Holiday home?

Or travelling the world exploring new destinations? Which one would you choose?  

I have never understood the proclivity of some people to buy second homes – either in the mountains or by the beach – to holiday in every year. I can understand the appeal of familiarity to some extent but the idea of spending every summer/winter in just one place seems a bit limiting to me. When the world is full of so many exciting destinations just waiting to be enjoyed, why would you return to the same place again and again (even if you did have a house in that location)?

 

For me, the idea of a holiday equals adventure, exploration and new experiences. And while I am happy to revisit some cities (London and Bangkok remain perennial favourites) and countries (Italy is one place I could visit three times a year) I am always looking for new horizons to feast my eyes upon. There is a special thrill about landing in an entirely new place where everything seems unfamiliar – sometimes even daunting – and slowly finding your place in that new landscape.

 

When it comes to choosing a holiday destination, everyone has their own special criteria. There are some who love the idea of a beach vacation, where they can loll by the seaside all day, sipping cocktails and occasionally dipping into the water. There are others who love the pristine coolness of the mountains, where the air is crisp and bracing, and there is a special pleasure to be had basking by the fireside at the end of a long day of trekking. Some people like the hustle and bustle of a city, with all the cultural delights – museums, monuments, etc. – it has to offer while others love the idea of checking into a resort in the middle of nowhere and just chilling all day long.

 

Speaking for myself, I have to say that I enjoy every kind of holiday, depending on my mood – and the time of the year. When Delhi is sizzling in the summer months, it seems heavenly to escape to the hills to get a respite from the blazing hot heat of the plains. If I have had a couple of stressful months struggling to meet deadlines then there is nothing better than the prospect of checking into a resort where the most strenuous activity on offer is an aromatherapy massage. When I want a fix of culture then a city break in Europe where I spend all my time traipsing through museums seems just the ticket. And when Delhi is freezing around the New Year, a beach break is exactly what the doctor ordered.

 

As I grow older, though, there is another criterion that has become just as – if not most – crucial as any other when I plan a holiday. Given a choice, I would much rather go to a destination that I can reach with a direct flight. I don’t care if the flight itself is two or twelve hours long; as long as I can board a plane and then get off at my final destination, I am good to go. The very thought of negotiating more than one airport to reach my holiday hotspot is enough to bring me out in hives. And that, you will agree, is not the best way to kickstart a vacation.

 

Can't take the heat?

And can't get out of the kitchen? Here's what to do

 

You must have all heard the saying: “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Alas, that’s not an option available to those of us who still have to feed a family three times a day, no matter how unbearable the Indian summer gets. But wait, don’t get all hot under the collar; help is at hand. And that’s because this week I come armed with tips about how to maximize your results in the kitchen while making the most minimal of efforts. (This is where lesser mortals would make some lame joke about sweating your onions rather than yourself; but I am, of course, above that sort of puerile thing!)

 

So, how do we crack the whole cooking-while-its-cooking-outside puzzle? Well, here are some pointers, honed after years of hard-won experience. 

 

·       Minimize the use of your gas range. It’s hot enough outside, so why make things worse by getting three hobs of your cooking range going at once? Instead try and use other methods of cooking that produce less red-hot heat. Cook your rice in a rice-maker instead of boiling it on the stove, for instance. Bung your chicken curry in the Instapot and let it bubble away for hours rather than stirring it for hours on the gas. Make your fried chicken in the air fryer rather than the stove (it’s much healthier that way, too). Use the microwave rather than the range to reheat.

·       Make the oven your best friend. I don’t mean by baking cakes and cookies. No, I mean by doing most of your cooking in the oven. All you need to do for a delicious tray bake, for instance, is to prep your vegetables (which you can do in air-conditioned comfort on the dining table) and meat. Pre-heat the oven while you’re doing that and then just bung your dish inside, set the timer as recommended, and retire to read a book and savour a drink while your oven does all the hard work. An hour later, when the alarm goes, dinner will be ready.

·       Batch cooking can be your saviour. I know, I know, everyone keeps extolling the virtues of fresh food. But there are some dishes that freeze extremely well, and taste as good (if not better) when you defrost them after a week (or more). If you are making the effort to make a black dal or mutton korma, for instance, double, or even triple, the quantity you are cooking. Eat what you can on that day and freeze the rest, breaking them out on a day when you don’t feel like cooking.

