Off to the movies!

Watching James Bond do his stuff in the cinema hall, it felt as if life was finally returning to normal

 

Streaming services have kept me sane during the pandemic, and I will always be grateful to them for the cheer they provided during this difficult time. But even as I was binge-watching all my favourite shows from the comfort of my couch, I still missed going to the cinema. There is something special about sitting in a large, darkened hall, with a bunch of other people and watching a movie on a giant screen. And no matter how hard you try to replicate that experience at home, it simply does not work.

 

So, you can imagine my excitement when Delhi cinemas opened just in time to air the new James Bond movie, No Time To Die. But that excitement was shot through with more than a smidgen of apprehension. Was I really going to sit in close proximity with strangers in a closed space for around three hours? Did the risk-benefit analysis really work? Was it worth taking a chance on getting Covid simply so that I could watch Daniel Craig on a big screen, doing the final honors by Bond? 

 

Well, after much agonizing and discussion with my husband – a die-hard Bond fan himself – I decided to bite the bullet and head out to the movies. Cinemas are only allowed to sell 50 per cent of their seats, but we decided that discretion was the better part of valour and chose an afternoon show on a weekday, on the grounds that this would be less crowded.

 

It’s hard to describe the thrill when we entered the darkened hall to be shown to our last-row seats by an usher. Looking around, we were delighted to note that our strategy had worked. The hall had only a smattering of people, all of them seated at some distance from one another. In fact, we had sat in closer proximity to strangers in some restaurants we had dined at recently; not to mention some flights we had taken since the pandemic began.

 

Somehow those comparisons made me feel rather more secure. And even though I had arrived wearing an N-95 mask, which I was determined to keep on for the duration of the movie, I soon began re-evaluating my decision. As the smell of buttered popcorn wafted in the air, and my mouth began watering in anticipation, I began to wonder why I was so reluctant to unmask in here. After all, I unmask and eat in restaurants and airplanes all the time, when other people are seated so much closer to me. So, why was I so scared to do so in a cinema hall, where there was far more social distancing?

 

My husband must have been having the same kind of thoughts, because the next thing I knew we had giant tubs of popcorn in our laps (with Diet sodas on the side). And as the ads finally ended and James Bond appeared on our screens to scattered applause, we settled down to the movie experience that millions have enjoyed over the past decades. A crunch of salty popcorn in our mouths, washed down with a rush of sugary sweetness, and a cracking good story on the big screen to lose ourselves in. 

 

It felt so great to be back at the movies. But more than that, it felt great to have a taste of normalcy in our lives. To do the kinds of things that we did before the pandemic struck. For those three hours at least, we could pretend that Covid 19 did not exist and all was well in the world.

 

Of course, the moment the movie ended and we put our masks back on to exit the cinema hall, reality came crashing back. The coronavirus is still very much among us and will probably be around for years to come. But the only way to cope, I believe, is to take joy in little things – like being able to go to the movies. 

 

You should try it – but pick an afternoon, weekday show if you can!

 

Thrill a minute

Here’s a list of books that will keep you reading late into the night

 

I am happy to report that the sequel to my book, Race Course Road, is finally done. I spent the last month putting the final touches to the manuscript before sending it off for typesetting, and in a couple of months, Madam Prime Minister will be available in all good bookshops across the country (and on Kindle, obviously).

 

So, how did I celebrate, you ask. Well, having spent so much time writing, revising, and proofing, I treated myself to a reading extravaganza, bingeing on my favourite genre: thrillers of every persuasion. Here’s a small sample of what I devoured. You might want to taste a mouthful or two as well. 

 

A Slow Fire Burning by Paula Hawkins

 

If you loved The Girl On The Train, you will enjoy this new thriller from Hawkins. The story begins with the murder of a young man on a houseboat, with suspicion immediately falling on a blood-soaked girl who is seen leaving the boat soon before his body is discovered. But as is usual with Hawkins, nothing is as it seems, and the suspects pile up as the plot becomes more and more complicated. And the denouement, when it comes, will be nothing like you imagined. 

 

You Love Me by Caroline Kepnes 

 

I remember being completely blown away by You, the first novel to feature Joe Goldberg as its anti-hero, when it first came out. Written from the point of view of a stalker, and later, murderer, it was quite unlike anything I had ever read. The second book in the series, Hidden Bodies, was quite as unsettling – as was the Netflix adaptation of the series. But this, the third outing of Joe, finds our protagonist looking to put his past behind him and settle down, thanks to the love of a good woman. Needless to say, nothing goes according to plan, as Joe’s essential nature reasserts itself. 

