That Night

It was midnight. I had been to the railway station to receive a friend of mine. The train was late by more than an hour and I was waiting at the station. There was a chill in the air. Everything appeared dead except for the occasional announcement of the trains. For some reason I felt that the atmosphere was gloomy.

I felt my life had no reason. I had a good job. But I did not have the time to spend the money which I was getting. These days I hardly derived any joy from watching movies, eating in the hotels and purchasing unwanted stuff. Life was struck. It was in a rut. Standing at the quiet railway station I kept on contemplating as to what was the purpose of my life. Unfortunately the ugly thoughts and their work was raising its din from all sides. The tumultuous sea of thoughts was indeed endless. I came to a conclusion that my life had no purpose at all. All the money I had earned was utterly useless. For the first time I felt so helpless. There was nothing to live for. I had met the wrong person in my life and she had created my life into a hell. I cursed my destiny for crossing my paths with a wicked woman like hers. I did not wish to live. Filled with negative thoughts my mind was abuzz with suicidal tendencies.

That was when I saw the people sleeping in the railway station. There hundreds of them. They were men and women, young and old. I could see there was one woman so old that she had to use a staff to walk. There was also one young woman nursing her child who was no less than a month. All of them lay on the the thin old blanket which served as their bedding and cuddled up inside another thin, ugly cloth to save themselves from the biting cold.

They had stuffed their meagre belongings into a torn bag and it served as a pillow. They had dogs for company. The dogs would squirm from one place to another. Like the people sleeping at the railway station, even the dogs were homeless. May be this was the reason why those unfortunate homeless souls treated dogs with love. They did not try to shove them away. At that time one hotel owner came to the railway station with left overs. He offered them to those who were sleeping. However not many of them were interested in eating the stuff. They were content. Dogs kept on following the hotel owner with their wagging tails.

My eyes were full of tears and my heart was filled with optimism. No doubt it was a very poignant scene, but still it was an eye opener for me. I realized how better placed I was than this unfortunate brothers and sisters of mine. If given a chance these kids who lay on the platforms could have become the best of doctors and engineers. But destiny had snatched those opportunities from these unfortunate souls for unknown reasons. But I was bestowed by the Almighty with an opportunity to make it big in my life. If I did not wanted to live for myself, I had to live for these brothers and sisters of mine. I gave up the idea of suicide and braced myself to work hard for the upliftment of these fellow citizens of mine who are destitute, homeless even after more than sixty years of independence. 

Thank you

Family is like a root of the tree. It supports you, it nourishes you and enables you to stand tall and face all the storms of life. Indeed family occupies a very important role in every person's life. We Indians are known for our joint family system, a concept which is alien to other cultures.

I had a keen interest in cooking since my childhood. I remember as a child the kitchen set was my favourite toy. I would cook so many dishes in my imagination. I simply loved being in the kitchen. I would have loved to spend most of my time in the real kitchen. But back then my entry into the kitchen was forbidden as I was too small. I was being told that I may get cut or burn my fingers if ever tried experimenting in the kitchen.

With age I graduated to being the help in the kitchen. So I was given the task of peeling the vegetables, sifting the coriander leaves and at times even cutting them. Back then cooking was not looked upon with respect. Cooking was a woman's task. A man was not supposed to spend rather waste his time in the kitchen.

But still my grandmother encouraged me to brush up my culinary skills. No matter if you are a man or a woman you should at least know the basic cooking which would prevent you from dying out of starvation. She would say. So with my grandmother's encouragement I was given free hand in the kitchen. I learnt all the traditional dishes from my grandmother. She taught me the art of making mouthwatering recipes without any measurements. It was just all by judgment. There was nothing like one cup or two teaspoons in my grandmother's kitchen. It was all on the basis years of experience and she gifted me with her fruits of experience as well.

It was only because of my grandmother's encouragement I enrolled myself for the course in culinary sciences. There I was taught many other dishes. I had never tried my hand at baking. But here in this school I was taught to make world class cakes and cookies. I was taught how to correctly fold the napkins, how to arrange the dishes. Cooking was indeed an art. It was much more than cooking two minutes instant noodles. I learnt international cuisines as well.

