The book's the thing

Good books transport us to another world; great ones make us want to live there forever

A few weeks ago, suddenly overtaken by a wave of nostalgia, I pulled out an old, battered copy of Jilly Cooper’s Riders from my bookshelves to relive the memories of my misspent youth. And before you could say ‘bonkbuster’ I was back in the universe of Rutshire, a rural enclave enlivened by the heart-stoppingly good looking (and heartbreakingly caddish) Rupert Campbell Black, the show jumper who rarely met a woman he didn’t want to jump. And even though I knew the story and even remembered some of the more memorable lines I was still sucked into the world that Cooper had created so evocatively. 

So much so that I felt a sense of acute bereavement when the book ended and it was time to say goodbye to the characters. Except, of course, that I did not need to do any such thing. All I had to do to remain in that idyllic universe was to download the next seven books in the series. And that’s exactly what I did, racing through Rivals, Polo, The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous. And as of this writing I am immersed in the world of classical music with Appassionata — but still within the confines of the mythical Rutshire.  

Cooper may make it look effortless but it takes an amazing amount of skill, imagination and dexterity to create a world in which the reader immerses herself so that she never wants to ever leave it. Few writers, no matter how good they are, manage to do that. And those who succeed are the ones to whom I go back again and again to live in the environs which they have conjured up with the magic of their pen. 

The first writer I encountered who managed to do that was Georgette Heyer. I discovered her Regency Romances when I was a teenager and I was immediately transported into another era in which women were squeezed into corsets before being poured into gowns and presented for the delectation of the ‘ton’. But these women were not just beautiful playthings; they were brave, feisty, fiery, even fierce. And in a world that offered them no path of advancement other than marriage, they still managed to leave their imprint on the world. 

And what a world it was! There were balls held on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo; there were masquerades in which the identities of villains were unmasked; there were strong women who held their own in a world ruled by men; and there were love stories that lost none of their passion for being conducted in such a chaste universe. 

Since then I have discovered a few other writers who have inveigled me into their fictional worlds. There was the late, great John le Carre, whose ‘Circus’, populated by such legendary characters as George Smiley, kept me entertained for decades. There is Donna Leon, who brings Venice alive in her series of detective novels. And of course there is my old favourite, Daniel Silva, whose spy novels starring the Israeli spymaster, Gabriel Allon, are in a class of their own. 

They say that the power of a good book is that it can take us out of our world and into a parallel universe. But it’s only the truly great ones that make you want to live there forever. And I count myself lucky to have found several such worlds nestled among my bookshelves. 

Surviving college 101

 As teenagers across the country begin college life, here are some tips to get them started. 

Like millions of other teenagers across India, my teenage niece packed her bag

 and headed out to college last week. Hitee has always been an academic star 

but I am guessing that she headed for the portals of Ashoka University with 

the same combination of apprehension and excitement that I did when I 

entered Loreto College to study English literature so many moons ago.

 

As the pictures of her campus, her new room, her classmates began inundating 

the family Whatsapp group, I began thinking about my own college years and 

what I wish I had done – and not done – during that period of my life. Of course, 

everybody’s college experience is unique but here, in no particular order of 

importance, are some things that I wish I had known as I studied for my

 Honours degree.

 

·       Worrying about your grades during this period is the default position 

for almost everyone in college. And for naturally competitive people like 

Hitee and me it is almost second nature to study obsessively so that we 

score over everyone else. But looking back now, I wish I had spent less 

time in the college library and more time in the common room having fun.

 Yes, it’s true that getting a good rank in your finals matters when you 

head out to the real world looking for a job. But it’s equally true that in a 

few years’ time, nobody cares or asks about what you scored in your exams

 – and the odds are that you don’t remember either. So, why spend every 

waking moment agonizing about something that won’t even matter 

in the long run?

·       It’s not your marks that are for life; it’s your friends. And this is the

 time when you make friends for life. There is an intensity to college

 friendships that is difficult, if not impossible, to replicate in later life. 

Which is why college friends eventually become your 3 am friends 

(whom you call even in the dead of night when you need help). And why

 no matter how long you lose touch with a college mate, you can pick up

 effortlessly from where you left off. But the trick is to keep yourself open

 to friendships with a wide and diverse group. Don’t restrict yourself to 

people who are just like you; seek out those who have had very divergent 

life experiences. This is the best way of enriching your own life, 

both now and in the future.