 

Hostage by Clare Mackintosh

 

This is another edge-of-the-seat thriller by the Queen of Suspense. Flight attendant Mina, grappling with marital woes, volunteers to do duty on an inaugural 20-hour non-stop flight from London to Sydney. But soon after take-off, she is handed a note by a passenger: the plane should not reach its destination, or else something will happen to her five-year-old daughter back home. How do you balance the lives of so many strangers on the airplane with that of one life: that of your daughter? There are no good answers to that question.  

 

Big Summer by Jennifer Weiner

 

Daphne Berg and Drue Cavanaugh were unlikely friends in high school until a humiliating (for Daphne) incident destroyed their relationship. Now, six years later, Daphne – always a big girl – has become a plus-sized influencer on Instagram, when Drue reappears in her life, contrite about what split them apart and insistent that Daphne attend her upcoming society wedding on Cape Cod as her bridesmaid. Daphne agrees and that’s when things take a turn and this book turns from a lighthearted comedy to a murder mystery. This abrupt switching of genres might jar in the hands of a lesser writer but Weiner, as always, makes it work. 

 

Not A Happy Family by Shari Lapena

 

Fred and Sheila Merton host Easter dinner for their three children (and their partners) and make an unexpected announcement that causes tempers to flare and disagreements ensue. The next day, the couple are found dead, murdered by person or persons unknown. Were the murders the result of a break-in gone wrong or did one of their children finally snap and kill them? Suspicion falls on every member of the family as the story unfolds, and the suspense is built so skillfully that you will find it hard to put this book down.

 

False Witness by Karin Slaughter

 

Your past has a way of catching up with you no matter how hard you try to leave it behind. Leigh Collier has overcome a traumatic childhood to build an ordinary life as a defence attorney with a teenage daughter she co-parents with her husband, from whom she is amicably separated. But then, she comes face-to-face with a client, who knows exactly what she is trying to escape from her past. And the only way to deal with him is to enlist the help of her younger, estranged sister, Callie. Part family tragedy, part thriller, this story will keep you up at night.

 

Mask? What mask?

Negotiating a world in which no one believes in Covid protocols can be a scary experience

 

What do you do when you are the only person wearing a face mask in a room full of unmasked people? What do you say when the unmasked lady sitting next to you asks, in a very passive-aggressive manner, “Are you very scared of Covid?” 

 

Well, I don’t know what the etiquette in such circumstances is, so I can only tell you what I did. I kept my mask – an N95 no less – resolutely on, refusing to take it off even for the pictures that everyone was posing for. And I responded, as coldly as I could, to the question I was asked. “Yes, I am scared of Covid,” I said, and then added after a beat, “And so should you be.”

 

It’s probably needless to say that she paid no attention to my advice, and continued to keep her face mask off for the duration of the event that we were both attending. As did the rest of the audience in that large hall. 

 

I should not have been surprised, really. Ever since we landed in Amritsar for a book launch, the one thing we had noticed was the complete absence of mask discipline in the city. Nobody on the roads wore masks, not even the policemen. Guests at our hotel cheerfully ignored the signs that specified masks in all public areas and moved around barefaced. And those who did put them on, kept them around the chin area, leaving their noses and mouths unencumbered. 

 

When we mentioned this on Twitter, we were told by some people who had visited the Golden Temple that they had been asked to take off their masks by the guards before they were allowed inside the Darbar Sahib. “Don’t you trust in God to take care of you?” they were asked. There was only one way to respond: and that was to remove their masks.

 

Hurriedly cancelling our own plans of visiting Harmandir Sahib – hitherto an essential stop on every trip to Amritsar, given my Punjabi roots – we settled down in the safety of our own room to recover from this culture shock. Coming from Delhi, where mask discipline is strictly enforced and adhered to (especially after the second wave), this mask-less world took some getting used to. 

 

When I tried to explain this to some of the guests at the book launch the next day, they waved away my fears with an airy, “Oh, there is no Covid in Punjab now. Only 30 cases in the entire state.” Yes, I agreed, but there are only around 30 cases every day in Delhi too, and yet people wear masks to make sure that we don’t have a third wave in a few weeks’ time. Oh Delhi, they muttered exasperatedly, that is nothing like Punjab.

 

There was no good response to that, so I kept my peace and moved on. But this exchange – and many others like it – did get me thinking. Were these people being totally irresponsible and risking sparking a third wave in their city? Or was I being needlessly nervous about contracting Covid in an environment in which nearly everyone was double vaccinated? Were they being stupid or was I just virtue-signaling?

 

Well, you can make up your own mind about that. But, as far as I am concerned, in these times, discretion is the better part of valour. And in the age of Corona, discretion involves masking up in public, especially when indoors, practicing social distancing from people who are not in your bubble, and sanitizing your hands ever so often. So, that’s what I did during my short stay in Amritsar, ignoring the pitying looks being cast in my direction from all the mask-less people around. 