·       Increase your repertoire of uncooked or barely-cooked dishes. There is nothing quite as appetizing in the summer heat than a cooling salad of watermelon and feta, burrata or cottage cheese with a nice olive-oil dressing and lashings of tomatoes and olives, or even just day-old cold grilled chicken teamed with an assortment of leaves and a spot of balsamico. Build up a book of recipes just like these for these hot, hot, hot summer days and you will both eat well and stay cool. Well, as cool as it is possible to stay in an Indian summer!

Holiday styles

No matter what kind of holidaymaker you are, the odds are you are married to the opposite kind

There are probably as many kinds of holiday-makers as there are types of holidays. There are those who like to flop down on a beach and never stir until the sun goes down. And then there are those who can’t get enough of water sports, trying everything from jet skiing to snorkeling to deep-sea diving. There are those who get up early to hit the gym and make sure they get in their required cardio even before the day begins. And then there are those who don’t want any more exercise than that required to pick up their cocktail glass from off the poolside bar.

 

And the funny thing is that, all too often, these two types of people are married to one another. As you can imagine, it makes for an interesting holiday dynamic.

 

In my own case, I am the hyper-organised one, who likes to make lists of everything from what to pack to which monuments to visit. If possible, I like to shortlist a few restaurants in every city. And I read every travel article on my destination so that I know what to expect, look forward to, and yes, avoid. On the contrary, my husband is all for complete spontaneity when we set out on holiday. The only thing he devotes time to is finding a good hotel. But once that’s booked, he would rather leave everything to chance. His idea of a perfect holiday is waking up every morning with no idea of what the day holds, and then deciding what to do depending on our mood. 

 

How, you ask, do we reconcile these two opposing ways to vacation without biting each other’s heads off when we are on holiday. Well, the trick is to meet each other half-way. The way we compromise is that I get to structure one part of the vacation and he gets to do his spontaneous stuff on the other. And that formula seems to have worked so far. 

 

We are lucky in that neither of us likes to shop or even window shop. But I know plenty of couples where one party likes to spend hours browsing the local markets, while the other gets spectacularly bored. And for them, I can only suggest that they take some time off from each other and indulge in their own thing without imposing their choices on their partner. 

 

One of my friends, for instance, is always despairing of the fact that her husband’s idea of a holiday is flopping down on his hotel bed and only leaving the room to go for massages in the spa. After berating and hectoring him for many years, she has finally made the (eminently sensible) decision of going off on her museum visits on her own instead of dragging a recalcitrant spouse along. That way, they can meet for dinner after a day well-spent and enjoy each other’s company. Which wouldn’t have been an option if they had been bickering all day long.

 

So, if you are a dedicated sunbather stuck with a devoted sightseer (or vice versa) you know what to do. Carve out time for each of you to do your own thing. And then, come back together refreshed and ready for a reunion. That way, you will enjoy both the holiday and each other better. 

 

Travelling light

Never mind what to take on holiday; here's what you should leave behind 

Whenever the summer holidays roll along , magazines and newspapers are quick to run the now almost-mandatory pieces about what you should pack when you head out on vacation. 

Well, this week I am taking a very different tack to that. I am going to make a list of all the things you definitely do not need to pack when you are heading out for a summer holiday, based on the many packing mistakes I have made over the years. So here’s a short list of all the stuff you definitely need to leave behind when you head out to have a good time. 

• You absolutely do not need two coats/jackets even if you are heading to a cold climate. Just pick one that can do double duty for both day and night (black, red or any neutral shade will do). And if you can carry it along with you on the plane you can save precious space in your suitcase. 

• I have been guilty of this on many an occasion but believe me you do not need to carry your entire hair paraphernalia with you on vacation. Your hair will benefit from using a different shampoo and conditioner (it prevents build-up of product on your hair) and a good hotel will provide a hairdryer as well. Just carry your mousse/spray and you are all set (see what I did there?).

• Wear your bulkiest pair of shoes/boots while travelling (another great space-saving trick) and pack your evening sandals/heels. But only one pair, mind you. You don’t need anything more than that no matter how many fancy dinners you have booked. 

• You may absolutely love a certain top or pair of trousers but unless you can mix and match them with several other pieces in your packing list then you must harden your heart and leave them behind. Every outfit in your suitcase absolutely has to earn its place. 

• Are you thinking that your vacation would be the perfect time to read that big fat book that has been languishing on your nightstand for months? Maybe it will. But the odds are that you will be having too much fun to even open it. Much better to leave that weighty tome behind and load whatever you want to read on your Kindle instead. 

