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!