Blossom and bloom

Flowers are not just for decoration – they can help you time travel as well

 

My first home in Delhi, when I moved here nearly three decades ago, was a barsati in Defence Colony. And the first plant I bought for my terrace garden was a pot of flowering nargis (narcissus). A member of the daffodil family, this elegant white and yellow flower blooms for the briefest of periods in the late winter/early spring. But for all its small size, it packs a powerful punch when it comes to its heady, yet delicate perfume.

 

This winter, when I began looking for flowering plants for the teeny-tiny balcony I now have, my thoughts inevitably turned to nargis. And thus began a fruitless trawl through all the nurseries in and around me, searching in vain for a pot of this amazing plant. When I drew a blank everywhere, I decided to do the next best thing. I popped into the neighbourhood florist and bought a huge bunch of the flowers instead. At home, I arranged them in bowls and vases, and scattered them throughout the house, so that everywhere I went, I was accompanied by the sweet smell of nargis and a heady whiff of nostalgia. 

 

It's strange how I associate flowers with certain stages of my life. Easter lilies always remind me of my childhood home in Calcutta, where my grandfather would plant his bulbs every year, watch their progress anxiously, and heave a sigh of relief when they finally flowered. Then, after the season was over, the precious bulbs would be stored away carefully for the next year. Whenever I see lilies now, they trigger the memory of those annual rituals of my grandfather.

 

Another flower that I always associate with my childhood in Calcutta is the shiuli. This blooms just once a year and the white flowers barely last a couple of days on the tree, falling down to create a lovely, aromatic canopy on the ground. But their smell wafts across the entire house and reminds us that Pujo is coming, and that the Devi will soon be among us. Now that I live in Delhi, Pujo doesn’t have quite the same resonance, but the sweet perfume of shiuli is still my favourite thing about this time of the year.

 

Assam gave me my first experience of night-flowering trees, at the tea garden owned by my aunt. Walking through the garden one night, my 8-year-old self was assailed by a smell I was hard-pressed to describe to myself, but which I loved nonetheless. It was the smell of raat ki rani, I was told by my cousin. Also called night-blooming jasmine, this bush bordered the house and the garden and perfumed the air around it every night. Even today, when I smell that distinctive scent, it is that tea planter’s bungalow that I am transported to.

 

I fell in love with orchids on my first trip to Bangkok. What they lacked by way of perfume, they more than made up with their infinite variety of colours and patterns. Whereas other people stocked up on clothes, bags, shoes and perfumes when they visited the city, I came back home laden with orchids of every stripe. They lasted for nearly a month in vases if they were well looked after, and in my mind, made the holiday last for just a little longer. 

 

More recently, it is the perfume of the flowering alstonia (saptaparani) tree outside my balcony that has become the smell of the Delhi winter. I have recreated my Assam evenings by planting raat ki rani in pots on my balcony. And ever so often, I drop by the florist to pick up some orchids to create a little corner of Bangkok in my living room, or a bunch of lilies to keep the memory of my grandfather alive.

 

As I write this, the heady smell of nargis fills my senses. And I can’t help but feel that flowers really do have the power to take us back to other worlds we inhabited not so long ago. And as time travel goes, you simply can’t beat this mode of transport. You really should try it some time. 

 

Count your blessings

Lockdown couldn’t have come at a better time – and we have technology to thank for it

 

I remember India’s victory in the 1983 World Cup like it was yesterday. I didn’t actually watch the final in real time, hearing it unfold on the radio instead. But I still remember every over, every fall of wicket, and of course, Kapil Dev’s magnificence, so many decades down the line.

 

You can imagine my excitement then, when the movie based on those events, 83, was ready for release in the theatres. But before I could make any plans to see it, Omicron began spreading its tentacles all over the country. And, with great reluctance, I had to cancel my plans to see the movie that had captured one of the seminal events of my teenage years. 

 

I was gutted, of course. But I cheered up considerably when I discovered that I wasn’t going to miss out on it for too long. Eight weeks after its theatrical run, 83 would be released on a streaming service. And given that I had waited for nearly four decades to see it, what was another eight weeks?

 

But this entire episode got me thinking. I know that being stuck at home in lockdown-like circumstances is far from ideal. But who can deny that this is the best time in the history of mankind to be isolating within the four walls of your house?

 

And we have technology to thank for that. We can work from home, interact with our colleagues on Zoom, and network via various social media apps. If we want to cook, we can get ingredients delivered to our doorsteps in a matter of minutes. If we don’t feel like cooking, we can order in our favourite foods through various delivery apps. 