• Even if you are the most finicky of dressers, you really don’t need to cart a portable iron or steamer along with you. Most hotels have an ironing board and iron in the room — or available on demand; as are steamers. Though in my experience if you unpack as soon you arrive and hang up all your clothes in the wardrobe the creases will have miraculously fallen away by the time you are ready to get dressed the next morning. 

• And ladies, last but not least, it is not necessary to carry your entire make-up kit and face care potions along. Pare it down to one or two lipsticks, one moisturising foundation, one blusher, an eye pencil or eyeliner, mascara and a nourishing night cream. Just add a bottle of SPF 50 sunscreen and you are good to go. Happy holidays everyone!

Summer reading

 Here are just some of my recommendations

It’s that time of year again. The summer holidays are finally upon us. And that means it’s time for my annual ritual of sharing my summer reading list with you. Here, in no particular order, are some books that I have enjoyed over the last few months — and which you might like as well.

Marble Hall Murders by Anthony Horowitz 

I have been a fan of the Atticus Pund novels and Horowitz’s ability to tell a story within a story without confusing the hell out of his readers. This, the latest in the series, is set in London and the South of France, and revolves around the death of a matriarch written by a disturbed writer who may be cannibalising the story of his own famous family for the plot. Horowitz has made the cosy crime genre his own — and this may be his best effort yet. 

When The Going Was Good by Graydon Carter

I am old enough to remember a time when magazines were where it was at. And at the centre of that world was the foppish figure of Graydon Carter, the now-legendary editor of Vanity Fair. In this memoir, he tells us the stories behind the stories that appeared in VF. And in examining his life, he brings the media world of that period to life as well. 

Karla’s Choice by Nick Harkaway

It’s a brave son who takes on the legacy of a famous father — and manages to do him proud. But that is exactly what John Le Carre’s son, Nick Harkaway, has done in this book that revives the much-loved character of George Smiley. Set in the time period between The Spy Who Came In From The Cold and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, the story revolves around a Soviet spy whose cover is blown after an assassin sent by Moscow tries to kill him. The plotline, the writing, the slow build-up, and of course the comeback of Smiley, all hark back to the glory days of John Le Carre. A true triumph. 

Delizia by John Dickie

Readers of this column will be well aware of my love for all things Italian. But even if you don’t share that love, you will enjoy this book if you are a lover of Italian staples like pasta, pizza and tiramisu. And you will be intrigued to learn that some traditional Italian recipes are not in fact traditional at all, but of relatively recent origin 

Miss Austen by Gill Hornby

I came to this book rather later, and rather shamefully, via a story about the recent dramatisation of the novel on the BBC. Sadly, the TV series has yet to be released in India but until then you can gorge on this gorgeous book. The Miss Austen of the title is not Jane, the novelist, but her elder sister, Cassandra. At the end of her life now, Cassandra is determined to preserve her sister’s legacy by finding all the letters she wrote to a friend and destroying those that portray Jane in a less than flattering flight. The recreation of the Austen universe is a joy to behold and the real-life parallels with Jane’s life are hard to miss. A treat for all Austen fans. 

Who's arguing?

Certainly not the Clooneys; they seem to agree on entirely everything 

In case you missed the happy news, I am delighted to inform you that George Clooney is blessed with such a fine marriage that in more than a decade he has never had an argument with his lovely wife, Amal. Yes, you read that right. In more than ten years of wedded bliss, the Clooneys have never found a single thing that they could argue about. Sounds incredible, doesn’t it? And did you say, also a little enviable?

 

Well, if you ask me, it’s incredible all right – as in hard to believe – but enviable? I think not.

 

There are some unkind souls who have suggested that the reason George has never argued with Amal is because she is a world-renowned human rights lawyer. And he knows he wouldn’t be in with a chance if he matched his wits against a woman who has honed her argumentative skills in law courts across the world. And if that is the case, then I have to doff my cap to him; rare is the man who knows his own limitations and learns to live within them. So full marks to George for this insight into the dynamics of his marriage. 

 

But honestly, I can’t think of a more boring relationship than one in which neither party ever disagrees or argues with one another. Some of my most interesting ideas have been sparked by arguments with my husband and I know that the same is true of him as well. And there is something to be said for the cathartic effect of a proper to-do which can clear the air that is festering with the scent of disagreement and discontent.

 

Ask any psychologist or psychotherapist and they will tell you that the absence of argument doesn’t denote a healthy relationship. On the contrary, it points to a relationship which is problematic on several scores. 