·       Don’t worry about being a ‘Cool Girl’ (or boy) or whatever the kids 

are calling it these days. It may seem like a big deal to be in with the hip

 (again, please insert Gen Z alternative) crowd right now, but trust me, 

it’s not worth the bother. You don’t have to change yourself to fit in with 

any group – and any group that requires you to do so is not worth joining. 

So, wear what you like, eat what you want, listen to the music of your 

choice, watch your own kind of shows, and pay no attention to the 

‘trendies’ mocking you.

·       But most of all, have fun. Have fun learning new things. Have fun

 meeting new people. Have fun discovering what you are good at. Have fun 

working out what you are becoming. And above all, have fun being yourself 

– because everyone else is taken.

The taste of my childhood

No matter how hard I try, those tastes are impossible to replicate

 

What is it about childhood taste memories that they are almost always impossible to recreate once you have grown up? I ask because I have been struggling over the past few weeks to recreate the taste of langar dal I used to eat as a child growing up in Calcutta (no, we didn’t call it Kolkata in those days). Living in predominately Sikh neighbourhood and practically next door to a gurudwara where my (Hindu) mother was a regular worshipper, I used to live for those special days when Guru Ka Langer would be served. 

 

All the food was delicious and the kara prasad was to die for, but what lives on most in my memory is the taste of the black dal. A mixture of black urad and chana dal it had a deep, rich taste that left me asking for more…and just a tad more, until even my tolerant mother was deeply embarrassed by my greed. I remember the crunch of the ginger, the kick of the green chili and the caramelized taste of the onions, all brought together by the unctuous goodness of desi ghee.

 

Overtaken by nostalgia last month, I tried to recreate the recipe in my own kitchen from memory. But no matter how hard I tried, and how many variations I went through, the dal – though delicious in its own way – never really tasted the same. I added the ginger and garlic while slow cooking the dal; I tried caramelizing the onions in desi ghee; I tried frying the garlic separately; I tried using only green chillies and then just the red ones. I even called my childhood friend and langar companion, Kavita Walia, in Calcutta to get her inputs and then used her method to cook it. But while every variation was good in its own way, it was never quite the langar dal of my memory.

 

I have had much the same problem when I try and make the sookha black channa subzi that my mother used to make for the Navratras on the day we worshipped Kanjaks in our home. I know that she used only ginger, green chillies, amchoor and a dash of chaat masala to get that fresh but tangy taste that went so well with puris and halwa. But no matter how many times I experiment with quantities and ingredients or even time of cooking, my channas never taste quite as a good as my mum’s. 

 

Ditto, with the black carrot kanji that my grandmother used to make in giant beyams every winter and leave out in the sun for day to ferment. I have tried making it with different kinds of carrots, different sorts of mustard seeds, experimented with black pepper, even added a bit of sirka. But no, the kanji remains stubbornly my own creation, the special touch of my Daadi is missing.

 

But I guess that is the way of all childhood food memories. They take up such a special place in the palate of your mind that it is impossible for reality to match up to the taste that exists only in your memory. Maybe I can’t recreate my childhood tastes because memory is playing tricks with me. Or it could simply be that nostalgia tastes better than anything that I could possibly rustle up in my little kitchen with the benefit of hindsight.

No holding back the years...

 Every decade of your life comes with its own firsts - enjoy them!

 

There are many dispiriting things about getting older. Your joints creak, your brain slows down, your eyesight weakens, your hair thins, your waist thickens. But what I find most dispiriting of all is how there are so few firsts in your life after you hit your forties and fifties.

 

When you are young, life is an endless series of firsts. Babies grow their first tooth, eat their first solid food, take their first step, say their first word. As they grow older, they have their first day at playschool, then at kindergarten, and then in proper school, followed, in good time, by their first day in college. As teenagers they have their first crush, their first date, their first kiss, their first big love, and their first heartbreak.

 

Even entering into adulthood means notching up a fair amount of firsts. There is the biggie of course: your first job, which provokes equal amounts of enthusiasm and trepidation. If you are fortunate enough, you probably have your first serious relationship around this time, which may or may not culminate in your first marriage (and, with a bit of luck, your last as well). You buy your first car (or motorbike), get your first medical insurance policy (though you are still listed as a dependent on your parents’ plan!), and go on the first vacation that you pay for yourself. 

