To be a romantic

When opulence is charming

Why would someone build beautiful havelis in a dry and desolate place like this? And not just someone , but an entire community who were rich and prosperous and traded with countries in the middle east and Europe in as early as the 19th century. Surely they could find a much better place to reside.

This was how I felt when I was driving through Shekhawati. I could only see acres and acres of farm lands interspersed with Khejri trees , standing like old setinels. Interspersed among them, were a few odd mud huts and a occasional old well. The wells with pulleys looked too old to be in use.

Then a few small houses started appearing in front of us. In a short while we had beautiful old havelis on both the side of the narrow road. We had entered the village of Alsisar. After a short drive we arrived at our hotel, a beautiful painted Shekhawati haveli . The Manager showed us around the haveli. We accompanied him to the terrace.The village looked so welcomingly pleasant.There were no cars, no din of the marketplace, no pollution.The sun was already setting and we were yet to have our lunch.The dining room was elegant and exuded old world charm.The food felt good. 

After lunch we went out to explore the village.We visited a few havelis of prosperpous merchants of Marwari community. The members of the community now live in the bigger cities. The havelis are looked after by caretakers. They willingly showed us around the havelis. There were frescoes all over the walls depicting scenes from the epics, myths and popular legends.Everything was so colourful , yet so lonely. An air of calm and quiet soberness was setting in. I could almost hear the heavy sighs of the lonely havelis. They were waiting for their occupants to return.

What looks brilliant in the day looks sublime by the candle

The sun was about to set, and there was a golden red hue in the sky. The gentle breeze was soothing and I felt that I had been travelling through the ages . As soon as the sun set , the village looked different. It seemed we had travelled back in time. It was so peaceful, and so different from the city life.The silence was broken only by the high-pitched calls of peacocks.There were a few dimly lit small shops here and there. Elderly men sat huddled engaged in animated conversations. 

The air was so pure. I now realised the air that I had always breathed in the city, had a foul stench. Everything felt so unadulterated .I now realised that I had exhausted myself in all these years. 

I looked at the village once more. It looked so pleasant,with dimly lit houses and the sky full of stars. I wondered why I didnt have a haveli there.

Painting the town red... and yellow and green and blue

With a modern "Pichkari"

Holi is upon us. The festival of colours is tomorrow, or today, or both. At a time when the winter gives in to spring and summer lurks around the corner, Holi brings the much-needed wardrobe change and spring cleaning. We have forever known Holi to be the festival of colours - when every street in every Indian city, town or village is coloured, when all-whites turn into all-but-whites, when people are proud of being unrecognisable. Holi has been known to bring out the best in us.

But it does show a lot more. Always having loved colour (even in the Desert), Holi does show that spring has been long awaited. Indians of Indian and French origin have always been more for the summer. We are summer people. Our colours are summer colours. They are more of brick-reds and yellow-ochres than blacks and greys. Winter for us is time for hibernation, time for everyone to grow bellies. But when the green comes back in the trees and the blue back in the waters, we start running about and jumping with joy.

Krishna playing Holi with Radha

Holi is also an important democratising day. This is a day when looks do not matter - because everyone looks like Disney characters. This is a day when dressing up does not matter - because it will be a pain to bring out the colours. This is a day when you forget your differences with your neighbour - because you cannot really play Holi without including everybody.

This is also a day when the child inside comes out - when getting drenched brings joy, when you thank your friend for ruining your clothes, when getting soaked feels good. For a long time the winter has kept us away from the element that we loved so much. For a long time the winter has played mind-games on us and made us shiver at the sight of water. But not anymore. Being and integral part of life, summer and monsoons are symbolised well in Holi.

So wherever you are, play some Holi. Find your colour. Lose yourself. Play with your kids. They'll love you. Play with your grandmother. She will bless you. Play with friends and family. They'll adore you for it. So wherever you are... go play.

of thunder and dragons - through Darjeeling and Bhutan

All ye who enter!

We all remember that time in the bar when people are drunk enough to disclose their past lives. Some were daughters of Persian kings. Some were sons of Persian kings. Some were Persian kings. Most of the others were either Einstein or James Dean. Well, I have recently realised that I was the last dragon. There is something about Bhutan that is so much better than erstwhile Persia or the US. I couldnt have been anywhere else. And the fact that I was born and settled in the plains is simply God's way of playing a joke.