 

First off, the lack of argument may denote an imbalance of power. One partner may have all the power in that equation so much so that the other doesn’t dare express a contrary opinion, let alone fight for it. And any relationship that is based on fear is unhealthy in the extreme. 

 

The absence of argument may also stem from the fact that one or the other partner is scared of conflict. So rather than address an issue that crops up they would rather avoid it altogether in the hope that it goes away. And this festering discontent simmering just under the surface may eventually lead to the relationship blowing up at some point or another.

 

So, what’s the solution? Well, far be it for me to argue (there’s that pesky word again) that you should spend all your time litigating with your spouse. But there is something to be said for having healthy disagreements where you can discuss your differences logically and calmly without fearing that your partner will blow a fuse or walk out or simply sulk for the rest of the week.

 

Given that no two people – even if they are married – can ever see eye to eye on every issue, it’s best to lay down the ground rules for the arguments that will inevitably break out. One: don’t lose your temper. Two: don’t make personal attacks. Three: agree to disagree. Four: don’t keep harking back to the argument once it’s over.

 

And five: don’t envy the Clooneys.

 

Time hurries on...

Here are just some ways to tell that you are getting old

 

It was while lunching with my closest girlfriends last week that the epiphany first struck me: it’s a sure sign that you are growing old when half your stories begin with the phrase, “Remember when…” Well, at least, that’s the way the conversation tends to go when I sit down for a catch-up with my girl gang. We have been close for more than two decades now and our memories are inextricably wound up in each other just as our lives are closely intertwined. So, yes, meeting up now means reminiscing about our past adventures as much as it does about discussing what the future holds. 

 

I guess that’s what happens when you reach a stage in your life when you have more yesterdays than tomorrows. But thinking about it, I realized that this is not the only sign that age is fast catching up with me. Quite apart from my creaking knees and dodgy back, there are many indications that I am rapidly approaching my dotage. Or should I call that my anecdotage, given the propensity of people of my vintage to repeat stories that others have heard a thousand times before – all because they have forgotten that they ever related them in the first place.

 

For me, one of the first signs of ageing came when FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) was replaced by JOMO (Joy Of Missing Out). There was a time in my youth when I would have been bitterly disappointed not to be invited to some glittering reception, a glitzy fashion show, or even a fancy brunch that all my other friends were attending. Now, I actively look for excuses not to attend even those events that I am invited for. Honestly, it seems such a palaver to get dressed in the evening and put a full face of make-up on when I could be chilling on my sofa, cooking a meal, reading a book, or just hanging out with my husband.

 

Along with JOMO, I am also experiencing what I like to call my DGAD (as in Don’t Give A Damn) years. After spending my childhood and youth being an inveterate people pleaser, I now find myself completely indifferent to what people may think, feel, or say about me. And that applies equally to real life as it does to social media. So, no more trying to explain my point of view to friends, to defend myself against gossip and innuendo and certainly, no arguing with strangers on the Internet. What others think about me (or the state of the world) is entirely their business, not mine.

 

One sure sign that you are growing old – or even just older – is the thinning of the ranks around you. It’s not just that parents and aunts and uncles pass away, leaving you in the awkward position of being among the family elders. You also end up losing friends – some to disease and death; others to misunderstandings and quarrels; and some others to geographical (and then emotional) distance. But while some attrition is inevitable as the years go by, the flip side is that every surviving relationship gets even stronger as a consequence.

 

They say growing old is not for the faint of heart; it involves guts and gore. But, honestly, it’s not so bad when you consider the alternative.

 

The tastes of childhood

They persist even when you are all grown up...

They say that your tastebuds are formed in childhood. That it is the tastes you were weaned on that are the ones that remain your favourites no matter how old you get. 

That is certainly true in my case. I only started eating meat in my mid-twenties when I met my now-husband. And while I enjoy a kakori kebab and a mutton biryani as much as the next person, given a choice I will still choose a vegetarian dish when I eat out. That’s the taste I grew up with; and that’s the taste I go back to every time, despite the occasional experiment with a prawn balchao or a pork sausage. 

More specifically my taste buds were formed in Calcutta (as it was called then) and those are the tastes I still hanker for. Give me a bag of jhaal muri or a helping of puchchkas and I get absolutely delirious with joy. I love a ghee-soaked khichdi along with some aloo posto. And whenever I am craving comfort those are the dishes I fall back on. (The choco-bars of my early years have now become Magnum classics — but they remain the taste of childhood to me.)

