'Bong' in the middle!

Sorry to disappoint folks.. its not about a 'Bong' in the middle. Its about...

A Punju sitting in a coach full of Bongs** 

Is that even possible ? Apparently, yes! 

After vacationing for 3 wonderful days in Puri, we were to return to Calcutta via the Puri Sealdah Duronto. We had arrived in Puri on the Shalimar-Puri SF Express taken from the 'yes-I-am-there-in-one-corner-of-Calcutta' station named Shalimar. Before that time, I hadn't even heard of this name. Not my fault. It's the same if you tell a non-Delhiite whether they know of Sarai Rohilla station. 

The train was to start at 7:45 PM and we were there by 6:30. With mum and dad around, there was no question about reaching the station late. Now for me, time spent at stations is generally loitering around watching trains go by or get amazed watching the menagerie of people, but this time I was just too tired from roaming in the blistering sun at the Chandrabhaga beach and then walking all the way down from Grand Road till the station. So we chose the confines of the air-conditioned waiting room. A 3 tier AC ticket entitles you to that luxury, although now, over the years of my travels I've managed to understand that 'confidence' and not the numbers on your ticket get you past the entry barrier.

All thanks to my habit of getting things done at the very last minute, one of our berths was in a different coach than the other three. Oh-yes! And wasn't I desperately looking for some time away from the chitter-chatter of the family. With a snicker on the lips, I happily agreed to go occupy the lone berth.

The train chugged its way out of the temple town to get onto its 8 hour journey back to the original capital of the East India Company. 

Seat no. 32. 

30 odd people to the left, 30 odd to the right. Literally in the 'middle'. As I scooted my way up and down the aisle, all I could hear were Bangla syllables thrown around in the familiar high pitched tone. A frequent rail traveler in India would know that Sleeper and 3-tier AC coaches have berths in groups of eight. And I usually prefer the hassle free side upper berth (whose number happens to be in multiples of 8) since less people want to climb up and trespass. The group of seven around seat no. 32 were occupied by two Bengali families who had dropped into Puri for the summer vacation. An elderly couple and a family with 3 generations all tucked into seven berths. 

I had specially packed in a reading material to pass my time during the journey. While the two families ate and chatted away in Bangla, I, nonchalantly, with a book in my hand, tried to make sense out of the on-going conversation. All that I was desperately seeking was, an entry into the banter.

Between soaking up dealer pricing and FMCG distribution models, I would pause for a moment, look up from my papers and admire how pretty bengali girls are. And then get back to hearing something about politics, the weather, how much better train food can get and cricket. All in bangla, of course. The young Bengali lass would meanwhile flit between getting her hair combed by her grandma and joking with her grandpa.

This scene carried well into the night after which I scampered four small stairs to the comfort of my bedding and cursed Indian Railways for having the air conditioner on such high blast that a blanket would be required to survive the night when it was 40 deg humid May weather outside.

Departure came early. 4 AM.
But the Punju was already half Bong by then. Having had my mind interpreting conversations all journey long. Being in the 'middle' had paid off!


**Punju : Punjabi and Bong : Bengali are quirky nicknames given to people of either community same as Gujju (for Gujarati). You can read more about the origins of these words in this nice article here.

25,000 km of Awesomeness!

August 12 is when my FZ got an year older. 2 years and 25,000 kms! Pheww!

No no! This isn't me getting all emotional. The first 10K might have been about falling in love with biking, getting a hang on routes, convincing people to ride pillion, but the next 15,000... no sir.. its been much more than that!

Its been about reliability and selflessness! About camaraderie born out of tripling from office to the nearby bus-stand. Dropping colleagues off en-route and towing the bike from the middle of a traffic jam to a petrol pump 3 kms away, just because somebody forgot to refill! Oh and Yes.. dragging my ass back home from a 3 am party. The harshest of summers to the coldest of Delhi winters, swerving on potholed and flooded monsoon roads, its seen everything!

Not almost. Where do I go next? 

The mysterious sands of Rajasthan, dew filled mountains of Himachal and Uttarakhand and the aroma of the daal ( lentils ) cooking slowly over the tandoor heat from the dhabas in Punjab seem to be too strong an attraction right now. And whatever India I've seen apart from my destination has mostly been from a train window or peering outside the bus. On the bike, you just feel closer to the road, feel every bump, and can always stop in the middle of nowhere to take a detour into a village on a 'kaccha' road and sit by the side of the canal and bite on sugarcanes! And yes, bask in the smell of fresh jaggery getting prepared.