 

And it came as something of a relief to finally land back in Delhi, at an airport where everyone was masked, driving back home on streets where people observed mask discipline. Of course, it felt even better to take off my mask in the sanctuary of my own home. But that, as the saying goes, is another story.

 

Come, dine with me

If you are feeling stressed about entertaining at home after a long hiatus, here are some tips

 

I am happy to report that I have crossed another milestone in my post-pandemic life. I had friends over for dinner for the first time since Corona upended all our lives. My husband and I had been venturing out to the homes of close friends over the past couple of months. But somehow we hadn’t got around to entertaining at home. Last week, however, we decided it was time to bite the bullet and get some friends over for a home-cooked meal, instead of venturing out to restaurants as we had been doing until now. 

 

And I am so glad that we did. It was such an amazing feeling to sit around the table with friends we had known forever, eating a simple meal – sausages on a bed of peppers, a pasta with tomato sauce, roasted potatoes, and a caprese salad – that I had spent the entire afternoon cooking, sipping on some red wine, and chatting endlessly about topics both sublime and ridiculous. 

 

Laughter rang out all around the house, the pink roses I had bought specially for the occasion permeated the air with their sweet smell, and all felt right with the world again. In fact, it felt so right that I wondered why I had spent so much time agonizing about the evening, worrying about what to cook, what tableware to use, what drinks to serve, and other useless stuff like that. As it turned out, all we needed was some simple food, some full-bodied wine, and the company of one another to have a fabulous time. 

 

In case you too are agonizing about entertaining at home after a hiatus of a couple of years, here are some tips based on my own personal experience.

 

·       A little clutter never hurt anyone. Don’t agonize over getting the house looking pristine just because you are having friends over. There is no need to erase every sign of your presence in the house just because you are entertaining. You can leave your books and magazines strewn about, you don’t have to plump up every cushion, and you certainly don’t need to dust every house plant. This is your home, the place you live in, not a sterile, impersonal hotel room. So, don’t try to make it look like one.

·       If you plan to cook for your friends, spend some time and effort in planning the menu. I always try to make one dish that can be cooked in advance the day before and benefits from overnight refrigeration. If you are making three things on the day of the party, then try and make two things that can be cooked in the afternoon and finished/reheated in the oven or microwave just before dinner is served. Don’t make more than one dish – or, at a pinch, two – a la minute, or you will be too stressed to actually enjoy the evening. And don’t be shy about supplementing your efforts with a couple of store-bought items (salami, sausages, etc.); not everything has to be made from scratch even if you did promise them a home-cooked meal.

·       The secret to hosting a good dinner party is to keep your hosts – and yourselves – well lubricated. If you are feeling nervous about entertaining at home because you feel you have lost the knack of hosting, pour yourself a drink before your guests arrive, and spend 15 minutes just chatting with your other half to calm yourself down. Keep the drinks coming once your guests get there, until everyone is just a tiny bit merry. You can switch to wine with dinner, and slip in some brandy or port with the cheese and dessert. Just make sure that nobody is driving home after, before you begin pouring!

·       And if things do wrong, don’t fret about it. If your souffle doesn’t rise, it’s not a calamity. If the pasta is a bit overcooked, the heavens will not fall. If the meat in the biryani is not perfectly tender; it doesn’t really matter. Your guests are not Michelin inspectors who have come to grade your meal; they are friends who have come to enjoy an evening in your company. The food is not the point; you are. Remember that, and you can’t go wrong.

 

Deja Vu

Watching old shows is a way of reminding ourselves that nothing ever really changes in this world

 

The more things change, the more they remain the same. I was struck anew by this thought as I began re-watching Homeland, as part of my resolution to revisit all my favourite shows to see if they still resonated with me. And even though the show premiered ten years ago, it really could have been made this year. The Americans were enmeshed in an endless, seemingly futile war in Afghanistan, Pakistan’s ISI was playing both sides before betraying the USA in a spectacular fashion, the war in Syria was raging, young impressionable Muslim girls were being brainwashed to go join the global jihad, and much more in this vein. 

 

It was almost as if the writers of the show had time travelled to the present, read all the headlines in the newspapers, and based their scripts on them. The Americans were negotiating peace with the Taliban. The refugee camps were overflowing with people fleeing the conflict in Syria. Israel was attacking Iran’s nuclear scientists with magnetic bombs.

 

That same sense of déjà vu ensued while re-watching my other all-time favourite series, The West Wing, the first season of which was released way back in 1999. But even though we are now in the third decade of a new millennium, the themes of the show still seem current. One of the earlier episodes focuses on the border tensions between India and Pakistan, with the American President, Josiah Bartlett, feeling worried about the prospect of a nuclear confrontation between the two South Asian neighbours. Season five ends with violence on the Gaza Strip, which prompts President Bartlett to try and persuade the Israeli and Palestinian leadership to come to some sort of settlement (spoiler alert: he fails!).

