The heat is on

But it’s for us to search for the pleasures of summer, to make the season a joy rather than a pain

 

May is usually the cruellest month in Delhi, as the mercury soars past the 40 degree Celsius mark, and a dry heat makes life seem unlivable. But thanks to an unprecedented heat wave (climate change, anyone?) we experienced peak Delhi summer in April itself this year. As I write this, I don’t know what fresh horrors May and June will bring – will we finally breach the 50 degree mark? – but I thought this was a good time to suggest some remedies to get through this scorcher of a summer.

 

Well, the first thing that suggests itself is to get away from the heat of the plains and head to the mountains. Thankfully, there are quite a few destinations in Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh that are within driving distance of the capital. If you are willing to travel further then Kashmir is a good option as well, as are the hills in the north-east of India. But, for my money, the best hillside resort experience is to be had in the south, where the mountain towns are better preserved, the food is delicious, and the crowds not quite so overwhelming.

 

But if your work or your children’s school doesn’t allow you to plan your great escape just yet, don’t worry. There are plenty of ways to survive the heat in the city before you can finally get away for your summer vacation.

 

The one thing that can get you through the summer is a nice pool, that you can dip into for a refreshing swim. If you are a member of a club or have friends who are, then you are probably sorted. But if that option is not available to you, there are plenty of public pools across the city that you can sign up for at minimal cost. If you are feeling flush, or are in the mood to treat yourself, you can always check into a five-star hotel for a stayaction, and spend all of it in the pool, taking the occasional break to have a cooling drink on the poolside loungers.

 

Ah, drink reminds me. This is the best season to indulge your sherbet habit. During my growing up years, summers meant long icy drinks of Rooh Afza or Khus, the beautiful rose and emerald tones of the sherbets cooling the eyes as well as the throat. Now that I am diabetic, I can no longer indulge in those ultra-sugary drinks. But I make up with cooling draughts of watermelon juice with loads of crushed ice and a sprinkling of kala namak to give it an edge. 

 

The one thing that makes summer bearable is its fruitful bounty. There is the mango, of course, that comes in hundreds of varieties – my own favourite is the hamam, which I usually eat standing over the sink because, what can I say, it’s a messy business. But if I had to choose between mangoes and litchis, there would be no contest at all; litchis would win hands down. There is something so luscious and sensuous about peeling a litchi and popping its quivering flesh in your mouth, and feeling its juices exploding on your tongue. No mango comes anywhere close. 

 

If the spring comes with its plethora of flowers to make life a riot of colours, summer depends on the trees to make an aesthetic statement. The first stirrings come with the flowering red of the tesu, which blooms around Holi, heralding the heat that is around the corner. Next, the gulmohur gets in on the act, its flaming crimson mirroring the fiery rays of the summer sun. And then, in a final climactic act, comes the highlight of my summer: the flowering laburnum, its yellow blossoms shimmering in the sunlight, and transforming the landscape where it stands. It is so stunning a sight that I long for it all year; even though I know that it will bring an unbearable heat with it.

 

The point is that every season brings some joys with it. Yes, even the summer, with its scorching temperatures and dry loo that saps us of all our energy. The trick is to look past the discomforts and delve for the pleasures – and then revel in them for as long as we can.

The long and winding road

This summer, rediscover the romance of the road trip

 

It was the lockdown that first made me appreciate the romance of road trips. When flights shut down, my husband and I fell back on taking little mini-breaks to destinations that were within easy driving distance of Delhi. So, we ventured forth to Agra, Alwar, Jaipur and sundry other destinations in Rajasthan. Once flights began operating, we went a little further, taking flights to Chandigarh and Dehradun and then driving up to various mountain resorts to escape from the heat of the plains.

 

But once the skies opened up, it was back to doing the Delhi-Mumbai, Delhi-Kolkata or even Delhi-Bangalore routes. So, it was a bit of a revelation when we set off again on a road trip last month, driving from our home in Delhi to attend the Jaipur Literary Festival. In the intervening time I had quite forgotten how amazing it is to travel by road rather than plane. But this trip brought it all back.

 

So, what is so wonderful about road trips? Well, here in no particular order of importance, are just some elements that make it an absolute pleasure.

 

·       Packing is a breeze when you are just piling things in the boot of your car. There is no worrying about staying within the luggage limits set by the airline. You can pack your liquids anywhere you like. Can’t decide between two pairs of shoes or two handbags? Bung them all in. You can make up your mind when you get dressed at your destination. What’s not to like?

