Palate on Wheels

As the coal driven train chugged into the Kharagpur railway station, on a moist summer morning, four sleepy eyes opened to the vendors’ call outside the window. One particular call, each time, during their annual travel to Kolkata, pushed them up from sleep and urged them to look out eagerly.

“Mihidaana…mihidaanaa..”.

The vendors walking up and down the platform, selling Mihidaanaa is one of the best train travel memories, for them. Packed in neat white packets, the Mihidana would find their way into the two little laps and some packets went inside the bags for the little cousin who waited in Kolkata.

This memory is older than forty years but the taste is as fresh as this morning’s. We remember our travels from the magic they did to our palate. Memory has a taste, memories live in our salivary glands and as I write this note, I can almost taste the sweet mihidana, savored during our travels.

Our annual travel in the Hatia-Howrah express to Kolkata was an overnight one. The train would leave Hatia in the late evening, cross the beautiful Chhota Nagpur Plateau and reach the Big Daddy of Stations, Tata at night.  By early morning, the train would touch West Bengal and the taste buds were lavishly treated. Starting from the Mihidana in Kharagpur, we would be treated to vegetable chop, deem sheddho, jhaal muri even as our heads almost stuck out of the window, marveling at the drifting away green fields, small and big ponds and the slanting palm trees.

In between, we kids enjoyed the long Kolaghat bridge where the mighty river would always be in a swollen state. We would return to our vegetable chops and at times take a break to request mother to help us get rid of the small coal particles which would invariably fly into the curious eyes.

The Kolkata water itself was very different for us. It was but too salty and we, used to the sweet plateau water, had to drink several glasses from the copper pitcher to quench our thirst.

At some point in life, we were introduced to the railway pantry food. During our journeys to New Alipurduar, parents bought food from the pantry. Those days, food was served in steel thalis with built in bowls for the dal, vegetable, fish with a big roasted papad sitting on top of the mound of food. We were so fascinated by this arrangement, which we named Baati Thaalaa, that back home we forced our parents to buy such plates for us. The water was served in big glass bottles, those days.

The suburban local trains once again offered innumerable treats to the palate. I enjoyed the onion-beet root salad more than the accompanying vegetable chop and especially loved the way the paper packet looked when it got all wet with the salad. It was actually fun removing bits of torn wet paper from the salad and chops before popping them into the mouth. The vendor cucumber always came with neatly placed cucumbers in the cane basket. How swiftly the vendors could peel and slice the green juicy cucumbers and smear some salt and red chilli before offering them to the eager hands and watering mouths.

The bus journeys had their own charm when we usually had peanuts with rock salt or an entire bunch of green gram was placed on our laps. What a fun it was to find out the gram pods from the thick bunch, bursting them, popping and feeling the bliss in the mouth, all the tile the bus meandered in the hilly roads.

During college days, I got opportunities to travel to farther lands of the country. I spent about a month in Wardha where the first flavours of Maharastrian cuisine touched my palate and soul. After a long day of hard work during the summer months, the cool dining spaces in the small villages and towns around Warda satisfied our soul. The simple but healthy meal served in large plates with separate bowls for each vegetable and a spoonful of home made mango pickles were topped with the smiling faces of the caring ladies who made it a point that we should not miss our home.

Some of my recent food memories include the small shack in Amarkantak which had about four wooden bunches and served fresh breakfast and lunch, cooked just in your presence. Then there were the small eateries on Ratnagiri and Ganapatipule roadsides serving the best fish meals I ever had.

As life meandered on various landscapes, I picked up such memories and stored them in the palate, in the eyes and in the soul.

My Mantra for these journeys has always been, ‘Eat Local’ in smaller eateries. Those foods not only complement the adventure of the new journey, those are fresh as the eateries are not big enough to store much and keep preparing fresh food.

So enjoy your holidays friends and treat your palate.

Happy Holidays and happy eating.

Of big cities and the small ones..Part 1

This is the chronicle of big cities and smaller towns, through the eyes of a small town girl who grew up to be a small town adult.  With the little experiences in big as well as small corners of this beautiful country, the kaleidoscope of life now is a colourful and exciting one.

