My Spanish Holiday

I don't know why I was unsure about it, although I always wanted a vacation in Spain. I admit that it was inspired by a special movie I watched a few years ago. Maybe because the movie was so special to me, I wanted the 'perfect setting' to exist to go ahead with the holiday. I can't refute the fact that what I had instead was all pretty awesome and spontaneous! When four close friends from different countries decide to go on a 13 days trip to Spain, nothing should be an impediment.

So we set out on a cold wintry December evening with our small bags big enough to fit the Ryanair luggage cage, the aim to cover five cities and a rather flexible plan about how to go about it. 'Flexible' because while being buried under academics and deadlines at the University, all four of us could meet just once to discuss the places we wanted to visit and do some hostel and travel bookings. So, as we began our journey toward Spain we still didn't have a clue about certain travel means and accommodation. Later we would realize that Spain responded to our spontaneity pretty well.

After a 12 hour process of making our way into Spain that involved a tram, a train, a bus, a flight, another bus and a metro, we reached our first city, Barcelona. We named our modest holiday home 'Smelly Cat' in honour of the weird but deal-able stubborn smell that haunted the building right from its entrance and to our rooms. The gastronomic delights began the same day. I took a pledge of being on a Seafood and See-food diet! The free city tours in most European cities is a great concept that has passionate young people show tourists their cities through their eyes. Antonio Gaudi's mark all over Barcelona overwhelmed us. His bold designs, his use of colours and lots of colours, inconceivable and unconventional shapes and techniques left us gaping at his creations and wondering what a crazy genius he must have been. Hearing from our tour guide that he died in a Tram accident because he was so engrossed with his new and favourite project, La Sagrada Familia made us be careful about crossing streets! Just the first glance at the massive La Sagrada Familia is enough to understand why this church, construction of which began way back in 1882 and is expected to be finished only in 2026, is already a UNESCO world heritage site. The concept and the design can make one feel minuscule. A visit to Park Guël, another of Gaudi's works shows in its brilliant mosaics and structures exactly how strong his desire was to break away from the conventional. For me, Barcelona was all about Gaudi and of course the food. After two days it was time to move to the next city. I'll never forget the creepy hug I received from our host in Barcelona!

One of the four facades of La Sagrada Familia

Gaudi's famous Trencadis Lizard at park Güell

Next stop was Madrid. A 7 hour long bus journey, missing our Hotel pick-up bus twice, hunger, sleep deprivation and early morning grumpiness only made us fall deeper into love with our hotel when we arrived. We had got very lucky to find an extremely cheap deal for this Hotel Auditorium which claims to be the biggest hotel in Europe. We believe it because that's the only hotel we've been to and stayed at in Europe. The buffet, the swimming pool and the sauna got us enthusiastic because backpackers like us get happy just seeing a relatively clean bathroom at cheap hostels. We swam for a while, felt shy to do so in front of the ridiculously good looking life guard and so left and sat at the sauna and speculated the reasons why we might end up alone! Reality awaited us on the streets of Madrid, where we were met with rains, bad luck with wallets, expensive and soggy churros and calamari, rude waiters and restaurant owners. It was just a wrong day we chose - People probably just want to be nice to family on Christmas Eve and not be working and entertaining a bunch of funny looking girls! So, we returned to our hotel with a KFC bucket to celebrate Christmas eve in our PJs and to appreciate globalization that had made us happy at least at the end of the day! The one saving grace for Madrid was the beautiful Flamenco show. Traditional, interactive and passionate. I even had a short moment with one of the performers when she would speak to me in Spanish and I would only answer with a 'Si' and a wide grin..she ended up saying (in Spanish).."Why can't you understand me..you look just like my sister"!

What passion!

The next day our group split. Two of us would head south to the region called Andalusia while the other two would head back to Barcelona. We waited in anxiety for our ride to our first stop in Andalusia- Cordoba. We had signed up for a Car-pool on a website. We didn't know this guy, and we had trust issues especially after being not so well treated by Madrid.  Driving through the vast expanse of olive plantations and mountains into the sunset and being given a brief introduction about the history of Andalusia by two sweet spanish guys was not at all a bad deal for 17 Euros! Cordoba impressed us at first sight. The streets lined by orange trees that were almost bursting out with oranges, a river, a bridge, a medieval mill and a funny hostel right in the centre of the historical centre was a great set up. I think it is a good idea to not have a very comfortable hostel bed while traveling because it keeps you out of it...giving you the extra push to be out on the streets, exploring. Early next morning Cordoba's main attraction, The Mezquita overwhelmed us. A church inside the structure of what was previously a mosque spoke a great deal about Spain's cultural grandeur and fusion. However, I did realize that the very essence and soul of the mosque was removed and replaced by the soul of a church. That apart, the Mezquita will continue to impress and attract tourists for all times. Cordoba was like a town set in a fairytale. It seemed like someone had put in an immense lot of effort to make it look as attractive and innocent as it looked.

The beautiful arches of the Mezquita

That's how they decorate their homes and restaurant entrances in Andalusia!

We left for Seville the next day. A great free city tour made us realise that we hadn't assigned enough time to this city which is the birth place of Flamenco. But we did have enough time for THE MEAL. The meal I was looking forward to even before the vacation began. A huge spread of fresh fried fish, great wine and some amazing Spanish sauces that would be absolutely adored by our taste buds. Ask for the Mojo Picon sauce. You'll thank me for it later. It was a meal I didn't want to finish and I wouldn't have if we weren't running out of time to catch our next bus to Granada.

It should be a nice idea to party at this grand looking Disco in Seville!

Granada was a challenge. It was a challenge to get out of the most comfortable hostel beds ever at 5.30 in the morning to race against 400 people who would want to be the first in the queue for last moment entry tickets into the La Alhambra; ticket counters for which would open only at 8am! So, we walked as fast as our feet could manage so early on a cold morning. With every step, the pain in our body only made itself felt more and more and the abuses from our feet only grew louder and louder. At one point, I could almost hear the voice shouting "You crazy woman...Every little cell in your body hates you! Go back to bed!" But we continued, we got lost, found our way back, got over-taken by two annoying (that's the most polite word i can come up with) girls the moment we were about to join the queue and then stood there in the queue shivering for two hours. While in the queue, my friend and I kept cursing ourselves, the girls who had jumped at the last moment to get ahead in the queue and telling each other "I am doing this only because I thought you soo wanted to!" We then had a brilliant idea - we would get tickets for entry at 2pm and rush back to our hostel beds. And that we did! We took a cab and ran upstairs to our beds to finish our sleep. I even kissed my comforter and pillow before snuggling into it. What awaited us at La Alhambra only made us love our hard-core traveler spirit more. It was enchanting. It was massive and it was rich. Rich with design, history and pride.  The Moorish kings in Andalusia gave this region tangible memories that would be admired by awestruck travelers for centuries. The beautiful tiles, mosaics and carvings left us gasping for air and in desperate search for words. And then, it was time to again pack bags, check-out and wait.... wait for our flight back to Barcelona.