 

·       The part I hate most about air travel is going through security. First you queue for half an hour in close proximity with people who think masks are chin guards. Then it’s time to take off your jacket; remove your shoes and belt; take your laptop out of the case; put your phones in the tray. And even after all that, your bag will still be put through the X-ray once again because you neglected to take out your house keys or your spectacles. Well, you don’t have to worry about any of that if you are heading out on the road in your car; and that alone makes it worth it.

 

·       Best of all is the flexibility that road trips allow. You can set out at any time you like. If you are a morning person you can get up at the crack of dawn and power through to your destination before traffic hits its peak. If you are a late riser, you can have nice leisurely breakfast and then set out with a packed lunch that you can eat on the road. Or alternatively, you can plan your journey such that you hit your favourite dhaba at a time when you’re feeling the most peckish. You can drive through in one concerted spurt if you so wish. Or you can take frequent breaks to stretch your legs, enjoy a particularly scenic spot, or use the facilities at a motel or restaurant along the way. 

 

·       If you are travelling with your spouse or family, this is probably the biggest chunk of uninterrupted time you will get together. Use it to have meaningful conversations that you have postponed because of lack of time. Or spend it playing silly games like I Spy with your children. Or put together a playlist for your trip and sing along as your favourite music powers you on. Or simply use this time to decompress from the stresses of your everyday life by gazing idly out of the window. This is your time to use as you see fit.

 

·       But more than anything else, a road trip spells ‘Adventure’. The possibilities are endless when you set out on the road. You can discover a brilliant new ‘Maggi stop’ as you wind your way up the hills. You can stop by a small stall on the roadside and stumble upon the best achar you have ever tasted. You can suddenly come upon a valley of flowers that looks like Monet painted it on a good day. You can find yourself in the midst of mustard fields that demand that you run through them a la Dilwale Dulhaniye Le Jayenge. When you are on the road, life is yours for the taking. Just seize the moment.

 

Heels or flats

Dressing down – rather than up – is the new power move

 

Remember the time – it wasn’t so long ago, really – when we were told by the arbiters of fashion that power dressing was never complete without vertiginous heels which would make us stand tall and proud as we navigated our work lives. Heels, we were assured, wouldn’t just improve our posture; they would embellish our status as power players as well, no matter which field we were competing in. They wouldn’t just add inches to our heights; they would burnish our images as polished professionals. 

 

Well, what do you know? They lied. 

 

Look around you. Wearing heels is no longer the power move that it used to be. If anything, it indicates that you are insecure enough to still play by the rules (no matter how outdated; or how uncomfortable). Wearing flats, on the other hand, is a signal that you are confident enough to negotiate the world on your own terms. That you stand tall on your own professional achievements rather than a pair of stilettoes. You are enough as you are.

 

This was brought home to me most strongly when I recently attended a conference organized by a news organization. As I sat quietly on a table tucked away at the back, indulging in my favourite sport of people watching, I made an interesting discovery. It was the women a few rungs down the food chain who were wearing the power suits and the frankly ridiculous heels, teetering from one networking opportunity to another. The women who were already power players in their own right were sitting comfortable in their flats and crumpled cotton outfits, holding court at their tables.

 

That’s when it struck me: the real power move is dressing down, rather than dressing up. It’s only when you are successful enough to not give a damn about what the world thinks of you can you afford to dress exactly as you please, comfortable flats et al.

 

It’s always been like this in the world of successful men. Think Steve Jobs in his uniform of high-waisted jeans and turtle-neck T-shirt. Think Marc Zuckerberg in his nerdy round-neck T-shirts. Think Boris Johnson in his crumpled suits and hair that never seems to have seen a comb in its unkempt life. 

 

But now, thank the Lord, it is finding its way into the world of women as well. It is the likes of Melania and Ivanka Trump who still deck themselves out in 6-inch heels while true power players like Kamala Harris rock a pair of sneakers as they hit the campaign trail. Lesser stars may abide by the asinine rule of the Cannes Film Festival and slip on the heels when they hit the red carpet. But it’s only a mega-star like Julia Roberts who can make a statement by kicking her heels off and walking barefoot on the tapis rouge.

 

Let’s look closer home. The most powerful woman in the east of India does not bother with heels. It’s flip-flops all the way for West Bengal chief minister, Mamata Banerjee, as the runs the state in her simple cotton saris and nondescript bun. 