 

Your thirties are the time when the most significant firsts happen. If you haven’t been hitched as yet, this is when you finally bite the bullet and say yes to the ring. This is when most people would have their first baby, sign on a mortgage for their first flat, put together their first investment plan (and other such grown-up stuff).

 

But by the time your forties roll on, the era of the firsts is well and truly over. And even the few firsts that occur are not exactly good news. If you among the unlucky ones, this may well be when you notch up your first divorce. But even those blessed with marital bliss will discover their first white hair around this time, the first sign that their youth is well and truly behind them. Their first pair of bifocals will follow shortly, putting them squarely in the middle-aged category. 

 

And what firsts do we have to look forward to in our fifties? Well, there’s always the first colonoscopy and perhaps, the first diagnosis of hypertension or type 2 diabetes. But this may also be the first time you experience the highs and lows of being an empty nester as your kids grow up and fly the coop. But whatever joy you experience as you rediscover the delights of life a deux will be tempered by the first intimations of your parents’ mortality. 

 

Don’t be disheartened though. Your sixties will bring with them the next lot of fun firsts. That may be the birth of the first grandchild (or grandniece or grandnephew), heralding the start of a bright new generation to take over from the old fogeys. You will finally be able to retire from that job that has taken so much out of you and experience for the first time in decades the feeling of freedom from routine. Your entire day will be yours to do as you like, and that’s a first I can get on board with.

Stored in the cloud

 Monsoon memories from a pre-smartphone era...

Whenever the skies open up during the monsoons, my mind immediately skips back decades to the time when I was a schoolgirl. During this season I would wake up early every day and rush to check if it was pouring down — because if it was chances were that my school would declare a ‘rainy day holiday’ and I could simply stay in bed and read a book. 

Those were some of the best days of my life. My mom would make crisp stuffed parathas for lunch; there would be delicious khichdi for dinner, laced with aromatic desi ghee; and if I got peckish in between, I could feast on piping hot pakoras. My best friend in the neighbourhood and I would venture out between meals to dance in the rain on the terrace, floating little paper boats in the puddles of water that had accumulated to keep ourselves entertained and return home wet to the bone, much to the despair of our mothers. 

Thinking of the fabulous times I had as a child I can’t help but feel sad for the kids of today who will probably never be able to enjoy a ‘rainy day holiday’ in quite the same way. Sure, they may be asked to stay home when the rain comes pouring down but they won’t get the day off. They will simply be expected to log on to their laptops and do their classes online (just as they did during the pandemic). It will be just another school day for them even though the heavens are putting up a spectacular show just outside their window. 

Or take the ubiquity of mobile phones, for example. Children and teenagers may clamour for them and eventually badger their parents into getting one for them. But being in possession of a mobile phone merely means that your parents have a foolproof way of getting in touch with you at any time of the day, no matter where you may be — and if they are tech savvy and not great sticklers for respecting your privacy then they will know exactly where you are as well. You could always refuse to answer the phone, yes, but that will just lead to the mother of all dressing downs when you come back home. 

So the kids of today will never know the feeling of complete freedom we felt when we ventured out with our friends in the pre-mobile phone era. Once I had said goodbye to my parents and departed for a day out with the friends, they had absolutely no way of getting in touch with me until the point I chose to return home. Yes, that’s right. They had NO WAY of getting in touch with me. Of course, I still had a curfew I had to adhere to. But until the clock struck that dreaded hour I was completely on my own. And it was sheer bliss to be alive and unsupervised. 

Sure, it wasn’t great fun conducting all phone conversations with friends on the landline that lived in the drawing room. But on the other hand, the absence of a mobile phone and of such apps as Instagram meant that there were fewer avenues for being bullied, ignored or even made fun of. 

Honestly, if you ask me, sometimes technology is not what it’s cracked up to be! 

Just doing their duty

Why do people feel compelled to shop at the duty-free area in airports?

 

Whenever I go past security while travelling on an international route and hit the duty-free area, I am amazed by the cornucopia of goods on offer. Apart from the regulation liquor, chocolates, make-up and perfumes, these days you have every designer brand from doing brisk business in bags, clothes, shoes and sunglasses. And as I watch people shopping frantically at what is usually (though not always) the end of their vacation, I can’t help but wonder what drives this spending spree.

 

Have these people kept money aside specifically for this purpose? Have they researched the goods available at the duty-free stores to make sure that they can find a specific object? Are they just trying to take advantage of tax-free shopping? Or is this a last blast of holiday fun before they go back to the dreary business of everyday living? 