My interest in cooking took me to the overseas. I cooked in the international hotels and gave the expatriates taste of my grandmother's flavours. I got an opportunity to host a cookery show which went on to be a great success. Thereafter I wrote many books relating to cooking. I got everything name, fame and fortune. I wonder whether a mere degree in arts or commerce would have helped me to attain all the possessions which I own today. I am really grateful from the bottom of my heart to my grandmother who always encouraged me to follow my heart. Food sustains all beings. Then how can cooking be devoid of any respect. She would question. I am happy that her prophecy turned true and today cooking has got the respect it deserves. 

Everyday Happiness Mantras

Everyday Happiness Mantras is a book based on the column of the author in The Asian Age and Deccan Chronicle. It is a motivational book. It is divided into fifty-two articles for each week of the year.

The author covers varied subjects like interpersonal relationships, money management, environment conservation, child rearing, managing stress, physical and mental fitness etc. The book set like diary also reminds us of various days right from Valentine Day to Buddha Pournima. It tells the significance of these days in brief and gives ideas to celebrate these days in true sense of the term.

The language of the book is simple to understand. However it is preachy in tone. It may serve good as a moral science book in schools. It speaks about good virtues which are worth inculcating. But the writing style is banal and fails to hook an adult reader. The book, may be because it is based on the newspaper columns of the author, appears patchy and incoherent. The book resembles those 101 essays kind of books which we would buy in our school days and mug up to write essays in the examinations.

The book is neither a master piece nor an extraordinary book. But still you can read it. May be somewhere a line may strike a chord with you and your life will be changed for the good. Isn't that a good reason to buy the book?

Buy a car on Quikr Nxt

Buying and selling anything is a very tedious task. Yes these days you can even put up your old goods for sale on the various websites. You get a good response too. But most of the times at the wrong time. You are having your lunch. You are relishing your favourite palak paneer sabzi cooked by your mother for you. You are totally lost in a world different altogether. At that time your phone rings and the prospective buyer wants to make an enquiry. You are at the open house of your child. The teacher is explaining how good your child is in English. Your chest protrudes. The teacher further tells that your child should work hard when it comes to mathematics. You are bit worried. At this point again your phone rings. It is again the prospective buyer. (Didn't I tell you that you get amazing response on quikr). But again right now you are in no mood to speak about the article you want to sell. Isn't your child's future much more important.

You return home tired. You are taken back by a pleasant surprise to see that your wife has not made plans to visit any relative or go to any mall. She has sent the children to her parent's place. She is dressed up to the hilt and is wearing your favourite pink lipstick. She is in a romantic mood today. She grabs your shirt and pushes you closer. You can feel the mesmerizing perfume which she is wearing. You bring your lips closer to her. Your lips are about to touch her. That is when the phone rings. Again your ad is getting amazing response and it is the prospective buyer. All your bedroom plans whither in a jiffy.

But for you all unfortunate souls there is some good news. Quikr Nxt has come as a boon for all the sellers. Here you do not have to share your contact number or email id with any one. Quikr ID will be the point of contact. You can use Qukr Nxt and chat with the prospective buyers on your smart phone as well as the website, isn't it amazing?

This will ensure that our valuable moments remain intact and undisturbed. At the same time you will not miss on any buyer. Plus the cherry on the cake is that you will not have to keep notes of all the calls and offers which you received.

It has also made purchasing a car very easy. During the chat you can ask your seller to take a picture of the car from a particular angle. You can also ask to take video of the car from inside. By sharing images and videos you will get to know the car which you propose to buy. Thanks to Quikr Nxt buying a car online has become too easy. Thanks Quikr and hope you keep on making buying and selling easy for us. Car buying was never so easy before the Quikr Nxt days. 

Around Udaipur Fascinates Me

The next day I booked a ticket for the tour (guided word is deliberately avoided) of places around Udaipur. We motley group of people with diverse languages and even nationalities are waiting for the bus. We have a very beautiful woman from Spain in our bus. (In fact she is the only foreigner) She is wearing bangles, bindi and had henna on her hands. She had come for a friend's wedding in India. She tells me that she loved chai and Indian people. Good to see that in spite of the recent untoward incidents towards foreign women they still carry good impression about India and its people.