 

In fact, dressing down is the new power move in politics. Finance minister Nirmala Sitharaman’s sari choices are always inspired when she attends Parliament but she doesn’t have time for hair dye, rocking her grey hair instead. Priyanka Gandhi doesn’t muck around with lipstick or eyeliner, choosing to go completely make-up free.  

 

Perhaps it’s time we took our cues from these women as we set style rules for ourselves. It is silly and regressive to squeeze our feet into instruments of torture of our own volition. You wouldn’t catch any man doing that. So, why do we strap on shoes that hobble us as we walk through the day, and leave our feet throbbing with pain when we finally take them off. 

 

We don’t need to play this game any longer. So, when it comes to heels, just say a flat no. Your feet will thank you for it (as will your back and knees).

 

eom

Remains of the day

Coming back to the city of my birth is always a trip down memory lane

 

The best trips down memory lane, as far as I am concerned, are the ones that involve travelling back to my birth city: Kolkata. Or, as it was called during my growing-up years, Calcutta. Or, more familiarly still, the single-syllable Cal. 

 

To me, Kolkata will forever be Cal, no matter what the official name of the city is. And it is the Cal of my memories I return to every time I make a trip to this most beloved of cities. This time, I was visiting after three years, and I was there for the best of reasons: to do a session on my new book, Madam Prime Minister, at the Kolkata Literary Meet. The venue of the festival was Victoria Memorial, and there couldn’t be a more effective trigger for my nostalgia. 

 

As I arrived to attend the first day and watch my husband promote his own book, I found myself transported back to my childhood the moment I laid eyes on that iconic dome. The sunny days I had spent in the museum’s cool confines as a schoolkid, being led around the exhibits by my mother who wanted to improve my mind. The treat after this torture was being allowed to feast on daal vadas and chutney and guzzle Thums Up livened up with copious quantities of masala. My teenage years were misspent on the lawns of this magnificent memorial, when a bunch of us would bunk college and wander aimlessly through the lawns, giggling helplessly every time we came across a courting couple making out in some shady corner (what can I say? We were young and foolish!). 

 

Just sitting in the shadow of Victoria Memorial, lit up in all its glory, was enough to bring all these memories rushing back. And suddenly, I was no longer a middle-aged woman here to promote my second novel. I was a teenager once again, with my entire life in front of me, and the taste of phuchkas in my mouth. 

 

I mean that quite literally as well as metaphorically, because no trip to Cal is complete without a phuchka stop. To me, this is the taste of Calcutta itself: the crisp puri filled with a savoury potato and channa mixture, topped with the green-tinged khatta pani (with none of the saunth nonsense that Delhi golgappas are tainted with). This is what my food dreams are made of; and they can only be fulfilled at the phuckha stops I remember from my growing-up years.

 

In my college days, my favourite phuchka stop was opposite Lighthouse Cinema. My other regular haunt used to be what we called Theatre Road (Shakespeare Sarani, to give it its proper name), which had some of the best chaat on offer. The best shingharas and jilepis (jalebi to you) were found at the mishti dokaan near my house, which sadly no longer exists. And on every trip back to Cal, I try to find a shop that can replicate that taste, and though some come close, none of them can compete with the memory in my head. 

 

It's not just food memories alone that need to be indulged, though. There are also the haunts of my childhood – no matter how altered they may be many decades later – that need to be revisited. A walk down Park Street is obligatory, with quick pit stops at the Oxford Bookstore and a detour down the lane to gaze on the frontage of Loreto House, where I spent so many happy years. I invariably take a drive down the Strand, to gaze on the Hooghly and the cantilevered glory of Howrah Bridge.

 

This time round, my schedule was too tight to fight in the mandatory visit to Botanical Gardens, where I used to frolic as a child among the sprawling expanse of the great Banyan Tree, now sadly barricaded and off limits to visitors. But, as I take a flight out of the city, I console myself with the thought that there is always a next time. 

 

Because when it comes to Cal, it’s always au revoir, never adieu.

 

Seeing red (not pink)

Here’s why International Women’s Day annoys me so much

 

Every year, when International Women’s Day begins to near, my inbox fills up with pink-hued spam, offering me everything from discounts at the neighbourhood spa to a special deal on mammograms at the local medical center. To say that I find this spam annoying would be the understatement of the century. But that is nothing compared to the annoyance I feel when Women’s Day greetings start flooding my Whatsapp and inundating my Twitter timeline.