But thinking about it the other day, I realised that it’s not just your taste buds that are formed in your childhood. Some habits are also hard wired into you from the time when you were growing up. And these formative experiences form the basis of your adult life, even though you might be unaware of it on a conscious level. 

Take my love of gardens and parks, which I have written about often in this column. It can’t be a coincidence that I spent my childhood making regular visits to the Botanical Gardens in Calcutta. Almost every other weekend would be spent picnicking on the grounds in the shade of the giant banyan tree with family and friends. I am pretty sure it is those childhood memories that are imprinted on my mind which make me such a regular at Sunder Nursery or Lodi Garden or — for that matter — in any park in a city I happen to visit. There is nothing I love more than losing myself amidst the foliage, marvelling at the trees and revelling in bird song. 

My reading tastes are also a holdover from my growing years. Whenever I am looking for a comfort read I head straight for my childhood favourites like Agatha Christie, Georgette Heyer or Jane Austen. Murder mysteries — and by extension, spy thrillers — are my go-to reads even now. And I love period dramas set in the English countryside, preferring them over more contemporaneous stories. So yes, my favourite kind of book is a murder mystery set in an English stately home. And of course, my favourite series are those like Downton Abbey which faithfully recreate that period. 

And then, there is my habit of reading myself to sleep. No matter how tired I may be, no matter how long the day has been, it never truly ends for me until I have spent half an hour reading under the covers. My inner child still needs that bedtime ritual to fall asleep. 

Going it alone

Don't let your solitary state stop you from doing all the things you enjoy

I have ever so often, in this very column, made the case for going out to eat alone. I do this all the time and I can’t recommend it enough. It gives you time to people watch. You can simply sit with your thoughts. It means you eat at your own pace. And the best part is that even though you are alone you are enjoying your meal with someone you love. 

But when I was thinking about this on one of my solo lunches it occurred to me that there are many things that we — especially women — are wary (or just shy) of doing on our own. And it would benefit us all — men included — if we could normalise doing these activities alone. 

Here are just a few examples. 

• Going on holiday. It always irks me that single travellers are asked to join a group of strangers or some like-minded friends when they are planning a holiday. What on earth is wrong about heading out to explore the world on your own? I’ll tell you what: nothing! There is something so liberating about venturing out on a solo vacation with no thought of pleasing anyone other than yourself. Want to spend the morning lazing in the sunshine in the park. Go ahead, treat yourself. Wish to spend hours trekking around museums looking at Renaissance paintings? Knock yourself out. Feel like treating yourself to a play? Book that ticket now. 

• Going to see a movie. For some reason most people are leery about going to the cinema — or to a play or music concert, for that matter — on their own. I guess their fear is that they will look like sad little weirdos who don’t have any friends or partners to enjoy the experience with. Well, allow me to let you in on a secret. Nobody at the movie/play/concert is paying any attention to you or sparing a single thought as to why you are alone. They are simply there to enjoy themselves. As are you — so what are you waiting for?

• Attending an event. This is the one that people find the most tricky. The thought of turning up to a party, a wedding, an exhibition, a red-carpet event or even a fashion show seems to strike terror in most hearts. Making a solo entry strikes most people as being an awkward business. And imagine having to then stand around with a drink in your hand with no one else to talk to? Well, the truth is that you don’t need to do that. Have that drink by all means but mingle with the other guests. Introduce yourself. Join in conversations. And before long, you will find your own tribe. 

So don’t let your solitary state stop you from doing things you enjoy. Book that spa vacation you’ve been dreaming about. Head out for a walk or a yoga class on your own. Once you learn to enjoy your own company, you will never ever be truly lonely — even if you are alone. 

Fasting, feasting

Without worrying about what was on the plates of our neighbours  

I write this column on the first day of the nine-day period of Navratri, a festival that has always had special resonance for me and my family. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember a time when we began the Navratras (as we Punjabis tend to call them) by policing the streets to check if meat was being sold in the shops. Nor did we ever worry about our Bengali neighbours (this was in what was then called Calcutta) eating fish or mutton during this period. 

 

For us, Navratri never meant keeping a watch on what other people were selling, buying or consuming. No, in our family, it meant a joyous celebration of Ma Durga, as we fasted during the day and congregated in our family pooja room in the evenings to sing bhajans (tunelessly, I must concede) and eat the delicious prasad that my mom made every day. It was a time when the entire family came together to worship at the altar of the Goddess. And the only thing we were concerned about was our prayers being accepted; not what was on the dinner menu of our non-vegetarian friends.