 

Are these purchases last-minute gifts for their loved ones waiting for them at home? And if they are buying gifts, what is the motivation behind it? Are they driven by love, say, for a spouse who they have missed on a business trip? Or is the purchase driven by guilt at leaving a child behind while they head out on an adults-only holiday? Is the purchase a strategic one, aimed at pleasing a boss who sent them on a company junket? Or are they just ticking off items on a list sent across by a demanding family member?

 

There was a time in my life when I used to do my fair share of duty-free shopping. There were, of course, the boxes of cigarettes that friends and neighbours would ask for. And in those dark days of yore when alcohol was not freely available in India, this was always the ideal opportunity to stock up on whiskey, gin or champagne. I never ever bought stuff for my bosses but whenever I headed back from a holiday abroad, I would always buy many boxes of chocolate for my staff, only partly motivated by guilt for abandoning them to work while I had a nice little foreign jolly. 

 

But now that almost everything that is available in duty-free is also on sale at the neighbourhood mall, it seems like too much of a palaver to get stuck into shopping at the airport. And frankly, by the time I have negotiated check-in, immigration and security, I am so exhausted that all I want to do is collapse in the lounge with a nice glass of wine. The very thought of browsing through shops, shortlisting things, doing a quick price comparison and then queueing up to pay, seems like entirely too much work.

 

And yet, airports across the world are full of people doing exactly that. And I can’t help but marvel at (and be bemused by) their enthusiasm for duty-free shopping. I can just about get my head around those who are buying bottles of liquor or make-up and perfume. But I cannot for the life of me understand those who are casually picking up big-ticket items like Hermes and Chanel bags – hardly impulse buys – on their way to the departure gates.

 

Or maybe I am the one who has got it wrong. Maybe the best way to treat a modern airport is to treat it like a luxury department store. And the right way to recover from queue fatigue is to try a little retail therapy.

To cook or not to cook

Cooking may not be 'women's work' but it certainly is a life skill

 

I have lost count of the number of mothers of young women who have told me, with varying degrees of satisfaction, that their daughters do not cook. Their girls have never as much as stepped into the kitchen, they say with pride. Why, they wouldn’t even know how to boil an egg! And why should they toil in the kitchen, they add with barely-suppressed indignation, when there are worlds outside to conquer?

 

Yes, I get that: the feminist argument for not getting bogged down with getting breakfast, lunch and dinner ready. And when I was in my teens, wild horses couldn’t have dragged me into the kitchen either, though my mother, God bless her, tried her best to teach me some basic techniques. But no, I thought I was too good to learn how to make perfectly-puffed puris, thank you very much.

 

I often look back to that younger version of myself and wonder what I was thinking. What was so emasculating about rolling out a roti or making a tarka for a dal? And why was I so threatened by it? It’s not as if cooking a meal meant that my college privileges would be taken away or that I would have to give up on my dream of a career.

 

The kitchen may have been the preserve of women in that era (maybe it is even now) but that was no reason to banish myself from it. Learning how to cook is a life skill that everyone should possess. Feminism should not translate into an inability to feed yourself – or your family, if it came to that. 

 

My relationship with cooking changed once I moved away from my mother’s place and set up home for myself in Delhi. Now that there was no mum to churn out meals I had to learn to feed myself. I began with baby steps, trying my hand at fried eggs and then an omelet. Then, I moved on to easy recipes like pasta with pesto into which I could bung in a few vegetables, or Thai curries made with sauces that came out of a packet. Only after that did I trust myself to recreate some of my mom’s Indian recipes.

 

And in the process I discovered something about myself: I actually enjoyed cooking. I loved the meditative calm of chopping vegetables and getting my spices and herbs ready. I loved the process of throwing various ingredients into the pan and seeing them come together in a flavourful whole. And I loved feeding the people whom I loved the most in the world. 

 

In time, cooking became an activity that my husband and I enjoyed together. He is the more inventive cook between us while I am a more instinctive one. But when we put our heads and hands together in the kitchen, it can sometimes (though not always) create a bit of magic.

 

Looking back now, I can’t imagine a time when I regarded cooking with disdain. But then, I guess, our attitudes to cooking change with time. We may start off seeing it as anathema, then graduate to regarding it as an essential survival skill. It may morph into an adventure sport or just a way to feed your family. Or it may become the way you relax after a hard day at work or bond with your husband/mother/child.