The tiles of Spain left us looking at them with adoration throughout our trip.

The splendor of La Alhambra

By the time we reached Barcelona, the city had made its halt for the day. The trams had stopped and the buses had become less frequent, unpredictable and insanely slow. Having our hostel almost at the end of the city didn't make us very happy people either, but we still managed to get into our beds at 3 am....exhausted, yet happy to be reunited with our friend who had stayed back at Barcelona. This is where we were supposed to welcome 2014 at. We shouldn't have been so reckless and spontaneous for 31st December because all restaurants were booked out and we ended up with a huge platter of bad food at a restaurant that claimed to be 'authentic Spanish', but a peek into their kitchen made me realize that it was actually Indian! We didn't pay for the fish that had gone bad and walked with broken hearts into an ice cream shop instead. The clock struck 12 while we were at the Barcelona's famous touristy street- La Rambla. The happy people, the crazy clothes, the beautiful people all somehow injected their positive vibes into us again, and since we are largely happy people, we were buoyant again pretty soon as we rushed back before the parties began. Our excuse: early morning bus and flight back to Frankfurt. (But I have a growing feeling that me and my friends are old souls).

Our Spanish holiday was over..it was a depressing feeling, but also a liberating one. We knew we had just had a holiday that we would remember for life; a holiday that had set a benchmark and a holiday that was desperate to repeat itself again. All the city-hopping, packing, unpacking, getting into new rooms, sleeping like logs on comfortable and uncomfortable beds alike, buses, trains, flights, car-pooling with strangers and just traveling; what adrenalin rush! Back in my room at Erfurt, the many postcards I bought there are up on the walls reminding me of my brilliant first long holiday with my amazing international friends. I bought enough fridge magnets to make sure that my plan of having a very crazy and awesome looking fridge 10 years from now can materialize. The over 840 photos that I have from my vacation in Spain will keep the beautiful sights alive and remind me of how I felt...the complex feelings I had when I had certain experiences and felt feelings that brought me closer to something or someone, I still don't know exactly what and whom! Spain responded to us like a person would. It almost had the same emotions as we had. I probably would even want to give Madrid a second shot. The loud happy people, the unforgettable food, the breathtaking architecture, the art, the aesthetics, the music, the dance... Spain was my saviour! If Spain would be a person, it would deserve a long Thank you-Hug.

Schloss Neuschwanstein : an adjective in itself

I earnestly believe that I earned myself this trip. My recent trip to Schloss Neuschwanstein felt like I went into a beautiful fairytale dream where I was allowed to click photos to bring back to the real world. Seeing myself in some of those is the only way I reassure myself that I was indeed there! 

There's something so dreamy about train journeys, that I crave for them desperately when there's been a gap; especially the ones in Germany. Doesn't matter where the train is headed to, sitting by the window and watching nature unfold, makes me feel like I'm in love. I haven't been to many countries yet, but I'm sure Germany offers some of the best train/road journeys.

So, after battling out the academic onslaught of the first semester and wrapping up the horrors of Economics and Game Theory, it was finally time for a train journey. I headed off with four friends who have only strengthened my belief that Latinos are a fine-tuned people. Exhausted and stretched to our limits both physically and mentally, we started our journey towards Munich, Bavaria. I kept alternating between taking pictures through the window and falling asleep. 

We reached Munich late in the afternoon and headed towards our hostel. The two guys in our group had sworn loyalties to different 'teams': Team Munich and Team Berlin; both vying to establish their superiority, and of course Team Munich had an upper hand on home-turf! We walked around the city-centre and stopped for a while to watch a band of musicians going amusingly enthusiastic while playing some of their songs from their latest collection. Team Munich earned some more points when we headed to the Hofbräuhaus for dinner. The ambience spoke loudly of their Oktober Fest prowess. The night was interspersed with a lot of emotions. We returned to our hostel room to be welcomed by a disturbingly unpleasant whiff that refused to leave. We blamed the sixth 'stranger', who hadn't arrived yet; and when he did, he realized we were a bunch of crazy people and decided to return only when we were quieter and tucked into our beds. The unpleasant aroma inspired a "smelly room" song too! In short, the five of us found a lot of reasons to laugh about and bond well with each other. 

The next morning we took the train to Füssen, where the Neuschwanstein Castle is. My heart skipped a beat every time I would look at the spotless white idyllic scenery studded with a few houses and churches here and there. Frozen trees and the untouched snow made everything look like it came straight out of one's imagination. Having done a quick research about the castle before leaving Erfurt, I was filled with anticipation at being so close to seeing the castle that was shrouded in rich history and mysterious legends - the castle that had inspired the Disney logo. We had to climb our way up for quite a long while to the foot of the castle, from where our guided tour would begin. 

When I saw the castle for the first time, it seemed like a distant mystery so irresistible.  Seems like King Ludwig II was The King. The modern architectural techniques holding together firmly a Romanesque Revival facade, extravagant paintings donning the tall walls, intricate embroideries on the curtains, the rich colours, the symbolic swans, the fascinating mosaics on the floor, all set within an enchanting landscape, could have only been desired by a King who truly believed in his aristocracy. It is disappointing to know that the King lived in the castle for just about six months...leaving all the gorgeous extravagance to be looked at and sighed at by overwhelmed tourists. The castle is one of the most visited monuments in Germany. Despite this, there is something so untouched about it. Despite being such a frequented site, it has so successfully managed to keep itself aloof off the 21st century's tourists. After the tour inside the castle, we headed towards the Marien Brücke (Marien Bridge) to have a better look at the castle. I knew it would be beautiful, because I had checked out some images on Google before. I shut my eyes for a few seconds when we got to the bridge, to derive some cheap thrill by keeping myself from seeing it for a while. When my eyes fought back, I gasped and found myself at a major loss of adjectives. 