The bus arrives and all of us hop in. The bus is a sleeper bus which plies at the night time. It is being used during day time for sight-seeing tours to make more money. I am asked to sit cross-legged on the upper berth. I refuse. So I am given a lower berth at the last. The upper berth which I was offered is given to the foreigner. She happily climbs up and occupies her seat. I have been on many day tours at many places in the country, but no where I was taken around in a sleeper bus. The disadvantage of sleeper bus apart from the fact that I have to sit cross-legged is that it comes with sliding Formica partitions. The family sitting on the opposite berth choses to closely guard their privacy and closes the partition. As a result while the bus is moving I am refused my right to see as to what is happening on the other side of the road.

Finally we all have settled on our seats or in better words resigned to our fate. After an hour or so the bus stops at the highway. All of us are asked to get down and visit the temple to the left. We are at Ghasiyar. The driver doubles up as a guide to tell us about the spots we are visiting. However he miserably fails as a guide because he does not tell much apart from the instructions go here and go there.

We climb up the fleet of steps to visit the temple. On entering the temple, there are wooden steps akin to those in an amphitheatre where all of us sit. The sanctum is curtained. The Spanish woman comes from behind. She does not know what is happening and is apprehensive to come in. She stands in the corridor. I ask her to come inside and sit, for the darshan will begin soon. I tell her about the custom whereby the doors of the sanctum are closed periodically and opened only seven times in a day. This was the knowledge which I had recently acquired from the Gujarati family seated next to me. As the driver has not dished out any instructions I feel that this is the famous temple of Shrinathji at Nathdwara. Again the Gujrati family adds to my knowledge by telling me that this is Ghasiyar where Shrinathji had stayed and not Nathdwara.

Sun on the top of the head at Ghasiyar conveying it is 12 pm

Finally the doors of the sanctum open and we prostrate before a picture of Srinathji. Yes there is just a picture and not an idol. The foreigner asks me the name of the god and remarks that you have so many gods. 

Our next stop is haldi ghati. We climb up the hillock at haldi ghati. The mud hardly appears yellow. There is a museum perched on the hillock. All of us are asked to wait inside the gates by the cleaner who addresses the driver as Ustad. We wait there for more than fifteen minutes. Few members from our bus have already entered the museum. When I enquire with the cleaner as to where his Ustad is I am being told that he is having his meals. The Gujarati family comes with a resolution that we should not wait for him and enter the museum. I second their resolution and all of us enter the museum. 

The museum is akin to a theatre. We wait in the corridors as the gates of the hall are closed. Gujarati family is busy clicking pictures against the backdrop of Maharana's statue. The guard asks them if they possess a camera ticket. They show their camera tickets and reprimand the guard for being rude. The gates are opened and we enter a room which has the haldi ghati model in the middle. There are also swords, armour, helmets adorned on the walls for display. One voice welcomes us and asks us to come near the model at the centre. An employee of the museum tells us the story of haldi ghati by pointing out to the places by the pointer in his hands. We are told how Maharana's horse Chetak was disguised as an elephant and how he ran 5 kilometers in spite of losing his limb.

Mural at the entrance of the museum

Then we make our way through a small door into a theatre which screens a short animated film on the great warrior. Thereafter we are on a guided tour of murals displaying various incidents from the life of the Maharana. At the exit are the stalls selling delicacies made from the roses, amla and other local produce. I purchased gulkand and amla chutney. I must say that the quality of the products is indeed worth admiring. There is a small pool with paddling boats. Due to the heavy rush of people to find their ways to the pedal and the micro size of the pool I decided to give up the thought of boating. The in house restaurant of the museum offered good food. They offered an unlimited thali for a fair price. But I had no appetite, so I gave up the idea of having lunch. Instead I settled for the sugarcane juice which was extracted live in front of you that too by a real kolu ka bail. Unlike city palace at Udaipur the haldi ghati museum provides worth for the money. 

We board the bus again. As we move forward the cleaner announces to have a from the window darshan of Rana's horse Chetak's samadhi. But as the bus is moving and as the view of the other side is hindered by the partition I hardly get to see it.

We stop by the road to visit a cave where Rana had stayed. The cave is natural and is cool. There is a shivlingam near the cave. One Sadhu was meditating across the dhuni. I banged my head against the roof of the cave. As I rubbed my scalp, the Sadhu informed us that there is a secret alley through the cave which leads to Chittorgarh.