 

All you have to do is give cooking a chance. It may yet surprise you.

Soiree not sorry

How to host a dinner party without going crazy

I have to say that my world tilted on its axis when I read that the original Domestic Goddess, Nigella Lawson, was giving up on hosting dinner parties. You know the kind I mean, don’t you? They featured on most of her TV shows, all twinkly fairy lights, a brilliantly laid table and platters and platters of interesting dishes, drawn from every corner of the world. 

Well, Nigella is giving up on all that now. She has had enough of being the hostess with the mostest. Now when she entertains, she makes one big dish with a few accompaniments, sets everything on a side table and asks everyone to help themselves buffet style. And yes, did I mention that nobody is required to dress up either? Her guests are welcome to trundle in wearing their pyjamas. 

I have to pause at this point and make it clear to my friends and family that if they ever turn up for dinner at mine in their nightwear, they will be sent right back home to change into something decent. If I can make the effort to cook dinner, they can make the effort to put some actual clothes on. 

But sartorial debates aside, is Nigella right about this? Are dinner parties over? Is entertaining at home now a matter of opening a packet of chips and ordering in a Biryani while everyone lounges around in their nighties? 

Well, I hope not. There is nothing quite as gratifying going to a friend’s house and discovering that he or she has spent the day making all the dishes you love; settling down in a room scented with candles while ambient music sets the tone; whetting your appetite with some well-chosen nibbles; and then sitting down to a long, multi-course dinner that you haven’t cooked. I don’t know about you, but I would get dressed up for that!

That said, Nigella has a point. There is no point hosting a dinner party if the experience is just going to stress you out. The idea of having friends and family over is to enjoy time with your loved ones, not fret about whether the soufflés will rise or the jelly will set. (Keeping it simple but scrumptious is the way to go.)

So if you still want to entertain in style but don’t want to break out in hives about it, what should you do? Well, here are my top tips:

• Invest time in prep. Choose a menu in which at least 50 percent of the dishes can be cooked a day (or even two) before and stored - and may even be the better for it. That puts less pressure on you on the day of the party. 
• Don’t put anything on the menu that needs to be done a la minute (as in, on the spot). That is an invitation for things to go wrong. 
• Don’t make two menus for vegetarians and meat eaters. That’s too much work. If you have vegetarians on your table make an essentially vegetarian meal and add two meat or fish dishes. Trust me, no one will complain. 
• Don’t bother with making dessert. It’s too much of a palaver and by the end of the meal, everyone is too full to do it justice anyway. Just order in a cake or macaroons. Or even some ice-cream - it will help you chill!

Retail therapy

Everyone enjoys his or her own version

 

Every time I come back from a vacation, my friends always ask me excitedly, “So, what did you buy?” And every single time I have to disappoint them by saying, “Er, nothing really,” adding apologetically, “I am not much of a shopper, you know!”

 

That’s not to say that I am some abstemious, self-denying, sanyasin who has lost all interest in worldly goods and possessions. Not at all. It’s just that when I am exploring a new city like Florence or even an old haunt like London, it seems such a waste of time trawling through shops when I could be visiting museums, picnicking in parks, or just wandering aimlessly through the streets.

 

Also when it comes to buying stuff, I am very much a needs-based shopper and a complete and utter creature of habit. So, when I need some linen shirts or kurtas for the summer, I head to Marks and Spencer and Anokhi. If I need occasionwear then it’s either Abraham and Thakore or Good Earth. Over the years I have tried to expand my retail base, but like a faithful hound, I come back to my familiar haunts to sniff out my usual favourites.

 

I guess when it comes to shoppers, all of us fall into a few readily identifiable categories. Here are just some of them that I have identified over the years.

 

The Ditherers: My late mother was the first Ditherer I ever encountered in life. She would spend ages debating between the many choices laid out before her. She would go from shop to shop to see that she hadn’t missed out on anything. And then, hours later, she would finally bite the bullet and buy something. But the moment she unpacked it at home, buyer’s remorse would strike. And back to the shop we went the next day to ask for an exchange. That’s a nightmare I will never live through again – and how sorry I am for that.

 

The Researchers: These are the people who never venture into the shops without first logging on to Google to research their many choices, going on Amazon and Flipkart to see what the online prices are like (not to mention the reviews), and then tweeting out to their followers to get their advice to buy anything from an electric car to a moisturizer. Only once they have all this information at their fingertips do they commit to making a purchase. And I have to say that they are rarely dissatisfied with their choice.