We started discussing with each other about which word to use, each dismissing the other's suggestion. The grandeur of the castle complimented by the snowy white perfection and fortified by snow covered mountains left us dazed. We stood on the bridge enraptured and still, soaking in the view and convincing ourselves that such beauty did exist and we had managed to be a part of it for a while. I kept turning around to take in the last few glimpses of the castle as we made our way to the lake behind the castle, The Alpsee. 

The Alpsee got us spellbound once more. The vast lake, the clear blue sky, the mountains at the backdrop and the snow, all dazzled in agreement so brightly under the sun that we lost our words again. This time no one really tried. I was convinced of all of it being a grand dream (only this time, I lived it). I asked my friends if we were in a hurry. That was the last thing I wanted to hear, and being told that no, there was no hurry, made me happy like a child.

We volunteered for free-falls into thick snow, and what an amazing feeling it was! Never for once did our gloves and boots that had stopped working deter us. We made snow-angels, threw balls of snow on the frozen lake, picked up sheets of ice from the lake, threw ourselves into the snow again, tried making a snow-man with a camera lens cover for a nose, got enraptured by the majestic layout in front of us, called it Heaven and sang ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’.

When we finally decided to leave, I remember walking backwards for a small stretch until the lake disappeared at a bend. I knew I was walking away from something incredible and unrivalled, but my entire being felt so buoyant, that my heart refused to sink.

Is this my Country?

The other night when we were going back to our apartments after an extended Christmas party, as we split from the group to head towards our street, a fellow student asked me and my friend if we would be fine walking alone so late at night. Pop came the reply in my head "Of course we'll be fine. This isn't India". I stopped myself from saying the second part, because I didn't want to sound degrading towards my country. I didn't want to label my country 'dangerous'.

The very next morning I woke up to the news of the horrific Delhi gang-rape case. I haven't been able to think of anything else since. The more I read about the gruesome act, the more angry, helpless and frustrated I feel. The sheer brutality, audacity and confidence of the men who turned into worse than rabid dogs and ruined a young and independent girl's life has shocked and rattled the core of (i desperately hope) almost all us. The only fault of the girl - she stepped into this world and chose India.

There has been rampant Delhi-bashing...the city is being called the 'Rape-capital' of the country. It is not about a city. The city's ancient monuments, beautiful gardens, and boulevards do not rape women. Men show disrespect towards women in all forms, all across the country. It is about the high concentration of perverts that the city's lax authority has allowed to grow and function as they will. It is about a strong misogynist mindset that is so deeply entrenched in our society. It is about unsuccessful and ill-bred men whose blood boils when they see a woman exercising her freedom, whom they then decide to 'teach a lesson'.

This incident is one ghastly reminder of how often and how easily the sickening patriarchal society tries to show its rising women their 'actual position' in society- inside the house at all times of the day. But then when she raises a voice and voices an opinion inside the house, she gets ridiculed, shouted upon, beaten up, or raped too. People and society are defined by the things they laugh at. For Indian men, women are objects of entertainment. What's with Indian men that makes them elbow an Indian woman when they spot her at a restaurant in Vienna?

Of course preventing such crimes is a state and security issue. But then does impounding buses with tinted glasses and curtains, installing more street lights and increasing police patrolling on the roads lead to men respecting women? Does killing the rapists or handing them over to blood-thirsty mobs lead to an end of violence against women? How many minutes will it take for another rape to happen after one rapist in killed? Maybe zero minutes. How does one annihilate a disease that has been allowed to grow and get stronger within the very fabric of our society?

Someone asked me if I missed my country, and the question left me thinking. I miss home, I said. I miss my parents and I miss my friends. I miss the colours and I miss the food. But do I miss feeling unsafe on the roads of my own country? Do I miss being stared at or manhandled on public transport? Do I miss not being able to step out after 9 pm without feeling a strong sense of insecurity? Do I miss being very careful while choosing what to wear? Do I miss thinking a hundred times before going out for an evening? No.

For a friend of mine here it was difficult to even believe that an incident like this could happen; that a group of value-deficient men could beat up a girl and a boy so brutally for being out together 'late at night'. Late at night? Why shouldn't a woman be out on the streets of her own city late at night? Why should a woman be raped at all, irrespective of the time of the day!? The response to this and many such crimes is we ask women to not step out after its dark, because that's when these sick-in-the-head monsters go about ready to pounce on a prey.

I'd say we need more women out of their houses late at nights, using public transport, working late,  going to the movies, going to pubs and restaurants. We need more women doing the things these stuck-up men don't want us to do; so that these culturally-illiterate people 'get used to seeing us'. We need education about human rights and dignity beginning right at the elementary level. We need a real Feminist Movement, just because we never had one. We need parents to teach their children how to respect their peers by setting a good example at home. We need to reform our sense of humour. We need to purge out the other evil and regressive face of our 'shining India'. 

Honeymoon-period ends.

I hated Germany when i first landed here. I didn't have a one Euro coin at the baggage counter of the Frankfurt airport to be able to take a trolly-car for my monster bag and so, ended up dragging it and lifting it and fumbling around with it while making my way to the other terminal for my connecting flight. As I went ahead for checking-in my luggage, it seemed my bags had gained weight on flight and I cringed as the lady at the counter eyed my 50 Euros. I had an unpleasant exchange of words with the security personnel when he threw away my favourite bottle of water which was empty. And then, I had to wait for 6 hours for my flight to Dresden. I couldn't contact family and friends because there was no free wi-fi and all computer terminals wanted small coins to function. During those 6 hours I cursed myself heavily for ever choosing to accept this scholarship. I fell into deep pits of depression, and jet-lag and lack of sleep didn't help either. If someone would have handed me a flight ticket to India, I would have grabbed it and made my way to the flight as fast as possible. I'm glad that didn't happen!

Seven hours later when I landed at Dresden and made my way to the Goethe-Institute in a Mercedes-Benz taxi, it felt like God had taken pity on me. The warm welcome at the institute and free wi-fi after hours felt like bliss, and when I saw my Mother's face on my computer screen, I fought back tears and faked enthusiasm. I received keys to my single room at the International Student's guesthouse at the Dresden-Altstadt (Old Town) and as the taxi drove me over the river Elbe revealing the historic Altstadt, I knew things could only get awesome from now on! That moment onwards, I loved every single thing around me - my single room, the large windows, the view and the cleaning ladies who would shine up my room every two weeks and leave the pillow puffed up on the immaculate white bed.

