Those Snailmail days

When is the last time you put pen to paper and wrote someone a letter? Me for one hardly puts plume to paper and can't even sign my name the way my bank of 20 years remembers it...so much so, all my checks bounce and the only way I make payment is thro cash...ofcourse it helps you withdraw money thro ATMs..My keyboard does the writing for me all the time so my juvenile handwriting is not an embarrassment anymore.
But recently , as my daughter was leafing thro my giant dictionary I bequeathed her, she came across a piece of paper with some writing and a big Snoopy ( Peanuts being her favourite comic series ) at the end of it.." Where do you get this kind of paper, mama?" she asked. It was a letter from my brother written to me during our college years.. I explained to her the concept of letter writing in days long ago and how we spiced up our letters with papers to suit our personalities and moods. (She made a mental note to ask her favourite uncle for any of the Snoopy papers he may have left ) .. As she checked the dictionary for more treasures, she came across a coral coloured handmade letter paper...yet another letter this one was from Chitra , a dear friend from my journalism college days..Reading thro it , I was swept by that wave of nostalgia..How exciting it was those days to check your mail box..Almost every week it brought these treasures, long letters from friends, brother, cousins... how much of our lives we recorded..recently a friend I connected with after a very very long time, said she still has my letters I wrote her once we finished our course together...It was hilarious, she said and recalled what mad antics we were up to those days.
Do they ever sell letter papers these days? I havent checked...In this age of the web, we email each other and FB ..but how much of that special individual bond do we share ? I hate opening my inboxes in the morn everyday becoz they are clogged with sundry forwards...Those rare personal mail I immediately write back...But still it isn't six pages long like the letters we used to write! I don't have an impressive list of friends on FB but in that public space how much can you connect to a person on a for-your-eyes only kind of way..Granted I use the personal message box more often but it isnt the same..
There was a time when one had penfriends..do people have such friends anymore?.I guess in today's cyber age, it's chat friends ! I recall I had a Bengali penfriend , who loved to educate me on lofty ideals, literature, culture and photography, a serious kind of chap ..At some point he accused me of being "too happy" and not serious enough (excuse me, since when did people decide they can slot people into categories they want? ) I promptly cut off the communication thenceforth. Maybe our Bengali babu was dissappointed I wasn't a kindred spirit.
Those were the days angst defined a writer. If you didnt have that wretched feeling you couldnt be a true writer.Believe me , I have had those days but all I could do was put my leg up on the wall and lie in a darkened room and think unhappy blank thoughts...read up Scott F's Crack up essays and Sylvia Plath's Bell Jar at that point but writing never came out of me..All was dark, blank and burning... Look at today's successful writers- Chetan Bhagat ( Aamir gave him some angst all right but that was ages after his books became best sellers) , Shobha De, Amitabh Ghosh ( very talented writer and compelling books but all meticulously researched and planned ...no angst whatsoever )..Salman Rushdie ( does he appear angst ridden? Ask his ex and current girl friends!)
Anyway I'm digressing..we are discussing the dead art of letterwritng here...After all this soul searching, I 'm yet to go out and post a handwritten letter to someone..Brevity defines us..texting, telephones and emails have corrupted us or are we all internalising our lives without giving out much to our loved ones who live far away? Btw, does anyone know how much it costs to post an envelope these days?..just curious!!!

