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Five reason why I adore road journeys

That was clicked on the way to Goa

It was only some years back that I discovered the pleasure of road journeys and in these years I’ve done quite a few. Here are my five reasons to go on one if you’ve never done it. And if you have.. well then you know what I’m talking about.. Read on.

1. It’s such an adventure..
There’s
something so relaxed yet adventurous and spontaneous about picking up your car
and driving off without the hassle of ticket bookings and reservations and
catching the flight or train. A few times we’ve even hired a bus or a Tempo Traveller
packing in aunts and uncles and grandparents and kids .. oh it’s been a riot.
2. You don’t need to be too meticulous a packer 
There always is that last minute stuff that
is simply dumped into plastic bags and loaded on. And then there are the kids..
I mean it would be a tad odd to carry a hula hoop and a football while boarding
a flight. But in the car.. everything goes. On our last trip to Goa this is how
the kids made an entry…

That’s my son with the ‘essentials’ and my daughter’s hula hoop
3. You get
amazing glimpses of the countryside
I must have gone on the Pune Mumbai
expressway countless times and am yet to tire of the scenery. Try Pune – Goa.. the hills, the
windmills, the coconut trees… beautiful. Back home in UP.. you get to see fields
stretching on both sides. The highways there, are dotted with villages. Watching people
going to work in the fields or feeding cattle or women and children sitting
outside their huts is so enchanting. Then, there’s always the road. There is
something completely mesmerising about the unending road stretching ahead of you.
Check out this man repairing his roof..
.. or my absolute favourite .. the brick kilns in UP. 

4. There’s the food

If you
travel enough times you get to discover the most mindblowing food joints along
the roadside. There’s this place called Maigalganj (Not Michaelganj!) between Lucknow and Sitapur on the way to Nainital that offers amazing gulabjamuns. When I first
heard of it I was certain it was overrated. I mean no matter how great a gulabjamun
is, it still is just that – a gulabjamun, right? Wrong.. these are truly bliss.. melt in
your mouth soft without being overly sweet. Then there are the sabudana vadas on Mumbai-Pune Highway and the dhabas
between Delhi and Haryana (I was travelling to Kurukshetra) have wonderful paranthas with butter melting on them and lassi glasses as tall as the
cows themselves. (Okay I got carried away.. but you do get the idea, right?)
The famous gulabjamuns
5. It’s a perfect opportunity to bond with family
Do you ever remember spending four or
five or more uninterrupted hours with your family at home? With no TV and no
computer games… oh it’s fun. And if The Husband is at the wheels he doesn’t
even get to open his laptop. Hah! The only catch is that phone. Do a ZNMD and
dunk it out of the car if you can and life will be perfect. Umm …well maybe
not.. okay keep the phone but still it’s just one spoiler you have to tackle.
The journey is often as much fun as the destination itself when you’re on the road. Here’s Ernest Hemingway agreeing with me..
It is
good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters in the
end.. 
So there!

It’s Day 5 at the Write Tribe Festival of Words. The prompt for today is ‘Travel’. For some great takes from Write Tribers go here..

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Of love and music

There really is something special about garba nights, Ruchi mused. The colours are brighter, the lights
more sparkly and the music…oh there’s no music like garba music. Everyone was on the dance floor. Girls who could move
like a dream, boys with unlimited energy, uncles with two left feet,
oh and those overweight aunties.. gosh how could they
be so beautifully
graceful?
However, she alone stood rooted at the periphery, bound by a
strange self consciousness that refused to leave her ever since she could
remember. Her heart danced to the music, her feet tapped in perfect time but she stood still, soaking in the
atmosphere.
Like each year, soon she was balancing a bunch of bags, clutches,
mobile phones and cameras and clicking pictures for friends and strangers.
She felt a tug at her dupatta and looked down to find Seher, her three
year old daughter. This was her first time at the Navartris and boy, was she
excited! She loved everything about it. Her brand new chaniya choli, her jewellery
and her bright yellow dandiya sticks. But most of all, she loved being the
centre of attraction.
How beautiful she is, marvelled Ruchi, part of me yet so much her
own person, so very different.
“Mama I want to dance,” said Seher
“Go on baby, go and dance,” she said pointing to the dance floor.
“I want to dance with you,” she said.
“Okay darling,” said Ruchi. She found a chair, deposited the bags
and phones and held out her hands clapping to the beat, letting Seher take up
all the moves.
‘No mama,” said she, “not like this, like we dance at home.”
They’d often fooled around in their living room, clapping to the
beats, matching steps, clinking dandiyas. But that was different.
She looked around self consciously then glanced at the small eager
face of her daughter. With an uncertain smile she lifted the dandiya and took a
few tentative steps. She looked around again. No one was watching. She relaxed,
yes she could do this. They were barely visible in the half light at the edge
of the dance floor.
‘Mama let’s dance there,” said Seher, after a few minutes, pointing right to the centre.
“No way,” said Ruchi. “You go on, I’ll clap from here.”
‘But mama everyone is
there, all my friends and yours. Let’s go pleeeeeese. No one can even see us here.”
That’s the point, thought Ruchi silently.
“No baby, mama is tired, you go ahead. Go dance with Amrita Aunty.
Remember how she taught you the steps.”
“But I like the steps you taught me best and I don’t want to go
with Amrita Aunty,” said Seher stubbornly digging in her feet.
Ruchi looked at her, then at that daunting crowd. Oh how she hated
making a fool of herself. Seher tugged at her hand impatiently. “They are
playing our song. Come on ma, it’ll
finish,” she cried, almost in tears.. “Please ma.”
Ruchi sighed. She looked at her daughter. She had to do this. She would do it
and to hell with what who would say.
“Alright,” she said, settling her duaptta. A smile lit up her daughter’s tiny face so bright it blotted out
everything else. She took her ma’s hand and they joined the circle of dancers
right in the middle.
And then they danced.. mother and daughter.. matching steps, forgetting
everything .. celebrating the music and their love.