 

I still remember the excitement with which all of us children gathered around my mother and grandmother as they sowed the wheatgrass – called Khetri – which was supposed to symbolize the Goddess Durga. We vied with one another to help in the process and would begin every day by running to the pooja room to see how high it had grown overnight. My mom and aunt had a running competition to see whose Khetri flourished the most; and I am happy to report that my mother won resoundingly most years. 

 

While the adults held proper fasts which entailed eating just one meal a day, us kids had a special dispensation to eat both lunch and dinner, but with no wheat or rice allowed. We didn’t really mind because my mother was a genius at creating tasty variations using kattoo ka aata (which was allowed during Navratri). So, we had aloo parathas made with it on one day, perfectly puffed pooris with arbi ki sabzi on another. And as a special treat, in the evenings, my mother would make aloo pakoras using this atta, which were so delicious that our friends would find some excuse to drop by so that they could gorge on them as well. 

 

The grand finale came on Ashtami, when the fasting came to an end and we celebrated Kanjak Day by inviting all the little girls in the neighbourhood to our home for a special pooja. The Kanjaks would be made to line up while my grandfather washed their feet with water. Then they would enter the pooja room, where they would be worshipped as if they were incarnations of Ma Durga herself, and given token presents to take home with them.

 

For us kids, though, the highlight of the day was the kala channa and puris that were served alongside some atta halwa as prasad. After more than a week of (so-called) fasting, we fell upon this repast as if it was ambrosia from heaven – and believe me, it tasted exactly like that. 

 

And no, we didn’t worry if our neighbours were eating chicken as we chowed down, either…

 

Red letter day

Nothing equals the old-fashioned pleasure of receiving a physical letter

Last week, having tired of the endless police procedurals on every streaming service, I decided to retreat into the cozy world of Downtown Abbey. There was something so ineffably relaxing about the plush interiors, the verdant exteriors, the sumptuous costumes, and the sparkling dialogue that I had soon speeded through two whole seasons. 

 

But the one scene that stuck with me through my binge-watching was when the servants below stairs gathered around as the letters that arrived that morning were distributed to them. Those who recognized the handwriting on the envelopes were wreathed in smiles of anticipation; those who got an unexpected missive were giddy with excitement; and those who didn’t receive a single letter were crushed with the weight of their disappointment.

 

That one scene transported me back to my own childhood, when writing and receiving letters had such a peculiar joy of its own. I used to long for letters sent by my aunt (my mother’s elder sister) from her tea garden in Assam. Reading her letters transported me from my childhood bedroom to the green hillsides of Assam – where the tea pickers were hard at work collecting two leaves and a bud – so effectively that I could almost smell the distinctive smell of leaves being transformed into tea in the factory.

 

The other high point of my life used to be the weekly letters that would arrive from my aunt (my father’s younger sister) in London. These came tinged with the romance of a faraway country that I had yet to visit, though I felt that I knew it well anyway, thanks to my copious reading of Enid Blyton books. But my aunt’s London went beyond boarding schools, midnight feasts, scones and clotted cream. Those letters were my first window into the delights of punting in Cambridge, watching a play at Stratford-Upon-Avon, or just enjoying an ice lolly in a London park – all of which I longed to do once I was all grown up (spoiler alert: I did!)

 

Letters for me were a portal into another world. My uncle (my mother’s youngest brother), who had just been commissioned into the army, was one of my first correspondents. I would laboriously fill two pages of all that I had accomplished in school that week and send it off to him. And then I would wait impatiently for his reply to arrive, replete with details of his training regimen, his mess arrangements, and all the new friends he was making in his regiment.

As I grew older, my letter writing was extended beyond the family. During the holidays, my friends and I would write to each other, describing how we were spending our vacations. When I went on holiday with my family, I would write to my friends in the neighbourhood, keeping them abreast of all my adventures. And in my teenage years, I even acquired a pen pal (remember those?) in Germany, whose letters I found endlessly fascinating.

 

Which is why I can’t help but feel sorry for the young people of today who will never know the raw, unadulterated pleasure of having a letter delivered into your post-box at home, which transports you immediately into an entirely different universe. We are probably the last generation to enjoy that privilege. And more’s the pity!

Phone down!

A digital detox is the need of the hour

What is the first thing you do when you get up in the morning? If you are anything like me you reach out for your phone to put off the alarm. And then, instead of putting it straight back down and heading for the bathroom to brush your teeth, you start scrolling. 