 

The Impulse Shoppers: I must confess that I dread going out shopping with this lot. Instead of focusing on what we have set out to buy, they are easily distracted by the first thing that catches their eye in a shop window. And once they start browsing they can’t seem to stop. They pick up so much junk along the way that by the time it comes to making their main purchase, they find they have run out of steam – and money!

 

The Same-To-Samers: My husband is the prime example of this. Unlike me, who shops at the same outlets, he actually shops for the very same thing he has bought a dozen times before. So, he ends up with 15 identical blue linen shirts, a dozen identikit jeans, and many pairs of the same shoes. He says it takes the stress out of dressing; I say it takes the fun out of it. You decide which one of us is right!

Complimentary angles

It's a tricky business giving compliments -- or receiving them for that matter 

Compliments. They seem uncomplicated on the surface. But dig a little deeper and you realize that they are nothing short of a potential minefield which may explode in your face at any moment. 

 

How many times have you bumped into an old friend and been greeted by, “Wow, you’ve really lost weight?” It’s meant to be a compliment and meant in the best possible way. But every time that happens to me, my first thought it, “How fat did you think I was before?” I never say that out aloud, of course, for fear of seeming churlish. But that unspoken thought rankles for far too long afterwards.

 

For my part, I have made a resolution to never reference anyone’s weight when I am framing a compliment. Far better to say, “You’re looking good today.” Or even, “That dress looks lovely on you!” But when I mentioned this to my husband, he looked rather dubious. That would never work for him, he muttered after a moment’s thought. If he said anything like that to a woman he would be afraid of being accused of being ‘lookist’ or ‘sexist’ or any other ‘ist’ that you can think of. 

 

I had to concede that he had a point. In the post MeToo world, men have to virtually tread on eggshells when it comes to complimenting women – even those whom they know well. And referencing a lady’s appearance is a strict no-no, unless you want to fall foul of the politically-correct posse that polices our every utterance these days. Far better to say nothing at all than risk getting battered.

 

There are some people who find it impossible to accept compliments no matter how innocuous or flattering. Some of my friends number among them. Compliment them on an outfit that is clearly just off the catwalk and they will brush it off with a laconic, “Oh this old thing! I have had it for ages!” Congratulate them on an award they have received and they will respond with, “Oh, it was nothing much, really.”

 

This may be partly down to embarrassment, but I often feel that too many of us are hardwired to brush away compliments – or even worse, be needlessly cynical about the motives of those who compliment us. I find myself falling into that trap quite often too – and have to make a conscious effort to not question why someone is complimenting me, but to just accept graciously.

 

The best way to respond to a compliment is simple, of course. All you need to do is smile and say “Thank you.” But strangely, that seems to be difficult for many of us to master. So, sometimes we feel obliged to respond with a return-compliment, which always comes off as laboured and fake. Sometimes we act as if we don’t really deserve the compliment, thus making the giver feel like a bit of a git.

 

So, next time someone says that you are looking nice, or that they loved your book, or even that your home is lovely, just relax into the compliment rather than resisting it. Enjoy the feeling of being appreciated instead of interrogating it. And if you feel the urge to respond with anything other than a heartfelt ‘thank you’, fight it. 

Life lines

There are a hundred little things that make life worthwhile – let’s appreciate them

 

Columnists – and I am no exception – tend to rely heavily on what I like to call the ‘pet peeve’ narrative. You know what I mean, right? All those columns on ‘What I hate about airline travel’ or ‘The most annoying things about working in an office’ or even ‘The top ten ways in which my husband/wife drives me crazy’.

 

Well, this column is travelling in a different direction this week. Instead of another litany of complaints about what I hate about something, I am going to share a list of what I love about life. So, here in no particular order are just some of the things that I believe make my life worth living. 

 

·       Those lazy mornings when I can sleep in and not bother with the alarm. There is no luxury quite like lingering in bed, swinging gently between sleep and wakefulness, knowing that another ten minutes of snuggling beneath the covers is not going to throw your day out of gear. 

·       That first cup of coffee that signals that the day has begun. The aroma of coffee beans in the kitchen; the first sip that jolts my tastebuds awake; the caffeine jolt that follows; I don’t think I could get through the day without this.

·       The ability to download any book I want on my Kindle at any time of the day or night. Growing up in pre-liberalization India means that I still remember a time when new books took weeks if not months to arrive in Indian bookshops. So, it feels like a minor miracle every time I read a review of a new release and just open my Kindle app and download it within seconds. What a time to be alive!