I was born in Ranchi, which during those days, years and years before it went on to become a capital city, was a small hilly town.  We had a cosy quarter in the Heavy Engineering Corporation township and days were bright and evenings were filled with lots of friends and neighbours.  With no television around, each evening, a visit to the market or to some friend’s house was a routine.  Life moved at a small pace and at small pace did we crisscross the roads, red gravelled and metalled ones since there was no means of transport other than our never tired feet.  Later in life, a simple lambretta scooter and later Hamara Bajaj entered the life, the pace remained slow, nevertheless. Simple was the life, simpler were the needs and we grew up with a light in the eye which had a beautiful shimmer and never a flashy one.

My first job took me away to a smaller place, a small block called Barhi in the Hazaribagh district.  There I shared the house with my team members.  Our house was right in the middle of a bustling market and on the Grand Trunk Road.  In a radius of a kilometre, we had everything we generally wanted: the office, the vegetable market, the Block Office (from where we fetched our drinking water).   At times an evening visit to nearby Tilaiya Dam to soak our tired feet was a bonus and yes, our cooking gas cylinder had to be procured from the nearest town Jhumri Tilaiya, a beautiful town by the river Damodar.  This little place had the electricity for only half the year and the rest of the year, moonlight, oil lamps and open terrace were there for rescue.  Ofcourse, Ghulam Ali Saab was always there.

We did live like queens in the little town.  Our neighbours were the Block Development Officer and the Sub Divisional Police Officer.  Being in one of the prestigious organisations, we were in no time quite known in that block town of Barhi.

We often visited the only cinema hall that Barhi had.  It was just behind our house.  Just before the show, the cinema hall in charge would place some school benches and then issue the tickets.  We carried our tea and mosquito repellent coils to the hall and always were offered the best of the benches, the front seats (yes, in the hall in Barhi, the front seats were prestigious ones).

A job then took me to the cultural and educational town of Kalyani in Nadia district, West Bengal.  Once again, office was just a km away and all I needed was available just around the house I lived in.  A plush traditional Bengali House with a generous, elegant landlady made my stay so blissful.  I had three big rooms, a huge dining space and an equally big kitchen to all of myself.  Whenever my parents visited me, they would shop for fresh vegetable from the market and treat me to the best of Bengali cuisines.  The town’s life as well as mine revolved around the posh Central Park.  Small though it was, there were three local railway stations in the town, given the fact that it housed some important industries and educational institutes.

Life, though simple, the pleasures were not very little.  From winter fete to Usha Utthup to Srikanto Acharya and Manna Dey, we had all, all the pleasures of watching the legends on stage.

My next stay was at Shajapur, again a 1-km radius district town, which you may not even have heard of.  Little towns have big hearts, I realised. Most of us knew each other and help arrived at just one phone call.  Here I did not even have to go to office, my residence was the office and early mornings were spent in visit to the villages in the project area.  The little town had the most beautiful and elegant ladies I have ever known; they were always very well groomed and gave us a lesson or two on it.  My landlady and her family lived right in the first floor while I occupied the ground floor.  Often from upstairs, she would ask me to join them for dinner and I, with whatever cooking would be done, would rush upstairs and have a sumptuous dinner with them.

My house was adjacent to the railway station.  Twice or thrice a day a train would arrive at the sleepy station.  The dust would fly announcing the arrival and the giant could be seen meandering from a distance.  I would book my tickets for my weekly travel to Dahod, across a single window, where one person doubled and tripled as the ticketer, guard, station master.  Occasionally we would visit the nearby Ujjain to get some things for ourselves; otherwise the little town fulfilled all our needs, small as they were.  Three of us colleagues would hop onto a Luna and visit the cinema hall, escaping the prying eyes of the traffic police and at times requesting him, “Uncle jee..jaane do na”

