TULSI BAUG

The first impression of Tulsi Baug was one of a kaleidoscopic nature. Prisms of color burst forth from every corner. Sights and sounds hijack your senses and leave you completely enslaved. The hypnotic aroma of street chow entices you towards the food stalls lining the streets. You dither but for a moment before becoming an unequivocal convert to a totally new shopping experience.

A small side winding lane from the main arterial Laxmi road takes you to the lively world of Tulsi Baug. Here you are introduced to a quaint world full of intriguing and unusual characters. Where persuasion is power!

Lining the street sides were several stalls, selling rangoli powders in neatly arranged conical mounds of sunny yellows, fiery reds, turquoise blues and pretty pinks. A soft breeze sent a constant swirl of color into the air.

Inside a shallow reed basket perched precariously on the back of a cycle, were thick coils of jasmine flowers which reposed snake like on their bed of green peepal leaves. These particular flowers possessed a fragile beauty which was sadly lacking in the kitschy bouquets and mammoth garlands sold in some of the bigger shops nearby.

A watch repairer with an eye piece delicately examined the innards of an ancient timepiece with the care and adroitness of a heart surgeon. Time has literally stopped in this shop filled with antiquated timepieces whose hearts will never tick again.

The brass shops were huddled together along one corner. Here you came across the most exquisitely designed nutcrackers, lamps, statues and brass decorative pieces. Polished to perfection they had a beautiful golden patina.

Brightly painted food carts jostled for position under a shady banyan tree. Very soon a small crowd gathered around the carts to eat hot spicy pakoras and tangy bhel puris. These snacks are normally washed down with a spicy masala chai.

Tulsi Baug had many more hidden treasures waiting to be discovered and explored with each visit.

BEACHES OF UAE

Growing up in the UAE, I used to enjoy visiting the numerous beaches, gracing its coastline. Pristine white sands, whispering date palms, and azure blue seas provided the ideal background for a perfect getaway.

Most evenings, after returning from college, I would dash to the nearby Al Khan beach. This was a small, secluded semicircular strip of shoreline swarming with gulls, plovers and little else. At low tide the sand was littered with pretty shells, seaweed and driftwood. Walks along the seashore often threw up unexpected but exciting treasures like a rare shell or a conch.

A few decrepit fishermen’s cottages lined a portion of the beach while at the far end, stood an ancient fort. A tiny watchtower made of bamboo and woven palm fronds, offered unimpeded views of the horizon. From this excellent vantage point one could see the massive oil tankers dotting the high seas and the industrious little dhows sailing shore wards, after a long day of fishing.

Fridays, which is the official day off in the UAE, was often spent on Ajman beach. On this day, the otherwise quiet beach would throng with a steady stream of people representing almost every nationality.

The sunny weather all year round, also afforded the best conditions for barbequing. The latest BBQ machines to the humble coal spits in the sand, would give off the smell of roasted meat. Edging the beach, ice cream vans would line the road. A day on the beach would never be quite complete without a scoop of ice cream.

On long holidays, either during Eid or the National day, we would drive down to Khor Fakkan which is around 180kms from Dubai. After exploring the surrounding wadis (oasis), we would invariably be drawn to its pristine beaches.

Colorful jet-skis and surfboards would slice through the continuous breakers rolling in from the Indian Ocean. A quick bite at a shawarma stand, a camel ride and exploring the rugged coastline on a fishing boat were a must on these trips.

The memories of the lovely times I spent at the various beaches in UAE will remain etched in my heart forever.
pic courtesy : aff.bstatic.com

An Unforgettable Train Journey

The Swarna Jayanthi slowly chugged into Pune, well ahead of her regular 9.30 tryst with the station. Platform one suddenly came alive. As the train came to a shuddering halt, passengers madly dashed around the platform trying to locate their compartments. Red shirted porters wound their way through the crowds, carrying heavy bags on their heads. Hawkers and beggars added to the general pandemonium and contributed to the rising decibel levels.

A few minutes later a semblance of order descended on Platform one. The Swarna Jayanthi gave a couple of impatient whistles and finally pulled out of crowded Pune station. The train slowly gathered speed and the surrounding cityscape became a blur. Building, shacks, children and animals appeared and disappeared in quick succession from the view.

Slowly the city and its morass were left behind as the Swarna Jayanti burst into the countryside. Gone were the humdrum everyday lives of the city only to be replaced by miles of undulating scenery. A few shepherds in colorful attire, dotted the land, surrounded by their fleecy, white sheep grazing meditatively. The topography was mostly harsh and unforgiving surrounded by craggy hills and thorny brushes.

