Broke up?

It's not over till it's over on Instagram

In the olden times when a couple —married or otherwise — broke up it was hard to tell. So you had these embarrassing moments when you ran into an old friend at a party and cheerily asked about his or her partner. Cue, awkward silence. Actually, the sheepish response would come, we are no longer together. Cue, more awkward silence. Then you made a few embarrassed remarks and quickly moved on to spread the word so that nobody else in the party had to undergo the same excruciating experience. 

Well, those days are long gone. Now we live in a hyper connected world in which everyone is on social media curating a feed of their lives minute to minute. So, it’s become far more easy to tell if a couple is on the uppers — or have actually split — if you only monitor their social media feeds (and which one of us can say, with complete honesty, that we are not social media stalkers?). 

The first sign comes when the until-now ‘happy couple’ stop posting about each other on their stories. The next thing to look for is when all photos of the erstwhile partner begin disappearing off the grid. And as if that is not enough to tell the ending of this love story, then final confirmation comes when the erstwhile partners stop following each other on Instagram. 

There are some who content themselves with this, thinking that the message will go through to their friends and followers. But there are others who take this a step further, posting cryptic posts about hurt and healing, how things that don’t kill you make you stronger, and my particular favourite, how it’s better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all. 

If the couple is high profile enough well then obviously this change in their status merits the release of a personal statement. If the breakup is amicable this is issued jointly and in general consists of harmless platitudes about how this particular journey may have come to an end but they will now move on apart with love and affection for one another. And that they and their family should be granted the gift of privacy to recover at this difficult time. If the break up is anything but amicable then you get two separate statements, both dripping with hurt and angst. And reading between the lines it is not hard to tell who the injured party is in this instance.

Of course, not everyone takes the high road on social media. There are some who announce that an old relationship is over by simply posting pictures of themselves with their new partners without a word of explanation, leaving us to work out how the land lies. And then there are those who make calculated digs at their exes without naming them — even though the reference to them is absolutely clear in the context. 

I guess in a world where everyone has a microphone at their disposal it’s up to every single person to decide how they want to navigate the end of a relationship. But there is something to be said for the dignified silence of yesteryear even though it led to the odd embarrassing situation at parties and the like. 

Bin it!

Not so fast! Make so and mend still makes sense in this age of disposable fashion

I always look forward to this time of the year because I can finally pull out my winter wardrobe and give it an airing before I mothball it away in a couple of months. This year, though, I was dejected to find that my favourite pair of black suede boots had lost their soles. After my initial disappointment, I told myself not to be so silly. I could always find a good cobbler who would re-sole them and then I would get another few years’ wear out of them.

 

Well, easier said than done. I looked high and low in my neighbourhood, then extended the search further outward, but I couldn’t find a single cobbler who could repair my boots. I even ventured into slightly upmarket shoe stores to ask if they could do the repair – or at least suggest someone who could – but with no luck. Repairing soles, apparently, was now a lost art. Or at the very least, not worth the bother.

 

I guess I should have known better. Sadly, we seem to live in an age of disposable fashion – in fact, disposable everything. So, if a dress gets a tear then you are meant to throw it away. Socks with a hole are not darned but discarded. If the steam iron stops working for some reason, it is easier to just go out and buy another rather than find someone to fix it. Glass bottles of Coke or Limca are just thrown into the garbage rather than sent back to the shop for recycling.

 

What a pity that is! Growing up, I was surrounded by a culture in which make do and mend, recycle and reuse were not just empty slogans but mantras that we actually lived by. School shoes were mended if they broke until you finally grew out of them. Cold drink bottles were carefully stored after we finished and returned to the store to get the deposit back. If clothes got too worn out they would be repurposed as dusters or sewn together with an elegant kantha stitch to make bedcovers or dohars. And every plastic bottle or container that came in was used to store everything from spices in the kitchen to extra buttons and threads in each colour to repair clothes.