Ooh. Too much to fit into the next 10,000. Its going to be one helluva ride!

The Drives of Digha!

Nowhere in the country have I seen such a vast collection of drives around town!

A small hamlet on the east coast, 200 kms south west of Kolkata is where you will unearth the mystery.
Where do I even start ? Let's take the Biggest-to-Smallest route!

1. Buses! Oddly oval shaped, precariously overloaded and very characteristic of this part of the country. They frequent Digha from all possible nearby towns with regular service to and from Calcutta.

2. Vintage Jeeps. Grown-up men do act like children. Sitting on top of a jeep and cheering howling as the mechanic peered under the hood and tried to kick-start the engine with the battery jack. Every time the engine gave a roar, you would hear a triumphant cheer a kilometer away.

3. The Last Mile Carrier! Both Mahindra and Tata are definitely creating in-roads into this domain with a decent presence of their 'Last-milers' in Tier-3 towns. Very handy rides though!

           

4. The Tuk-tuki! The crème de la crème of my Digha visit. Had heard so much about this curious little thing on wheels. With passengers sitting on either side of the bar (much like school children headed for their morning classes), and the driver sitting in an equally funny posture trying to toggle a gear shifter which would give the Audi's patented Tronic gear system a run for its money, this crazy 3-wheeler literally steals the show! When the tide is low, you'll often find unsuspecting tourists taking a fun ride up and down the Digha shoreline on the powerful ' Tuk-tuki ' .

5. The make-shift Rickshaw! For 5 bucks a hop, these transporters will get you to the innermost bylanes of both Old and New Digha. Laughter and crazy stories thrown in free! And with all the impetuous showers that keep hitting the eastern coastline, they guarantee you getting to your destination absolutely dry. Pakka promise!

Which ride should I book you on... ? 

Sasuraal in the Society !!

Now that I have your attention...

Don't we all just love chaos ? 

The auto ride to Urwai Gate, the entrance to Gwalior fort.

Ashis Nandy, a sociologist wrote back in 1980 that "in India, the choice could never be between chaos and stability, but between manageable and unmanageable chaos, between humane and inhuman anarchy, and between tolerable and intolerable disorder."

And was he right?  Just explore this great hubris called "Bharat" and you'll bow your head down to this great man.

This post is dedicated to me taking a shot at "Solo travelling".  Thanks to a cousin of mine, Aparajita, did I finally muster the courage to plunge into it. And it was awesome, scary yet liberating! I've always been a sugar and spice kind of a person. Liked a hint of a special something in my drinks. So I decided to experience the thrill of an unplanned journey by going without a return ticket.

Travelling itself is known to elicit very zany emotions. You start noticing the minutest of things and fall in love, every day, every moment that you travel. 

#1. The contrasting reads displayed proudly at the platform book stall at Nizamuddin station. Man, there are more Amish Tripathi's per square foot display area of any book stall than any other author. Other than Chetan Bhagat, of course! That dude is everywhere.

My funny take on the contrasting reads at the book stall

#2. Trains. I am an absolute sucker for train journeys. Standing at the door and seeing the tracks intertwine and then merge into one, among other things. This time there was something more in store for me. The ravines between Dhaulpur and Morena. 

About an hour from Agra, the train crosses the state border of UP for a brief soiree with this town called Dhaulpur which marks the eastern most fringes of the state of Rajasthan. From there starts the 50 km journey where the train chugs into Madhya Pradesh and into the town of Morena. Its a 45 minute journey, and all you see outside for the first 20 minutes are ravines, deep and snake-like, with stark vegetation thrown in here and there. With the sun blazing outside all you will remember will be 'Chambal ke Daaku'. 

#3. Stations. Like I've always said, they're one's first glimpse into things about to come. Each one so different from the other. And they always have a story to tell. Some day, I am going to sit under a tree at a small, unknown station in a desolate part of India and watch trains all day long.

Gwalior Station. 3 PM. Sunday afternoon.

#4. Walking. Public Transportation. Just walk out of any station onto the road. Feel the city talk to you. And you'll know where to get your next ride. Two shared autos and a 2 km walk later I reached my destination. Had I taken a direct auto, I would have reached the same place in 10-15 minutes. But the 30-40 minute walking/public transportation combo made me talk to 5 different people for directions and I ended up remembering the street names for a long time.

#5. Gwalior Fort. Brilliant piece of architecture. Hill forts never fail to disappoint you. The views that you get from the top of the city of Gwalior are breathtaking. The walk from Urvai gate up to the fort is like taking a walk down the annals of history with a backpack. 