We shifted to Ujjain just after a year, exactly before the Kumbh Mela of 2004.  Though Ujjain is an important pilgrimage, the city itself has a small town feel where life moves at its own pace where the common reply to all your requests would be, “Hau didi..ho jaayega ni..” and it would take its own time.  There is no hurry for anything. So we too immersed ourselves in the flow of Ujjain Standard Time and moved, blissfully. We experienced the Kumbh Mela, a very efficiently managed macro event, we witnessed the Kalidas Academy festivals, visited the beautiful temples of pilgrimage, had our home filled with guests, neighbours, family members; we were so busy in all these. We were so busy in the drama of life and enjoyed it totally. Ujjain is a place where there is a festival everyday, infact Ujjain celebrated LIFE.  In Ujjain did our daughter come home and so the celebrations multiplied. We were so much in love with this temple town that we named her Avantika (Avantika Nagari being one of the names of the town).

A transfer order from Head Office brought me and my family to Anand, the milk capital of India: once again a to 2-3 km town.  Life again confined itself within a small campus which houses my office, home, child’s school, crèche, utility store and also an Auditorium which screens recent movies on Sundays.  Only occasionally one needs to venture out for more supplies in kitchen, wardrobe and may be to luxury.  The campus is a place where I don’t have to worry about my child playing out while I am in office.  I don’t have to worry when its getting dark and she has not returned, knowing she may be dining at some neighbors' place.  The home, always teeming with children may not be the best well kept one but I am sure, is the happiest one with all the laughter of friendly little neighboring children. We do not shut our doors here, we do not worry here.  In fact we at times are also concerned that living in such a protected environment, our children would have no worldly wisdom; oblivious to the hustle bustle outside, the children will not even learn to cross the streets. Railway station is just 2 km away and I have never known the perils of travelling long way to office or to station.

At times I do feel that these towns have ushered me to a comfort zone, from which it may be painful to get out. However, as long as we are, where we are, the small little places are growing and taking charge on the entire personality and I am enjoying it totally. In every aspect, I am a now small town person. 

Not that I really dislike the speed and adventure of the metros. I do and I have experienced, of which I shall write in my next note.

Photographs: From Internet

Moonlights, rivers and also a window-view of city garbage

“Arey Bhaiya, yeh darwaza toh baahar se bandh hee nahi hota. Main baahar khaana khane jaa rahee hoo..bandh karna hai apna room”

“Madam, yeh room sirf andar se bandh hota hai…”

!!!!!!!!!!!??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was standing outside my room, in a dingy hotel in Samastipur, in a hot, sultry evening.  I had not yet settled in the room; having checked the pathetic situation,  I had decided to opt for another room.  But then, I needed dinner first and had to lock the room but they said the room had a lock problem. 

So I had to first wait for shifting to the new room before visiting the equally terrific restaurant for dinner.  The new room offered a non stop sound of the window AC and made me feel it would come off any moment and ofcourse it did not cool the room,.  But then it was better than the suite which I had left behind.

The suite which was initially offered had all facilities: a bath tub, which was ONCE WHITE and now yellow, shower curtains well bit and shaped by sharp mice teeth, two-three layers of dust shoved off under a tattered foot mat and a window which offered an unabashed view of the city garbage.  The window opened onto a street where fruit-juice sellers benevolently threw all the fruit peels to make a big heap.

So, that was Samastipur…

I often tell my peers, the hardships during travel will add to their memories and years after, down the line, they would narrate the tales, the miserable feeling would have disappeared by then but the memories would be etched in the leaves of time dotted with nostalgia and a magical feeling of triumph to tell one self, “Yes, I survived that too…”

Having spent almost 20 years in rural development, I have such memories when I had to put up in strangest of places and toughest of situations but now they are sweet memories for which my pen (key board) is curious to sew strings of words..