 

Those days are long gone. Now, we live in a culture that treats everything as disposable. The durrie in your living room has unravelled? Don’t bother with repairing it; just chuck it out and get another. Your cashmere sweater had a hole in it? Never mind about doing a spot of ‘raffoo’; just get rid of it and buy a replacement. Your favourite boots have lost their soles? Never mind trying to fix them; just throw them out…

 

Well, hang on a minute. I am not so sure that I want to go down that path. As far as my boots go, I haven’t given up hope as yet. I am still holding out for a miracle worker who can fix what is essentially a minor problem, and return them to a state in which I can enjoy them for another decade. 

 

After all, these boots were made for walking; and I am not ready to walk away from them just yet.

 

The taste of winter

The pollution may have destroyed the Delhi winter; but there are still some treats to enjoy

There was a time when I used to be ecstatic at the thought of the approaching Delhi winter. There were bonfires to organize on cold evenings, sunny afternoon brunches to attend, picnics to enjoy with family and friends. Walks in the gentle afternoon sun were a particular delight. And there was something particularly life-affirming about getting up on a chilly morning and sipping a steaming cup of coffee while watching the mist clear.

 

Those days are long gone. Now I dread the arrival of winter because it is the season when pollution levels in the capital reach stratospheric levels. And instead of heading out to enjoy the great outdoors, I have to hunker down in my room with two air-purifiers on at full blast to make sure that my asthma doesn’t get triggered by the foul air. The smog outside lasts through the day with the sun barely managing to peek through, and heading out for even a brief period seems like a punishment rather than a pleasure.

 

So, are there any joys left of a Delhi winter? Well, since you ask, the only thing that makes the season worth its while is the food. I have always been a great believer in seasonal eating and this is the time when my perennial favourites hit the market. Here, in no particular order of importance, are just some of them:

 

·       Sarson da Saag: It is always a momentous occasion in my household when I make my first sarson da saag of the season. It requires copious quantities of ghee and ginger; lashings of the creamiest white butter; leavened with the heat of some dried red chillies in the tarka. The makki di roti that accompanies it is softened with some grated mooli and gobhi in the dough. And it’s served up with some good old-fashioned gur. I usually make enough saag to last us a week; and then, I just rinse and repeat until the sarson season is over.

·       Alu Methi: If I had to choose a favourite vegetable, it would be methi, without a doubt. And there is no denying that alu and methi is a match made in heaven: the plump softness of the potato takes on the slightly bitter edge of the methi to create an earthy dish that is truly satisfying in the bitter cold.

·       Bathua: Some people like making a saag of this leafy vegetable, but I like it best in a creamy raita. Just boil the leaves with a pinch of salt until tender, squeeze the excess water out, add it to some salted dahi with a dash of red chilli and freshly roasted and ground cumin (onions are strictly optional). 

·       Moongphali and santara: There is something magical about sitting in the winter sun – no matter how weak it is! – and slowly unfurling an orange from its peel, removing the strings until its glistening core is revealed, and then popping every segment into the mouth where it explodes like a flavour bomb. Every mouthful of orange should ideally be alternated with a handful of freshly-shelled peanuts roasted in sand so that they have a salty edge to them. That mixture of sweet and salty is, for me, the taste of a Delhi winter.

 

There are no rules...

At the airport, where all norms of civilised behaviour seem to collapse

 

I was on my way back from my New Year break when it first hit me. Arriving at the airport at the unearthly hour of 6 am to take a flight back to Delhi, sleepy and bleary-eyed (I never can sleep when I know I have to wake up early in the morning), all I wanted was a nice cup of coffee to jolt me into consciousness. But as I walked to the coffee counter at the lounge, I realized to my horror that some of my fellow passengers were indulging in an entirely different kind of tipple. Some of them were cracking open cans of beers, others were pouring themselves glasses of wine (or was it champagne?) while some others were hitting the vodka and gin. At 6 in the morning!

 

That’s when the realization hit me: when you are at the airport, anything goes. The normal rules and regulations of civilized behavior no longer exist, and everyone does pretty much what they want. So, if they want to anesthetize themselves with alcohol early in the morning before they get on to their flight (presumably so that they can knock themselves into senseless slumber once they are on board) then that’s what they will do, without thought of being judged (and being found wanting).