The five months that I spent learning German at the Goethe institute was the Honeymoon Period. It was everything that I had ever dreamed of and craved for. Learning a new language in it's country with people from all over the world, meeting people and exchanging ideas, travelling to my heart's content with new friends, trying new food, having a variety of experiences with people and places, being independent (and responsible), barbecues, international dinners, night outs, making close friends and being paid for doing all this - if this isn't (academic) honeymoon period, nothing is! ;-)

I thought while managing resources and doing everything by myself I had grown up in those five months, but now I realise it was a cake-walk.

The day I began packing and placing things back into my suitcase to move to Erfurt, my heart broke and its pieces sank. My dream-life was facing its closure and my bags were heavy beyond expectations.    I was anxious about sharing an apartment, which i had never done before. How do strangers share a kitchen and bathrooms, I couldn't imagine.

When I entered my room here in Erfurt, i felt a blow of disappointment inside me. I decided I would move out as soon as possible. To say the least, it was dirty.  The dust gave me an allergy that very evening and I felt feverish when I thought about all the work and patience that the place demanded of me. And then, like a saviour, came Ikea! The home-improvement store. (Did I just sound like a cheap advertisement for Ikea? I must have. I am now so well versed with the huge store that I could be a tour-guide inside it.)  My equally hassled friends and I made five trips in one week to this shop to turn our rooms into our 'homes'. We had to put in that extra effort to be able to make ourselves love this space which would be our home for the next years. We had to define our rooms well so as to be ready to face the not-so-colourful winter and heavy academic doses after all those beautiful summer months and intellectual rest! Bright bed-clothes, curtains, lampshades, orchids, paper bins, utensils, mirrors, candles - we were the typical desperate shopaholics. We convinced each other and ourselves that we 'needed' a big lamp-shade or a carpet in our rooms to feel at home.

I never imagined setting up home was such a task. But, I also realised that we all carry our homes within us at all times. Finally, after about two weeks of being here and breaking our heads and bodies over making our new apartments 'lovable and livable' (as my parents call my room), most of us feel confident and comfortable about our new spaces.

I have begun to move-on. My love affair with my life at Dresden is coming to a close. University and the grilling that accompanies it, begin on Monday.

Being away from Home

My 23rd birthday brought with it my many Firsts. It has been three months since I arrived in Dresden and started a new life, a life so different from the one that I had back home. Living all by myself, managing money that for the first time was strictly limited, cooking without my Mother's supervision, doing laundry and remembering to keep my kitchen stocked up, waking up to the annoying alarm rings and making myself breakfast while struggling to convince myself to do the same- these are things I always knew I'll have to do some day, and I had always looked forward to being independent; but when it actually hit me, it overwhelmed me. The realisation that I couldn't ask for a few crispy notes from my Father's wallet after I had finished my Month's pocket-money, felt like a jolt. Eating my meals all alone with a movie playing on my computer months after months makes me miss the rule back home- the family eats together, no matter what! Yes, I do miss home...but, that doesn't mean I want to leave this life and go back. Not yet!

This place and this life makes me stronger as a person, and I think I'll finally 'grow up'. It is a bitter-sweet experience and so far, more sweet than bitter. New experiences, new places, new people, new food, new languages, new cultures, new everything! Isn't this what I have always craved for and isn't this what I enthusiastically signed up for when I signed on the scholarship acceptance form?! As my parents and professors said, living abroad all by myself wouldn't be full of sunshine always; there'll be dark, cold and gloomy days too. Starting to learn from scratch about surviving, living and being all by oneself can be disorienting at times- especially when one desires to do a lot of things and 'experience it all'. So, I often tell myself, 'Hey, what's the hurry? slow down a bit!'. 

I have realised that there'll be Good-byes and Hellos galore. As I visit new places and meet new people, goodbyes will follow invariably. It is astonishingly easy to be good to people here and also to get attached to them knowing fully well that if not you, they will leave...soon. Being far away from family and friends that you grew up with makes you want to cling desperately to someone who seems even slightly similar. I guess that is the reason why it is so easy and quick to make friends here; because everyone wants to feel at home. The more goodbyes this place makes you say, the more independent and strong you become as a person. And, the better you understand the worth of the 'permanent people' in your life. I have realised that being far from home doesn't make you distant. It only strengthens the bond, and makes you value your roots more than you previously did. When something beautiful takes away my breath and i turn to no body in particular to point it out to them, i understand how important it is to share your happiness with your favourite people! 

I am amidst some wonderfully interesting people here. My friends here hail from different parts of the world, their countries so far away from mine, and their cultures so different from mine, we could be from different planets. Yet, there's something so basic, simple and beautiful that binds us together and makes us want to be 'there for each other'. We tell each other how we have to be family for the next two years (the few of us that'll be together). And, that's how we understand how important our families and friends back home are...when we strive to find a temporary replacement! 

Executing the 'Master Plan'

The Master plan has always been to be able to travel and to experience novelty and an adrenalin rush at all moments. It took a long time for my travel lust to get an opportunity to satiate itself, but the wait makes it sweeter and more treasured. Ever since I can remember, I have been hooked on to travel shows dreaming of being a 'Traveller'; and, that's what my answer used to be to the eternal and almost automated question "What do you want to be when you grow up?". I never said I wanted to be a travel-show host, I just always wanted to be in the places they showed and do the things they did, so, I wanted to be just a Traveller. Not to mention the confused follow-up questions this would inspire! I grew up watching Samantha Brown's and Ian Wright's travel chronicles and I continue to admire and envy them.

Getting a scholarship to study in Germany has encouraged the travel bug to bite me even harder. Being here for the next 2 years and a half has filled me with the desire to walk all over Europe and know it's story as much as I can. Travelling is much more than a leisure activity for me. It's not what I like to do when I have a few free days. It is something I want to do all the time, and when i choose not to travel, that'll be my free time. That is of course, the ideal situation. I don't travel to escape the monotony of life. I travel because, for me it is the best way to find myself and to know myself better. It is like meditation for me. Everyone has different reasons to travel and all are equally valid, of course. Every time I have traveled to a new place or a known place, I have invariably discovered a new aspect of me. When I meet new people, see new places and terrain, and eat new food, I learn. I learn how we are all different and yet so inherently similar. I learn about the things that make us different and the things that make us one. It is so easy to spot the differences when one is detached from one's environment, but try going deeper and you will marvel at what you unravel.