 

It’s much the same story with the British spy drama, Spooks, which premiered in 2002. There is an ongoing conflict with Iran, because of its nuclear ambitions, that threatens to escalate into a full-on war, with the US planning air strikes on Iranian nuclear facilities. The Saudis are under suspicion of being involved with or giving succor to Al-Qaeda. And, with a certain inevitability, the two nuclear neighbours, India and Pakistan, are on the brink of war (yes, again!).

 

But, in case you think this feeling of déjà vu only extends to actions dramas and involves the themes of terrorism and war, well, think again. Re-watching the early seasons of The Crown, as I wait for the latest season to be released, I was struck by the parallels between the saga of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. Both Edward and Harry fell in love with and married two American divorcees, Wallis Simpson and Meghan Markle. Both couples gave up on royal life in the United Kingdom and left for foreign shores, the Windsors to France and the Sussexes to America. Both couples became immensely unpopular with the British media and public. And both seem consumed with anger and resentment at their treatment at the hands of the British royal family.

 

Last but not the least, there is that old classic, Yes Minister, and in its later incarnation, Yes Prime Minister. Even though the first episodes aired way back in 1980, the series speaks to us with an immediacy even today, with its portrayal of the general uselessness of politicians and the canny way in which they are manipulated by the bureaucrats who seem to be actually in charge. 

 

And then, of course, there are the one-liners that land with a zing even so many decades later. Here is Sir Humphrey: “Well, almost all government policy is wrong but…frightfully well carried out.” And in answer to Bernard saying, “But surely the citizens of a democracy have a right to know,” Sir Humphrey goes: “No, they have a right to be ignorant. Knowledge only means complicity in guilt; ignorance has a certain dignity.” And when Prime Minister Jim Hacker asks what he can do to continue the “run of success” of his government, Sir Humphrey replies, “Have you considered masterly inactivity?”

 

As I said, the more things change, the more they remain the same!

 

Life is too short...

To hoard your nice things; use them every single day instead

 

As part of my resolve to resume normal life – such as it is in times of Corona – I headed out to dinner to the home of a dear friend last week. It was just the four of us and the ambience was nice and relaxed, as we ate, drank and gossiped to our heart’s content. It was a lovely, home-style meal, served on a table that was dressed in an elegant but understated style. 

 

What blew me away, however, were the demitasse cups in which she served coffee after. They were beautiful bone china cups with a floral design, embellished with 24 carat gold and platinum. How did I know that? Well, because I also had the same sets of cups lying in my dining room cabinet, gifted by some friends as a housewarming present when we moved in our home many years ago. I had taken one look at the description (24 carat gold and platinum!) and stored them away safely in the cupboard; and that’s where they had stayed ever since.

 

I confessed sheepishly to my friend that I had never summoned up the nerve to use these cups in my own household because I was so afraid of damaging them through daily use. She first looked at me pityingly and then told me a little story.

 

Her mother-in-law, she said, used to be a woman after my own heart. All the best china and cutlery was locked away in a tall cupboard, and none of it ever saw the light of day. And then, one day, disaster struck. The entire cupboard came off the wall, falling to the floor in an almighty crash, and everything inside it was smashed to pieces.

 

There is a lesson there, she said solemnly, for people like you. There is no point stashing away your nice things in a cupboard for fear of ruining them. They may well be ruined anyway and then you will rue the fact that you never got to use them. 

 

That story resonated with me because something similar had happened to my own mother. All my life, growing up in Calcutta, we had a similar cupboard in which our bone china tea sets and dinner sets resided. You really had to rank as a guest to be served in those delicate cups, saucers and plates. For the most part they remained tucked away, being pulled out every Diwali when they were ritually cleaned, dried and then stuck back in the cupboard. 

 

Then, long after I had grown up and moved away, my mother packed up her household to move in with my sister in Delhi. But there was no way she was entrusting her bone china to the packers and movers who were dealing with the rest of her stuff. So, the tea sets and dinner sets were packed in layers of paper and bubble wrap and entrusted to my cousin who was travelling to Delhi a few months later, with the injunction to bring them with him.

 

Well, he did just that – but instead of hand-carrying this treasure, he checked it in. And, with a certain inevitability, when the packet was finally opened, nearly every bone china piece was broken or cracked. I don’t think my mother – God rest her soul! – ever recovered from the shock.

 

With these two stories reverberating in my mind, I woke up the next day and headed straight for my dining room cabinet. I unearthed the coffee cups that I had stashed away all these years, gave them a quick rinse with soap and water, and stuck them under my espresso machine. It is probably my imagination, but my coffee never tasted quite so good. 