 

But untimely drinking is just the tip of the iceberg. If you have spent any time at all in airports recently – and I am sure that most of you have – then you will know that this dismissal of rules extends far beyond the choice of beverage. Most of us would not want to be caught dead in our pyjamas in a shopping mall or in a neighbourhood park. But I have lost count of the number of people who turn up to the check-in counter wearing what can only be described as sleepwear. I know that the days when air travel was a glamorous activity that people dressed up for are long over. But even so, this seems to be taking the “being comfy on the plane” thing a bit too far.

 

You could argue, though, that how you dress does not really impact your fellow travellers, except at a purely aesthetic level. But what does destroy the peace is the propensity of people to have loud conversations on Facetime without the benefit of earphones at the airport. And don’t even get me started on those people who watch videos on their phones and ipads or play games on top volume and look outraged when you suggest that they use their earphones. 

 

What accounts for this complete lack of civic sense? Do we feel that when we enter an airport, we are entering some sort of other-worldly portal between two cities, a place where the norms of civilized behavior can be thrown abroad without any fear of judgement or retribution? Do we believe that because we are surrounded by strangers and people who we will never see again in our lives, we are not required to present our best selves to them? Or is it that we feel so untethered from our daily lives at the airport, that we have come to believe that anything goes while we are there?

 

I really don’t know what the correct answer is. But I still think it’s worth asking the question.

 

My to-do list for 2025

Here are just some things I hope to accomplish this year

If the end of a year is when you are meant to pause and take stock of your life then the start of a new year should be about new beginnings, right? It is in that spirit that I have decided that 2025 will be the year when I will begin to do things that I have so far found rather intimidating. I will probably fail at some, succeed at others, but I feel that it is the trying that truly matters. 

So here, in no particular order of importance are some of the things on my 2025 to-do list. 

• Learning to cook Japanese food. I have loved Japanese food ever since I first tried it in Bangkok some three decades ago. But even though I have tried my hand at various world cuisines (Italian, Spanish, Thai, Burmese, Vietnamese) with varying degrees of success, somehow I have always been a bit scared of cooking Japanese food. I am still a bit intimidated by the thought of handling raw fish (that’s what comes of being reared as a vegetarian) but I am determined to give some Japanese dishes a go this year. I may start with some pork katsu and ramen and then take it from there. 

• Signing up for Sanskrit lessons. I have always been vaguely ashamed of the fact that I am the first generation in my family who does not speak, read, write or understand Sanskrit. My father, grandfather and several generations before were well versed in this language. But all I can boast of is knowing a few mantras by heart, whose meaning has been drilled into me from childhood. But beyond that, my knowledge of Sanskrit is zilch. Well, this year — fingers crossed — that is going to change. 

• Going for a trekking holiday. I’ll be honest; I have always found mountains to be rather intimidating. I regard all those who think nothing of trekking up heights with a certain degree of awe tinged with a hint of envy — because honestly I don’t think my fitness levels are up to it (not to mention that my asthma gets triggered at high altitudes). But for years I have felt that I am missing out of something so this year I am going to summon up my courage and book a trekking holiday. And with luck, this will not be a hill I die on!

• Finally cracking the swimming thing. I have tried to learn swimming many times before. I gave it a go as a child but it didn’t quite take. As an adult I had a friend try to teach me — but it was in vain. When I moved to Delhi, a cousin took pity on me and gave me lessons which were slightly more successful — as in I learnt to float rather than swim. But after waddling in the shallow end of swimming pools around the world, I think it’s time to take the plunge and sign up for lessons with a proper professional in the hope that I may make it to the deep end, after all. 

   

The Gratitude Journal

Take the time to note down all the things you feel grateful for

This was the year that I began keeping a gratitude journal in real earnest. And I found it incredibly therapeutic to jot down one thing that I was grateful for every single night before I turned in. It wasn’t always the big stuff. Sometimes it was just something as simple as watching a peacock dance while I was on my walk. Or something as mundane as the fact that my roast potatoes had turned out perfectly. But the habit made me appreciative of both the big and small pleasures that life has to offer — if only we look out for them. 