My first stop in what I termed in one of my careless Facebook updates, "My European Conquest", was Budapest. I started out with very superficial knowledge about the city. It is the capital of Hungary, it is the capital of baths and spas, and it has a beautiful Parliament. When I entered the train that would take me to Budapest, all I could say to myself was "I'm travelling". 'Travelling' includes all things special for me. The moment I stepped out of the subway and onto the open in the city, I knew it was special. All places have a soul and if you're receptive enough, you can check if it is congruous with you in a jiffy. The three days I spent in Budapest are so special that I am sure the sight and memories of the place will linger on for very long. And, by virtue of the DSLR camera that I have finally managed to grasp, the sights the place offered to me will stay on, though in miniatures. Pictures are of course the best souvenirs. They are saturated with memories. When memory fails, look at the relevant picture to let the memories flood back.


Budapest is an architectural marvel. Baroque, Eclectic, Rococo, art-nouveau all manifesting their majestic best in a single city can be overwhelming and can induce speechlessness. Separated by the river Danube, Buda and Pest are two very different entities of a single city. While Buda has a rocky and uneven terrain studded with structures more traditional, Pest lies on plain land and hence easier to negotiate. Pest is a blend of ancient and modern, a mix so perfect. 

The River Danube, with Buda on the left and Pest on the right.

We were five of us who had travelled to Budapest. While two of us, Nasser and me had our hostel in Pest, our friends were at a hostel across the river in Buda. Technology failed and the two groups failed to communicate and hence meet despite being in the same city. That is a hint towards how separated Buda and Pest are despite being one. The two and a half days that we spent in Budapest, we walked as much as we could and at times even pushed ourselves. We got lost a number of times but always managed to find our way back to familiar places. After all, isn't getting lost the best way to find oneself! Most of the times our incentive to the long walks would be "grand meals" that we would promise ourselves. The food touched my soul. There were so many options that I felt helpless and miserable when I had to make the decision; and i'm quite sure Nasser felt the same way when he passed on the baton to me. I still believe his claim that I "needed practice at decision-making" was actually just convenient for him! I disliked the thought of having to miss out on 'the other option' and being the reason for it! Since we shared immense interest in food, we ended up blowing up an indecent amount of money over food. We both agreed that it made no sense to travel to Hungary to eat hot-dogs and sandwiches to save money for other things. What 'other things', we asked!

The Hungarian Goulash has a 'family-meal' feel to it

My first meal in Budapest. How i wish it would never finish! 'Pike perch fillet with dil shrimp ragout served with parsley potatoes.'

Sailing on the boat down the river Danube was the highlight of the trip. We had to make a short race against time to catch the last boat of the evening; the gates closed right at my heels. What followed was a 30 minute dream. Passing under the bridges and sailing past the Hungarian parliament is a feeling to which words can't do justice. All I know is, I kept my senses alert to be able to absorb the cool river breeze and all the shapes and colours available in sight. The Parliament is majestic.

Colours.

As the sun began to set, it bled bright and intriguing colours all across the sky, over the structures on the either side of the river and on the river. The way all of them reciprocated to the setting sun almost made it look like a conversation! The boat left us at the Margaret Island, which is in the middle of the Danube. We walked along the banks of the river until the sun had set and night had taken over. The night lights lit up and like magic the city turned golden against the royal-blue sky. It left me gasping for air. I gave up and sat under the bridge, staring at the perfect frame it provided for the Parliament on one side and the castle on the other side of the river. The Chain Bridge looked like a gorgeous gold necklace, and the Parliament was of course astonishingly enchanting.

That magical moment. The Hungarian Parliament and the Chain Bridge.

I repeatedly mention the parliament because, it demands that. I took many pictures of it, from different angles, with different frames, just to remind myself of how mystified I was at that moment. I would strongly recommend every one planning to go to Budapest to spend one evening by the riverbank just to soak in the view.


When it was time to end the trip, my entire being was exhausted. I absolutely love this feeling. Isn't it great when you crash on your bed and fall asleep instantaneously! I missed out on the famous and sought-after Budapest baths. I don't regret of course. I believe it is best to have unfinished business with your favourite people and places. It takes you back to them soon!

It's been a while now since i felt dreamy, full of aspirations and happiness about nothing in particular. I remember feeling like this when I was a school girl looking forward to the uncertainties that lay ahead. I feel the same way now. And, I can't be more grateful!

If 2010 was a year of bad decisions, 2011 has compensated and let me live it up. All the 'wrong decisions'  have only proven to be boons in disguise- made me value my surroundings and opportunities far more than I previously did.

We all have a Master-Aim in life which has got nothing to do with having successful careers, making our favourite people happy, having a comfortable life, or having a lavish life. The Master-Aim is usually something we dream for ourselves and something that wants us to break away from our routine, whatever it may be. And I believe we all get a chance to break away and make that Master-Aim possible; most of us even do.

Right now, I am looking at a possibility of fulfilling both- my aim and my Master-Aim. There's no other place I'd rather be!

Mumbai rains filling me up

It is believed to make Mumbai look 'romantic' and 'beautiful'. It is the ruthless beauty people want to abstain from but can't resist falling in love with. It slows down the city which is in a perennial state of hurry. The Mumbai Rain has arrived.

I'll fail to understand what's so romantic about wading through the muck or getting drenched right before entering office or college (School kids are always happy). I fail to understand the aesthetics involved in over-flowing sewers and stench that gets a booster from the rains.

But, i admit, I love the rains here! It has a strange calming effect on the city. The fast pace exists, only it is happier now. I have been in other places during the rains, and even if the momentum of the rain drops were similar, Mumbai responds differently to the rains.

There are dull rains, boring rains, depressing rains, creepy rains, lazy rains, scary rains, truculent rains and miserly rains. Rains in Mumbai are  generous and happy rains. It satiates your monsoon cravings and sometimes fills you up (and the city) a bit too much. The good part is that Mumbai is ready for the rains - only mentally. There are huge puddles filled with water that looks like coffee. As long as I don't have to negotiate with these man holes and car holes, i'm not complaining! However, I wish people in the admin would gobble up less public money and put at least some portion of it to use here.

I love the bus/auto ride to University with the rain spraying on me and I'm happy as long as it is only rain water that fills my shoes. Today I saw a couple maneuvering their way out of what clearly looked like very very dirty  water from a nearby drain. I cringed, but when I looked at their faces, it seemed like they were walking through a path laden with rose petals. More than Mumbai,  Mumbai people intrigue me. But, I like it in when it rains here!