So long, Thatha

The Thatha who lives across our apartment has passed away. I think it happened while we were not here but I noticed a small crowd in his modest balcony the other day. While he was alive, we had never noticed visitors..It was just Thatha and his wife. Thatha would sit out on the balcony reading the papers early at dawn and later on the evenings he would be there looking out into the open road and enjoying the breeze from the nearby sea. Ofcourse we don't claim to know him, my daughter and I , but we watched out for him with an abstract affection you feel sometimes for someone you see but don't know..It's a little like watching a movie and growing to like/emphathise with a character. Thatha would've been in his late eighties by the looks of it. He seemed a gentle, amiable soul watching the world passing by. My little girl had her own script for him everyday. "Look at poor Thatha, Paati has given him a restraining order today. She has locked that grill door to the balcony and he is prisoner, look, he 's behind the bars!!! " she would say. "Thatha is out early today and it's not even a working day!" I would have to remind her that for Thatha everyday was a holiday now. Whatever it was, we liked that comfort of Thatha across in the opposite apartment. He kept us company , albeit unknowingly on lazy summer evenings as we watched the stars rise in the skies. We miss him now, our Thatha. My daughter does not want to believe he is actually gone. 'Check the papers, I haven't seen any obits ' she tells me. I don't check, because he must have passed away before we got back.And I don't want to go through back issues for a fact I already know. "Maybe he has gone on a trip , to vist his children perhaps'' she says wistfully. But then what are all those people doing in his house and those homams that's going on?
A week has gone by now , the crowds have disappeared .Yesterday I saw the Paati come out onto the balcony in the morning. She sat there for a while in Thatha's usual place. She didn't read the newspaper ,instead stared vacantly down the road. I could feel a large lump rising in my throat. If Rudraa was awake she would have said to me" Mama, see Paati looking out for Thatha , he has gone out to buy the milk..".I haven't told her yet. Let her believe her Thatha has gone to visit his kids.Where ever you are Thatha, we miss you...god bless....

Fish fry? My bheja fries..

Those you who 'know' my past , will recall my distaste for fish and its ( for me) nauseating smell. Friends from college days even now recall how I 'd wait for them to finish their lunch and open the 'fish- moleculed' taps in the washroom . Later on, living in New Delhi folks were shocked." A fish phobic Mallu? Are you for real ?" Strange that they didn't stereotype my Totally Carnivore Tam Bram husband! This man has eaten everything including frogs legs and cow's entrails!
Well, coming to my story, fish was not in my scheme of things until the day the father convinced the daughter that fried fish was the most exotic dish in the world. My child who is not easily convinced actually was bought over just like that ! Must mention the fish was Red Snapper and my Waterloo was, where else, God's Own Country. So it came to pass , two fish lovers in the house. Soon we moved city to coastal Chennai. Fish was served in our Bengali friend's house , in completely different avtar , yet the child was like Mowgli mesmerised by Nag.
My nemesis came a while later during our trip to Andamans (I'm not going to do another travelogue , so those of you who wish to read Andaman chronicles pl go to my brother's blog!!!) It was a real off beat trip , not your regular holiday ( never meant to be as it was a research trip for my better half ) .We went on a day trip out in the sea on a donghie ( a kind of small boat with a little canopy and fitted with a motor ) to explore some virgin islands. It turned out to be really lucky day for the boat men as their fishing lines yielded great catches ..They caught four huge Kukari fish each weighing 8 kilos or more...It was high excitement for all of us as the boat would tilt precariously when it would be a tug- of- war of sorts by fish and man. Our friends who took us on the trip said this was an unusually lucky day ( luck and us?????) and they'd never had such a haul in so short a time . Later on in the evening , we had a bonfire and one of the ensnared fish was cooked .The fish was truly delicious and out of this world said all the tired and hungry co voyagers of mine. My daughter and nephew would wolf down hot and piping fried fish straight off the tawa as they were stragetically positioned right next to the chef -in -making young Aman, their friend, guide and 'life guard' ( as my nephew put it! ) Being fresh sea fish, there wasn't any odour and as usual with my brother and husband, they were goading me to have some. These guys never stop trying! To make matters worse,there was present a lady who was a self-professed vegan . Suddenly , taking even her husband of zillion years by surprise, she partook of the said fish saying it had no smell what so ever! As if on cue , S pounces on that chance and urges me to do likewise..It's like chicken, try it...Like hell I will... (.Later on further investigation, I found out the lady in question had been vegan only for the last 15 years !!! )So it was not conversion but reversion, I noted with disdain. Anyway Kukari became an elixir for lots of people in my family that day. So much so that on his next trip my husband made sans us, daughter dearest asks for Kukari! Bring back the fish to mainland he did, all the way to Chennai on flight .Enough to last two weeks ! Me , what choice do I have but cook the fella every single day, smell or no smell..So I'm on phone to friends and relatives to get various Fish recipes..It's Kerala fried fish one day, A bengali one next, a fish curry the day after, it goes on and on and on...I 'm stoic and detached Buddha like when I approach the Kukari..Let those who want eat it..After all I know the merits of a fish diet...But eat I shall not.No ,I refuse to believe I'm missing out on anything.