The walk from Urvai gate upto the fort.

You have have to strain your neck to get a full view of the exquisite sculptures of Jain Tirthankars cut into the rock on which the fort stands. They are huge, finely cut stone work and a treat to watch even when the 40 deg sun is making you sweat it out. "Just take out your cap and stop cribbing, you baby!" The statues keep you company all the way up to the fort. There the age-old Scindia school stands to give you a welcome.

Rock cut sculptures of Jain Tirthankars

I ran all the way to the top. My mind could afford it, my over-sized belly couldn't. Had to sit down under the shade of the chowkidaar bhaiya's shack and cool my ass off. That is when I saw this lizard roaming aimlessly under the shade of the window in a deserted cabin.

I was talking to the chowkidaar bhaiya and his pals, when I got a call from a friend that he was at the station. Invited him over. 

He was to meet us at Urvai gate. Now I wasn't going to walk all the way down and up again. Crawled into the back of a jeep going down. Chatting with the chowkidaar bhaiya had helped. Yay!

Just as we got down, our friend got off from his auto. And we saw a Mahindra truck going up. Politely asked the gentlemen driving it. He agreed and we climbed into the back. There! We had our ride back to the top. Laziness does pay!

Now we were 3 guys taking in the views at the top. 

Decided to head to the Gurudwara inside the fort compound. Legend has it that the Sikh Guru Har Gobind Singh Ji freed prisoned kings from the Gwalior fort, marking an important event in Sikhism, thus the name, Gurudwara Bandi Chhod.

Gurudwara Bandi Chhod - Gwalior Fort.

Langar Hall at the Gurudwara

The gurudwara itself is a serene place to spend time at. Wanted to jump into the kund. Note to self : Always keep a towel when out hiking.

Yes, we are humans and we do feel hungry. And what better place than the 'langar' at the Gurudwara. I ate 7 rotis. Burrp! The freshly made achaar and channe-wali daal were delicious.

Saw the seva-daar serving water with this ingenious trapping. It was a drum on a trolley and the tap was controlled by a brake-like lever that the boy operated. Result : No water wastage, no hands touching the water. Brilliant.

While we were walking out, we saw this totally amazing couple who appeared Sikhs but were too fair to be Indian. Assuming them to be Indians settled abroad, we broke into a conversation with them, only to find out that they were American citizens who converted to Sikhism and were now running a bakery in Mexico. What amazed me was how they shifted flawlessly from greeting 'Sat Sri Akal' to us and speak Spanish when describing their plans of touring India.

2 bottles of chilled Maaza per person from the MP tourism canteen and 3 water bottles which we kept re-filling were all that we needed to get this tour done on a hot summer day in Gwalior.

Headed straight to the Man Mandir Palace, the main attraction of the fort. One that gets its way into all tourism advertisements. For those of you who don't know, the blue tiles that you see have yellow ducks interspersed in between.

Also the palace has 2 levels of basements. Very spooky. 

Man Mandir Palace - Gwalior Fort

There are a lot of other attractions to see inside the fort complex and a well-kept museum as well. The Saas-Bahu temple is what intrigued us the most with its peculiar name shouting a story. The temple called Sas-Bahu aur Sahastra-Bahu temple was built by one of the Kachhwaha kings depicting Lord Vishnu with a thousand hands for his wife who was an ardent devotee. Now when her daughter-in-law came into the family, she was a devotee of Lord Shiva. So a second temple was built next to the main temple, where Lord Shiva could be worshipped. Hence, the namesake : Saas-Bahu temple. Don't get me wrong, it's an amazing piece of architecture from the inside with beautiful carvings everywhere. Keep your camera handy! (P.S the title of this post is a takeaway from the above few lines.)

Saas-Bahu temple, Gwalior fort

We got out from the fort complex using the other exit called the Alamgiri gate which took us through old Gwalior from where we had to chase a shared Auto heading towards to the station.

#6. The thrill of being unplanned. Now I knew the return part of my journey was going to be entertaining. But to this level? Stood in the rush hour queue at Gwalior station at 6 in the evening to try and buy a ticket only to be told that I had already passed the booking time and all I would get would be a general-unreserved ticket. Dirt cheap it was. Sources had informed me that Bhopal express departing Gwalior at 3 AM was the most reliable train I could take.

Packed in 3 bottles of water and got to the station at 1 in the night. It was already 18 hours since I was awake. Flitted between watching trains and partly dozing off. The only thing waking me up was the crackling voice of the Railway announcement lady informing about a train arriving or departing. 