A land locked away and kept a mystery to most who cannot afford it, Bhutan has been my preferred Shangri La after Ladakh. The water is pure. The people are pure. The alcohol is cheap. The cigarettes are illegal. Its how life should be. The fact that I love it is cliched and quite an understatement. After you have somehow escaped Assam, Bhutan feels like one of those lost paradises that movies keep talking about. A four-hour journey from Agra to Delhi felt taxing. A 6-hour journey from Gelephu to Wangdue felt like a dream.

The people have their priorities right. The king has his priorities right. To match the abstract notion of Gross National Happiness in such a way that you see the tangibility on the people's faces... I dont believe that even the most famous address on Janpath could do that.

The custodians of Wangdue

I started off in Gelephu. The border town is just waking up. No one really knows about it. None of the drivers at the Guwahati airport knew where it was. I was in love with it already. A 6-hour drive through villages where women wore their Sarees like the latest Chanel evening gowns, and I was in. The mystery was backed by this elaborate gateway in the middle of no-where and with the hills just rising beyond it. It is only in Gelephu that you can see some of the smaller factors that contribute to the happiness - the Druk and army distilleries. A Black label here and I am ready for whatever Bhutan throws at me.

The next day was reserved for Wangdue. Another 6 hours and I was finally at a place where the only sound I could hear is of the river, where there is no mobile network and where "no wireless networks found" is a very prompt message that has undertones of "what the hell are you thinking!!". This considering the fact that the place I am staying at is only 5 min away from the road. And this is not my vacation. A walk through the old dzong brings out laughing novices, stern monks and a walk outside brings out the colourful bazaars. Wangdue is where the heart is. Do you remember the old worn posters stuck behind the back of autos, the ones that you chuckled on and considered cliches just because it was virutally impossible to find such a place ? Well, this is what I saw from my balcony . The green river roared and tumbled. Behind it, a hill rises that is covered by creepers and trees that I have to say are lush and green for lack of creativity in finding a better description. I was home, and there is no other place that I would rather be.

From Wangdue, I headed towards el capitol... probably the biggest city in Bhutan. Thimphu is known for a lot - for the dzong, for the king, for the medicine, for the crafts, for a lot. But Thimphu is incomplete without the night. It is only then that the oysters and the oyster bazaars come out. It is only then that you can get to clubs called Om Bar that boast of Thimphu's budding and awesome nightlife. While you spend the night on blues and druk 11000, it is only now that you realise that the whole issue about Bhutan fighting its past with its present is not really a fight, but a gradual blend. The same women looking so homely in their kiras do let their hair down and groove to Joplin and CSNY. What would life be without drinking under the stars listening to Clapton in a land known more for not being known about that much.

The Punakha dzong

Thimphu also opens the gates to Paro - where they built a monastery in a crack on the mountain face more than 200 years ago. With such names as the tiger's nest and the whole buildup to the nest (you can only hike up to the place... a hike of 3-4 hours), you can see the glamour that stems from the mystery. And it all seems worth it. When the monastery does unfold in front of you, you do not miss the lost fat or the fact that you had to wake up early. All you realise is that it is not hard to gain enlightenment if you stay in a place like this.

Phuntsoeling turned out to be my last stop in Bhutan. The gateway city again humiliates you. On this side is a bit of Europe, except that the theme for the day is Himalayan Buddhism. Clean roads, smart places for beef and red rice, ordered gardens, prayer wheels.... on the other side is a an absolute mess, with too many people and too many paan stains.

Bridge over the river Teesta

Darjeeling turned out to be better than usual. The killing and the apprehension of a strike helped take all the Mr. Bannerjees and their chunnu munnus out of Darjeeling, leaving the place very British and very likeable - the way it should have been. It is only when you dont have to see where you are going that you can actually lift your head and check out the former movie theater that is now the municipality building and the post office.

It is only then that you thank god that Bhutan is not an Indian state and realise that West Bengal does not deserve Darjeeling. As I follow my route again, I am reminded of the discussion that I was having with the editor of NGT-ZA. We were discussing why two sides of the border were so different and I said that it is because of the number of people. Bhutan had only 934000 people to manage compared to India's 1.1 billion. "It might seem like a very good reason, but it isnt", was her reply."Its the reason alright. Its just not a good enough excuse", observed her photographer. These were the opening statements while we dived back into the land of the thunder dragon.

It is very weird. The other day I was reading this article by someone from somewhere who said that the environment was not his primary problem as he was bothered with bigger issues like poverty etc. The only difference between Bhutan and India is that we have not yet realised that all the problems are interconnected. In fact, we would have had a more effective government only if politicians travelled more.