Anthem beats

Listening to the national anthem being played in Bombay theatres always brings in mixed emotions.

For a second I feel like I am in Hitler’s Nazi Germany and patriotism is being forced upon me. But then the feeling passes and I briefly think of the lone soldier I had met in Ladakh, guarding the road to Siachen. His utter frustration at being caught in an arid, high altitude desert with harsh climate and no entertainment. The cold that he must battle if he is sent up to Siachen on rotation.

I think about the thousands of his counterparts who fight in faraway border areas and die unknown and unsung for people like me. And those brief minutes of the national anthem gives me a chance to honour them in my memory.

Which is why I like my national anthem to be played in a triumphant manner, full of vigour and vim and the feeling that we are a happy, proud and successful nation. Infact, which is the manner in which it should be played.

However, if you ever decide to watch a movie in Metro Cinema, you can subject yourself to the dirge Lata Mangeskar and Asha Bhosale sing. The two old women alternatively appear on screen, with around five chins quivering between the two of them. Atleast one of their voices is so past it’s prime that you feel like India is a spent force rather than an emerging superpower. At the end of it there is this intense urge to run up to the screen and tear it apart. But you are emotionally too drained to do anything but to collapse on your chair from your weak knees.

Some sense seems to have prevailed of late though. The visuals no longer show the sisters but their voices continue to haunt on screen. Which brings me to another issue around this song – Is it the correct version at all? Not the lyrics. But the time taken to sing it.

I remember in school when our music master appeared for our first lesson. He made us sing the national anthem and the bunch of us teenage girls sang it slowly, tentatively, almost defensively at being asked to do something so embarrassing. We finished and the master looked like a thunder cloud. He pointed out that we were well over the 52 seconds or so within which the tune had to be completed.

The Metro Cinema version probably has my old music master turning in his grave, with excellent company in his rotation being given by several founding fathers of our nation.

When we have a perfectly good original version of the national anthem ( I suspect the one played in Inox is close to it), why get a couple of aging stars to murder it? Spare a thought for the lone solder in Ladakh and help us send some thumping, upbeat thoughts his way.

Arriving Early

The computer glows gently as it breathes into life after a long night of hibernation. The morning noises of phone calls and shouted voices have not yet began to usher in the daily office din. Papers on the desk lie solemnly awaiting the inevitable shuffling around that will happen in the day.

All is calm. All is mellow. I login and scroll down my mails.
Crunch
Penetrating through the still air.
Crunch
My shoulders tense slightly and my hair stands on end awaiting…
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
The frequency of the sound increases as the unknown person from a couple of cubicles away gathers momentum in downing his packet of chips.
Crunch, crunch, crunccchhh.
The quietness around me is no more as the crunches flow like volleys.
My morning calm has been cut short suddenly and unpleasantly.
Like a bucket of water thrown on you to wake you up.
Or a stray cigarette that wafts amidst the fresh mountainside air.
The crunches have now disappeared into the office conversations which have been gradually growing louder.
My shoulders tense even more as I plunge into another day at work.
The unknown eater goes about his routine without realizing the precious seconds of quiet he took away from me.

Panchgani Strawberry Festival

It was sheer serendipity that I ended up in Panchgani right in the middle of the Mapro Strawberry festival weekend and boy, was it worth it!

It was a simple and neat affair. A huge ground had been emptied out and various levels contained all things related to strawberries. The ground was large enough to absorb the 1000 visitors that the newspapers had predicted.

We were greeted by the sight of volunteers dancing to live drumbeats. All of them were dressed in white kurtas, making it easy to spot someone to help you out, be it at the shops or in the gardens.

The first stop was at the chocolate making area, probably a spin-off business of Mapro or run by local villagers. Free samples were handed out and we gorged on the raisin and cashew dipped chocolates. Close by were stalls selling preserves and juice mixes of all sorts – strawberry (of course), custard apple, litchi, black currant – at decent prices.

The next level contained a food court. The menu proclaimed exotic things like ‘Strawberry bhel’ and ‘Strawberry pizza’. The food court itself had been set up under the trees and you could look at the mountainside while helping yourself to the baskets of free strawberries that had been kept on every table.

Adjacent to this was a nursery which offered an array of plants you could buy. Exotic orchids were within a layman’s reach, finely set up in pots that could be kept in one’s living room. There were tables and chairs around this area as well and an enthusiastic band belted out old Hindi songs.