Full Circle

I have been resisting the temptation to get back to my blog with yet another one about my unwavering love for Delhi! However, by virtue of me heading back to this city for a summer internship, Delhi has swept me off my feet yet again. And, I have finally given into the urge to write about it.
A trip to Delhi in summer? I got to have some major reason! I have. Many!

Now, i don't want to sound bad for Mumbai University, but that place did make me quite passive for the past one year. I noticed that creep up on me, but i was hardly much able to  shake it off me. So, the only possible escape route i could envision was a summer stint in Delhi. After much effort, patience, frustration I received a confirmation call from IDSA for a month long internship with them. And, the victory dance that followed was one of a kind!

I also wanted to get back to Delhi before i began my second year in Mumbai (so that i didn't have much Mumbai all over me). I know that's provincial parochialism, but what the hell! I feel the need to list down the things I missed about this place, so I will.
1. The broad, smooth roads. The vast gardens, the Amaltaash and Gulmohar trees which are in full bloom now splashing the city with their bright and delicate yellows and fiery oranges.
2. The DTC buses which have now become smart and swanky. Making the roads look better with their green, red, orange and purple contributions!
3. The extreme weather. The heat has been intense and it has sapped a lot out of me for sure. When I was about to slump on a chair and give up, we had a strong dust storm followed by fat drops of water from the skies shaking my soul up.
4. My all weather friends here. I know this should be right up on this list. But being the friends they are, they won't mind.
5. The dashes of good looking people all around. No matter where one is. (Does that make me sound vain? Do i care? No!)
6. The intelligence all around. IDSA has been an amazingly stimulating experience for me. Having so many people wanting to and doing the things that I aim to and am working towards, I suddenly see things more sorted out for me.
More on IDSA now. The Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses. A think tank organization and what style! Go on their website if this interests you. I have come across such a large number of interesting people that i feel i needed more time here to take back more with me.

We have 'Research Clusters' at IDSA and the group of interns here who are the fun lot here, have set aside 'Lunch clusters', 'Ice cream clusters' as well.

So, on one of the lunch times, I expressed my desire to make a trip to Old Delhi and my Cabin partner said in almost my style "let's go". It took me some time to realise what she said, and when i did, i couldn't be more thankful! We did go. And the day had to be the hottest Summer day yet- with Delhi searing at 44 degrees. We went for it. A super fast and packed trip down the mystery lanes of Chandni Chowk. Pani Puri-check. Mango Kulfi-check. Now let me write a bit about this piece of heaven called the 'Mango Kulfi'. Alphonso mangoes- de seeded and filled with kulfi and frozen. Served after being sliced and spread on a large leaf made into a bowl. It takes much time to convince oneself to eat it! And when you do, your eyes close out of their own will and you go into a mango world while the kulfi reminds you of its presence time and again. okay, so after that trip to heaven, we headed for the 'Paranthe wali galli' where we saw not-so-appealing men deep frying paranthas on huge pans. It was too hot for that. So, we gave it a skip and headed for the 'Desi Jalebis'. A long walk it was in search of the 'T-junction' which seemed to be running away from us. Almost out of breath and about to collapse, we saw our life savior- the Malai Lassi in Kulhards. One sip and you can almost see your escaping soul come back to you. Just then we noticed a man with a big piece of wood beating the crap out of a big block of ice covered with a big sheet of black rubber on the road. And just when i was thinking..'wow, that's a lot of work on a summer day", I stop stunned as a tiny piece of ice makes itself felt in my mouth! Too late, the lassi is too good to be thrown away. The Lassi guy smiles at us almost saying "We are like that only, kindly adjust and don't mind". We break into shrieks of laughter and head for our destination. Finally, Desi Jalebis! These are supposedly 'Jehangiri Jalebi' that were the Mughal emperor's favourites! We all love such stories, don't we?
What can be better than a cool and fast Metro ride after this crazy day out! The announcer's concern about the traveler's safety.. "Please mind the Gap", "Doors will open on the Left"..bring a tear to my eyes as i remember the ruthless local train rides in Mumbai that i have to return to! Let's not crib about Mumbai here. It just has to be my punching bag. I feel bad.

With just week remaining of my internship here and the first draft of my paper on Cote D'Ivoire gone for scrutiny at my Supervisor's, all I have to do is to look out of my cabin at the palms swaying along the cool winds that have brought a huge respite for all of us here, and listen to the super fun FM Radio.

As I finish a year in Mumbai...

I am about to finish a year of stay in Mumbai, and I believe there couldn't be a better time to bring my blog back into life!

So many things have happened in this one year since I said a sad goodbye to Delhi and moved to Mumbai for my education here. The first question people ask me is: "why did you choose Mumbai over Delhi for education?". I can understand their astonishment. I give them a number of reasons- I didn't sit for the JNU exam, I missed the DU forms, I wasn't fond of my job, and I missed home. Some of them tell me I should have waited and appeared for JNU/DU exams the following year. Yes, now I agree.

A year of being away from Delhi and i still can't get over it. Why? Isn't it supposed to be an un-friendly city, unsafe for girls, full of thugs, no night-life, pervert auto-rickshaw drivers, and full of men who keep staring till one turns to powder? All that yes, maybe.

Delhi's beauty-it is one of the greenest capital cities of the world. It's many layers of history- you drive around the posh and shiny localities of Delhi and suddenly at a corner you can spot the remains of a fort/tomb/an ancient structure protected from the modern world. It's nightlife- yes Delhi has a nightlife, and you are enjoying it best when you drive down Rajpath, cross the India gate and head towards the Rai Sinha Hill past the Vijay Chowk and stop to have a stick of ice cream on a spine chilling December night. The Chinese chaat at one of the best places to shop, Lajpat Nagar. Big Chill at Khan Market, which is also home to Khan Chacha's. The smart mouthed Blue line bus conductors who have an unmatched sense of humour and the crude yet amusing Jatt conversations. The intellectual crowd that one comes across at the India Habitat Centre. Old Delhi's history laden lanes. All this makes up the Delhi that I fell in love with the very first day I stepped into it in the year 2007.

Delhi was my first city. I grew up in the small towns of Panvel, Nazira and Ankleshwar. Yet, for some reason I was always preparing myself for Delhi. I would bathe in cold water telling myself it would be colder in Delhi. I always knew I would be in Delhi for some part of my education, I never knew when that would be. I landed myself into an under graduate course of Journalism in Delhi university. I knew immediately that I would be accepted without a fuss, and i did blend into the city before I or anyone else knew it. Three years passed and I never realized the days going past me. I made friends who I know I will have for the rest of my life. In short, I lived my life. I joined work immediately after I finished college and got overwhelmed by it before I had imagined. I needed to leave.Also, not having friends around after college made me a little bit less fond of Delhi (for which I feel guilty)! So, there was an attempt to go back home which had shifted to Mumbai.