 

Since then, I have made a resolution: I am going to use all my nice stuff instead of locking it away for fear of damaging it. I will carry my best handbags even if I am just going grocery shopping. I will wear my expensive scarfs for a walk in the park. I will air my jewelry every single day instead of reserving it for special occasions.

 

And yes, I will drink coffee out of those 24-carat gold-embellished cups every single day.

 

How Dare You?

Don’t listen to the po-faced brigade criticizing you on social media; go ahead and post whatever makes you happy

Covid has brought with it many unwelcome additions to our life. There is the constant mask-wearing which is challenging at the best of times but downright unbearable during the Indian summer. There is social distancing that has made hugs and even handshakes a distant memory. And then, most disquieting of all, is the constant fear that any of us may fall prey to the virus at any time.

 

And on social media, it has created a new subset of influencers, a po-faced bunch I have dubbed the ‘How Dare You’ Brigade, who seem to exist only to berate people for trying to squeeze some joy out of life in the times of Corona. 

 

You know who I mean. And I daresay, like me, you have run afoul of them on a number of occasions as well. 

 

It doesn’t take much to trigger them. And, once triggered, they lose no time in telling you what an insensitive/entitled/elitist type you are for posting pictures of your holiday in the hills, your time at the beach, your adventures in the kitchen, your meal in a restaurant… I could go on listing all the many things they find offensive, but I am sure by now you get the idea. 

 

In their view, posting pictures of your happy moments, of things that give you pleasure, is a slap in the face of all those who are struggling with life at this time. It doesn’t seem to occur to them that those people who are posting this stuff are also suffering in the same way. They are merely trying to search for some joy in a challenging world, to find a moment of happiness in a time of ineffable sadness, and celebrate it with their friends and followers on social media. It takes a breathtaking lack of imagination and compassion not to see that. 

 

But the HDY Brigade is too busy clambering on to the moral high ground to appreciate this. Once there, it spends all its time performing its How Dare You routine. How dare you go on holiday to a beach resort; don’t you know you are endangering the lives of the locals? How dare you post pictures of your three-course meal in a restaurant when the world is full of people who can’t get three meals a day? How dare you post make-up tutorials in a world where people are stuck at home all day? How dare you?

 

Well, I am here to tell them that I dare do all these things – and more. And that I am far from alone in being fed up with their joyless preaching from their vantage point on Mount Self-Satisfied.

 

So, here, in no particular order, is a short list of things that I will continue to dare to do. 

 

·      I will continue to document the mini-breaks I take on my social media feeds. I will post pictures of sunsets on a beach, rolling mists in the mountains, poolside barbeques, and more. And I will take satisfaction in the fact that not only am I doing wonders for my own mental health but I am also doing my bit (teeny-tiny as it is) for the travel and tourism industry that could use a break.

·      I will continue to post my adventures in the kitchen, whether it is experimenting with baking (not one of my core competences), making Thai food, or just rustling up an alu subzi with pooris or a humble khichdi with chokha when I feel like comfort eating. And yes, I will post videos of my cooking, no matter how amateurish they seem to the rest of the world.

·      I will continue to take pictures of every meal I eat in the restaurant – mostly because I am so excited that I get to do that again – and post them, no matter how humble or humdrum they may seem. So stay braced for endless posts of hamburgers and fries, pizzas, biryanis and even the odd sandwich.

·      And last, but certainly not the least, I will continue to flood my timeline with selfies shot in locations that range from the banal to the sublime. 

 

And as far as the How Dare You Brigade goes, it can continue fulminating – and get off my timeline while at it.

 

Raindrops keep falling...

At long last, the monsoon arrives in Delhi – and I couldn’t be happier

 

It is an admission that is usually met with derision, but the monsoon is one of my favourite times of the year. There is something so magical about seeing those dark clouds gathering on the horizon, bearing the rain that will release the magnificent smell of petrichor from the parched earth, and bring solace to all those suffering from the blistering dry heat of a north Indian summer. I can spend entire days just gazing out of the window, watching the sky change colour, marveling at the rain as it comes crashing down, and luxuriating in the cool breeze that accompanies it.

 

This year, though, I had a long wait on my hands, as the monsoon was delayed in Delhi for one week, then another, and then yet another. Such was my frustration at this state of affairs that I decided to do something that I hadn’t done in my entire life. I decided that if the rains would not come to me, well then, I would go to where the rains were.

 

So it was that I arrived in Goa one cloudy afternoon, braving a flight from Delhi. The moment I stepped off the plane and smelt the moisture in the air, I was in heaven. As I drove to the hotel, the dark clouds threatened rain, which finally came pouring down after I had checked into my room. That was my cue to take up residence on the balcony and just watch the skies open up. 

 

And what a sight it was! The vast expanse of green lawn soaked up the moisture greedily, even as the tall palms swayed sinuously in the breeze. The grey sea roiled in the background, as the showers gathered in intensity and then abated to a gentle drizzle. The show was mesmerizing to behold and I was crushed with disappointment when the dark clouds finally moved on and sun came out in its full glory.