 

All that we need is available to us at the click of a button, and we can enjoy the best that the world has to offer from the comfort of our living room couches, as we binge-watch our way through everything the sundry streaming services have to offer. What more could a locked-down person possibly ask for?

 

Don’t believe me. Well, let’s conduct a little experiment. Imagine that Covid had struck not in 2019 but in 2000. How would we have coped with the pandemic in that decade?

 

Working from home would have been a complete impossibility because nobody had high-speed wifi (or any kind of wifi) at home. So, we would have a choice of either shutting down all businesses or keeping them open but risking infection to all workers – not much of a choice, you will agree. 

 

Cooking would have been a challenge because only the basic groceries would have been delivered by your kinara shop. And certainly, you could not have ordered in any cuisine of your choice and had it re-heating in your kitchen in less than an hour. 

 

And what would we have done during those long evenings spent at home? Yes, we had a few DVDs stashed away that could have kept us entertained for a couple of weeks. And we could have watched TV for an hour or so. But there would have been nothing like Netflix, Amazon Prime, or other such streaming services, offering us zillions of shows to feast on. 

 

Looking back on the last two years, I have to admit that lockdown has not been so bad to me. The lack of distractions meant that I could finish my book, Madam Prime Minister, well within deadline. And though its release has come in the midst of Omicron, I have still managed to promote it, conducting TV interviews via Zoom, answering questionnaires via email, and so on.

 

And when I wasn’t writing, I managed to read all the latest books, thank to my Kindle app that stood in for all those shuttered bookshops. I cooked everything my heart (and my husband) desired, getting everything from sausages to sauces delivered to my door. I ordered in from my favourite restaurants, and even though the experience wasn’t quite the same, the food certainly was. And I spent my evenings watching the best TV shows and movies made over the past few decades.

 

Technology may be a mixed blessing. But at this time of global crisis, we have technology to thank for keeping us sane.

 

Happy New Year

Here’s a list of my resolutions for the year 2022

 

Since this is my first column of 2022, allow me to wish all of you a very Happy New Year. I hope and pray that this year is better than the one that has gone by. That Omicron comes and goes like a bad dream, leaving us all immunized against the virus. And that this is the year when the Covid pandemic finally ends, with Corona becoming no more or less dangerous than the common cold.

 

So much for hopes and prayers! 

 

But the New Year is always about resolutions, and here, in no particular order of importance, are mine:

 

·       To give in to worthy impulses. If I feel the urge to re-connect with a long-lost friend, to phone a family member whom I haven’t spoken to in ages, to make a contribution to a charitable cause, I resolve to do so before the feeling passes. The lesson of the pandemic is that we should not put off anything that can be done today – because who knows what tomorrow may bring.

 

·       Build closer ties in my neighbourhood. If the sundry Covid lockdowns have taught us anything, it is that in times of crisis it is those around you who become your support structure. They are the ones who step in when you fall ill, who provide you with a ride when you are stranded, who send across a bowl of piping hot biryani simply because they want to share. This is the year when I will try my best to show them my appreciation any which way I can.

 

·       Pare down my ‘friends’ list. Covid bubbles have willy-nilly made us prioritize our ‘real’ friends over those we are merely friendly with. And after a couple of years of this, I am beginning to wonder is there is any point in expanding my social circle to pre-pandemic levels. It makes more sense to invest in a few meaningful friendships, rather than socializing with a larger group whom I don’t really care about. 

 

·       Get back in touch with nature. Ever since Corona entered our lives, vacations have been few and far between. And, for the most part, I have spent them in cities that are an easy driving distance from Delhi. Now, I think it is time to explore the great outdoors, whether it is a beachfront, a mountain resort, or a wildlife sanctuary. 

 

·       Brush up my languages. I signed up for French classes nearly 20 years ago, and for Italian classes around 15 years ago. Since then, I have forgotten much of the grammar that I learnt, but I did manage to keep my conversational French and Italian going by travelling to both these countries and forcing myself to speak in the local language rather than English. But it’s now been nearly three years since I travelled to either France or Italy and I fear that I have lost whatever language skills I once possessed. So, this year I am going to watch lots of French and Italian TV channels and try and get familiar with these languages again – in the hope that I will travel to these parts soon.