The train twisted its way through a couple of tunnels before reaching Alandi a quaint little station, made charmingly beautiful with multi-colored bougainvilleas planted in giant paint tubs. Soon we passed other picturesque little stations like Ambali, Jejuri, Valha, Nira, Lonand and Salpa.

As we journeyed on, we passed vast rolling fields of rice and sunflower. Thundering on the train cut a broad swathe through the emerald- hued paddy fields. The delicate rice tendrils waved to us in gentle unison.

All through the journey tasty food prepared in the train’s pantry car was served by bearers in dark blue uniforms. There was ‘Idli Vadaey’, ‘Breayd Omleyytte’, Biryani, Tej Pulao, ‘Paneer Pakoday’ and ‘Mirchi Pakoday’ besides endless bottles ‘Jeyuice’ and water transported in cane baskets.

As evening slipped into night the train rumbled past a tiny station called Gunji with a lone guard stabbing the inky darkness with a bright lamp. Dense forest followed, alive with the sounds of night animals. Finally in the early hours of the morning under a star studded sky, Swarna Jayanti huffed and puffed her way into charming Mysore Station.

Train rides are an absolute smorgasbord of tastes, smells, sights and sounds. A microcosm of everyday life, train journeys gift you with some unforgettable memories

A Walk Through Tabooth Street

This is Tabooth Street; one among the many quaint little side streets tucked away in different corners of Pune. The buildings which line this street are almost a century old.

Camp Flour Mill

Cafe Yezdan one of the oldest Parsi restaurants in Pune selling some wonderful bun maskas.

Khodadad Rustom Building - This grand old lady is approaching 94!!!

The Rain Rhapsody

I am sitting on my bed, fingers wrapped around a hot mug of coffee and watching the unfolding drama happening right outside my bedroom window. I am referring to “The Great Cloud Migration” and the soul invigorating first rains.

For the past couple of days wispy white clouds had been blazing a constant trail across the otherwise cerulean blue sky. The breeze scattered clouds, form strange shapes. I could see in them images of lambs, an angelic face, waves and many other delightful objects, even though the clouds appeared nebulous to others.

Soon the flimsy, white clouds were replaced by dark, rain-bearing nimbus clouds. These clouds were decidedly plumper and had a menacing air to them. The nimbus clouds raced across the firmament, to join their parent clouds. These were huge, rolling cloud stacks in the distant horizon.

Several hundred feet high, these monstrous behemoths rumbled ominously and threw shards of blinding lightning around them with abandon. With their arrival a sudden hush descended on the countryside. Except for the haunting cry of a lone koel there was a palpable stillness in the air. The hush was punctuated only by a distant growl.

After being in the grip of a severe heat wave for three long months, the land and its people were patiently waiting for some succor in the form of rain. And it came with a soft whoosh; raced down the hills and shrouded the land in a soft gossamer veil. It blotted out the thin evening light, which till then had fused together the darkening landscape.

As the rain slowly percolated into the sun parched earth, a moist fragrance and a soft satisfied hiss emanated from the earths underbelly. The unsure pitter-patter of the initial rain soon turned into a thunderous downpour. Slivers of sky were reflected in the sparkling pools which filled the pockmarked ground.

The gravel road slowly petered out under the sudden torrential onslaught. The jacaranda trees bordering the road swayed violently. Their massive branches snapped like matchsticks. The roll of the distant thunder grew louder by the minute, even as the jagged lightning illuminated the evening sky.

The rain died away soon after. The countryside was sluiced clean by the downpour. The air was filled with the rapturous song of birds. That first rains seemed to inject a steroidal dose of infectious enthusiasm in both man and animal.

A KALEIDOSCOPIC VIEW OF PUNE - PART 2

Flower Shop - Shivaji Market

A Bangle Seller

A Fruit Shop in Baba-jan Chowk

THE BEYPORE LIGHTHOUSE

Our mission was to discover the Beypore lighthouse. So we set out on a nice bright day our hearts singing with joy and overflowing with enthusiasm. After an initial teeth rattling bone jarring ride in an ancient auto owned by a very friendly local named Moideen we arrived at Beypore port. Along the way we passed many local attractions including the Chaliyar River dotted with colorful steamers chugging quietly along, the Feroke Tile factory a place steeped in history and of some antiquity and an ancient mosque built along the lines of a Hindu temple, which in itself was rather unique.