Happy New Year, Here's to Friendship

The new year dawned a while ago but it's only now that I begin to dust the cobwebs and get started. ( Do not pay attention to the dateline !!!!)My apologies to all my friends who must think me inconsiderate and least thoughful.After all, no one got a call or a wish from me, right? The New Year SMSs had begun two days before the date (veterans realize the New Year's eve will see clogged inboxes and heavy traffic) ranging from straight n simple to clever n complicated .I'm still trying to figure out some of them! But everytime there's a message beep, I am clueless about the sender and have to promptly message back; ''Thank you for your wishes but you'll have to enlighten me as to who you are as I have had a mobile mishap and hence lost all my contacts" Folks are kind enough to SMS their names. They understand that I am hopeless at numbers. These cell phones have really spoilt us numerophobics. I do not know my bette half's cell number or office number without scrolling down the contact list. Sometimes I'm stricken with a Aamir-like memory loss that I can't even recall my own number!

For those of you curious about the mobile mishap- relax ,I haven't lost my nth cell phone . The phone I had been using had been a very old, worn out( yes literally the nos were worn out , some of them) one and even if I were to misplace it like on many previous occassions, the most desperate of thiefs would leave it alone. But it worked ,was uncomplicated and what is more the battery never died on me like other fancy phones. I knew this was a tough guy who would stay with me forever.
But all things must come to a pass and under a strange circumstance it fell off my jeans pocket and into a toilet! A hotel toilet at that . I dunno if it's a consolation to hearfor those of you with delicate sensibilities but it fell only when the flush had almost finished its work! I didn't have much time to contemplate as we were checking out and our cab was waiting. I gingerly picked up the phone, washed it for whatever it was worth and walked out.
Miracle of miracles , the phone worked all of that day and almost half of the next when it finally couldn't take the trauma anymore. It just died and with it took all my contacts. So the only friends I can be in touch with now, are those who called and those who I knew ages ago before the mobile revolution came about. The Address Book of old to the rescue!
In a way I'm glad.Atleast I'll know those who want to really get in touch can call. Which brings us to this "friends" issue in this day and age. I have observed people on FB with some 300 odd friends and counting...Do folks really have that many pals for real ? Or is it another status symbol ? Me, I have only an unimpressive 30 odd. Truth is that I don't even network.. As for some of my very dear friends, they refuse to get on FB..But seriously, do we need a Face Book to keep in touch? We have a telephone, we have an email ID and don't we have a minute to spare for one person alone? I can't afford to pontify becoz I simply haven't called anyone of late. Have written to some but not to all..And to those I apologise..as we grow older , our list of friends grow longer, there are some who we grow up with, some we meet along the way, sometimes it's a connection we make when we least expect it ( looking back I've made the unlikeliest of friends some times, read-people not like Me) but yet in thier own unique way , they leave a footprint alongside your way. Don't they deserve a solo hearing? Here's to all my dear fellow travellers ( most of them don't even know this blog exists) , this one is for you....

A French getaway

Didn't mean to get into the travel journal mode but hardly did we unpack suitcases from one holiday when a rare two- day weekend cropped up and Saturday morning saw us driving down to Pondicherry. Pondi-Chennai highway is scenic and one doesn't even feel the three hour distance. Since the French relinquished their claim over Pondy only in 1954 , this little town is tres français in many ways. The French quarter is particularly charming roads with names like rue Romain Rolland and rue Sufferen dotted with high- walled colonial villas. Seems like another time , another place.On that warm, lazy afternoon,nothing stirred. Siesta time perhaps .