Next the bus navigates through a narrow road which is cut through the mountains. The cleaner jumps from the bus digs a little gravel from the mountain wall and hops into the bus again. He shows the lump of the soil which he has extracted to everyone. It is indeed yellow in colour just like the turmeric after which the ghati is named as haldi ghati.

Samadhis at Rakt Talai

Now we are at the battle field. This place is called Rakt Talai. Talai means lake. Hundreds of soldiers were killed during the famous haldi ghati battle which took place in the monsoons. The rain water took the blood of the soldiers with it into the lake. As a result the lake appeared like a lake of blood. Hence the name Rakht Talai. The water from the lake dried up long back and people started encroaching on it. Therefore the government created a garden here. The garden has samadhis of various ministers who gave up their lives in the battle.

Our next destination is Nathdwara. We are dropped on a crowded highway and asked to take a rickshaw for the temple. The rickshaw drops us at the opening of a road which is crowded with shops. First come the eateries, then the shops selling religious paraphernalia more particularly images of Shrinathji. 

The huge doors of the temple are closed. Hundreds of people are waiting outside the doors. Some are civilized to form a queue. But they are affecting the sales of the shops as the queue goes on expanding and hindering the view of the shops. The shopkeepers keep on telling that there is no need to form any queue. Yet the queue soars up. There is a separate queue for men and women.

 The loud speakers from the temple are appealing to the devotees that there is no special darshan in the temple. Yet the pandas are offering devotees lucrative deals which include a direct darshan to a couple, which includes man and a woman, at the same time. The man standing next to me appears to be interested in the offer. He negotiates to take two couples at the price of one. There is some one, I guess his brother, accompanying him. The priest asks for double the price. The negotiations fail. 

The doors open. There is chaos. The queue is disbursed and everyone rushes to the doors. There are small children with the men. Many of them are carrying cradles with baby Krishna in it. The doors are colourful. After getting inside the temple premises we are again made to stop at a point. The police man is blocking our way with a rope. After fifteen minutes we are permitted to go in. The temple has steps like those at Ghasiyar. The beautiful idol of Shrinathji can be seen even from the last step. Right now there are only men in the darshan hall. Groups of men and women are sent into the temple alternatively.

I must say in spite of all the chaos there is something about Shrinathji which stays with you. The exit for men is from another door which opens into another lane. Through bare feet I tramp through the ugliest lanes of Nathdwara. Though in Rajasthan Nathdwara appears to be in Gujarat. There are Gujaratis everywhere. The display boards are in Gujarati, hotels are offering Gujarati menu, the tour operators are offering buses for Ahmadabad and of course the people are speaking in Gujarati. I take a rickshaw to the spot where my bus was supposed to park and get into the bus. Unlike yesterday's Udaipur's weather it is terribly hot at Nathdwara. Soon all the members turn up and the bus proceeds for the next destination which is Eklingji.

Eklingji is a beautiful temple complex. The rock cut temple has exquisite carvings. Undoubtedly Eklingji is one of the masterpieces of Indian temple architecture. There is a group of men and women reciting bhajan in the sanctum. The sanctum is cooler compared to the hot air outside. There is a queue in the sanctum. Standing in the queue I appreciate the beauty of this ancient temple. There is floor above the sanctum. Its balconies open into the sanctum of the temple. The queue moves quickly and I am in front of the Lord. Smell of flowers mixed with incense, so typical to the ancient temples, fills in my lungs. The panda hands over to me a fragrant garland as prasad. It is worth mentioning here that I have not offered a single paisa or any thing in kind. Indeed there are very few temples like Eklingji in India.

The bus drops me back to Udaipur. I must say unlike the Udaipur tour, I have throughly enjoyed this trip. This trip was a revelation. Travel is as much about people as it is about scenic surroundings, ancient monuments and shopping. I can never enjoy a travel when its most important ingredient – people is missing. 

Cafe' Latte - Book Review

Amit Shankar's Cafe Latte is collection of eighteen short stories. Short stories is a genre which is always interesting. Amit Shankar has done a good job with his maiden collection.

Death appears to be Amit's favourite theme. Majority of his stories revolve around death. Some of them also deal with after death incidents. The first story in the book Temple of the King looks at the guru-disciple relationship from a modern perspective. 26 Down Express is set in a small town and reminds you of the R K Narayan's Malgudi Days. Code of Honour is a moving account of unvent feelings of a soldier towards his son. Amit brings up the happenings on the war front very well.