 

I don’t intend to embarrass anyone in particular by singling out their greeting, because all of them are, frankly, just as irritating. The general theme is how women are such good wives, mothers, sisters, daughters, friends. How women selflessly put themselves out for the people in their life no matter what the cost. How a woman’s work is never done (and honestly, how do they do it?!) How the men in their lives cannot imagine how they would manage without them. And how women must be celebrated for these sacrificing, self-effacing qualities, which allow their men to pass through life without the slightest inconvenience.

 

By the end of the day, I am usually in a towering rage, having read hundreds of such saccharine messages. And with every new one that pops up on my phone, I wonder anew: why is it so impossible for people to see women as individuals, with fully-realized lives and ambitions of their own? Why must a woman still be seen through the prism of a man – to whom she is a daughter, a wife, a sister, a mother, or even a friend or colleague? Why must her achievements be listed in the context of how she makes other people’s lives better? 

 

Then, there is the endless romanticizing of the hard, unrelenting, thankless work that all women do every single day. Getting the kids ready for school, looking after ageing parents and in-laws, cooking dinner after a hard day at the office, keeping the home in order, women are expected to do it all. No matter how ‘enlightened’ the husband, it is the wife who ends up picking up the slack at home. None of this is fun, and none of it is particularly fulfilling. And yet, we are fed the myth that women – those caring creatures – find a deep and abiding pleasure in it all. 

 

I don’t know about you, but I think it is time that we put this particular lie to rest. 

 

So, how would I like to see International Women’s Day celebrated, you ask. 

 

Well, for starters, I would like companies, who invest so much on pink-hued advertising at this time of year, to put their money where their mouth is. Instead of releasing cutesy pictures of their women workforce, I would like them to ensure that every woman on their rolls is paid the same amount of money for the same kind of work as a man does. The gender pay gap in companies is anything from 25 to 30 per cent, which means that women end up making 75 rupees to every 100 rupees that their male counterparts make. As long as that disparity is not addressed, it is meaningless to post pictures of smiling young women lining up for a promotional ad. In fact, it is highly hypocritical, if not downright insulting. 

 

That is a long-term goal, of course, which calls for systemic change. And I am willing to wait a couple of years, even five, for that.

 

But more immediately, it should be possible to change the messaging around International Women’s Day. Instead of hailing women as devoted mothers, great wives, dedicated mothers, or obedient sisters and daughters, let's address women as individuals in their own right. Admire them for their resilience in making their way in a man’s world. Praise them for carving out careers for themselves and for their professional excellence. Celebrate them for living their best lives. And whatever you do, don’t reduce them to their relationships with the men in their life. 

 

It's not asking for a lot. And you have another year to work towards it.

 

The book's the thing

Here are a few titles to take you through to summer

 

There is something so thrilling about a bookshop, isn’t it? There are all those authors waiting to be discovered, all those titles ready to be devoured, and a hundred different worlds that you can lose yourself in. For me, the high point of any trip to a great city is a leisurely trawl through all the book stores it has to offer. And last fortnight, that city was Singapore and the bookstore, Kinokuniya, one of my all-time favourites.

 

The first thing I discovered on the shelves was the latest Elizabeth George, titled Something To Hide, which came out last month, but whose release I seemed to have missed. I snatched it up and eagerly read the synopsis of the plot, happy to discover that this was another Inspector Lynley mystery. This was the perfect read for the flight back to Delhi, I thought. 

 

There was only one problem. This was an absolute doorstopper of a book and lugging it on to a flight seemed a bit of a challenge. So, with utmost reluctance, I put the physical book back and later downloaded it on my Kindle – with due apologies to all good bookstores anywhere.

 

But, I consoled myself later, it was the book that was important, not the form in which I read it. And if it’s reading that matters to you as well, here are some suggestions from among the books I have enjoyed over the past few months. Read them in any format that works for you – satisfaction guaranteed.

 

Something To Hide by Elizabeth George

 

This is vintage Elizabeth George, a murder mystery that is about so much more than murder or mystery. The theme that George tackles this time is the harrowing subject of female genital mutilation (FGM) that is ostensibly outlawed but practiced on the quiet by some among the Nigerian and Somali community in London. The murder victim, a police officer, has been ‘cut’ as well as a child though this fact only surfaces after her death. And the investigation into her death reveals so much more than just the identity of her killer.

 

Silverview by John Le Carre

 

Published after its author’s death, this has been touted as the last ‘completed’ masterpiece from Le Carre’s pen. This has all his usual hallmarks: there is a Smiley-type character (complete with unfaithful wife) who has been tasked with ferreting out secrets from an old retired MI6 hand. And there is a young investment banker turned bookshop owner who finds himself caught between these two spymasters. This is a splendid read in the Le Carre tradition but the somewhat abrupt end makes me wonder if the manuscript was ever, in fact, ‘completed’.