 

·       Read rather than watch. During the pandemic, there was nothing quite as comforting as settling down on the sofa in the evening, and binge-watching yet another series on a streaming service. It was bubble-gum for the eyes, which did not ask anything more of you than a willing suspension of disbelief. But I think it is now time to ration my screen time, and spend more evenings with my head stuck in a good book, conjuring up new worlds in my head with the power of the writer’s imagination.

 

·       Start work on my new book. With the sequel to Race Course Road, Madam Prime Minister, now out in the world, and in good bookstores all across the country, it is time to go back to the spy novel I was working on before I took a break to write my political thrillers. The plot is all fleshed out in my head. Now, it’s just a matter of getting it down on paper. Wish me luck!

 

The age of uncertainty

We just have to get used to Covid – and its endless variants – upending our plans again and again

 

If things had gone according to plan, I would have been filing this column from Sri Lanka, sunning myself at a beach resort, while sipping on a Pina Colada. But, as it turns out, I am writing this at my home in Delhi, sheltering from the cold and the pollution in my living room, with two air purifiers going full blast around me. And the only beverage I have in hand is a humble cup of black coffee. 

 

And it is all down to – yes, you guessed it! – Covid. Just as we were firming up our plans to travel, news hit that a new variant, Omicron, was devastating South Africa and had made its presence known in parts of Europe as well. New travel regulations and restrictions soon came into place in India, and even though Sri Lanka wasn’t on any red list, it made sense to postpone non-essential travel. So, we sadly reconciled ourselves to spending time in Delhi, even though the air was poison, especially for an asthmatic like me. 

 

But then, that’s the thing about living in the time of Covid. You never know what tomorrow will bring (though it is beginning to look like it will, with a certain inevitability, bring a new variant) so the only thing you can be certain of is today. You can moan and groan about it – and God knows that I do! – but at the end of the day, you just have to get on with life as it now exists. 

 

So, how does one cope? Well, to employ that well-worn cliché, you cope by living in the moment and for the moment. You carpe the diem, seizing each day by the collar and shaking every last drop of fun and joy out of it. And then, you hope to hell that you can do that all over again, the next day.

 

What you don’t do is make long-term plans. Or frankly, even short-term plans. I have two trips scheduled in January. One to the Kolkata Literary Meet to launch my new book, Madam Prime Minister (a sequel to my first political thriller, Race Course Road) and the other is to the Jaipur Literary Festival to do much the same sort of thing. And every day, I nervously check to see if Omicron has sent the Covid cases in these cities soaring – because if that happens, I am pretty sure that these events will become virtual-only. 

 

But honestly, what is the point of obsessing over the future when we could just be optimizing the present? So, that’s what I have resolved to do.

 

Over the last fortnight or so, I had stopped going for my daily walks to Sunder Nursery, because the pollution levels were so high. But ever since news of Omicron came, and the case count in Delhi began showing an upward trend, I resumed my afternoon perambulations, albeit with an N-95 mask. Who knows if the city will shut down again? So, I might as well make the most of our freedom while it lasts.

 

That is not the only re-calibration I have done in recent times. Having read how quickly the new variant spreads in large gatherings, especially those held indoors, I have declined several invitations to wedding/birthday/anniversary parties on the grounds that it is much better to be safe than Covid-positive. Most of my friends are understanding while some treat me like a misguided Nervous Nelly. But even at the risk of coming across as a party pooper, I have decided to defiantly stay home.

 

After all, that’s all you can do in this Age of Uncertainty – just keep yourself safe to see another day. How you do that is a function of how much risk you want to assume. Are you okay with a dinner party with four other guests? Or are you happy mingling with hundreds at a wedding? Are you okay with long-haul international travel at a time when regulations change all the time? Or would you rather just drive to a neighbouring city for a mini-break?

 

These are questions that all of us will have to answer for ourselves. Though there is very little doubt which side of the divide I will come down on. 

 

There's something in the air

Smells can transport you out of this world – and into an entirely different one

 

Smell is a funny thing. No, I don’t mean scent. Or perfume. Or parfum, if you want to get all fancy-schmancy on me. I mean smell. The kind that drifts into your consciousness when you are not even thinking about it. The kind that sneaks up on you while you are doing something else entirely. But before you can say ‘olfactory’ it has transported you to a realm entirely different from the one you inhabit. 

