiously all the time. Ma went to office and we had strict instructions not to disturb him if we were home. So we tip toed around him.
Of course he was fun when he was in the mood. Cooked the most yummy food. Took us on nature walks. And to see plays which were mostly boring.
Yet there were too many restrictions. We weren’t allowed to see hindi films or hear filmi music. We didn’t have a tv at home. We didn’t have a car. We never went out for dinners or vacations.
Yet my mother was always smiling and looking at him lovingly when he read something out to her every night. I found that strange and asked her one day when I was fourteen that didn’t she wish she was married to a normal man. She looked angry and hurt. Said I was too young to understand but my dad was special. At that point special sounded like spastic to me...
When he was occasionally in a talkative mood, he spoke to us a lot. About things we didn’t understand. About marxisim and che guvera. About urdu poetry. About the naxalite movement. About the acute poverty in the villages. In my mind I wondered if people could be worse off than us.
Then dad got an award and the media came home to interview him. I was so thrilled and dressed up and hovered around the room. Baba pulled me close and looking into the tv camera said “This young lady is my inspiration, her smile is what keeps me going” I felt like a princess.
My brother and I thought we were the award winners and preened in school and in the colony. We spoke about how soon dad would be writing tv serials and films and we would have Mercedes. Nothing of the sort happened.
Instead some tribals came home one day and dad was so thrilled. They were scared of the flush in the bathroom and wouldn’t take the lift. Dad wanted to know how they made chutney with red ants. Uggh. My dad was really strange. When they were leaving I saw baba give them money. Our money, the money he had won. I cried so much that night. There was no point telling mom, I knew I just had to get to college and soon move out of this mad house.
Both my brother and I started spending more time away from home. Of course we rebelled and the fights increased. When I was eating a burger at home my dad one day started lecturing me on how a vada pav tasted as good. I retorted that he wouldn’t know and he was welcome to his poverty, let me enjoy myself. Mom slapped me and said dad cried because of what I said.
I was so glad when I got admission in a college in delhi. I missed lucknow, my kid brother and mom but never dad. I was great at academics and gradually got involved in theatre. I loved it and excelled in it. I devoured the classics in Hindi literature and drama like they were going out of fashion. My professor was very pleased. He got me some more plays to read from his home and said they were deeper but thought I would understand them.
In the stack was one of my dad’s books. I didn’t tell anyone but stayed up all night reading the play. Over and over again. I cried for hours. It was about their love story. My parents.
I called at the crack of dawn. Woke up my neighbours and asked them to call ma. Baba came on the line and was so concerned, since this was an out of turn call. I said sorry to him. Sorry for not realising how special and precious he was...
I went on to become a theatre actress and activist and the daughter of this year’s sahitya academy award winner!
starting anew
It’s very difficult to build a real relationship with someone you have known all your life. Someone who has actually created you...
Of course I adore my dad and known that I have been, am and will always be the apple of his eye. When people say that the father daughter bond is special I whole heartedly agree.
It’s just that there always is something distant in the relationship...till you bridge the gap. That’s because we are all conditioned to behave a certain way. You know the love is unconditional yet the way we share with our moms is just so different. Maybe because we saw more of her and dad was always at work. My father also has a loud booming voice and through my childhood I feared him the days he lost his cool. Or saw my brother getting an occasional slap. With me, it was different; I could ask him for anything and get it...well almost. If he didn’t want me to do something, it was my mom who relied the message. With a warning that I must not bring it up again. So whether it was the school trip to manali or the short skirts in college that were a no no, it was always mom who said it. as I grew up and disliked mom’s autocratic ways I rebelled, told her it wasn’t dad, she was using him as an excuse to have her way. Am sure that hurt so one day she told me to go ask dad myself.
I was twenty one and wanted to apply for a job in another city. I went to dad and for the first time i saw him at a loss for words. “talk to your mother” was his terse reply. Thankfully, my mom didn’t have a I-told-you-so look on her face. I don’t know if I lost respect for him that day but didn’t ask for anything after that. Made peace with my mom playing the go between. Soon I flew the next. Career, cars, crying, cursing, caressing, cajoling and coping was one hell off a roller coaster. Suddenly I was 35 and my mother had died. My brother was happily settled overseas and dad was alone. I moved back home and we were virtual strangers.