It was just after my Post Graduation that I was posted in Barhi, a block in the Hazaribagh district of Then-Bihar.  My room-windows opened directly on the Grand Trunk Road.  The situation was such that if I opened the windows, dust and all the noise entered the room and snatched my sleep.  If I did not, ofcourse I felt suffocated during the summer months.  So I learnt to sleep with the horns and the noise outside the window.  It was there that I realised Noise Pollution actually could affect health.  During monsoons, most of the GT road would be transformed into a stretch of long pools, gutters and mud holes.  So there were nights when array of  heavy vehicles lined up, just outside the window and I could actually hear the truck drivers chat, all night.

We had to live without electricity for months after months, say for six months at a stretch.  Each evening, we cleaned the oil lamps, sat outside on a terrace, eating those freshly roasted corns.  The water for bath and cleaning had to be pulled up by the motor-pump from an INDARA (a deep narrow well).  These INDARAS had been dug by none other than Sher Shah Suri, himself, when he built the GT road and as a legacy, our rented house had one.  Fetching of drinking water was even more challenging.  Every evening, after returning from the field work, we took few buckets in our jeep and got the water from the Hand Pump near the Block Office.

Life was simple back then; we did not need the TV, all if us gathered around a small CD player and enjoyed meal under the terrace in the sleepy dark place.

The village visits during my second job was to remotest parts of the newly born Jharkhand State.  Long winding hilly roads would take us to villages where households were scattered.  Early mornings at times would begin with a visit to the nearby jungles (you know why) and then an early morning bath near paddy field where we drew water from the irrigation wells or at narrow meandering hilly rivulets.  At times we did have the luxury of make-shift bathrooms made by plastic sheets wrapped around four poles.

We did have our moments of anxiety too when at times early in the morning we would find the entire paddy harvested or the make shift bathroom packed and dispatched off. Our plight at not being able to have a bath is beyond words.

Here I also need to mention the unfathomable love and affection we always received in the villages.  In fact in one of the villages, all the residents were so excited to have us as guest, that we found each one drunk heavily for the celebration and so, all the work, the study, the discussion we had in mind went in vain and we returned.

In the journey of life, these experiences are adding on to the sweet memories.  As I look beyond, I find the pains and miseries all gone and what is left is fragrance of these memories.  It is because of these experiences that I have something to write about today.  After all, what is life without all the troubles that make us more enduring and a more confident person!

My very special home stays. Part 2

We had just alighted from the busy Shealdah-Bongaon local and found our way out of the busier railway station and then into much busier and bustling market place.  I bought some sweets for my hostess and she bought some fish for her guest.  We were introduced a few days back and I was already in awe of the short little lady.

My hostess for the evening was Smt Ashima Mandal, a resident of Nischintapur village in the Bongaon district of West Bengal.  She belonged to a small farmer family, cultivated paddy, reared cows and pigs and had received formal schooling till 5^th std.

What was most inspiring about this unassuming lady was that she was also the Vice President of the district cooperative milk producers’ union, of 24 Parganas.  The District Magistrate being the Chairperson as per their bye-laws, this lady was therefore the highest in rank among the elected representatives.  And thus, I was so inspired by this lady.

I was there as a part of a Case Study assignment and thus decided to spend few days with some of the women belonging to the cooperative.

Outside the railway station, we hopped onto a Van Rickshaw.  Those who have been into the heart of rural Bengal will know what a van rickshaw is. The rickshaw moved like a snake in the bustling market lane and then in a few minutes we moved into a quieter and darker road, leading to the village. The air was cooler and now and the moon shone in the clear sky.

The lady introduced me to the rickshaw puller.  He was her husband who earned a meagre living by pulling the rickshaw. They had two sons who aspired to be posted well in some job in future.

I kept listening to her; she was one good conservationist, who neither narrated to me the stories of her woes nor did she boast of her achievements being the top most leader of the most progressive dairy cooperative in the state.  This was a cooperative which was totally governed by women at all the levels.  She seemed so humble that I almost doubted if she even knew what it meant to be in that position.

We reached their home in no time.  It was a humble mud house with two small rooms.  The first room served as a living and bed room for the boys as well as the kitchen. 