The Jazz Player is a poignant tale of a man whose health prohibits him from pursuing his passions smoking and playing saxophone. Let Me Help You Die exhibits how even those who speak of death romantically are afraid of dying. The Black Widow illustrates paranormal activity of a woman who has lost her beloved.

The Lion, Leopard and The Hyena speaks about the domineering and subservient roles in any given relationship. A Rose For Her is a predictable yet touching account of humanity that still exists even amongst the poor.

A Highway Called Life is an inspirational tale about a child who makes it big in spite of his so called handicap. It is one of the few positive tales in the book. Most of the stories in the book are gloomy and disturbing.

The Chosen One sheds light on another issue which many may seldom perceive. It is about the shame felt by a young man who has to take up his family business of selling ladies undergarments. Home Sweet Home is a touching tale which deals with man and his relationship with the guests who have come temporarily to stay in his house.

The Other Side is a story about a nymphomaniac woman from a decent, cultured well to do background. We seem to write off nymphomaniacs to be the special prerogative of the elite class. The Dream Chaser is the story of a poor boy who wants to save the humanity.

The Guardian Angel depicts mother son relationship in an interesting manner. But Amit please tell me where did you find an old woman reading on a bus that too at 10.30 pm? Evey Mouse Ain't A Mickey Mouse articulates the plight of a man trapped in a corporate job and a family which is equally demanding. Smart TV depicts how in today's smart era we are trying to replace our feelings with exotic items.

True Lies is the best story in the book. It shows the bright side of the life in an interesting form – confessions made to a priest. It reinstates that we forget our sorrows when we see others who are suffering much more. Writers Block is a story of a frustrated writer who takes up to crime for he is unable to find a publisher. Though Amit has mentioned in the preface that the collection includes stories of two young writers as well, I was unable to locate which were those stories.

Some of the above stories are indeed novel when it comes to conceptualization. The stories articulate the frustrations of the city bred, who are conventionally successful but are hollow inside, very well. It brings forth their emptiness up to the hilt. However unnecessary descriptions mar the flow of the story. The stories have predictable endings. Then too Amit's maiden attempt does not disappoint you. If you are a lover of short stories this is the book you should buy.

Attractive cover of the book deserves a special mention. I wonder how Amit manages to get beautiful covers for all his books. 

Bedtime Rituals

Bedtime is very special. No body wants to skip that beauty sleep and go to the office the next day with those ugly under eye circles. But when you have a baby, everything changes. You will have to steal sleep for yourself when the baby is sleeping. That is the reason why it is so important to have a specific bed time ritual for the baby. Like Paulov's bell and the dog the baby too will be programmed.

Initially when I began to plan a ritual for the bed time of my baby, the baby outsmarted me. (After all it was my baby) While attempting to make the baby go to sleep, I slipped into deep slumber and the baby kept on playing on the bed. After an hour or so I became awake and realized that the baby had devised its own program to make its father sleep.

But with patience (parenting is all about patience) I was able to devise a nice bed time ritual for me and my baby. A ritual which both me and baby enjoyed. A ritual which helped both of us to create a bond and then strengthen it. A ritual which prepares the baby for the future. A ritual will relaxes it and teaches it to value its natural peaceful state of mind.

The first thing I do before taking my baby to bed is to take him to the toilet and empty his bladder. Then I lift him in my arms and both of us go to the bedroom. I play with him for sometime. (That ensures that he gets exhausted physically and goes to sleep early) Then I tell him all the happenings of the day. (That relieves my stress and enhances the baby's linguistic faculties.) Then I ask the baby which song he wants me to sing. The baby does not talk yet. So he only smiles. He likes the feeling that his opinion matters. His opinion is respected. I go on to sing the song which I have been singing for him since he was in his mother's womb. You may be surprised to hear that the baby recognizes the song. The song has been associated with relaxation and soothingness.

I know now that the baby will soon go to sleep. So I too sleep next to him and pat him gently. I thank God for blessing me with such a wonderful child and ask the Almighty to protect him and bless him. I guess my prayers read God for the baby is in blissful sleep and a smile breaks on his face. I realize what is my most prized possession and I too sleep with gratitude in my mind.