It’s Day 4 at ‘The Write Tribe Festival of Words’ (8th – 14th December 2013). Today’s prompt is Music. For some super musical entries from Write Tribers go here..

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Arranged Marriage

When her mom had thrust that picture in her hand casually asking, “What
do you think of him?” she had no clue it would become the most important face
in her life. “He’s okay”, she had said matching her mum’s tone even though her
heartbeat had climbed up a notch. Then that weekend she met him for coffee.
Even in that short hour she had felt at ease because he had seemed completely at ease despite the whole ‘arranged
marriage’ rigmarole.
Yes she liked him, she had told her mum. She really did.
A month later after a few phone calls and dinners with him she’d
found herself engaged. And another few months later here she was.. Married. A
Married Woman! She vaguely remembered reading a book by that name, a book that
didn’t have nice things to say about marriage. Quickly she banished those
thoughts.
That’s what she’d done since the day of her engagement- banished all thought of what marriage would be like. Mercifully she barely had had much time
what with completing the shopping and finishing her work assignments before she
went on leave.

She sat in her new home while her new husband pottered around in the kitchen. He had offered to make tea while she refreshed herself after the long road journey. All those feelings, long suppressed, seemed to have woken up now and were
clamouring to be recognised. Nervousness, excitement, happiness,… and DREAD. A wave of homesickness
hit her.. Hard. And the dread!
How did I get myself into this? An educated, independent
girl like me.. in an arranged marriage? For godsake who goes in for an arranged
marriage these days? How much do I really know this man? She asked herself.
What if he turns out to be an alcoholic, a wife beater or worse?.. she was alone.. all alone with this stranger.
Jerkily she got up from the sofa upsetting the bottle of water at
the side table. Crash!!!! The bottle went crashing down taking with it a bunch
of knick knacks. “Are you okay?” he called out from the kitchen. “Yes”, she managed to
croak, her words stuck in her throat.
She bent down to pick up the bottle and there under the bed sat a
carton full of books.
Playboys! OMG he’s into porn! she thought. Shaking guiltily, she pulled out the
carton. And there, in neat rows, she discovered…. her own bookshelf.
All her favourites..
Love story, Man Woman and Child.. He was a romantic! Jonathan
Livingstone Seagull- a rebel and a perfectionist, Bill Bryson – So he liked
travel and he liked humour. Then Joseph Heller, Ayn Rand.. Oh she did like him.
Her eyes glistened with tears of relief.
‘Chai garam.. he sang
out from the doorway. She looked up hastily to find him balancing the tea tray
in one hand while three boxes of biscuits were piled up in the other supported
by his chin. “I didn’t know which ones you’d like so I brought all,” he said
with a boyish grin.
“You okay?” he asked as he saw the look on her face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” said she smiling shyly as she moved to help
him with the tray. She knew she would be fine.

Day 3 ‘The Write Tribe Festival of Words’ (8th – 14th December 2013) prompt is Books. For some mindblowing entries from super talented Write Tribers go here.