Then it was time for me to bid goodbye, for which i never had enough time- I had just a day to get my tickets in place, pack my bags and leave. I remember my last bus ride in Delhi that night. I tried to fill my mind with the pictures of the roads, the buildings, the trees, the night in Delhi, the people, the bus stands, everything that had crossed my sight in the last three years.

I wanted desperately to go back to being a college student. Mumbai university and an M.A degree became the means. I entered the university and was hit by a strong craving for my old college and its people! I wanted to turn around and run back. I made life difficult for my folks by telling them every day how much I missed Delhi, its roads,its gardens, its people and its public transport. I missed even the rick drivers who refused to turn on the meters! It is not difficult to imagine what these people around me were going through. I was on a non-stop Mumbai bashing. I criticized the lack of aesthetic sense, the garbage strewn all around, the mind boggling traffic and the narrow roads. I spared nothing.

Finally, one day I found 'enjoying' myself in Mumbai. I felt a funny feeling of betraying Delhi. I was alarmed! How could I like Mumbai? Had I unknowingly started appreciating the democratic side of Mumbai, where one of the richest men and one of the biggest slums co-exist? Had i become an admirer of the discipline within the chaotic city? Or had I just blended into it like I had in Delhi? Maybe. I did take my sweet time to do so. But ya, if given a choice, I would want to run back to Delhi right now! :-)

Co-passenger of the year

A year has passed since i came to Delhi, and so has a year of my DTC/blueline bus travels. I have had all types of co-passengers during this 1 year; most of them forgettable.
the only co-passenger I'll remember for many years to come is the 85 year old woman whose memories still send a chill down my spine. i had never talked to someone so frighteningly overpowered by age before this. each and every thing about her told the tale of her struggle with time and nature.

She hobbled towards me and grabbed hold of the seat, possibly scared to lose balance. her fingers were crooked and deformed probably because of rheumatism. i was overwhelmed with a mixture of shock and fear. i stood up and offered her my seat but apparently the girl sitting next to me was equally scared of her as i was and she insisted that i sit and so i did. thus began my most intriguing bus journey.

She sat quietly near the window. now that she sat beside me i realized how tiny she was..bent down with age. i had never seen a face like that before and it made me uneasy. her skin was folded and wrinkled. . her eyes caught my attention more than anything else. they were white and thick with cataracts and were sunken into folds of red skin. i decided i didn't want to look at her much as it didn't make me feel very good..also, she might find it awkward. but there was something which kept me glancing at her now and then..which made me curios and suspicious of her identity. who at this age would dare to get into a blueline?

The bus started filling up with its passengers and then came that child beggar who started singing in her robot like voice while clicking two pebbles in perfect rhythm. i stole another glance at the woman beside me and couldn't make out whether her eyes had got watery or were they full of tears. i had a strong urge to ask her but i stopped. however she began and my doubt was answered ..."what is this world made of? what kind of human beings? this girl-she has left all her dignity and self respect behind and is singing here in a bus to earn so that she can feed her family..and how many of us are even looking at her? what are we made of? where is our heart? people say that this old woman is crazy! no i am not mad ...i have a heart which still beats and cries for others.." i was taken aback .

All this while she was looking at the floor of the bus while tears trickled down her spotted face.never even once did she look up. she continued speaking like this for the next 20 minutes. and i feared she might make herself sick. but she continued and i tried hard to listen to her tiny but rough voice. i could catch a sentence or two at a time. "why don't people say sorry and thank you anymore? will it belittle them? no one gets hurt by these words.." she went on and i couldn't comprehend any more. the other passengers were looking at her suspiciously. they all thought she was a mad woman talking to herself. but i thought she was an old woman talking after a long time ..taking out all those bottled up feelings. "do you know the Urdu language?" she asked me this time. and i almost jumped. i managed a sheepish "no". she went on-"its a beautiful language the most royal language. you must learn it. the language of the kings who gave us culture and art.." she went on talking and occasionally popped a question for me which i answered with a 'yes' or 'no'.

The other passengers were now looking at her rather distastefully. i suddenly wanted to tell them all to mind their own business. "do you have an Urdu professor in your college?" she asked and before i could answer with a 'no' , she started off again-" there are many questions in my head which i want to sit and answer with a person who is well read in Urdu...."

As my bus stop neared i felt it necessary to tell her that. she immediately started opening her handbag clumsily with her crooked fingers. she was looking for something. she took out a piece of chart paper cut out in a rectangular shape with a triangular head. there were small orange flowers drawn on it and a tiny printed paper cutting stuck on the bottom of it. she drew it close to her eyes and read out slowly "if we spread love and peace around us, the almighty will live within us". She gave it to me and looked at me with those eyes which still make me feel uneasy. i remembered to thank her.

i walked back home looking intently at the piece of paper which i had just been given. it felt like an important document.

the road not taken...

As i was clearing up my study, i found a piece of paper on which i had written a summary of the famous poem by Robert Frost, "The road not taken"..its one of my favourite poems and I'm sure of many others too ..who at some point of time or other have had to make a choice between two choices ,both of which were close to their hearts.
here goes that summary:

the poet Robert frost imagines a situation where, while traveling in the midst of the woods the path suddenly bifurcates into two. to the poet, both the paths seem equally appealing although unknown. but one of them seemed less frequented than the other as the grass growth on it showed. the poet stood at the fork in the road undecided which path to take. finally he took the one which he assumed was less frequented. he assured himself that he would take the other path some other day. knowing fully well the absurdity of his thought, because he knows he has to proceed along the way he has chosen without looking back.yet even at that point of time the poet imagined that the choice was important, that one day he would lament but console himself at the same time by saying that he had chosen the path less traveled by and that has made all the difference to his life. he would tell himself that it was not only a 'different' road or the right road for him but in fact the only road for him.The poet has taken a slice from the real life scenario and has created a situation which beautifully elucidates this.
***

There comes in one's life a moment which proves to be a turning point. this is the moment when one has to choose between two options- be it choosing a career, life partner or a place to settle down for example. both the options may look equally good or bad. but one has to pick up one of them knowing fully well that there is no going back. only time can tell whether the decision taken was the best or not. but as there is no end to human desire, everyone laments that the other one might have been the better choice.