Finally we went in search of the showstopper – strawberry plants from which you could pluck strawberries and pop straight into your mouth. Sadly, we found out that the fields were in a nearby village. We did manage to catch sight of a few strawberry bushes though, with the lush green leaves bursting forth from the ground and juicy looking red strawberries jutting out of them.

After checking out the grounds, we headed back to the food court and picked ourselves drinks made of strawberries. That done, there was nothing else to do but to bask in the sun and gulp down the free strawberries.

There was something charming about the whole festival. It was well organised, no doubt. The commercial aspect was very subtle and not in your face. The stalls were run by earnest young men who let you sample stuff generously without screwing up their faces if you decided not to buy anything. Most of all, it seemed like the sort of place where a strawberry lover could soak in strawberries and more strawberries for a while. This is a luxury when you compare it with the strawberry experience in Mumbai - a small bowl with cream in some cafe or your house.

We enjoyed the strawberry excesses and ferried some back for later.

I would not mind going for a mango festival now. Or even a water melon festival. Anything that reminds one that fruits are neither indulgences nor health therapies but yummy food to be eaten till your stomach is bursting and you can't move anymore.

Vietnam diary

People were always perplexed when I told I was honeymooning in Vietnam. Questions ranged from ‘What’s there?’ to ‘Why not Mauritius’. An honourable few told us how cool the whole thing was. We chose Vietnam primarily as a compromise option. Most places where too cold (Europe) or too far (South America) or too much in the peak season (Australia, South Africa) or too honeymoony (Mauritius). In the end it turned out to be an excellent choice with beautiful scenery, tasty food, pleasing lack of Indians and a mild list of tourist spots that could be easily ignored when we felt like relaxing.

The first stop was Hanoi, the rich and old seat of the original Vietnam. We stayed by the Hoan Kiem lake, near the Old Quarters at the Sofitel Metropole. Filled with wonderful restaurants, green paths by the lake and a busy shopping area, it provided a quick feel of the city. We popped into say hello to Uncle Ho whose embalmed body is on display at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum and got a guided tour by an enthusiastic, propaganda- spouting guide. The Temple of Literature close by was also charming, with mundane structures that had interesting names like ‘The Well of Clarity’. LP had recommended a few museums as well. But we decided to stick to their restaurant recommendations instead in keeping with our plan to primarily relax.

From Hanoi, Halong Bay was a 3.5 hour drive past a countryside that looked stunningly like someone had taken India, shaken out all the dirt and Indians and filled it up with Vietnamese. Halong Bay itself was an impressive stretch of limestone rocks sticking out from the ocean. We stayed in a private junk cruiser (Columbus Adventures) for a couple of days and tried our hand at Kayaking and visited floating villages located entirely on the sea.

From North Vietnam, we moved to the Central parts. This was the bit that had divided the communist North from the American-controlled South. We, however, stuck to Vietnam’s ancient history instead of venturing into the recent past. The first stop was Hue which was filled with 15th – 18th century structures like the citadel, Du Luc tombs, Pagoda etc. From there, we moved onto Hoi An, stopping at Danang on the way. Danang’s chief delight is the Museum of Cham sculptures. The Chams were a Hindu race who had reigned from 5th to 15th centuries in Central Vietnam. The sculptures were of Hindu gods and goddesses and an excellent reminder of how much the Indian culture had travelled back then.

From Danang, it was onto Hoi An and its wonderful beach and old town. We were at the Victoria Hoi An beach resort, which had cottages with large windows overlooking the beach. The old town, which has UNESCO world heritage status, was nearby. The old town bordered the river and one could wander through the narrow alleyways, checking out old houses, temples, museums, souvenir shops and art galleries. We spent an entire morning there and came back in the evening for more.

From there, we headed to Ho Chi Minh City, as Saigon is known these days. HCMC is like any other bustling metro – women made up a notch more fashionably than the rest of the country, tall buildings, crowds and nothing much to see but a lot to feel. A friend took us to the wonderful Saigon Bar at Caravelle Hotel, commanding a view of the famous Rex hotel where the American headquarters had been located during the Vietnam war. We also managed to squeeze in a trip to the impressive Cu Chi tunnels the next day. The intricate network of tunnels had taken twenty years to build and contained tunnels too narrow for non-Vietnamese, with booby traps to kill anyone who did get in. Sadly the AK 47 shooting range near the tunnel was closed and we could not try our hand at it.