Ashima di found that the son had already cooked the rice.  She spoke in a bit of embarrassment, “Why did you cook that coarse rice?” And turned to me, explaining, “He is a child, he does not understand things.” Then she spoke to herself, “Let me cook the fine rice for didi”.  I assured her that she did not need to cook separately and waste the already cooked meal.

After freshening up, I was allotted my place for the evening.  A cosy bed in the inner room.  Leaving the family to have some chit chat of their own, I took out my diary and started jotting down the experiences.   

Post dinner, I had my chats with Ashima di.  I asked her whether she ever felt nervous when she represented the cooperative in the State Level Federation meetings where sitting next to her would be probably the Secretaries and Ministers.  She confidently replied that her experience with the animals was unmatched to anyone there and also, she said she would put forth her thoughts as per her exposure, understanding and experience.

That evening, as I heard about her story more and more, I was filled with respect and admiration for this lady who was married off at an early age to a person who had only a little piece of land as asset.  She toiled hard along with her husband and set up the little piggery business and two cows.  The house was destroyed in the flood and it would take more than their means to re build as it was before.

I spend the night in the inner room.  It was a winter night and the cold wind blew hard from the partially repaired roof.  The flood had damaged the roof completely and they had barely managed to put back some thatches on it and the opening left an avenue for the winter cold to gush in.  Shivering terribly, in spite of the quilt and my shawl, I spent the night half awake, only reassuring myself that I would remember this night forever.  And so I did I.  My writing about it after about thirteen years, is proof enough!  

The next morning, the winter sun shone brightly and lit up the small courtyard which Ashima di was polishing with cow dung.  I had my bath across the road, under an irrigation pump, as all the neighbourhood ladies did.

I helped her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables while listening to her stories and also watching how efficiently she managed the fuel, the oil and other resources.  That was a lesson of life-time about low fat cooking, I must say.

Post an early lunch, I was ready to leave and bid them good bye. I was totally in dilemma whether I should pay her for the hospitality or should I hand over some cash for having sweets, for the children.   Although I do not remember what I did, her request still rings in my ears, “Didi, I do not want anything except your prayers that my children live a life better than ours”.

Yes Ashima di, your hardships would reap the best benefits and your dreams will fulfil forever.  Waiting to meet her again and translate this little note for her.

My very special home stays. Part I

As I keep reading reviews about many homestays across our country, I cant help but fondly remember my stays in the homes of so many people I have come across, all as part of my job-life.

During my first ever job posting at a small block of Barhi in the Hazaribagh district, I had to spend 10 days with a family in a village called Mahuatanr.  They were middle aged couple, who stayed along with the extended family members. 

As I reached, they extended a warm welcome and gave me a place to keep my belongings.  For sleep, I used one of the ‘Khatiyaas’, placed in another room which I shared with a lady of the extended household.  Soon I was a part of the family.  The couple had a small plot of land and also worked as agriculture-labourers; the husband migrated to Kolkata during the Puja season to find wage-labour options and the lady was the Secretary of the Self Help Group which our organisation, PRADAN, had organised.  They also sold fertilizers, snacks and small goodies from one of the rooms in their house.

Soon I was not only a part of the household but the rest of the little village too.  They were so very warm and welcoming; I missed my room at Barhi no more.  My mornings would start with a warm smile from one of the neighborhood girls and a chat at the well with her.  A refreshing bath near the well, with all the ladies playfully pouring buckets of water on me was a joy again.

During the day time, I would spend my time moving around the village, meeting the family members, attending the Self Help Group meetings. During nights, the women and children gathered in the courtyard and in the light of a small oil lamp and the star lit sky, we chatted for hours.  I often shared my little knowledge about the cosmos, the stars, and constellations, showed the kids the Milky Way and told the women how we are moving around the sun and how to differentiate a planet from a star and how our universe is still expanding.  They seemed so very amazed at the universe; one of them asked me that I should tell them something new about it, every day!

This was a village where I experienced the ‘FIRSTS’ in my life, in many terms.  For the first time, I experienced estimating the time by the sun’s position, since the same day I arrived in the village, my watch had stopped working.  So I depended on the sun.  First time I realized how much the water means to them when some of the women helping me with my bath at the well shared, looking up at the sky, “I think it will rain today, we will have a bath”. 