Walking down rue Dumas after a leisurely late French lunch at a heritage villa turned restaurant , we wandered into a 19th Century church, Notre Dame de Anges. Beautiful stainglass windows, cool limestone interiors ( apparently plastered with egg shells) and exquisitely carved stations of the cross. I took my girl around and explained the story of Jesus' (non)trial and cruxification. Sitting in the pew , I searched the compassionate face of Jesus for answers. In these troubled times, don't we need some one to come down and help make sense of all the chaos? It's been a while since I prayed and pray I did in this beautiful church to an old familiar god.

Drove back to our beach resort so that T wouldn't miss her pottery session . I found a book I was long looking for, in the hotel library so spent the evening reading by the sea... That's the pace of life in Pondicherry where all's well with the world. For someone always looking for something to do and somewhere to go , I found that I was actually enjoying the serenity of the place and this lotus eating leisurely languor that set in .

But dawn saw enthusiastic father and daughter run down to the beach for a splash .In between they managed to build an Egyptian style tomb with interconnected passages et al! Why is it we never tire of beach holidays? Pondicherry is a perfect option becoz it isn't too crowded and has a laid back feel.

Avoided the Ashram/Auroville part all together. The concept and philosophy goes way above my simple , uncomplicated head.But if some people find their haven there, good for them. The first time I checked out the Auroville scene while in college with a couple of college friends , it was uncomfortable and oppressive for unexplianable reasons. Plus Pondicherry itself was not on any tourist map at that point in time and getting to Auroville by public transport was impossible. We trudged 4 kilometers in the blazing sun after getting off a bus on the main road.Now there are autorickshaws and little shops , guest houses all along the way. Though wonder what the average local tourist makes of it. They do arrive by the bus loads !
I can think of a couple of folks who might just fit into this place, must make a note to tell them about it ( that is if these hermits actually pick up the telephone!!)
Coming back to the rest of us the food here is something fabulous. The restaurants in the French quarter offer an eclectic cuisine- French, creole, continental , chettinad, italian...you can take your pick. We of course prefered to eat French and Creole .Driving past another narrow street, an intoxicating smell stopped us right on our tracks. We stopped and reversed literally. It was the heady smell of chocolate from a little place aptly named Chocolat! I must confess that for a person with no sweet tooth whatsoever like moi, it was sweet surrender. The young man who owned the place seemed enthusiastic and ready to experiment.He had gone to France to learn his chocolate making and now he was running this sinfully exotic place . His wares were out of this world but pricey. I guess indulgences are always a luxury one should feel a little guilty about later ..or what is the fun?
There are more facets to this little seaside town which we plan to explore the next time (ther's always the next time!!!) Everyone who makes their weekend trip here ( more Bangaloreans that Chennaites) have their own take of the place..So go check out and write your own story...Au revoir!

Feline fancies

Are you a cat person or a dog person ?
This topic divides the populace, just like India and Pakistan. And despite the extremist views that exist on the K issue , there are several Indians and Pakistanis who like each other . Not convinced? Think again...how many of you liked Nazia Hassan and crushed on Zoheb when Disco Deewane raged in the early 80s? How many of you like Junoon and Adnan Sami? I absolutely adore Mohammed Hanif ( those of you who like to read, check out his Case of Exploding Mangoes ) and Mohsin Hamid. Likewise, some people love cats and dogs almost with the same passion but I don't belong to that category. Sure kittens look cute , adorable and all other adjectives that cat lovers come up with but for me , a cat is a cat is cat..I don't want to hurt feelings of my dear cat lover friends. But this ginger cat that moans ( or whines ) eerily in the evenings near my home gets me..Oh no, I don't hate cats , rather I tolerate them to the extent that I remember feeding a cat every day at my hostel after my cat lover friend left . But that was for a dear friend and not for the cat! Yet I did it without any ill feeling. And one confession-I never liked Garfield !
My Egypt trip was full of cat encounters..There were cats just about everywhere.In the evenings, they would wander around parks and public places ,to share the iftar meal with families who liked to break their fasts in picnic mode ( wonderful aromas of kebabs and biriyani would fill the air..can't blame them !) . Egyptians are tolerant of cats as they are traditionally the people who domesticated cats in the first place. Cat has a place in their pantheon of gods too. Bas or Bastet, a goddess with the cat's head and a woman's body is the goddess of the home, fertility, women among other things.. The Egyptians loved their cats to the extent that there are even they were mummified like their masters Besides cat mummies , we saw other aninal mummies too dog, croc ,cow, baboon , horse, all at the wonderful museum they have at Cairo. And before you ask-no camel mummies! Ahh..that cat it's begun making that creepy noise again....