 

That’s what happened to me last week, as I travelled through the tea trails of Sri Lanka and ended up on a guided visit to a tea factory. The moment I walked in and the smell of the dried tea leaves hit my nostrils, I was suddenly ten years old again. And instead of the hills of Sri Lanka, I was back in Assam, visiting the tea garden that my aunt used to own. Memories of the mornings that I spent with my cousins trudging through the tea bushes came rushing back; of lazy afternoons spent on the makeshift swing that my uncle had fashioned for me on a banyan tree; of the time I sneaked out on my own and was held transfixed by a snake that was in the process of swallowing a frog (no, I was too young to be scared, and too stupid to run away!). All it took was one smell, and I was transported back to a childhood that seemed magical in retrospect.

 

This is, of course, not the first time this has happened. I find that smells take me by surprise and take me out of myself all the time. I just have to open a bottle of coconut oil in the kitchen and I immediately feel my grandmother standing beside me, her snow-white hair immaculately braided and exuding that warm, toasty smell that I will always associate with her. I remember all the times she pleaded with me to let her oil my hair, and all the times I refused. And a whiff of regret infuses the air around me as I look back on my obstreperous, younger self. 

 

Sometimes I will walk into a smoke-filled room and just for a moment I will conjure up my father’s face among the shadows, even though he is long gone. My teenage years were spent trying to make him give up smoking. I would ostentatiously walk out of the room if he ever lit up in my presence. And here I am now, searching for him in smoky rooms which he will never enter. It’s funny, the tricks smells play upon you. 

 

It is the most everyday smells that trigger the strongest memories. A friend sent me some home-made mango pickle this season, but it was my mother I remembered as I opened the bottle and took a hit of that aroma. She took her mango pickling so seriously that she would go to the market and choose the unripe fruits herself. Then, the entire household would be coopted into the process of washing, cutting and drying the fruits. Finally, after the whole laborious process was over, the finished product would be stored in large jars and left out in the sun. Not every jar – or ‘biyam’ as we called it – was meant for us. Many were destined to be distributed to friends and family, who would eagerly await this annual present from her. And now, here I was, her daughter, receiving the same gift that she had taken such pleasure in giving.

 

The smell of jasmine takes me back to a flower market I visited in Chennai years ago (when it was still called Madras); the smell of eggs frying reminds me of various rail journeys that were fueled by copious quantities of omelets and fried toast in my younger days; the smell of turpentine puts me in mind of the art classes I took in school, and to the art teacher who despaired of teaching me to draw as much as a straight line.

 

As I said, smell, it’s a funny thing. It’s both a window into your world; and an escape out of it. And I don’t know which one is better.

 

Shop till you drop

After months of online shopping, there is something invigorating about returning to brick-and-mortar stores

 

I am not an ingrate, so I will be the first to admit that online shopping kept me sane during the Covid lockdowns. And even after the pandemic-related restrictions eased, I continued to shop online for many months, out of an abundance of caution. But ever since the Covid numbers have shown a steady decline in Delhi, I have mustered up the courage to step out to the shops for a spot of retail therapy. And I use the term ‘therapy’ advisedly because just the simple act of shopping when I can see, touch, smell things before I commit to buying them has brought me so much pleasure. 

 

When I was sequestered at home, I had ordered some Le Crueset pots and pans online, justifying the expense by telling myself that these would last me a lifetime. But there was something oddly disquieting about choosing things on the basis of a few photographs on Amazon. And even though I didn’t regret my purchases, the process of ordering them felt curiously joyless. So, you can imagine my delight when I finally made it to the store, where I could look at the entire selection, marvel over the myriad colours on offer, pick up the cast-iron pans and roasting trays to feel how they handled, before I finally made my purchase. In a strange way, the pans I bought in-person brought me more joy than the stuff I had purchased in an entirely impersonal way.

 

It was much easier to buy gadgets when I could actually examine them in the shop, have a sales assistant explain how they worked, or even have a live demonstration to help me make up my mind. I had been agonizing over buying an Instant Pot for months on end, for instance, checking it out on various e-commerce sites, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to press the ‘Buy now’ button just on the basis of what I read on the sites. But when Dhanteras came around, and I nipped out to the shops to buy something for the house, it was the Instant Pot that my eyes fixed on. I examined it from all angles, while the shop owner explained its many features to me. And before you could say ‘slow cook mode’ I was walking out of the shop, the proud owner of an Instant Pot, without any of the dithering I had engaged in online.  