Gwalior station. 3 AM.

3 AM. No sight of Bhopal express. Briefly heard about some train standing at platform 3 going to Delhi. I went over. Saw the face of the TT. Seemed like a chilled out guy. Got into the sleeper coach. Saw the TT crowded around by some folks. A denomination later, I was on a side lower seat with the cool breeze sweeping on my face. 

Note to Others: Always take a night train when you don't have a confirmed ticket. 

8 AM. Reached Delhi. Read the name of the train when I got off! 

The train in which I travelled from Gwalior to Delhi.

Now to a good bath and then straight to office. To sleep! Yawn!

The Sweet Tooth!

Engineers don't have a sweet tooth. They have sweet teeth. All 32 of them, apparently! Or in my case, 30. (having lost the pair to sweetness already!)

Food, guides a lot of my instincts. People who've been around me long enough know that for sure. But, sweets, they just do a little more.

French crepes might sound all fancy, but they are darn simple to make. You dish out a bowl, put in a fistful of flour, add a little milk, 2-3 eggs and stir for about 5 minutes. The essence is in the consistency of the mix. Not too loose, not too tight. A little loose preferably! Add a little vanilla sugar, if you're not too crazy about the egg-y taste.

A non-stick flat pan is what works best to roll these bad babies out. And butter. Definitely butter! Crepes, like all us scheming, love-hungry mammals, enjoy a lot of buttering. That just kinda ends up bringing out the flavors.

All credit to my aunt who thought the Sunday evening tea would be incomplete without this zing to the palate.

Oh and did I tell you that if you spread a little Nutella on top of the hot ones, it melts away and tastes heavenly?

So there you are folks, French Crepes with Nutella! 12 ones rolled out in 15 minutes.

Burn away.. or turn green! (whatever it is that happens to you with jealousy)

The name's Halwa... Gajar ka Halwa!

The Engineer picks up the Karchi again..this time to dish out Gajar ka Halwa !

And all it took was :

• 2 dozen carrots (finely grated) , 
• a fistful of sugar (evenly sprinkled) , 
• desi ghee, 
• 40 minutes,
• and a girl waiting to eat it all! 

.
..
...
....
.....

My mum, of course!

The halwa didn't even last an hour!

That's the short part of it!

The long part is that carrots have to be washed and in this weather the water feels finger-numbing cold. Your paunch is growing, but that is no excuse to feel tired after grating just 1 carrot when there are 13 more left to be done! And grated carrots when combined with ghee and sugar and stirred for some time over a medium flame smell delicious, but that is no reason to whip out the camera and snap a picture of the steaming delicacy.

I am getting better. Period!

Those Kohl-Lined Eyes!

Now, who would've thought that the Navagraha temple complex in Konark would be the scene of such a cheesy post. And for me to be witnessing it at the Sun Temple is cheesier to the next level! (Karna is the mythological son of Surya, the Sun God and I happen to be named after him)
Well, strange things happen all the time, don't they?

Konark is a small town in the Puri district of Odisha, famous for the Sun Temple, carved beautifully out of Black granite. Konark derived from the Sanskrit word 'Kona' meaning angle and Arka' meaning sun was designed as a gigantic chariot of the Sun God ('Surya') on 12 wheels drawn by 7 horses. Built in the reign of Narasimhadeva-1 in the 13th Century, it isn't really a temple in the literal sense of the word, there are no pujas performed there!

While on most journeys in a small rickety bus, jam-packed to its capacity, trotting along the road and taking about an hour and half to cover the 35 km distance from Puri, you are just happy that you reached, fortunately this wasn't the case here.

The NH 203 is pristine in every sense of the word and would easily go into my list of the best highways in India to travel on. I kind of re-lived my DTC bus college days by travelling on the foot-board of the bus. Instead of the hot, polluted air and car-spangled, tar-covered Delhi roads, the National Highway 203 weaves its way along the Bay of Bengal and greets you with tree-lined esplanades, salt-laden winds and the sun's light reflecting off the waters filtering its way through the thick foliage growing in abundance along the coastline. The bus keeps dodding through the Konark-Puri Marine drive when it reaches the Chandrabhaga beach from where it takes a sharp left turn to get to Konark.

You can choose to get-off here at Chandrabhaga. The sea here is untamed at its best, compared to the quiet, docile waters in Puri. And then walk the balance 3 odd kilometres through cashew plantations on one side and a wildlife sanctuary on the other. There is even a sign somewhere which asks you to drive slowly and lookout for crossing animals.