It was for the first time I observed the wonderful community labour system called the ‘Pachaathi’.  There were 5 groups of households who did the agriculture labour in each others’ field, day by day, in turn.  The most important wage was the provision of a simple but full lunch for the entire family. 

I was lucky enough to be present on the first day when the village started the Rice Transplantation, although I avoided being present at the ceremonial ‘sacrificial’ ceremony of little chickens.

I joined the women in the transplantation and after some hitches, I picked up the art.  They sang through the transplantation taking break for lunch.  I had one of my best sleeps that night.

For the first time in my life (and till the present day, my only), I experienced the pain of being bitten by a scorpion!  And was cured by the local ‘wizard’.  And that day itself I walked about 5 kms in the hills along with the lady of the house to the Village Haat for shopping.

I watched with admiration how the woman, with whom I was visiting the Haat briskly walked back home along the rocky and hilly road, carrying a sack of 5 kilos potatoes on her head.

I was also made in charge of the little shop from where the family sold fertilizers.  So I learnt to differentiate between the fertilizers and used the huge balance…for the first time!

I was told that I glowed much more after I returned from that little, remote village.  More than a decade has passed; I have not visited them ever since I moved out of Barhi. My gracious hosts during the special ten days, my companions in many first experiences in life, may God bless you with long and healthy life.

Travelling with a celebrity..

During our previous return journey, my baby mused, “Kal mere saare friends mujhe dekhte hee daur kar aayenge, autograph lene ke liye.  Appa bhi aayega.” She also said that they would pull her cheeks to check if it was really Pakhi they were seeing or they were just imagining! They would have missed her so much!

It actually turned out that the friends really missed her.  With Pakhi not around, the other kids never actually play with each other, she acts as a binding agent in her group.

So I called my hubby tell him how I felt, travelling with a celebrity, which my baby thinks, she is!

These days most of my travels (even official) are with this little celebrity and she has witnessed a lot of dairy sector at near and far-fetched rural India.

Our first journey with this little monkey was the Homecoming itself.  We hired a car from Bhopal to Ujjain after a very affectionate Godd-Bharai ceremony at Matri Chhaya, where she spent the first few months of her life.   I had all my doubts that she would howl, cry and protest while moving out with two strangers but then baby enjoyed scanning through the Bhopal city roads for a while after settling down into a blissful nap on her father’s chest.  That journey was special beyond words.  We suddenly were parents and wherever we stopped for meals or water, including a aloof, roadside Dhaba, I found people making places for us. I was suddenly a mother and no more a young girl and that happened in one day!

We traveled to Ranchi within two weeks of her homecoming.  We were still learning and she showed all her patience in coping with her parents! But her patience broke within an hour of boarding the train from Ujjain to Delhi.  We had not even crossed the next station that we felt it would be impossible to continue ravelling.  She kept her father standing near the door.  Her father once showed her the red and green lights near the electrical panel and baby was interested.  Her father pointed and said, AC and then DC. And Baby kept on insisting on repeating it, for about half an hour. 

Baby, pointing at the panel ,“Huh..?”

Father, “AC”

Baby, again pointing at the panel ,“Huh..?”

Father, “DC”

And this continued and continued..huh? AC. Huh? DC…Huh? Ac….I find it hilarious today but that day I felt pity for my husband whose back was almost giving in.

During our half a day halt at Delhi, we experienced the earthquake there.  Though baby did not realize anything, we were scared.

She was almost teething during this journey.  So the new parents carried nice teether, an apple shaped one. Baby kept dropping it again and again and parents kept washing it and handing it to her again.  She found the game pretty interesting and kept dropping the teether on the train floor and sending us to the wash basin.