An Egyptian sojourn

A lot of pressure for this one so I shall., though personally I'm still absorbing what I saw and heard a week ago.Our much planned -put off yet-again trip to the Pharoahs' land finally happened ..A ten day trip complete with an unforgetable cruise down the Nile.

Egyptians are an amazing people..rather I speak for the ancient souls who lived over 3000 years ago . What they left behind is a series of awe inspiring temples and tombs..and ofcourse their mummies ! Since, they were only concerned about their after life rather than the one they spend on earth they didn't bother too much about their homes in this world..Apparently all home (palaces include ) were built of mud so didn't last the passage of time. The Pharoahs set about building their tombs and preparing for after life as soon as they ascended the throne! We visited the Valley of Kings ( and Queens) where we saw the elaborate hyroglypic art . By now, I can deciper some some of the symbolism and representations though the Robert Langdon amongst us is clearly daughter dearest who says her back up plan , in case she doesn't make it to NASA is to become an Egyptologist !
Entering the tombs you feel a sense of guilt for the ancients had not meant them for us to visit..It was only for the soul Ka, to return to the resting place and identify the mortal remains (by reading the cartouche -the name written in hyroglyphics-incribed on the sacrophagus ) The ancient Egyptians believed that whatever age one shed the earthly body the Ka returned and one continued one's afterlife aged 20! Ah, that's a nice thought..to be twenty again.....Ofcourse for King Tut twenty was an age he hadn't reached as the teenaged Pharoah was mysteriously killed(died ) aged 17. Seeing his mummy at ther Valley of Kings was a poignant moment...his love story is there for all to see in various Papyrus paintings. At the Egyptian museum in Cairo later, we would see the treasures from his tomb, his jewellery, his throne, his bed, all the things they packed with a Pharoah in his tomb for his after life..Contrary to popular belief the Pharoahs didn't kill their servants to add to their retinue for after life.Rather they made statues of them which would come to life when a magic charm (also inscribed in the tomb ) was uttered once the Ka came home as it were..King Tut and his young wife Ankhsenamun made a goodlooking young couple sitting in the Karnak temple .They looked alike which can easily be explained as they were siblings. To be a Pharoah you had to marry royal stock of blue blood pure, therefore, the Pharoahs always ended up marrying sisters (in this case half sister, she was the beautiful Nefertiti's daughter ) stepmothers or aunts ! Imagine the plight of some who had to marry old women just so they could be Pharoah! The price of Power! The famed Pyramids were huge by any standards, we did manage to go inside , bent double , breathing in the musty odour of those airless mausoleums..Aren't we disturbing the dead , asked little Ms Langdon as we almost crawled through the length of the Pyramid..I guess they were long disturbed by the tomb robbers who left nothing behind.
Cairo is not as alluring as the historic towns of Luxor or Azwan.Downtown Cairo is like bits of East Delhi, crowded and packed choc-a -bloc with sad looking apartments..At Cairo , we did as Romans do and observed the Ramadan fast as food was scarce at lunch hour..But that was okay since there was so much to see and so little time...Everyone on the street wanted to know if we knew Amitabh Bachchan ( at one point S replied "no, I don't know him" ) Some even shouted Shahrukh's and Aamir's names , but that was just once or twice..Khans , take note Amar Akbar Antonio rules!!!!Wound up our tour in the Grecian city of Alexandria..another place altogether by the beautiful Mediterrenean Sea. There's something about beach towns that get me.. That way am glad for this Madras sojourn for now...come Puja weekend a trip to Pondicherry for a little bit of French flavour...Something tells me I haven't seen the last of Egypt though.....