·       Long-haul flights without wifi which mean: no catching up with emails; no scrolling through Twitter or Instagram; no doom-scrolling through news sites. Instead, it’s all about watching trashy movies or catching up on a good book – or both – with a glass or two (or four – who’s counting? Not me!) of champagne.

·       The fact that I live in a city that has so much to offer. There are beautiful parks in which I can walk through the year. There is no dearth of historic monuments to visit. There are plenty of museums showcasing everything from antiquities to art to textiles. There is a clean, functioning, well-connected Metro to take me to far-flung corners of the city. And there are plenty of coffee-shops and restaurants to hang out with my friends and family.

·       I am grateful that I have the downtime and the resources to go on holiday every once in a while. But I am even more grateful that much as I love going on vacation, what I love even more is coming back home. Holidays and exotic locations are all very well, and don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them as much as the next person. But there is nothing quite as lovely as sinking into the depths of my own sofa, or slipping between the covers in my own bed. 

In my view, the best gift you can get is the ability to enjoy your everyday life as much as you enjoy a break from it. That’s where true happiness stems from – and may each of us be lucky enough to experience it.

Break's up

How to cope with post-holiday blues

 

Chances are that you are reading this at the fag end of your summer vacation. That long-awaited trip to the beach or the mountains is nearly over. Or perhaps you are on the last leg of your European break. Or maybe you have just arrived at the penultimate stop on your tour of South-East Asia.

 

But no matter what your summer plans were, there is one thing all of you will experience when you come back home: the post-holiday blues. You know what I mean, of course. That conviction that the best bits of life are over, and that it’s going to be tedium all along from now. The feeling that all excitement has been leached out of your existence, and that life is going to revert to being a mundane daily slog.

 

No matter where we holiday or how, we always come back with the belief that while holidays are lived in technicolour, real life is just boring old black and white, with even more boring shades of grey thrown in between. So, who can blame us for feeling just a teeny bit out of sorts as we unpack our luggage and prepare to deal with mind-numbing quantities of dirty laundry?

 

Well, I am here to tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way. There are many tricks you can employ to make sure that you don’t experience that all-too-familiar post-holiday slump this year. Here are some, in no particular order of importance.

 

·       Don’t make the rookie mistake of coming back the night before you have to rejoin work (and your kids have to get back to school or college). Instead, schedule things so that you have a clear two days at home before normal work resumes. You need this buffer to decompress from the stress of unpacking and getting the house back into order. And you need that time to transition from holiday mode to your workday persona.

 

·       Schedule little treats for yourself and your family for when you come back home after a trip. Yes, the everyday boredom of household chores and work responsibilities will resume with a certain inevitability. But that does not mean that you can’t take an hour or even ten minutes to do something that makes you happy. This could be something as simple as ordering ice-cream for a special treat after dinner or keeping a new book on standby that you can enjoy reading on your first night back in your own bed, so that you have something to look forward to.

 

·       Recreate the best bits of your vacation in the comfort of your own home. Loved the pasta you had in that quaint little restaurant in Liguria? Try and recreate it in your kitchen over the weekend to get a taste of your holiday yet again. Enjoyed the quality time you shared with your children as you went on a road trip through America? Revive those memories by playing the same silly games or blasting the same rock songs in the car as you drive them to school. Missing the connection that you had with your significant other while on a break? Designate one day of the week as date night and try and rekindle that same magic. 

 

The holiday may be over; but there is no reason why you can’t take a break.

 

The media is the message

And a new TV series brings it home with style

 

I don’t know if you will have seen the new Netflix show, Scoop, by the time you read this (and just in case you haven’t I will post no spoilers – though the story it is based on made the headlines decades ago). Having binged on it over the last few days I must confess that rarely have I seen a TV show in which India’s print media is portrayed in a more realistic and balanced manner.

 

So much so that it made me nostalgic for the days when I worked in the newsrooms of yore, where everyone would muck in on getting the magazine or newspaper together, tussle over which stories should be pitched to the editor, what would work best on the front page, edit page or the back of the book, and bicker about everything from new age cinema to who would get to cover the next election rally.