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The food convert

Kebabs to Vada Paos
Biryanis to Bhakris
Dal Paranthas to Puran Polis
Tunde to Bedekar
Lucknow to Pune. It was quite a gastronomic shocker. And a confession ..I found the grandest Maharashtrian food too plebeian, compared to even everyday Lucknowi cuisine. 

First there’s the pao factor
Everything has to be eaten with the quintessntial pao (bread) – vada pao, pao bhaji, misal pao, keema pao and if you’ve got nothing better there’s maska pao.

Then there are the names
The nomenclature did me in. I mean why would you call a simple chhole tikki – ragda pattice (Yes Pattice NOT Patties)? And there was the weird sounding kacchi dabeli, which had nothing to do with Kutch. What a complicated name for a pao (again!) with some filling! and Jhunka Bhakar.. oh it was absolute gibberish.

And then …
…very slowly, like most things simple and unpretentious, Puneri food wove it’s magic. Before I knew it I was standing at a raodside stall watching the vendor deftly throw in ruby red pomegranate seeds and crunchy peanuts into my kacchi dabeli. When it rained I craved the vada pao. The December nip in the air drove me to the city seeking out famous misal joints. I’d sit there sweat pouring from my face despite the cold, nose running as I dipped into the devilishly hot misal served straight from a boiling cauldron… and then I would be done for the day.

The most famous Bedekar Misal is served with bread. and you can add that gravy to make it spicier. Whew!

Finally there’s the thali.
What stole my heart completely, was the Maharashtrian thali. To begin with I love the concept of food without frills. At the thali joints food is served in a very Puneri, very no nonsense manner, none of the Awadhi formality here. By the time a Lakhnawi would get over with his ‘tashreef rakhiyes‘ and ‘naush farmaiyes‘, the thali joints would have welcomed, served and sent off a a bunch of customers and very happy customers at that. 

A typical thali joint would look like this. The plates are already laid out so food comes on as soon as you’re seated. You don’t place a order since the fare is standardised. This picture is taken at Durvankur.

Of course there’s the issue of finding a place to sit. It’s like you’re the enemy till you’re seated and then you transform into a cherished guest. Your plate fills up miraculously and you’re plied with food in a typically Indian ‘ you-must-eat-till-you-can’t-move’ manner. The ambience is nothing to write home about but the food is right up there at the top.

Sample this…

The accompaniments.. Meethi chutney, teekhi chutney, nariyal chutney, shengdana chutney…. take your pick
The basic stuff

What you cannot see is the many kinds of chapatis.. Bhakri, missi roti, puri, along with the wheat rotis, and there’s rice.. masala rice, khichdi, plain rice topped off with dollops of ghee.. no skimping here. You cannot even sample them all let alone have your fill of each. 

So if you ever come to Pune my advice would be skip the biggies, go for the traditional fare to feel like a true blue Punekar.

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th – 14th December 2013. Today’s prompt is ‘food’. For some scrumptious entries click here..

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Memories

I started creating you right when I was a baby
and you’ve stayed with me always unless when I’m asleep, maybe.
You come in all flavours.. Sweet, sour, bitter
Some of you are fleeting, while some of you are bigger.

Dear memories you do love to play hide and seek.

Sometimes I need to dig you out and sometimes you refuse to leave.
That time when the teacher questioned me, and again in the exam hall
When I looked for you desperately where were you all?
Then I had my heart broken and I wanted you all gone
but you didn’t move an inch, you stubbornly stayed on!
Ah memories!

Then I saw my grandma when Alzheimer’s struck.


I watched her forget …
the children she’d nurtured, the home she’d made.
Like a baby, yet not one, she forgot to eat and to dress.
One minute she’d hug you, next she’d look through
and then she’d ask.. Little girl, who are you?

I watched my Dad’s heartbreak and my mum’s helplessness
as they fed her and bathed her and took her for a walk.
Sometimes they’d simply sit and listen to her talk.

I watched as she fought to get a grasp of you
but you remained elusive.
You’d come in flashes and then disappear

Just in reach yet just not there.
Now I know you are priceless
Good, bad, ugly, beautiful, sad, happy
every bit of you is to be cherished 
for every bit of you 
has a bit of me.
Note: I started this off as a fun thing because I had no clue what to write for today’s prompt, Memory. And then as I went on I remembered my grandmother who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She was the sweetest, most uncomplicated, most affectionate lady ever. And I realised how precious memories were, all of them, and how lost we’d be without them.. even the bad ones.
Thank you Write Tribe.. And yes I’m in.
Linking….

For some great takes on ‘Memory’, go here. And if you’ don’t know what I’m talking about and are looking for more details on this amazing Festival of Words go here.
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