 

But this was Goa in the monsoons so, thankfully, I did not have to wait long for a repeat performance. In another hour or so, the clouds were back and so, in time, was the rain. This time I decided on a more immersive experience, and wandered along to the beach, where in solitary splendour – no one else was mad enough to venture out in this kind of weather – I allowed the rain to soak me to the skin. 

 

The experience transported me straight back to my childhood. In those more innocent days, the arrival of the rain meant stripped down to my chemise and running up to the terrace to get sopping wet in the rain. I would be joined by my best friend at the time and we would create a little swimming pool of sorts (by blocking all the water outlets) and skid around, whooping and hollering with joy.

 

I was very tempted to do the same sort of thing on the beach, but the presence of the lifeguard meant that I behaved like a responsible adult instead of a giddy child even though it went against my every instinct.

 

But like all good things, my Goa sojourn also came to an end. And it was back to Delhi, which was (still!) waiting for the monsoon to arrive. 

 

And then, finally, it did! I woke up one morning to see an overcast sky that promised rain later in the day. And sure enough, as I sipped on my first coffee of the day, the rain came pouring down, accompanied by a strong wind that whipped my hair all around my face and deposited a gentle spray of rainwater on me. The temperature dropped by a good 10 degrees and the mugginess of the atmosphere disappeared as the moisture was leached out of the air.

 

Monsoon had finally arrived in Delhi. And it was time to roll out all my monsoon rituals. Khichdi, alu chokha and begun bhaja for lunch. Kanda bhajiya for tea. And a walk in Sunder Nursery in the evening, as raindrops kept falling on my head. Bliss!

 

Life is for living

Getting back to normal – one baby step at a time 

 

So, finally, after many months of breathless anticipation, one of my fantasies came true. I finally managed to meet my girlfriends – in person, no less! – for coffee. (What did you think I was on about? Honestly, get your mind out of the…well, never mind!)

 

All three of us had been double jabbed, the requisite waiting period for immunity to kick in was over (during which one of us had even had a mild case of Covid), and we had been adhering to social distancing norms like our lives depended on it (spoiler alert: they did). So, as the case load in Delhi fell to under 200 daily cases and the positivity rate went below 1 per cent, we decided that it was time we threw caution – and our masks – to the wind and finally met up for a cup of coffee. 

 

That said, we were still wary enough not to risk congregating in a public place full of unmasked strangers. So, we opted to meet at the home of one of us, sitting in an airy, well-ventilated room, which looked out on a verdant lawn, exchanging elbow bumps rather than hugs as a concession to the virus. In the event, it was too hot a morning for coffee, so all three of us chose to have nimbu pani instead, loaded with lots of ice and a divine hint of kala namak. 

 

And as we quaffed our drinks and exchanged gossip, often talking over one another in our excitement to finally be together, it finally felt that life was returning to normal – or, at least, to a semblance of normalcy.

 

Don’t get me wrong. We had been Zooming one another regularly all through the pandemic so it wasn’t as if we had lost touch. But there was something truly special to finally see each other in the flesh, to comment on how good someone’s hair was looking, how perfect the other’s outfit was, and how much I loved the new nail polish they had experimented with during the lockdown. 

 

So, there we sat, goofy smiles on all our faces, feeling giddy with pleasure at being able to properly connect with one another at last. And when we said goodbye a couple of hours later, it was with tight hugs, the elbow bumps having been retired in an unspoken consensus.

 

I felt so good after this close encounter, that I was emboldened to plan another: this time a dinner at the home of one of our closest friends. It would be just the four of us – all of us double jabbed – and we would catch up over a few bottles of wine and maybe the odd glass of champagne. And so, for the first time ever since Covid struck, we sat down to dinner at a table with another couple, to feast on roast lamb, salad, quiche, and some delicious conversation.

 

It really felt as if a dam had burst, as all the stuff that had been festering deep within us came bubbling to the surface. We discussed everything under the sun: the state of the economy; the travels we had undertaken over the last few months; how their daughter was missing out on the teenage experience having been stuck at home for more than a year; the books we had read and written; and so much more. 

 

It felt so amazing to just sit down and talk. And talk to people that we could actually see, whose expressions we could react to in real time, instead of images on a screen whose visual cues were often impossible to pick up on. So novel was this feeling after a year and a half of isolation that we stayed up way later than we should have, exchanging gossip, reminiscing about past times, and storing up memories for the future.

 

As my husband and I drove back home that night, we promised ourselves that this would not be a one-off. We would be rejoining the world of the living, Coronavirus be damned. And, if you ask me, it’s not a moment too soon.

Free at last?