 

Clothes shopping, which had felt like a chore when I was doing it online, turned into a joy when I ventured out to brick-and-mortar stores. The very act of riffling my fingers through the outfits on the racks, experiencing the sensuous feel of silk on my skin, the soft touch of cotton, or even the light-as-air caress of chiffon, made me feel alive in a way that online shopping never could. And then, there was the bonus of actually being able to try on clothes, to see how they looked on me, how they felt against my skin, and whether the cut was flattering or just plain unsuited to me. There is no way you can do all that while shopping online. And yes, you can always return the outfits that don’t match your expectations when you finally try them on, but honestly, where is the fun in that? 

 

The most fun I had, though, as I ventured back into the world, was when I went vegetable shopping. Even though my friendly neighbourhood subziwallah had kept me well-supplied with all my staples throughout the Corona crisis, I missed the feeling of actually going to the shop and looking at all the wares on display, of having all of my senses involved in the purchase of what we would eat for lunch and dinner. I longed to choose the plumpest tomatoes on display. I wanted to smell the fresh perfume of the season’s first methi crop. I needed to test the firmness of every apple before I put it into my basket. And when the day dawned when I could finally do all that, it felt like a slice of normalcy had been restored to my life.

 

At the end of the day, that’s all that we long for, isn’t it? A bit of normalcy. And nothing says normal like being able to pop out to the shops. 

 

Season in the sun

Winter is the best time to enjoy the great outdoors in our country

 

From the time I was a child, winter has always been my favourite time of year. Growing up in Calcutta (as it was then), I was used to sweltering all through the summer, the monsoon, and even the autumn. But the moment winter announced itself in chilly mornings and cool evenings, my period of suffering was over. Now, it was possible to be out and about, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city, without being reduced to a puddle of sweat at the end of the day.

 

The Calcutta winter barely lasted two months, but boy, did we make those 60 days count! There would be boat rides down the Hooghly, ice-cream on the Strand, picnics in Botanical Gardens, visits to the zoo, and the obligatory round of Victoria Memorial and its surrounds. There would be barbeques hosted by friends, terrace parties where the entire family congregated, and more.

 

The best part of the Calcutta winter was, of course, Christmas – or Burra Din, as we called it in those parts. Park Street would be lit up like a new bride, there would be a queue for Christmas cake outside Nahoums, and very unlikely looking Santas would parade through New Market. Memories of that time of year resurface every December even though I moved out of the city of my birth nearly three decades ago.

 

My love affair with the winter season persisted though, even if it was now conducted amidst the tree-lined avenues of Delhi. In fact, in some ways, winter was even more magical a time in Delhi than it had been in Calcutta. For one thing, it got properly cold – the kind of cold that required radiators at home and overcoats and boots outside. There was something magical about getting kitted out in three warm layers and heading out to have the wind whip some colour on to your cheeks and turn your nose into a freezing icicle. And it was even more special to come home and warm yourself up with a nice cup of hot chocolate as you huddled by the heater.

 

Not that it’s just about Calcutta and Delhi. Winter is the best time to enjoy the outdoors no matter where you live in India. Take a walk along Marine Drive in Mumbai to watch the sun set in the Arabian sea and enjoy the cool sea breeze. Head out to the mountains of Gulmarg in Kashmir for a spot of skiing. Frolic in the waters of the sea whether you are in Chennai or Goa. Soak up the balmy sunshine in the parks of Bangalore. Visit monuments in your near-vicinity: the Sun Temple in Konark; Humayun’s Tomb in Delhi; the Taj Mahal; the Charminar in Hyderabad. This is the one time of the year you can do all this without breaking into a sweat.

 

As for me, I have got my winter plans all sorted. The mornings will be spent in the sun-dappled corner of my living room, drinking coffee and reading the newspapers. Lunch will be al fresco: it could be a sandwich on a park bench or a three-course meal in the outdoor area of a restaurant or even a kathi roll eaten on my balcony. Afternoons will be spent walking in Sundar Nursery, counting down to the sunset, which is always spectacular in that setting. Evenings will be spent on the terrace, nursing a glass of red wine. And I will end the day on my balcony, taking in the divine scent of the Saptaparani tree that perfumes the entire neighbourhood at this time of year.

 

How will you be spending your winter days? Picnicking with family and friends at Lodi Gardens? Sitting around a bonfire in your backyard while kebabs sizzle on your outdoor grill? Taking in the crisp mountain air on your annual trip to the hills? Or letting the winter sun lull you into a nap on a beach somewhere along the coastline of India?

 

Whatever you choose to do, remember to make the most of this season. There is no better time to enjoy the great outdoors in our great country.