It was the first time I was seeing cashews growing like these. The junta there isn't worried about the cashews getting plucked by touristy folk like us. That's because the cashew fruit has a very intricate method of processing to make it the edible dry-fruit that we guys are so fond of gifting on festivals. And if you try and be all experimental and dig your nails into the squishy fruit, a gooey oil-like liquid oozes out which doesn't wash off with soap and over time ruins your skin. True story! Self-experienced.
The cashew literally has to be smoked out of the fruit and dried.

When you finally get to Konark, you must walk across shacks selling the usual stuff like sea-shells, stones, temple souvenirs and 3-4 different varieties of cashews to get to the world famous monument.
The sun temple is housed in a complex which is adjoining the Navagraha temple. The temple housing the nine planetary deities on a Navagraha slab has a prophylactic effect on the safety of the temple and is housed in many temples in Odisha. Since we were there on a Saturday and it was special puja day, there was a flea market in progress in the complex to cash in on the hordes of people visiting the temple to offer prayers. You could see two worlds out there, a flawless juxtaposition of ice-cream rediwalahs and hawan-samagri toting pandits.

After having exhausted ourselves admiring the temple and me photo-bombing a million snaps being taken by unsuspecting tourists, I remember us sitting under a shady tree and gorging on mangoes and water-melon. And since mum wanted to have some roti-sabzi, we went into one of the Marwari basas just outside the temple complex. These basas are exotic entities I tell you. You are served some very genuine home-cooked food within minutes of you grabbing a seat. Its a 'jaldi khao-jaldi niklo' kinda place. And it doesn't pinch your pocket at all.

As we were getting out of the complex, we found a hand-pump to wash our faces. The constantly humid weather does start getting to all the 'born-and-brought-up-in-a-landlocked-city' guys. I had already washed up and was chatting with an uncle who after seeing me trying really hard to get the cashew fruit oil off my hands, laughed at me and then started telling me tricks to hasten the process. And there she was, a few steps away from him, gulping a golgappa and chatting animatedly with her friend, a dupatta cleverly hiding her face. All I could see were her eyes, those Kohl-lined eyes!

" Those Kohl-Lined eyes... they take your heart away!

Everytime.. everytime you see them. "

From the Engineer's Kitchen!

Ummm.. My hands smell of Metthi. 

Because I just cooked the most awesome Metthi Aloo (Potato cooked with Fenugreek). 

Basic cooking is quite like science. You get the ingredients, follow procedure and its done.

Now, that's exactly what all cookbooks will tell you. What they won't tell you is how hard it is to keep a 2 kg cookbook in your hand while you're tumbling the vegetables upside down in the kadhai (hemispherical container used to cook). And if it is borrowed, then all the tension of dirtying the pages with your oily hands. So much work. Phew!

Cooking expects you to have a basic feel for it, if not anything more. Oh.. cmon..that's just fair.!!

I've been seeing my mother cook for ages now. And my father surprisingly cooks pretty well too. His cooking is more suited to my carnivorous palate. He is good with all kinds of meat.

And I've watched with wide eyes how the Dhaba-walas stir fry their dal makhni and shahi paneer.  They know the proportion of masala that is going to give me the kick and the amount of butter to put to make me lick my fingers. Its all very instinctive. No tablespoons or measures. How the chai wala bhaiya next to my office gate just knows with experience what it takes to make the killer cup of chai with the precise amount of sugar, chai patti (read : tea leaves) and milk. His concoctions come out perfect, everytime. Oh.. and the way they play around with the flame. While the dal is left simmering on a dheeme aanch for a long time for it to get its dreamy taste.. the tadka is usually added on a high flame with a lot of movements of the pan.

So, on a cold wintery evening, 3 days into the new year,  I put all my learnings to test.

Finely chopped some metthi, washed it and put it in the kadhai. I made sure all the water had evaporated before I added oil to stir fry it. In the meantime, peeled off some potatoes, and chopped them into small pieces, not too small, not too big ( as my father pointed out). When the metthi starts sticking to the kadhai and starts developing a slight crust, I scattered the potato pieces into the kadhai, added namak, haldi and some oil and tumbled them upside down. The potatoes started getting the familiar yellowish tinge. Put a lid on the container and let it simmer.

15 minutes later, mum comes to test. And I pass. With flying colours.

The engineer shall enter the kitchen again.

P.S : Yes. I had painted my gas plate that creamish-pinkish tinge.