You take a look at X — what we still think of as Twitter — to see what news has broken overnight. You check into Instagram to see how many likes your post has garnered. You take a quick peek at your favourite news sites. You open your mail to see if anything needs replying urgently. And only then do you start your morning routine. 

Well, for me at least, this is going to change from this week forward. I have been convinced for a while that I need to reduce my dependence on my phone and conduct some sort of digital detox. I need to control my phone usage before my phone starts controlling me. And these are just some of the measures I intend to take. 

• No scrolling on the phone for at least an hour after I wake up. I will still use the phone alarm. But once I have put it off I will put the phone down and not pick it up again until I have finished my breakfast. Instead, I will read the newspapers, chat with my husband, and think about the day ahead without any digital distraction. 

• Leaving my phone behind when I head out for my daily walk. Instead of listening to music, podcasts or audiobooks, I will focus on my surroundings instead. Listening to birdsong, appreciating the beauty of spring flowers, watching peacocks frolic in the shade, eavesdropping on interesting conversations taking place around me. That sounds like a good plan to me. 

• A phone detox also means getting over my compulsive need to photograph everything that strikes me as unusual, beautiful or interesting. Instead of photographing every sunset, clicking every meal that I have ever eaten, chronicling every amazing view I see on my travels, I will focus on being present in the moment. Savouring the experience in real time makes more sense than recording it in your photo gallery, which you will probably never look at later. 

• Resisting the impulse to respond to every WhatsApp message and reply to every email the moment they pop up on my phone. Instead, I will carve out an hour every morning and evening to respond to messages. And refuse to engage with anyone digitally outside of that time period. 

• Move to reading physical books to put myself to sleep rather than rely on the Kindle app on my phone. While I enjoy reading e-books (none of that physical-books-only snobbery for me) the temptation to skip out of the app and check out social media sites on my phone is often too strong to resist. So, it’s best to let it rest on the nightstand while I lose myself in the pages of a ‘real’ book. Wish me luck!

The rich are different

And The White Lotus doesn't always get them right

Like most of the world I have been hooked on the third season of The White Lotus. But with one added attraction: having stayed at the Four Seasons Koh Samui (where  the show is mainly set) I take particular pleasure in identifying familiar locations. For instance, the villa I stayed in with my husband is featured as is the restaurant where we ate most of our meals. 

But as I watched the third episode of the third series I couldn’t help but reflect on all that series gets wrong about luxury properties like these and the people who holiday in them. 

First up, no millionaire — or more accurately, billionaire — would dream of arriving at a resort like this in a communal boat that he or she has to share with other guests. The one thing money buys in these quarters is absolute privacy. So, if there wasn’t a private plane in the mix there would most certainly be a private boat for transfer to the hotel. 

I guess it is important when it comes to advancing the plot to make the guests gather around the main swimming pool where they can interact with and irritate one another. But in my experience, the main swimming pool in properties such as those featured in The White Lotus tends to remain empty because all the guests are living in villas that have their own private pools. And they would not dream of venturing forth to share a swimming pool with strangers when they could be happily skinny dipping in complete privacy. 

One of the more jarring inconsistencies revolves around the character of Belinda, the spa manager who features in the first season and makes a reappearance in this one. Even though she is a member of staff and is only here for training purposes, she gets to stay in a guest villa rather than in staff quarters — which would never happen in real life. And what’s more, she also gets to eat in the restaurants (again an absolute no-no for staff members) with other paying customers. I guess that was the only way to ensure she bumps into a character from a previous season (don’t worry; no spoilers here) to potentially blow his cover. But nonetheless the inconsistency jars given the strict no-fraternisation-with-guests policy in most such resorts. 

What the show does get right is how loath guests at these hotels are to interact with one another. There is an excruciating scene where one female character reminds the other that they met at a baby shower some years ago only to met with steely indifference and a studied lack of recognition. And the resident Lothario at the property spends all his time getting snubbed by the women he tries to hit on. 

But I guess when it comes to shows like The White Lotus, they are not looking for verisimilitude. Instead they are offering us the chance to escape into a world that bears no relation to our day-to-day reality. The truth, however, is that our escapist fare is the reality of the .01 per cent who populate resorts like The White Lotus. And that’s what makes shows like this so fascinating, despite the minor discrepancies. 

The Big Fat Indian Wedding

 It's easy to scoff at it; but if you play it right, it can be great fun!