So, as 2024 winds to a close, I decided it would be fitting to share with you some of the things that I was grateful for this year.

• Fulfilling my resolution of cutting down on needless consumption. I had promised myself that this year I would not buy any new clothes, shoes or bags. And I am happy to report that I kept that promise. That’s not to say that I didn’t have any new things at all this year. Thanks to the generosity of my husband, my family and friends, I stocked up on enough birthday and anniversary presents so as to not feel deprived. But I resisted the temptation to buy anything for myself. And I feel absurdly proud of that achievement. 

• I managed to tick off one of the few remaining things on my bucket list by finally making that trip to Egypt. Usually when you spend so much time building up a destination in your mind, it tends to be a bit of a letdown when you get there. Well, that was not the case with Egypt. My first glimpse of the pyramids blew me away; they really are much more impressive in person than they could ever be in photos or videos. The antiquities in museums; venturing into Tutankhamen’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings; visiting the vast Necropolis at Saqqara. Cruising down the Nile in a boat for four days was the piece de resistance; sitting on the deck sipping a cocktail while mountain ranges, temples, ruins and endless palm trees slipped by. Truly magical! 

• I took time off from writing this year to focus on reading, hoping to expand my horizons beyond my usual favourite writers and genres. I am happy to report that I succeeded (more on this in another column in the new year!). And now, suitably recharged, I will go back to working on my book in 2025. Wish me luck!

• Reconnecting with old friends from school and college was another highlight of my year. And it was especially heartwarming that even after a few decades of no-contact, we could pick up seamlessly from where we left off, chatting and gossiping as before, catching up on all that we had missed on. It didn’t even matter that all this was done on the phone. But our resolution for 2025 is to make sure we meet up in person — if only to check how well (or badly!) we have aged. And on that hopeful note, here’s wishing all of you a very Happy New Year! May all of you have many things to be grateful for in 2025. 

Notes to my younger self

Here's just some of the stuff I wish I had known in my salad days

I always thought it was a bit of a cliche. But now, as I grow older, I am beginning to think there is something to that old aphorism: “Youth is wasted on the young.”

And as I get on in years, I realise that there are many things I wish I had known and appreciated better when I was young. So here, for the benefit of my younger readers, are just some of them, in no particular order of importance. 

• Make the most of the luxury of time. When you are young, you have your whole life before you. There is plenty of time to make mistakes, to change careers if you so wish, to call time on a relationship if you feel it is not working. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because you have spent a few years in a job or a relationship it is too late to start afresh. This is actually the best time to do so, when you have decades ahead to make good on these changes. 

• Don’t be in a hurry to tie yourself down to a particular city by buying a house and saddling yourself with an onerous mortgage. Yes, it may seem like a waste of money to pay rent every month with nothing to show for it. But what you are paying for is flexibility, and the ability to up sticks and move when a better opportunity presents itself. That is far more important at this stage of your life than the stability that your own house (and the EMI payments that come with it) represents. 

• If you are lucky enough to have some disposable income then don’t spend it on material things. Instead, invest in experiences that will give you memories that will last a lifetime. That designer bag will get dated in a year or so. But that trip to Italy or Egypt or Japan with your family or friends will remain fresh in your mind forever. 

• Make the most of your fitness levels because they will decline with every decade of your life no matter how much time you spend in the gym. Don’t put off that trip trekking in the Himalayas or walking the Alps because you think you have all the time in the world to do that. Your knees will give up on you sooner than you expect and then you will regret the holiday not taken. 

• Don’t make the mistake of confusing your job with your life. You may think that you can make up for lost time with your family once you have clambered up the career ladder. And that all those late nights at your desk will be worth it when you finally make it to the corner office. But by the time you do, you may well have missed that magic window when your kids needed you the most. And not even the biggest salary bump will make up for that time lost forever. 

