Horse Carriages

A HAUNTING

I lay in bed listening to the soft footfalls overhead. It was two in the morning. This was not the first time I had heard them. I was scared because I knew there was nobody upstairs. Yet the pacing continued. The unbroken tread of a tortured soul.

In 2000 we were desperately hunting for a house in Sharjah. In the short space of a month we had viewed many houses, both flats and villas. But not a single one appealed to us. Finally, we stumbled upon a tiny, dilapidated villa, in a quiet residential section of Sharjah. No high rises here, but only sprawling Arab style villas.

Hemmed in by two massive houses was this little forgotten place, straight out of a storybook. We settled for it.

About a hundred yards from our new home was a vast empty lot. Enclosed by a high wall it was covered with thorny desert brush. We later realized that it was an ancient graveyard.

The first couple of months were spent in a whirl of delightful activities - doing up our home, visiting the nearby beach, having alfresco meals on the terrace – but slowly a sense of foreboding crept into our otherwise happy home.

Initially it was the small insignificant things. But it was there, just enough to catch our attention. The pictures came crashing down from the walls, spoons fell off the tables of their own accord , vibrations were felt in the furniture and there was a strong sweet smell pervading the rooms in an overpowering manner.

Gradually the activity increased. We could now distinctly hear heavy breathing from a particular corner of the bedroom. The raspy, labored breathing was pronounced, when someone was alone in the room.

On several occasions our two cats were seen crouching at the foot of the stairs. They would intently watch the stairway, and follow with their eyes the progress of something unseen, making its way down. The moment their eyes leveled with the last step, their soft growls would be transformed into full throated screams, and their fur would stand on end.

We did not feel safe any longer in the house. One particular night there was an upsurge of activity. The footsteps grew louder and louder till the house seemed to fill with it. That night was spent with a friend

There was definitely some paranormal activity going on in the house. But during our stay, it never harmed us in any way. All that the spirit wanted was to let us know of its existence.

The moment we acknowledged its presence, our fear slowly vanished but the activity never really stopped.

Echoes from The Past

It was a cold November evening towards the end of Ramadan and we were strolling along the dew drenched lawns bounding the Al Buhaira Corniche in Sharjah. The whole place had been magically transformed with fairy lights and resembled a scene straight out of a children’s fairytale story.

Every year during Ramadan, Buhaira Corniche wore a festive air. After following a rigorous fasting regimen throughout the day, the faithful liked to break their fast and have their ‘Iftar’ meals on the lawns edging Buhaira Corniche. Towards evening just before the ‘Maghreb’ prayers whole families used to spill out of large SUV’s, unfurling reed mats out on the lawns and unpacking large baskets overflowing with food.

Soon lawn chairs and BBQ grills would to be set up along the spots which promised the best views of the fireworks display slotted for the night. After settling down on their little patch of lawn, the men would roll out their prayer mats and offer Maghreb prayers. The ladies meanwhile were busy laying out the Iftar meal. Children could be seen playing tag with each other, or roller skating along the cement pathways next to the lawns.

Soon the lone thread of a muezzins call for prayer could be heard above the general din. This was soon followed by a chorus of prayer calls from the surrounding mosques. Once the Maghreb prayers were completed the fast was broken with a couple of dates. This was followed by watermelon juice after which people tucked into a sumptuous feast replete with mezzeh, hareez, rice and meat dishes and sweets like baklawa and kunafa.

After their Iftar meals people could be seen milling around gaily decorated ice cream vans parked at regular intervals throughout the Corniche. Walking under the date palms festooned with green and blue fairy light people would stop by cloth tents selling jewelry, knick knacks and toys. Balloon sellers dotted the lawns with their vivid helium balloons.

Finally a spectacular fireworks display lit up the heavens and marked the end of another wonderful evening spent on the Corniche lawns enjoying an Iftar meal with our global family.

Pic Courtesy : Gulf News / aus.edu

Pataleshwar - The Cave Temple

The Entrance Door












Pataleshwar Temple














Nandi Bull

Inside The Cave Temple

A WHIFF OF NOSTALGIA

One day, walking down the road, I was suddenly stopped in my tracks by a heavenly scent that teased my olfactory senses and opened the floodgates of memory. A few quick gulps of that sweet; scent laden air, and I continued my journey with a swirl of bittersweet memories floating in my head.

I remember the exact moment when my love affair with perfumes began. I was 4 years old and starting school. A burbling mass of misery, I suffered from a case of severe separation anxiety. To calm myself down and be reassured, that we would meet again in a few hours time, my mother sprayed a bit of her favorite Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass perfume on my tiny hanky. I spent that first day in school; my eyes screwed tightly shut and taking little sniffs of that reassuring smell, visualizing my mother sitting next to me. Soon this became a ritual. If there was no perfume on my hankie, then going to school was out of the question.

During my growing up years, I would often surreptitiously raid my mother’s cupboard for a spritz of her cherished Christian Dior, Poison perfume. I loved admiring the purple color of the bottle and inhaling deeply; the fruit, flower and spice mixture of the scent. Along with it, those stolen moments of wearing my mom’s makeup, high heels and perfume made me feel all grown up.

My signature perfume in college was a Lancome perfume called Oui Oui. A present from my dad, my personal preference was to wear this perfume strong. Although I was enveloped in a heavenly cloud of honeysuckle it invariably gave me a massive headache each morning, sitting in the close confines of the car on my way to college.

Two of my personal favorites in men’s perfume were Farenheit by CD and Monsieur Balmain. I loved the clean citrus notes of the latter. Over time my perfume collection has slowly increased. From a Fendi to a FCUK to a Van Cleef and Arpels………………….. But the one perfume that I will always treasure was the one that my best friend gave me as a parting gift an L'air Du Temps Perfume by Nina Ricci.

Memories fade but certain scents remain embedded in our minds. The scent of nostalgia is strong, pure and beautiful.

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