Located some 15km from the heart of the bustling Calicut city centre, Beypore is a small sleepy port town with a single thoroughfare. Our auto plunged, twisted and turned through numerous country lanes scattered with brightly painted fishing cottages, where the shy fisher folk peered at us from their verandahs. After losing our way a couple of times and coming close to annihilating a couple of dimwitted squawking free range chickens, we finally ran down a person who could give us the accurate location of the lighthouse.

Standing proudly on a small strip of land that jutted dangerously out into the sea, we finally spotted the statuesque red and white beauty. Gulls and hawks wheeled and dipped around her with joyous abandon.

The lighthouse as such stood inside a massive gated compound dotted with coconut mango and areca nut trees. There were three small outhouses flanking the lighthouse. These housed the generator, the office and sleeping quarters of the lighthouse personnel.

A massive burgundy wooden door with brass handles opened onto a spiral stone staircase with polished teak railings. Small glass windows set high in the walls, gave us a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside which unfolded in all its wondrous green glory. A wraparound viewing deck at the very top of the lighthouse afforded us an unobstructed view of the sea and the far away fishing vessels and ships.

Built in 1977 the Beypore lighthouse stands tall at 32.41metres. The optical equipment supplied by J Stone and Co has 4 panels and can generate a powerful flash once every 15 seconds at a revolution speed of 2 R.P.M.

With the advent of new technology lighthouses are slowing being nudged into oblivion. One among a handful of still functioning lighthouses a visit to this landmark is a must for first time travelers to Calicut.

A WALK IN THE HILLS

A lone eagle flew high overhead, wheeling, a black dot in the clear blue sky. The air was crisp and chill and we sat watching the wood smoke curling upwards from one of the hutments far below. Our vantage point was the Ganesh temple nestled in the hills high above the surrounding plains.

It was the month of August. There had been a small interlude between the torrential rains and we used this opportunity to explore the hills bordering our house. A short steep climb along the tarred road bought us to the foothills. From there a tiny path threaded its way through the dense foliage. Trees in a thousand shades of green blanketed the entire hillside. Pale sunlight filtered through the forest canopy taking on an ethereal greenish tinge. Suddenly a bird disturbed by our footfall exploded from the forest floor and flew upwards in a riot of colors. A koel hidden in one of the upper branches of a mango tree serenaded us with its sweet haunting cry. A tiny squirrel chattering happily skittered up a nearby neem tree.

As we trekked upwards we suddenly spied a tiny white edifice. A red flag on its tiled roof fluttered lazily in the breeze. Tucked away between tall trees it could easily be missed. We stood gazing at it for a long time.

A distant ominous rumble sent us scrambling for shelter. Pelting rain soon followed. Soaked to the skin we finally reached the white building which turned out to be a temple. For the next half hour the temple provided us refuge from the driving rain. Sitting on its broad, stone- flagged verandah we had a bird’s eye view of the surrounding countryside.

After about an hour the rain slowly died down. The sun came out in its entire golden splendor. The newly washed leaves glistened in the sunlight and the heady smell of wet earth filled us with a sense of well being. Reluctantly we decided to head home before the rain commenced.

Although we have visited the temple several times subsequently, we have never quite been able to recapture the magic of that first visit in the rain.

BATTY ABOUT BATS

As dusk falls and bird calls die down, the air is rent with another kind of cry - shrill, high pitched and inaudible to the human ear. Slowly, shadowy forms rise into the night sky. With slow, languid movements of their massive leathery wings they fly in search of food.

The very word bat conjures up images of blood sucking, gruesome vampire like creatures. An image that has stuck in our minds thanks to lore and negative publicity given, to these mostly harmless creatures by the media.

Bats have roamed the earth since it’s nascent stage for nearly 55 million years. Not all bats can be classified as blood suckers (vampire bats). The vampire bats are found only in certain areas of Central and South America.

Their harmless cousins the fruits bats seen across the world, play a major role in sustaining our ecosystem. The fruit bats assist in cross pollination and seed dispersal (up to 60,000 seeds in one night) without which, our forests would become genetically weak, lack diversity in plant species, and would eventually die out. Fruit bats are also excellent controllers of moths and mosquitoes.

In urban areas, fruit bats can be found in tree hollows, roofs of houses, telephone poles, and hanging on to hi- tension wires.

The flying fox is a type of bat unique to the Australian continent. These particular bats use sight, and not smell to navigate. There are 7 types of flying foxes in Australia. The largest and most common among these are the Grey Headed Flying Fox (Pteropus poliocephalus). These are mostly found along Australia's east coast, from Rockhampton / Queensland in the North to Melbourne/ Victoria in the south.