Sir vs Ma'am

Sometimes misogyny creeps through in forms of address

It was an innocuous enough question. So, I didn’t think too much about it when the guide on one of our recent trips asked my husband and me: “Is it okay if I address you by your first names?” Of course it was, we responded, and I thought no more about it.

 

But that was before I noticed that while he always called me “Seema” my husband was never first-named by him. Instead, he either had an honorific added – as in “Mr Vir” – or was respectfully addressed as “Sir”. And once my attention was drawn to this discrepancy, it was hard to ignore it. Every single time I heard him say “Seema” and then address my husband with a reverential “Sir” I could feel my temper rising. And it was only by exercising every iota of restraint I had at my command that I refrained from upbraiding him for this two-tier name-calling.

 

My husband tried to excuse the guide’s behaviour on the grounds of age, explaining that he was calling me by my first name because I seemed younger than him. But frankly, that didn’t cut much ice with me. My husband may be older than me but I was clearly a decade older than the guide; so age could not be a factor in his decision to first-name me consistently while “Mistering” my spouse. 

 

What accounted for the difference, then? Well, if you ask me, the difference stemmed from an internalized misogyny that tells men that while older men must be treated with respect, older women don’t deserve the same deference. The societal norms that give women a lower status than men are so deeply entrenched in us that we don’t even think about them any longer – we just act in accordance with them.

 

Think about it. How often have you seen Prime Minister Modi referred to as Narendra in the media? Or heard home minister Shah called by his first name, Amit, on television? They are always respectfully referred to by their last names. Finance minister Nirmala Sitharaman, on the other hand, is first-named all the time. The chief minister of West Bengal is routinely referred to as “Mamata” in the newspapers, without even the courtesy of an honorific added. Sonia Gandhi is always “Sonia” in news reports. Smriti Irani, Mohua Moitra, Renuka Chowdhury, think of any female politician of note and check how they are referred to in the media. In nine cases out of ten, they will be addressed by their first names rather than their last.

 

If you were to challenge the media on this, they would have their defences ready. Oh, we call her Sonia rather than Gandhi so as to not confuse her with Rahul (right!). It’s easier to fit Nirmala in a headline than Sitharaman (really?). Everyone knows her as Mamata anyway, so why confuse readers and listeners by calling her Bannerjee (how very obliging, to be sure!). 

 

And I am sure if I had challenged our guide, he would have had some explanation as to why I was “Seema” while my husband was “Sir”. But the thing about misogyny is that you know it when you see it and feel it. And once you have seen and felt it, no excuse – no matter how inventive – can remove its sting.

Solo act

Don't feel scared to set out on your own; its easier than you think!

It was while I was travelling in Egypt last week that I first noticed it. Even though I was surrounded by people who were on holiday with their spouses, children, extended family or large groups of friends, they all acted as if they were vacationing alone. 

At dinner, there was the nuclear family at the next table where both the children were rapt watching videos on their respective iPads with their earphones on while their parents scrolled social media idly on their phones. Next day as I trundled through a museum I saw couples caught up in taking selfies of themselves in front of important antiquities, acting as if the other person didn’t exist. At historical sites, members of large groups gravitated to different corners, doing their own thing until it was time to board the bus back to their hotel. 

They may have come on holiday with other people but all of them were essentially solo travellers, concentrating only on what pleased them and treating their co-passengers with what could most charitably be called benign neglect.

Once I became aware of this trend, it was hard to ignore it. The more I observed the people around me the more I realised that nobody really seemed to care about the other people sharing their vacation; they were only really focused on doing what they pleased. 

And that set me thinking. Why is it that people are so wary — even scared — of solo vacations, given that most vacations these days are ‘solo’ anyway? 

Is it that we seek safety in numbers, and once we have that we feel secure enough to go off and do our own thing? Is it that we are embarrassed to admit that we don’t have a family or friends that are close enough to holiday with us? Or is it that we feel that we will be treated as curiosities as solo travellers in a world that sees so few?