Are you afraid of the 'A'?

As i pushed my way into the overflowing blue-line bus, a question popped up in my head-"why? why? why? Why are you doing this to yourself?". instantaneously came the answer- "because I'm afraid of the 'A'."
i spent the next 30 minutes of the life threatening bus ride musing over the fact that how scared i was of the first letter of the English alphabets. an excess of its presence in the attendance sheets had caused a letter to be sent at my local guardian's place. which was followed by frantic calls from my parents and then followed a string of explanations. thats the power of the 'A'. and all this while i knew it as just the first letter of my name.
its this letter which has changed my sleeping pattern. my cousin no longer shouts in my ears in the morning. suddenly i can hear my alarm clock's rings and the ruthless winter can no longer bring a rush of self pity.
it's really amazing when i think of it...
are you afraid of the 'A'? i am!

My morning struggles

“Its 7o’ clock!!!” my cousin shouted in my ears this morning. She shouted because she was absolutely disgusted with me. Since the last four days I have been asking her to wake me up early. She tries but has never succeeded; not even today.

I woke up at my regular 8.30 with a start- oh no! It’s the first day of your 2nd semester and you’ll be late” I shouted at myself. Then began my race against time - 30 minutes, and a hundred things to do. Finally I managed to get ready by 9:15. I was already late. So, I took an auto thinking it would be faster than the DTC bus. In spite of paying the driver 60 rupees he reached me10 minutes late. I was late to the first class of reporting and editing.

Well, this is what happens quite frequently. I have a soft corner for my ‘subah ki neend’. It’s the best during the 5-8 am period. At 7am usually I’m done with my sleep but I extend it to another hour. During that hour I curse the very idea of getting up early in the morning. I keep my eyes tightly shut and try to go back to that generous but unfinished dream. I don’t know why, but every time I get to the climax, the sequence of pictures, gets disrupted. As if some one tries to tease me! Finally, frustrated and disappointed and also with the hope of finishing the dream with ‘a happy ending’ the next time, I enter the daily routine.

Winter mornings are exceptionally ruthless. Sometimes I wonder why nature didn’t make human beings capable of hibernating.

It’s such a shame- I being a journalism student just cannot afford to be so fond of my extended sleeping hours. I’m trying hard to include ‘17. Wake up early’ to my year 2008 resolutions. Believe me; I’m struggling very hard to add the 17th entry to the list.

I don’t even remember how many years have been spent struggling over this issue. When I was in school, I was the famous ‘late comer’ to the bus stop. 9 out of 10 days, I would catch the bus only by running after it for about 50 metres. The remaining one day when I would be on time, it used to surprise my friends. They would immediately look out for the sun “just to make sure whether it was out from the right direction” while I stood and looked around with an embarrassed expression on my face.

On my everyday sprint to the bus stop (and beyond) I used to cross these two aunties who are regular morning walkers. They would invariably give me bright smiles. I used to smile back in spite of the great hurry.

The best sprint happened this time when I was back home for the winter break. Some of us (the ex-students) decided to go to school and meet our teachers and spend some time in the beautiful school campus which we were so fond of. I suggested that we go by the 7.30am bus. Every body wanted to go by the 2nd bus i.e., the 9am bus. But I insisted that we go by the first bus. As I was keen to get the ‘feel of going to school’. And, I did get the ‘feel’!

I had just taken a bath when I heard the screeching noise made by the bus. Suddenly I remembered how I had always feared this sound, which usually signalled towards the prospect of my having missed the bus. I darted to the balcony to check. Indeed there stood the white ‘Maan Travels’ bus getting loaded with kids of all sizes.

Then, started the storm inside my house. I violently tried to comb my hair while mummy tried to stuff a huge water bottle (which she insisted was small) inside my handbag. Papa just stood there smiling. My grandmother called out from the balcony “meet the new principal. I know you haven’t met him...but go and talk to him…touch his feet…he will like to know what the ex-students of the school are doing…and remember…” rest of the words I couldn’t catch as I had already started my race. I almost jumped down the 72 steps – three at a time.
After that, began my 50 metre sprint. I turned my head and waved at my mother who stood at the balcony waving at me (like she has always done).
I crossed those aunties who flashed their brilliant smiles. I smiled back while running with all my might. I heard one of them say “she will not break her record even if she goes to school once a year!”

I boarded the bus which was waiting for me (thanks to my friend)…and my smile broadened.

Meeting Guru Nanak

My grandmother once returned from ‘Aashirwaad’ (the senior citizen’s club) and told us about an old Punjabi woman …Parmindar Kaur. Apparently she was a new member of the club. My grandmother was extremely excited because she had just heard Parminder Kaur’s ‘real life story’. This was her story:

Paraminder Kaur was only 15 years old when she was married into a large Punjabi household. Her husband was the eldest among the 10 brothers and sisters.

Immediately after her wedding she was introduced to the kitchen work. In the beginning her mother-in–law and sisters –in-law guided her through the process. But soon, the baton was quietly passed on to her.

Thus, began Parminder’s struggle to serve a hungry family of 10 young members, a quiet father-in-law and a demanding mother-in-law. They all liked their rotis served hot with a layer of ghee on top. The loud demands for the second and third helpings made her nervous. Soon, began a shower of verbal abuses on her; mainly by her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. She was accused of being inefficient and incompetent. Her husband never interfered.

One day when the verbal abuses turned physical, Parminder decided that she would not tolerate any more and declared that she would leave home. This brought only a sarcastic smile from her mother-in-law.

That night Parminder wept and packed her belongings into her small bag. At the crack of dawn she took her bag and quietly went towards the back door and was dumbstruck!

There in front of her stood a tall man with a white beard. He wore white and immaculate clothes. There was an aura about him and, he held a long stick. Parminder stared at this huge figure for a few seconds…awestruck. She ran towards the front door to find the same man right in front of her. Parminder was shocked. She went back into her room.

The next day saw Parminder working in the kitchen. Her mother-in-law just said, “I thought you were gone!” followed by a wicked laugh.

That evening while rolling out the chapattis, Parminder quietly narrated her experiences of the morning. There was a sudden silence in the dinning room.

Parminder’s father-in-law, who had been listening to the narration all this while, called her , held her hands and said, “puttar, please don’t go! It was Guruji whom you saw this morning….he tried to stop you! Tell me what you want …anything…but please don’t go!”

“A bigger tawa”, said Parminder.