Easily identifiable by their grey head (fox like and hence the name) and rusty brown fur around their neck, these bats are extremely mobile. They often fly over 50km in a single night in search of food. Camping out in eucalyptus trees, rainforests and mangroves, the flying foxes enjoy feeding on fruits, flowers, nectar and pollen from a wide variety of native trees like banksias, fig trees and tea-trees.

At around 3 years of age, flying foxes attain maturity. They have a gestational period of six months and give birth to a single baby during October/November. The youngsters are born fully furred and drink milk from their mothers teats located near her wing pits. The off spring is totally dependant on their mothers for about 4 to 5 months before they learn to forage independently.

One of the major threats facing flying foxes today is, loss of habitat and feeding areas. Often considered as pests by farmers they are subjected to wanton killing.

Harmless by nature bats play an important role in our eco diversity. So let us make an attempt to eradicate our long held prejudices against them.

Pictures Courtesy :gutenberg.org

batplants.co.uk

A KALEIDOSCOPIC VIEW OF PUNE - PART 1

Early morning outside NIBM Institute














Pitman's Institute

Center Street

Shivaji Vegetable Market

HATHIMS

As the incense smoke curled and danced, and prayers spiraled upwards, time stood still inside the Babha-jan Dargah. Opposite the dargah was another slice of heaven in the form of a charming old bookshop called Hathims.

Hathims is a second hand book shop filled with books that are salvaged from its sister concern Mustafa Scrap Shop. Mohammed an effervescent 85 year old mans the bookshop.

Hanging out with its more admirable neighbors comprising cloth shops and jewellery stores Hathims is easily miss able except for one distinctive feature. Its cobalt blue wooden shutters, which stands in stark contrast to the surrounding cityscape.

Located in one of the numerous back lanes that dot Pune, Hathims is frequented by office goers stopping by to pick up an old issue of Readers Digest or Time magazine, school children browsing through Tinkle comics or knots of college girls giggling over a sizzling Mills and Boons book.

Every conceivable inch of the shop (that includes the floors) is crammed with books. On long white wooden shelves, which hug the walls, are arranged the novels. The hardbacks find pride of place in a small glass topped counter. An ante room adjoining the main shop is filled with magazines.

A rusted rickety chair, that doubles up as a footstool helps one to browse through the upper shelves. Although requiring the balance of a tight rope walker, you often came across a gem as you dangerously swayed on the chair.

All the while, like an absent minded professor, Mohammed flits around his shop, stopping only to give the books a quick dusting. Bent with age he is always willing to dazzle you with his friendly gap toothed smile which makes a trip to this humble bookshop all the more worthwhile.

Hathims is among the last few stalwarts of old Pune which soldier on, as the burgeoning city stamps out all things of its glorious past and reinvents itself as a glitzy new metropolis.

DABKEH

Dabkeh is an energetic Middle Eastern folk dance performed during weddings and festive occasions. Performed to the accompaniment of the lute, Dabkeh in compliance with its Arabic meaning, involves a lot of feet stamping. A line dance, Dabkeh is extensively performed in Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, and Syria and in sections of Egypt, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia.

The leader termed the ‘raas’( head) or ‘lawweeh’(waver) guides the other dancers. Twirling a handkerchief or a ‘mashba’ (type of rosary) he is given the unique privilege of improvising the dance. This vigorous dance form also involves a great deal of vocalization by the dancers.

Popularized in the 20th century throughout the Arab region, the birth of the dabkeh dance form can be traced back to Lebanon and Palestine. ‘Samaliyyah’, ‘Sarawiyyah’, Qurradiyyah are the most popular dabke forms. ‘Niswaniyyah’ is a unique form of dabke in that it is performed solely by women. The central theme of a dabkeh song is love and there are unique songs for specific dabke dances.

To learn more about this wonderful and distinctive dance form visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYxQMbsmPaw

FEERIE

I came across this perfume quite by chance while flipping through Hindu Newspaper's Sunday Magazine section. I was mesmerised by the sheer poetry of this beautiful perfume bottle. A rounded blue cut glass base with a silver fairy perched elegantly on top. It exuded magic and transported me to a world of dreams where fairies, butterflies and other wonderful creatures abound. It has floral undertones with a hint of Italian mandarin and black currant. This is another magical creation from the stables of Van Cleef and Arpels.