For the first couple of months both of us tried to come to terms with the fulcrum of our life gone. At some point I realised that besides the perfunctionary duties that I was performing, there was little companionship that I was offering dad. I made the effort of getting to know him as a person.
I always knew he had strong views on politics but for the first time I got to know why. Got to know what he felt about growing up in a family that had lost everything to partition. I could almost feel what he must have gone through. That era took on another meaning for me. Soon the ice melted and I realised that he really had no issues if I had a drink with him. Many evenings were spent on the terrace, talking and laughing. So much better than two people watching television in their respective rooms.
Our chats also helped me learn so much about myself, how I had assumed so many things about my dad coloured by my mom’s perceptions. His immense knowledge of urdu poetry, the couplets he taught me and how popular they made me at work. He learnt to appreciate my cooking and realised that he loved salads the way I made them.
Today am so glad to rush home and spend quality time with the one man in my life who can truly offer unconditional love.
Of course I adore my dad and known that I have been, am and will always be the apple of his eye. When people say that the father daughter bond is special I whole heartedly agree.
It’s just that there always is something distant in the relationship...till you bridge the gap. That’s because we are all conditioned to behave a certain way. You know the love is unconditional yet the way we share with our moms is just so different. Maybe because we saw more of her and dad was always at work. My father also has a loud booming voice and through my childhood I feared him the days he lost his cool. Or saw my brother getting an occasional slap. With me, it was different; I could ask him for anything and get it...well almost. If he didn’t want me to do something, it was my mom who relied the message. With a warning that I must not bring it up again. So whether it was the school trip to manali or the short skirts in college that were a no no, it was always mom who said it. as I grew up and disliked mom’s autocratic ways I rebelled, told her it wasn’t dad, she was using him as an excuse to have her way. Am sure that hurt so one day she told me to go ask dad myself.
I was twenty one and wanted to apply for a job in another city. I went to dad and for the first time i saw him at a loss for words. “talk to your mother” was his terse reply. Thankfully, my mom didn’t have a I-told-you-so look on her face. I don’t know if I lost respect for him that day but didn’t ask for anything after that. Made peace with my mom playing the go between. Soon I flew the next. Career, cars, crying, cursing, caressing, cajoling and coping was one hell off a roller coaster. Suddenly I was 35 and my mother had died. My brother was happily settled overseas and dad was alone. I moved back home and we were virtual strangers.
For the first couple of months both of us tried to come to terms with the fulcrum of our life gone. At some point I realised that besides the perfunctionary duties that I was performing, there was little companionship that I was offering dad. I made the effort of getting to know him as a person.
I always knew he had strong views on politics but for the first time I got to know why. Got to know what he felt about growing up in a family that had lost everything to partition. I could almost feel what he must have gone through. That era took on another meaning for me. Soon the ice melted and I realised that he really had no issues if I had a drink with him. Many evenings were spent on the terrace, talking and laughing. So much better than two people watching television in their respective rooms.
Our chats also helped me learn so much about myself, how I had assumed so many things about my dad coloured by my mom’s perceptions. His immense knowledge of urdu poetry, the couplets he taught me and how popular they made me at work. He learnt to appreciate my cooking and realised that he loved salads the way I made them.
Today am so glad to rush home and spend quality time with the one man in my life who can truly offer unconditional love.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
THE LITTLE GIRL’S TOWN
It was a whim and driving to the airport, besides being amused I was a little intrigued. Off the top of my head I had picked the place and here I was off on my own adventure- my first solo holiday.
Sure people do that all the time yet for me it was a first. A coming of age in many ways. If I could do this I could do anything! Taking a break from work was tough enough and when I got time off, suddenly planning a break was stressful. I knew I needed time off to be by myself and take stock off where I was headed. Part of me was tempted to stay home and do that. Better sense prevailed when I had a sneak peek of the kilos of pending chores that I would have to look into at home.