It was during another journey to the Southern India in the middle of heavy retreating monsoons that Phenargen and Normet entered our life.  It was our celebrity’s teething time and was a painful phase. She also had continuous high fever, dysentery and cold.  That was also the time where my constant guide was the personally autographed book by David Werner, ‘Where there is no doctor’.  During this journey, Dr Werner’s book mentored us and erased many myths regarding child care.

During most of the time we felt our child enjoyed the non AC compartments since apparently she could ‘hear’ the rhythm and would be really merry.  So many a times we did leave our AC berth to accommodate ourselves in Non AC compartment, atleast till the time she rocked herself to sleep.

Air travels were much more challenging as she had no place to move around.  So we would keep her busy with all the tickets, boarding passes and pieces of papers which she kept fiddling with.

Most of the early important milestones were achieved during travels. Teething, standing up independently, winning over the fear of the moving train toilet.

I often take her along during my official trips too these days and her father is of the opinion that she has had more than enough exposure of the dairy sector.  Once during a dairy plant visit, I showed her the giant Ghee Making machine.  She asked me, “Ghee toh yaha bann raha hai….chawal kaha ban raha hai?”

Now my baby can explain the process of milk cooling in villages.  She knows how a cow has babies and how an animal is treated.  She has witnessed trainings on Artificial Insemination and once while I was in a discussion with a veterinary doctor at Naxalbari in Darjeeling district, baby also witnessed castration of a goat, although she had no idea of what is happening.   No wonder, her father feels that’s quite an exposure to the sector. 

But she has learnt to entertain and keep herself busy even during my long discussions and I am happy that she knows our work. 

I hope she develops a passion for travel and seeing the world and gets over her nausea during road travels.  There is much to explore and see in the world.

So, during the previous journey, when my celebrity almost hoped for a reception at the station with flowers and garlands (that is my exaggeration, I admit), I happily sat by the window remembering the many small lanes and long roads we have crossed and hoped for more and more…..this is, after all just the beginning…..

Unexpected Showers

The spring had just given way to sizzling summers and the child in me wished to spend her free afternoons eating slices of fiery and desiccated Rajasthani summer. I wanted to peel off excess time on journey. Udaipur being the nearest location from Ahmedabad I decided to shoot off. As a matter of fact, Udaipur is 5 hours journey from Ahmedabad by road but I longed for a relaxed and comfortable train journey for this budgeted weekend getaway. The destination started to play on my mind. I began to crave for being by the lake, engrossed in the sunset view from a palace window carved out of love to appreciate the outside world from the protected dwelling, arresting the colours of Rajasthan in my little black and white eyes. I was looking forward to an escape for letting my heart to be soft, free from hatred as I realised that it was turning into a rock getting affected by the negativity of people at work place, neighbourhood and by friends turning to foe. And the only remedy I could recollect to melt my heart was listening to the tunes of Sarangi played by the local artist at the lakeside.

I logged on to IRCTC site on Thursday for booking rail tickets and to my surprise, at the beginning of summer vacations in most schools, for onward journey on Sunday, seats were available. I had to book tatkal e-ticket for Ahmedabad to Udaipur city journey. When the e-ticket was delivered I was dismayed with the middle berth allotted to me even after stating my preference for side lower berth for to & fro train travel. Since nothing can be done than consoling self with philosophy that a traveller should be flexible with no much preference but with the purpose to learn, explore and experience everything that comes on the journey, I boarded the train. Honestly, I was eager to exchange my seat with the co-passenger allotted the Side Lower Berth in the train.

As I entered the train, I laughed at my idiocy. I discovered that Ahmedabad-Udaipur City Express is an elfin meter gauge train accommodating its passenger for 10-11 hours (whereas the road journey estimates to only 5 hours) in 6 berths in each compartment of a coach. There are no Side berths in the train. From here I picked up a clue that my soul was whispering ‘this journey through the Aravali ranges is going to be slow paced, tranquil and an enjoyable one, just the way you wanted it’.  Since the train was designed differently, I was curious to see the AC coach. A square old aluminium tiffin box with two tiers like looked the AC compartment.