Taken in slowly, am sure there would have been a lot more depth we would have discovered in the country. We were happy enough with the sights and sounds we managed to see. The food was delicately flavoured and light and the long walks ensured both of us returned looking happy and healthy. Perhaps if we had not been on honeymoon, we would have probably done the quick tourist round of Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam in the ten days we had. In the end, it was worth taking the time and carrying memories of slowly driving through the deserted, hilly Hai Van pass with the ocean by our side far below.

Matheran-Karla-Bhaja

Just when the monsoons have started retreating, I have discovered the pleasure of travel in this weather. Good Chennai kids don’t travel during the rains. You stay put at home, and complain about how it is pouring and amuse yourself with indoor games. Considering we get so little rain, rain needs to be treated with the respect due to it.

Not Mumbaikars.

Come rains, and everyone is out taking a walk under the clouds.

I learnt this early on, when I first moved to Mumbai. A friend’s colleague had organised a hike to Matheran. To my great surprise, we were not the only people out. Walking in the blinding rain and coping with slippery paths, were packs of brightly dressed people. We followed them. Though only upto a point. I am not sure at what stage we lost sight of them since I was busy concentrating on urging my foot to take the next step. We blundered on our own, and scrambled up the hillside, occasionally using nothing but tiny bits of grass as a grip to prevent us falling into wide abysses. When we eventually reached Matheran, I was relieved to just be alive.

Years later, one Himalayan trek under my belt, I had still not gone back to Matheran. But a couple of weekends ago, D decided to make plans. And we were on our way.

I discovered there are fairly conventional and pleasant ways to go to Matheran as well. One can take a private car or a train and shared taxi upto Dasturi Naka. From there you have the choice of taking a toy train (not operational in the monsoons), hiring a horse, taking hand driven carts or just walking up to the top.

We chose the last option and spent a lot of time lingering over the views. We had not realised till then that away from Mumbai the rains had still not had finished putting up a spectacular display. From the market to the Verandah in the Forest, where we were staying, it poured and poured. It continued to pour through the day and the next as well. Which was good fun, because I got to act like a good Chennai kid in the rains. We read books, watched the rain, played cards, ate huge amounts of food and griped occasionally about how it was pouring. When the rain let off a bit, we went for long walks and marvelled at the stunning views in the countryside, full of fresh looking vegetation punctuated by white waterfalls.

One trip had hooked me and Saturday, I was back traversing the area around Mumbai. This time the destination was Karla and Bhaja caves, a spot I had been eyeing for a while. Both of them are located close to Lonavala and a train to Pune gets one there in about 2.5 hours.

We got off at Lonavala and hired a car for the day (1000 rupees to show both spots and bring us back to the station). The driver was a teenager who told us later on that he had learnt driving a couple of months ago. We could have guessed the way he took the curves upto Karla. Perhaps the Ekvira temple at the top protects its tourists, since we got there alright.

Karla is more than 2000 years old and is built on the same lines as Ajanta- Ellora, though much smaller. There is one main cave, or the Chaitya and a lot of smaller caves which served as living rooms for visiting monks. The most interesting feature is the curved ceiling decorated with wooden beams, in an imitation of wooden architecture from that period.

As luck would have it, Karla and Bhaja also seemed to be a major picnic spot for school kids. Swamping us were about 1000 school kids, all intent on throwing coins on the Stupa to see if they could hit the top.

So much for calm Buddhist meditation.

We moved to Bhaja after an uninspired lunch at the nearby MTDC hotel. Bhaja was much calmer, largely because they were fewer kids. But also, because Karla has a living temple in its precincts, it tends to attract more people who linger longer.

Both places had lovely views. The weather was pleasant, with an occasional drizzle adding to the charm. It is the best time to visit both places, because I am fairly sure the uncovered stone steps leading upto the caves are likely to be very tiring to conquer in any other season.

Rounding off this weekend, I managed to watch Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. There have been millions of remakes of this movie, some of which I have watched. The shower scene has been endlessly analysed. What new stuff can this movie offer, was the major thought that was playing in my head before turning on the TV.

It was brilliant. The movie had a pace that set my pulse racing the way only books have done in the past. I can’t wait to watch the rest of the movies in the ten pack set lying in my house. And I would suggest anyone who can't resist good movies do the same.