 

Apples Never Fall by Liane Moriarty

 

When Joy Delaney, a 60-something mother of four, goes missing, suspicion alights on her husband, Stan. It doesn’t help that Stan looks as if he’s been in a fight, though he insists it was only with a hedge. But as her disappearance lengthens, the children start to questions his protestations of innocence, and old family fractures come to the fore. Domestic drama has always been Moriarty’s strength but this book also works as a study of the everyday violence that women face.

 

The Christie Affair by Nina de Gramont

 

It is the one mystery that Agatha Christie never solved. And that’s because she lived it. In December 1926, the mystery writer packed a small attache case and drove away from her home. Her car was later discovered in a ditch, leading to speculation that she may have killed herself, heartbroken because her husband, Archie, had announced that he wanted a divorce to marry his mistress. Christie was discovered living in a hotel a week later but she never spoke – or wrote – about this period in her life. So, this is the next best thing: a speculative take on what might have happened.

 

Both Of You by Adele Parks

 

Two women, who seem to have nothing in common, disappear in the same week. Both their husbands claim to be distraught, and insist that they know nothing of why their wives have gone missing. So, what went wrong? Did the women leave on their own? Were they taken by someone? When the investigation throws up a link between the two women, the story takes an unexpected turn with a twist you won’t see coming.

 

Spring has sprung

But I can’t help bemoaning the passing of winter

 

I came back to my home in Delhi after a week-long vacation, only to find that the winter had done a disappearing act in my absence. Gone were those foggy, chilly mornings when you could see no further than your nose. Gone were the freezing nights when the only way you could get warm was by snuggling up to the heater. In its place was a mild mid-morning and evening chill that could be warded off by a mere shawl. And a sizzling afternoon sun that you could not sit out in for more than 30 minutes. 

 

You’d think that I would be thrilled by these signs that winter had bid us goodbye and that spring had sprung. And you would be quite wrong.

 

I know that, like most denizens of Delhi, I complain about the winter, about the grey skies, about the pollution that takes your breath away, and about how quickly darkness descends on us each day. And yet, when the days begin to lengthen, when the temperature shows an upward trend, I feel a pang in my heart as I bid winter farewell.

 

Don’t get me wrong, there is a lot to praise about spring, but today I am here to tell you what I will miss most about the winter. Here, in no particular order of importance, is a far from exhaustive list.

 

·       Snuggling under the covers every morning, prolonging the last few moments of slumber, safe in my razai. There is a special pleasure in lingering in a cozy bed, knowing that it is a citadel of comfort in a cold, cold world. In the depths of winter, I can spend up to an hour wavering between sleep and wakefulness, just luxuriating in the warmth of my bed. It’s a blissful feeling that can never be replicated once the weather begins to heat up.

 

·       Sunny afternoons spent on my balcony, reading a book as I peel the rind off an orange, separating the segments carefully so as to not tear the skin, and popping each one into my mouth and feeling that citrus explosion overwhelm my taste buds. I know, I know, you can eat an orange in the warmer months as well, but there is a special alchemy to devouring it as you bask in the balmy sunshine of winter. 

 

 

·       Winter evenings, to my mind, are best experienced with a mug of steaming hot chocolate in hand. You need full-fat milk for this, none of that skinny nonsense. You must stand by the stove, patiently stirring till the chocolate mix has dissolved completely, and the milk is bubbling gently. Then transfer to a mug, and let the fun begin. Start off with tiny sips, letting the chocolate coat your tongue, until the sweetness envelopes your senses. And before you know it, you will be gulping it down, and making another. Well, hurry up, because this is the authentic taste of winter, and you only have a month or two to savour it.

 

·       Lazy walks in the parks are best in this season. There are some who enjoy these first thing in the morning, as they witness misty, foggy mornings turn into sunny days. For my part, I love going in the late afternoon, when the dappled sunshine is strong enough to warm my bones but not harsh enough to burn my skin. And when my hour-long walk is over, I can simply sit on a bench and watch the sun set on another perfect winter day. 

 

·       Bonfires are the leitmotifs of Delhi winters. There is something special about sitting around a firepit, whether it is in a garden or a terrace, watching the flames light up the faces of your loved ones, as you nurse a glass of red wine or whiskey and wait for the kebabs to cook on the nearby grill. For me, those are the sights and scents of winter. And I shall miss them when they are gone.