Goa seemed like the most obvious choice. It was literally in the backyard and I knew the place like the back of my hand. I had 48 hours to plan and decide where I would go and this seemed simple and uncomplicated. I did ask a few pals if they wanted to join in. Then came the options of other places. Some places were on my to do list and some came heavily recommended. Yet there was a voice telling me that I needed to do this by myself and go some place that just sounded exotic and like it was calling me.
A friend recommended I try a new company that tailor made holidays in Karnataka. They are called The Bucket List and that had me hooked. Seemed like they had already got what I was looking for. So when I was sent pictures of a gorgeous resort in a coffee plantation, with a great spa, I instantly said yes.
I didn’t realise it was six hours away from Bangalore and when I began the drive I was wondering what I had gone into. That’s when I realised that sometimes going with the flow and trusting the universe is the only choice you have. Solo time is what I had yearned for and here it was all mine...so I gingerly trod ahead into this not so familiar territory.
Of course calls and messaging with family and friends didn’t help. Some called me mad and asked me to come back. Others said the peace and quiet would drive me mad. That egged me on. Surely I couldn’t me such a slave to the bad life?!!!
Mr Srinivas, my guide and driver set the tone for the next four days. Tough but interesting if I made the effort. He looked like a bank manager and spoke like a doctor. We both didn’t know what to make of each other honestly. I got to know that Chikmagalur, my destination, actually meant the little girl’s town in Kannadiga. It was to be gifted by a rich merchant to his little daughter as part of her dowry. Seemed ironical that I had chosen a town thus named when I needed to feel that I wasn’t the little girl any longer, who needed to be chaperoned even on a break!
Googledeva threw in more surprises. This was the place from where coffee, my constant companion, first entered India. It was also Indira Gandhi’s constituency before Amethi. A friend’s anecdote about how her brother called the lady chikmagalur as a kid, I thought was adorable. With my camera suddenly the landscape begun coming to life. It was a festival of sorts and all the women in their finery lined the streets, at times blocking traffic. Mr Srinivas showed some mock anger which was totally endearing. En route we stopped for south Indian filter coffee and steaming hot idlis. I was liking this...got into the groove listening to cheesy tamil songs and discussing the phenomenon called Rajni Sir.
My phone and computer were allowed to take a break as well. There was a coffee aroma in the air as we drove uphill. It isn’t at too much of a height yet chikmagalur has a hill station vibe. Old british structures with green roundabouts. A colonial air where if you saw Mr Brown, riding past you would be tempted to tap your hat. Then there was The Serai. Calling it just a resort would be unfair, it honestly is something else.
Luxury takes on another meaning at this place. What is amazing is the understated elegance with which it unobtrusively spoils you. It takes a couple of hours getting used to a private villa with a diving pool, a jaccuzzi and an outdoor shower...
Early morning walks in the coffee plantation is what I picked. Well trained staff, showed me around and let me wander when I felt like. The place is set in the cafe coffee day plantation. Felt like I was home. Maybe I was a coloumbian coffee planter in a previous birth? From green to red to brown saw coffee seeds in different stages. Also got to know how coffee and pepper grow together in these parts. Both need each other to flourish. Set me thinking. Peace and chaos in the right proportions?
Hot stone massages. Meditating in the forest clearing. Sampling local cuisine in the finest china. I knew I had made the right choice. What for me, was a first and a great beginning, was the fact that I did not miss my phone, tv or social networks. It was a revelation and an achievement.
I was sleeping by eleven and was up at seven am. The best part is that the routine continues even now that I am back to real life. If I can keep that and my no smoking stance, this has been the clincher for me. The life changing holiday. Got some amount of writing, a fair amount of reading and lots of thinking done. Rid of toxic people and situations in my mind. The sheer joy of not having to second guess what your partner is thinking is inexplicable.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that I had to go to chikamagalur since I was the little girl of the little girl’s town! Solo holidays are hugely recommended
Sure people do that all the time yet for me it was a first. A coming of age in many ways. If I could do this I could do anything! Taking a break from work was tough enough and when I got time off, suddenly planning a break was stressful. I knew I needed time off to be by myself and take stock off where I was headed. Part of me was tempted to stay home and do that. Better sense prevailed when I had a sneak peek of the kilos of pending chores that I would have to look into at home.