Photo Courtesy: myjane.ru

Wish You Well

David Baldacci's 'Wish You Well' is a captivating book which cronicles the life of two city bred children Lou and Oz and the turbulent times they face after their fathers sudden death in a car accident. In this coming of age book Lou and her brother Oz leave behind the Big Apple to live with their grandmother on her farm in Virginia. There are several heart wrenching moments but their indomitable spirit finally triumps over every adversity thrown their way. The poetic description of the idyllic landscape is especially beautiful. An ideal read for a rainy afternoon with a cup of hot cocoa in hand.

Picture courtesy of Amazon.com

A FRUITY RENDITION

It’s the fig season once again. All over Pune wooden pushcarts are heaving under the weight of ripe, plump, purple figs. On a recent evening walk I was so captivated by their pale violet-green color, and their mild fragrance, that I ended up buying four of these bulbous beauties.

As the vendor carefully bagged the figs in a brown paper packet, he informed me that this particular variety had originated from fruit farms in neighboring Sholapur.

The best way to enjoy fresh ripe figs, are to eat them whole, skin and all. However, I decided to sweeten up their tartness by cooking compote.

The fig compote has a spicy sugar syrup base. To make the syrup, on a high flame, I first stirred in 2 cups of sugar in about half a liter of water. To this molten mixture an inch stick of cinnamon and a teaspoon of orange essence were added. Later half a teaspoon of vanilla essence was trailed by a couple of whole cloves, peppercorns and cardamom. Once the sugar had fully dissolved, the flame was reduced and the mixture kept at a steady simmer.

The rosy figs in all their blushing beauty were then added to this mixture and cooked for about five minutes. Next I scooped out the figs, switched off the heat and allowed the syrup to cool.

As the figs were quartered, I took delight in their rosy heart. They were then placed in tiny crystal bowls and drizzled with the spicy sugar syrup. A dollop of vanilla ice cream and another generous splash of the lovely claret syrup topped off this divine dish.

My house was redolent with the heady bouquet of spices and figs; a warm and welcoming scent. Each mouthful was sheer heavenly delight and we couldn’t wait to make more.

A Second Chance

Enjoying Her Afternoon Siesta

Hide…Crouch…Lunge….Slap. It’s a bright sunny day, and I sit watching Minnie at play with a tiny grey earwig. Her little body is tense with excitement, whiskers twitching, tail swishing, eyes burning bright. A happy little cat like any other, except that Minnie is differently abled. She is bow legged and has a crooked back. On most days her body is racked with pain which makes her cry piteously.

Minnie is a two year old grey and white cat. Her journey with me from day one has been an adventure, filled with twists and turns, some happy, others painful. This is her story.

On a cold November afternoon in 2007 Minnie a tiny wriggling mass came into my life with her two brothers. Her mother, a tabby, was flighty to the extreme. So after attending to her maternal duties in a perfunctory manner for about 2 weeks she abdicated. It was left to me to play surrogate mum to the kittens.

I named them Minnie, Mickey and Buddha. Minnie was the outgoing one. Mickey, a grey tiger, had a voracious appetite. Buddha the pensive one lived on love, air and little else. In the early days their diet comprised mainlyof lactose free milk, which they sucked greedily from a filler.

Play time was totally monopolized by Minnie. She was a gymnast at heart. We watched her breathtaking back flips, jumps and double loops along with other awe inspiring airborne tactics. She also liked to play mother to her two younger siblings. She took it upon herself to give her brothers a thorough wash after each meal. Any rebellion on their part was met with a quick cuff on their ears.

Buddha, the thoughtful one, contracted a viral infection and died in his infancy. That came as a terrible blow to Minnie because he was her pet brother. For days she moped and mewed for him.

As the days went by, Minnie’s and Mickey’s personalities began to change. Mickey became the typical aggressive male cat while Minnie was the docile, lovable little girl. Mickey enjoyed pushing Minnie around and bullying her at every given opportunity.

One day when they were about 4 months old I saw them engaged in a furious tug of war with a discarded piece of cloth on our balcony. I left them to their game and went inside for a couple of minutes. When I returned I found Minnie missing and Mickey looking nonchalantly around. I searched for her every where but could not find her. With a sense of growing panic I finally looked over the balcony railing.

  Minnie aged 7 years.

I found her lying comatose on her side on the ground floor. I rushed downstairs absolutely panic stricken. She was breathing but was in terrible pain. I discovered that she had broken one of her front and back legs. Days of therapy and loving care followed. In the end Minnie pulled through. But she was left with a crooked back and bow legs.

Through injury, infections and pain Minnie has always emerged a victor and has become my best friend. As I write this piece, Minnie lies fast asleep on my lap a happy and contented 2 year old.