The lockdown may be over; but Covid most certainly is not

 

So, we finally have our freedom back. The second wave appears to have receded, the Covid numbers are down, the positivity rate is in single digits again, and the country is finally opening up for business. In Delhi, where I live, offices, shops and malls have been allowed to open (though, mystifyingly, public parks are still shut, though the danger of contracting Corona outdoors is minuscule) as have hair salons and restaurants. And like prisoners who have been cooped up inside four walls for too long, all of us have rushed out to enjoy our first taste of freedom.

 

And while I am as delighted as the next person about the prospect of finally being let out of my house, my first reaction to pictures of crowds at marketplaces and malls is to mutter to myself, “Hey guys, steady on!” 

 

Yes, Covid cases have come down sharply but surely you know that the virus is not done with us just yet. It is lurking in the shadows, waiting for another super-spreader event to cast its tentacles around us yet again, and send us crashing into the much-speculated-upon third wave. And then, we will back to looking desperately for hospital beds, putting out social media calls for oxygen cylinders, and mourning our dead even as we struggle to find room to cremate them with dignity.

 

If we don’t want to go back to those bad old days, we are simply going to have exercise our discretion and handle our new-found freedoms with responsibility. So, what does a judicious use of our freedom entail? What are the dos and don’ts we should adhere to, so that we avoid a third wave?

 

Well, here are some pointers:

 

·      Every time you think of stepping out of your house, ask yourself this simple question: is this trip really necessary? If the answer is yes (you are stepping out to make an essential purchase, for instance, or visit a doctor or call on a family member), then go ahead. But if your answer to this question is no, then it might be a good idea to just stay at home.

·      Choose your outings carefully. It’s okay to drop into a store at off-peak times to indulge in a bit of retail therapy, but wandering through a jampacked mall is a bad idea. It’s okay to visit a friend’s house for a small dinner party with a maximum of ten guests, but attending a wedding with a hundred people in attendance is fraught with risk. 

·      Keep your mask on at all times when you leave the house. It doesn’t matter if you have already been infected with Covid or that you have had both your shots of the vaccine. The only thing we know about Covid is that nobody really knows anything for sure. So, having had the disease or the vaccine is not necessarily a sure-shot defence against the virus. The only thing that we know works for sure is the mask. So, wear one whenever you are in public (or even better, wear two!)

·      Even though the lockdown is over, it still makes sense to keep your social bubble small. The fewer the number of people you interact with, the lesser your chances of getting infected. And remember, it is not strangers that are the greatest risk to you when it comes to getting Covid. It is always more likely that a trusted member of your inner circle will end up infecting you, because it is only with them that you let your guard down.

·      By now we know that infected surfaces are not the greatest risk to us; it is the air we breathe that hosts the contagion. So, as far as possible, avoid congregrating in small, enclosed spaces – especially if they are air-conditioned and lack cross-ventilation – where you end up breathing each other’s air. If you are going to spend time with other people, it’s best to do so in open spaces, where the risk of infection is far less. And God, and the Delhi government willing, hopefully we will be able to do that soon.

The middle ages

Sometimes it is better to embrace the ageing process rather than fight it endlessly

 

If you have watched Mare of Easttown (and if you haven’t, well, what are you waiting for?) you will know that Kate Winslet has deglamorized herself completely to play the detective in the title. She barely wears any make-up, her hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a brush in days, her facial warts are completely visible, and her fashion sense doesn’t seem to extend beyond plaid shirts and hoodies (though she does clean up nicely for the occasional date).

 

Winslet says she was determined to portray a middle-aged woman as they really exist in real life – with broadening middles, less than luminescent complexions, and wrinkles that hint at a life lived fully. So much so that when the director of the show offered to edit her ‘bulgy’ bits in a sex scene, Winslet refused to let him do so. That was her body in her mid 40s. And she wasn’t going to pretend it was any different. 

 

The result is an authentic portrait of a woman in middle age: a little battered around the edges, a wee bit worse for wear, but magnificent in her authenticity. 

 

I couldn’t help but think of Winslet and Mare of Easttown as I sat through the Friends Reunion, laughing and crying in equal measure. Having grown up with Friends, I feel a sense of kinship with the leading ladies of the show. And watching them age from season one to season ten was one way of making peace with my own ageing process as I went from my 20s to my 30s and then my 40s. 

 

But the Reunion show came as a bit of jolt. Here were Rachel, Monica and Pheobe in their 50s, each of them presenting a different attitude to ageing. Lisa Kudrow appeared to have embraced the passage of time, making peace with the inevitable wrinkles around her eyes, mouth and neck. In contrast, Jennifer Aniston looked as if she had been frozen in her mid-30s. There were the odd signs of ageing – the cheeks were a little fuller, the jaw just a tad less defined – but other than that she still looked like the Rachel we remembered from the last season of Friends. 