Goa seemed like the most obvious choice. It was literally in the backyard and I knew the place like the back of my hand. I had 48 hours to plan and decide where I would go and this seemed simple and uncomplicated. I did ask a few pals if they wanted to join in. Then came the options of other places. Some places were on my to do list and some came heavily recommended. Yet there was a voice telling me that I needed to do this by myself and go some place that just sounded exotic and like it was calling me.
A friend recommended I try a new company that tailor made holidays in Karnataka. They are called The Bucket List and that had me hooked. Seemed like they had already got what I was looking for. So when I was sent pictures of a gorgeous resort in a coffee plantation, with a great spa, I instantly said yes.
I didn’t realise it was six hours away from Bangalore and when I began the drive I was wondering what I had gone into. That’s when I realised that sometimes going with the flow and trusting the universe is the only choice you have. Solo time is what I had yearned for and here it was all mine...so I gingerly trod ahead into this not so familiar territory.
Of course calls and messaging with family and friends didn’t help. Some called me mad and asked me to come back. Others said the peace and quiet would drive me mad. That egged me on. Surely I couldn’t me such a slave to the bad life?!!!
Mr Srinivas, my guide and driver set the tone for the next four days. Tough but interesting if I made the effort. He looked like a bank manager and spoke like a doctor. We both didn’t know what to make of each other honestly. I got to know that Chikmagalur, my destination, actually meant the little girl’s town in Kannadiga. It was to be gifted by a rich merchant to his little daughter as part of her dowry. Seemed ironical that I had chosen a town thus named when I needed to feel that I wasn’t the little girl any longer, who needed to be chaperoned even on a break!
Googledeva threw in more surprises. This was the place from where coffee, my constant companion, first entered India. It was also Indira Gandhi’s constituency before Amethi. A friend’s anecdote about how her brother called the lady chikmagalur as a kid, I thought was adorable. With my camera suddenly the landscape begun coming to life. It was a festival of sorts and all the women in their finery lined the streets, at times blocking traffic. Mr Srinivas showed some mock anger which was totally endearing. En route we stopped for south Indian filter coffee and steaming hot idlis. I was liking this...got into the groove listening to cheesy tamil songs and discussing the phenomenon called Rajni Sir.
My phone and computer were allowed to take a break as well. There was a coffee aroma in the air as we drove uphill. It isn’t at too much of a height yet chikmagalur has a hill station vibe. Old british structures with green roundabouts. A colonial air where if you saw Mr Brown, riding past you would be tempted to tap your hat. Then there was The Serai. Calling it just a resort would be unfair, it honestly is something else.
Luxury takes on another meaning at this place. What is amazing is the understated elegance with which it unobtrusively spoils you. It takes a couple of hours getting used to a private villa with a diving pool, a jaccuzzi and an outdoor shower...
Early morning walks in the coffee plantation is what I picked. Well trained staff, showed me around and let me wander when I felt like. The place is set in the cafe coffee day plantation. Felt like I was home. Maybe I was a coloumbian coffee planter in a previous birth? From green to red to brown saw coffee seeds in different stages. Also got to know how coffee and pepper grow together in these parts. Both need each other to flourish. Set me thinking. Peace and chaos in the right proportions?
Hot stone massages. Meditating in the forest clearing. Sampling local cuisine in the finest china. I knew I had made the right choice. What for me, was a first and a great beginning, was the fact that I did not miss my phone, tv or social networks. It was a revelation and an achievement.
I was sleeping by eleven and was up at seven am. The best part is that the routine continues even now that I am back to real life. If I can keep that and my no smoking stance, this has been the clincher for me. The life changing holiday. Got some amount of writing, a fair amount of reading and lots of thinking done. Rid of toxic people and situations in my mind. The sheer joy of not having to second guess what your partner is thinking is inexplicable.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that I had to go to chikamagalur since I was the little girl of the little girl’s town! Solo holidays are hugely recommended
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