 

It is possible that I am needlessly romanticizing that period of my life but in my recollection it is marked by a sense of common purpose, a camaraderie shot through with competition and a feeling – perhaps misguided – that we were serving some higher purpose as we put together stories on such varied topics as the Rajiv Gandhi assassination, the Harshad Mehta scandal or the IC 814 hijacking.

 

It is that atmosphere that director Hansal Mehta has recreated so beautifully in Scoop. The newsrooms in this series have a certain authenticity to them. There is banter (both good-natured and not), there is staff rivalry along with a sense of collegial noblesse oblige. But every character comes in shades of grey. And the vast spectrum that comprises the Indian media scene is depicted in a nuanced way, all the way from the shouty TV news channels to tabloid newspapers to respected and respectable broadsheets.

 

But for me, the revelation in Scoop was the portrayal of Jagruti Pathak (Karishma Tanna), a character based on real-life reporter, Jigna Vora (the series is based on her book Behind Bars in Byculla). Finally, we have a female journalist who is depicted as a fully-formed human being, a single mother with a young son, and a loving extended family that helps her look after him. Mehta doesn’t feel the need to make Jagruti seem ‘liberated’ by making her spout Hindi gaalis in every second sentence – the default setting of most series on streaming services these days. 

 

The scenes that resonate the most are set in prison, where Jagruti spends eight months as an undertrial, coming up against a system that tries its best to break her, both in body and in spirit. But it’s not just the prison system that is the problem here; the legal system and the police system are just as much to blame. Chargesheets are filed on the basis of no real evidence, court dates keep getting pushed back, legal expenses pile up. In other words, just like in real life, the process is the punishment.

 

I did say in the beginning that I would post no spoilers. But it seems relevant here to point out that while Jagruti’s legal problems are resolved in the series, in real life Jigna Vora could not (or perhaps did not want to) make it back in journalism. Today, she is an astrologer, a tarot card reader and a healer. Which, I guess, is a happy ending of its own kind. 

 

School's out

But are any of the kids really on holiday?

Last week I met a friend with school-going children for coffee. Seeing her look more frazzled than usual, I asked what was worrying her. It’s the school holidays, she confessed. And she was going mad coordinating the different activities that her son and daughter were signed up for. “I can either do my job,” she complained. “Or spend my day ferrying them from one place to another. I can’t do both!”

She is far from unusual in this. Most of the young kids I know spend their summer holidays going from tennis lessons to ballet classes, fitting in the odd tuition for physics or maths in between (“It’s their board year, you know”). And their parents end up going slowly mad trying to keep their children on time for their various ‘summer activities’.

You can call this insane scheduling a lot of things. But what you can’t do is call this a holiday of any kind. 

I can’t help but think back to my own summer holidays with a healthy measure of nostalgia. Now I may have my special rose-tinted, hindsight-enabled glasses on so you must forgive me if I wax eloquent too long. But my memories are full of halcyon afternoons spent lazing in the sunshine doing nothing more strenuous than reading a book. The evenings were for dropping in on friends or inviting them for some snacks and a few silly games that we made up to keep ourselves entertained. The nights were reserved for family time, when we sat on the verandah after dinner and chatted, my grandparents and parents regaling us with anecdotes of their childhood years spent in faraway land now called Pakistan, which we could never visit. 

But my favourite summer vacations were the times I spent in my aunt’s tea estate in Assam. It was here that I was allowed to run completely wild, blissfully free of any supervision as the adults spent their afternoons enjoying a well-earned siesta. As the entire household snoozed, gentle snores emerging from the bedrooms, I would head out to explore. 

Walking through the gardens, I would imagine myself to be a princess who had been imprisoned by a madman in a magic kingdom, thinking up new and inventive ways to free myself from his clutches. Striding further up on a hill, I would pretend I was an explorer who was conquering mountains that had never been climbed before. Exhausted from my exertions I would sneak back into the house, heading straight for the kitchen, where I would fix myself a tall, cold drink which I would sip while swaying gently on a swing installed on a nearby tree, dreaming of all the adventures I would have the next day.

Something tells me that the kids of today will never have this vast expanse of time to explore their surroundings on their own, the space to let their imaginations take flight without being trammelled by a hundred different demands on their days. 

So while I am loath to extrapolate from my own life experiences, I will make an exception in this instance. And the next time summer rolls around I will ask the parents around me to just let their children be. Don’t sign them up for summer camp. Don’t make them learn a new skill. Just grant them the time to be on their own. Give them the gift of leisure. Allow them to create their own fun. 

Let them have a real summer holiday.