 

And then, there was Courtney Cox. Except that she was less Monica Geller and more a cautionary tale of the dangers of too much Botox and way too many fillers. Her forehead was a frozen field, her cheeks were far too plump, and her lips looked almost unnatural in their fullness. It was hard to reconcile that face with the fresh-faced beauty that we had met and loved in Friends. And it was even harder not to wish that she had left her face well alone – or, at least, known when to stop. 

 

Gazing at Cox’s altered visage made me appreciate Sarah Jessica Parker more than I have ever done since the days of Sex And The City. In her latest TV series, Divorce, Parker looks like the best version of her middle-aged self. There is no attempt to hide the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, her forehead crinkles up with disgust and anger ever so often, and her neck is lined like that of any other 50-something. But she still looks luminous, with sparkling eyes, springy hair, and a waistline that could give teenagers a run for their money. 

 

Of course, all these women have all the money, time, dermatologists and cosmetic surgeons in the world available to them, as they negotiate their middle ages in their own chosen way. But what about the rest of us, who barely have time (or frankly, the inclination) to exercise every day, to eat healthy at every meal, and spend every night rubbing anti-wrinkle cream into our faces and necks (never forget the neck!)?

 

Well, I guess we will just have to bid goodbye to our inner Monicas and Rachels and embrace the Pheobe within each of us. Let the wrinkles dance across our faces, telling the story of our tears and laughter. Let our waistlines expand in tribute to how much life we have tasted.

 

And let’s embrace our years instead of fighting to hide the marks they have left on us.

Prose and cons

Seeking solace in books, as the pandemic goes on and on…

 

As regular readers of this column will already know, the one thing that has kept me going through the Covid 19 pandemic has been reading. I have sought refuge in old favourites, books that are so familiar that sinking into them again feels akin to getting a warm hug from an old friend. I have expanded my horizons by trying out new authors, who came recommended by fellow book lovers, with somewhat mixed results. I have tried to lose myself in the alternate universes of fictional works in an attempt to escape from a reality that is hard to live with. I have attempted to improve myself by reading worthy non-fiction tomes, using the vast stretches of me-time now available to me.

 

But whatever the genre, whoever the author, however good or bad the book, it is reading that has sustained me through this difficult time. In case that works for you as well, here is a short list of recommendations based on what I have been reading these past few months.

 

The Margot Affair by Sanae Lemoine

 

The protagonist of this novel is 17-year-old Margot Louve, the love child of an unconventional actress and the French culture minister. Her father has a wife and other children and has never publicly acknowledged Margot, though he comes by to visit her often. Frustrated by this lack of public recognition, Margot confides the secret of her parentage to a sympathetic journalist. And that small ripple in the pond of her life sets off ramifications that Margot could never have imagined, creating a storm that nearly destroys everything in its path.

 

The Lying Life of Adults by Elena Ferrante

 

This isn’t in the league of the Neapolitan Quartet with which Ferrante found international fame, though it is set in roughly the same world. The story is told from the perspective of the adolescent Giovanna, whose whole world comes crashing down when she overhears her father tell her mother that he is afraid his daughter is turning into his sister, Vittoria, whose vulgarity her father has long hated. This pushes Giovanna into making contact with the aunt she has never met, to figure out what they have in common, a decision that changes both her life and that of her parents.

 

The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

 

This is very much an English murder mystery in the style of Agatha Christie. But instead of being set in a bucolic English village or a stately home, it is set in a retirement community of those 65 and above. The Thursday Murder Club has four members who meet once a week to discuss old cases that the police have failed to solve. But then murder comes calling within their own circle, and they have a brand new case to focus on, if only they can inveigle their way into the official investigation – which, of course, they do. 

 

Win by Harlan Coben 

 

Fans of Coben will know Win – or, to use his full name, Windsor Horne Lockwood III – from the Myron Bolitar series. But here, the sidekick – if Win could ever be described as that – is the main protagonist. No, not so much the hero, as the anti-hero, whose flaws make him a more compelling character than a regular leading man could ever be. The book begins with the discovery of a body in a slightly creepy apartment in New York; a body that we soon discover has links with Win’s past. How far do those links go? Well, you will have to read to find out; I am posting no spoilers here.

 

One Two Three Four; The Beatles in Time by Craig Brown

 

Is there anything left to say about the Beatles? You would think not but Craig Brown, the celebrated British writer and humorist, manages to find new angles and tell parts of the story in anecdotes that may surprise even dedicated Beatles watchers. What was it like to be Ringo? Was Paul as shrewd as they say? Was George really so money minded? Was John an insensitive jerk? What about Jimmy Nicol, the short-lived Fifth Beatle, who temporarily replaced Ringo, only to see his life fall apart? It’s a fun read mixing the familiar with the surprising.