I know that it is fashionable among certain quarters to scoff at The Big Fat Wedding. So many functions, so many outfit changes, so much jewellery, and so many kinds of cuisines laid on for the delectation of the guests. Not to mention that it costs so much money — the kind that many people can’t afford and go bankrupt as they pretend that they do. 

All of this is probably true but if you are attending as a guest there is also so much fun to be had. I particularly enjoy people watching, gawking at the outfits and jewels on display, marvelling at the inventive decor, and of course, stuffing my face at the buffet tables.

But much as I enjoy playing dress up and attending weddings there is no denying that they can be a tiring business even if you are not the bride or groom (or the immediate family). So, as the wedding season looms large, here are some tips on how to survive it without losing your mind, wrecking your body and emptying your bank balance. 

• Choose your invitations wisely. If a wedding has four or five functions there is no obligation to attend each and every one (unless the wedding is hosted by very close family). So pick a function or two where the guest list is smaller than the others — think mehendi rather than reception — and make your appearance there. Trust me, the hosts won’t even notice your absence at an event where they have invited thousands. 

• Don’t be afraid to recycle your outfits. Just because you remember that you wore that lengha to your first cousin’s wedding three years ago doesn’t mean that anyone else does. In fact, you would be surprised how little people remember of what you wore to weddings over the years. So, don’t be shy to re-wear your favourite outfits. And that goes for jewellery as well. 

• If you must have new outfits then the environmentally sound choice is, of course, to rent rather than buy. This trend has taken off in the West but it is still to establish itself properly in India. But there are some rental sites that you can use. Try their services in advance to make sure they won’t let down on the nights in question. 

• If renting doesn’t ring your bell, then form a little group with your girlfriends and cousins who are roughly the same size and have the same taste. And when your wedding invites don’t overlap you can borrow each other’s stuff and go forth in completely new outfits and jewellery at zero cost with nobody being any the wiser. 

• Invest in a pair of comfortable platform shoes with not too high a heel. This is a crucial purchase that will take you through the wedding season without wrecking your knees and back. And as a bonus, you will be able to dance the night away with no pain. 

• And — I can’t stress this enough — eat a small, healthy snack before you head out to join the festivities. Not only is it a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach, it will also make it easy to resist the temptation of all those deep-fried canapés!

Take a break!

No matter how busy you are take some time out for yourself every day

It was my mother who first modelled self-care to me — even though I was too young at that time to recognise it for what it was. We lived in a joint family with my grandparents and running a household of seven people with minimal help was a full-time job for her. But in the midst of all that chaos, my mother still found ways to carve out some time for herself. 

For one thing, she would wake up every morning around 3 am when the rest of the household was asleep. She would have a long leisurely bath, she would do her (very elaborate) puja, she would make a cup of tea for herself. And then, having had some quality time to herself, she would slip back into bed until it was time to wake everyone up and start another long day. 

She also had another daily ritual, which was totally immutable. After she had made lunch, made sure everyone was fed, and that the kitchen was clean, at exactly 2 pm she would retire to her room and lock the door. I never knew what she did in there. She could have been reading a book. She could have been taking a nap. All she would say is that she was not to be disturbed until 4 pm when she would unlock the door and emerge to organise evening tea for the family. 

Even as a child I realised that this time was sacrosanct to her. And that I should not intrude on her in these two hours on pain of death (or, even, if I was actually dying!). This was her me-time — not that we used that phrase in those days — and all of us needed to respect that. And that, we certainly did. 

Those early lessons in self-care left me with a life-long insistence on making time for myself no matter how busy my life got. When I was editing the features section of a newspaper and had long days at work, I would always take an hour out for lunch. I didn’t go out to eat every day, but I did ensure that nobody disturbed me even if I was just eating a sandwich on my desk and decompressing with a book. When I was working on my first novel, Race Course Road, and had tight deadlines to meet, I would always knock off work at around 4 pm to take a walk. It could be just around the neighbourhood or I would venture to Sunder Nursery or Lodi Gardens to let both my legs and my mind wander. That break, in retrospect, was critical in ensuring that I didn’t get overwhelmed by the enormity of the task I had embarked on. 

When it comes to self-care, though, it’s the quality of time that matters not the quantity. Even taking 15 minutes off in the course of the day to listen to music, do the crossword, try your hand at the day’s Wordle, or just make yourself of a cup of coffee which you sip at leisure, makes you feel less stressed. 

Taking a break makes sure that you don’t break. Don’t take my word for it, though. Try it for yourself and see what a difference it makes.