Night was spent in peaceful snooze on narrow seat and morning sunrise was of majestic hue. Through the blackish brown mountainous ranges the sun was raising slowly exactly like the scenery drawing a child learns to draw in school. The train slowly without hurting anyone on contravention, halted at Zarwar Station for 10 minutes or more. All the passengers rushed towards one little tea stall on the station for having their morning cup of tea at 07.30 AM. There was neither pantry nor the chaiwalas, coffeewalas, paniwalas doing the ramp walk usually shouting chai..chai, coffeeee…coffee like in other trains. This also made the train less cluttered in sound and space. The scenic beauty on this journey was quenching the thirst of my soul yearning for god’s presence and miracles in dry lands.

The train passed through tunnels giving way to the sight of the ghettos of trees with beautiful white flowers blooming unnoticed amidst the huge yet empty mountainous ranges giving hope, renewing aspirations and enlightening a spirit to blossom even in unfavourable conditions. Opposite to me seated an early teenage girl who was scribbling in her little diary and often looking at father who was pretending to be asleep.  The girl was at the age of having secrets!

Unlike other railway stations of Rajasthan, Udaipur station is well maintained and clean. There is tourism desk at the entrance of the station which I chose to ignore as I wanted to explore the city on my own, unguided. The local auto rickshaw is expensive. For shorter distance of 3-4 kilometres they charges you Rs. 50-60. I could hardly locate any public transport bus within the city and the widely used mode of transport is shared auto rickshaw. 

I had visited many hotel sites on Tripadvisor and narrowed down to listing few adhering to my rule of sasta, swatch, safe and sundar hotel. I was keen on taking a room in either of the two listed RTDC hotels in Udaipur; Hotel Anand Bhawan and Hotel Kajri. The reason for opting RTDC hotels was 25% discount offered by the state tourism department to women travellers. This excited my spirit and my pocket. But soon they both were disappointed by the staff response at both the hotels–‘nahi madam aisa koi scheme nahi hai.’ My furious mind grumbled ‘either RTDC website requires to be updated or the staff working in RTDC hotels.’

The other budget hotels in my list were good enough but this particular one grabbed my attention. Hotel Gangaur Palace, an old Haveli converted into a budget hotel for tourist especially the foreign nationals. My heart was set on the windows of the room shown in pictures uploaded on Tripadvisor.

The hotel staffs were cordial to receive guest in person as well on phone. Before I bargain (in true Indian spirit) and accommodate, I requested them to show me the room.  As the staff unlocked the door, my heart screamed so loud failing my mind in its efforts to control it.

I was clamped by the fascination of spending time by the beautifully designed windows with colourful stain glass. Moreover a well cushioned platform was provided to sit comfortably by the window to gaze and get lost in scenes of the busy streets outside.

The hotel was enjoyed more because it’s location.  Situated in the heart of the city, helps you connect to major tourist attractions and local markets of Udaipur City.

From the hotel walking 5 steps down the main lane you find yourself at the majestic lake

and the Gangaur Ghat

Diagonally opposite is the Bagore ki Haveli

The hotel also runs an artistically designed café offering a wide variety of French breads, pastries, fruit custards and the crispiest, softest and yummiest French toast.

The café is draped with Warli (Maharashtrian tribe painting) painting all over the walls.

It also has a roof top restaurant (a very common concept to appeal tourist and it is loved by the foreign tourist more) giving you the best view of the lake, and the activities around the lake like children and men having dip in the lake, women washing clothes on the ghats, the babas in orange performing religious rituals, local people trying their hand at fishing, bird taking smooth flights, bells ringing in the temple, boats taking ride with tourist boarded in it while you satiate your hunger with good food served in the restaurant. This place relaxes your emotional, creative mind and I was blessed since I got to enjoy the mild showers of rain and the cool dark clouds gathered around the lake during summer mystically beautifying the whole experience of a Saturday afternoon in the city. 

Supposing that you want to soak yourself in images of the city just described, I am taking a break on this note and will soon return with some more interesting experiences of discovery, dance and diet of Udaipur City.

By

Minal Vaz