Which perhaps explains why most people who are holidaying alone sign up with travel agencies to travel with complete strangers rather than be brave enough to admit that they are fine — even happy — with their own company. If you ask me, I would pay good money not to vacation with a group of unknowns. I would rather be pitied as a sad loner than have to make nice-nice with people I will never see again in my life (frankly, the very thought is exhausting!). 

So if you are one of those people who is experiencing trepidation at the thought of heading out on holiday alone, I have three words of advice: Just Do It. 

Grab your suitcase or backpack, book your ticket, reserve a hotel room at the destination of your choice, and head out to an adventure of your very own. Pack a good book to keep you company, keep an open mind to any new experiences, and make the most of your me-time. 

If you feel any embarrassment at all about being on your own, remember that all those people around you, allegedly travelling with their loved ones, are essentially on their own anyway. 

And that, in fact, means that you are not alone — not by any measure! 

Checking in, checking out

A frequent traveller's audit of hotel facilities

I write this column while travelling through Egypt and living in a succession of hotels. Both the St Regis in Cairo and the Oberoi resort in Sahl Hasheesh (on the shores of the Red Sea) were amazing properties with high levels of service and an attention to detail that many other high-end properties get very wrong. 

So here, in the hope that some of them may be reading and paying heed, are just some instances of when hotels get it completely wrong. 

• The placement of the in-room safe: This is one thing that every guest will use. And it astonishes me that more hotels don’t pay attention to their placement. Sometimes they are near the floor so you have to crouch down to access them. At others they are so high that you have to stand on a stool to use them. And in my favourite hotel in Bangkok the safe is placed in such a way against the wall that the only way you can take things out is by contorting your whole body. 

• Light controls: I have written earlier about how, no matter how hard you try, there will always be one light for which the switch will be completely elusive. I have sometimes, in total frustration, unscrewed the bulb so that I could sleep in peace. Nowadays hotels have tried to make amends by putting a master switch by the bedside. There is just one problem. This switch also turns off all the lights in the bathroom. So god help you if you want to go to the loo in the middle of the night. You either put on all the lights and risk waking up your partner or you risk stubbing your toe — or worse — as you blindly grope your way to the loo. How hard can it be to make a different master switch for the bathroom lights? And yet, rare is the hotel which has done so. 

• Moving your things around: Sometimes I feel that housekeeping staff gets special training to hide your things in the unlikeliest of places. I have lost count of the times I have failed to find my spectacles because some vigilant housekeeper has placed them inside a drawer. And there have been instances when I have actually left things behind in hotels because housekeeping has arranged them in a cabinet that I chose not to use. I have now taken to giving special instructions when I leave the room that my things should be left exactly as they are. Sometimes it works. At others it doesn’t. It really is the luck of the draw. 

• Farewell gifts: Don’t get me wrong. I truly appreciate the sentiment and the effort that a hotel has gone to find me a memento. But here’s a thought. How about you place it in my room the night before so that I can pack it in my suitcase? Handing a bulky package to me as I am getting into my car to go the airport is really the worst idea. I now have two choices. Either I open my bags and repack to find a place for this farewell gift. Or I hand carry it through the airport along with my hand luggage. Neither option is ideal. And yet, nobody in hotels seems to realise that what they given me is not a gift but a problem. 

The book's the thing

 But sometimes, the TV adaptations are even better

 

Ever since I first read Riders in the early 90s, I have been a fan of Jilly Cooper. So, you’d think I would be delighted when I read that her second bonkbuster, Rivals, was being turned into a TV series, with a star-studded cast. But instead, all I felt was trepidation for fear that one of my favourite books would be ruined by a less than successful transition to the small screen.

 

And while, like most other Jilly Cooper fans, I was appalled by the choice of actor to play the upper-class cad, Rupert Campbell Black (who chooses a dark-haired, swarthy guy to play the ice-blond RCB?) the series itself left me exhilarated. It captured the joyous excess of the 90s to perfection, bringing a pre-PC era to life, with its large hair and larger appetites, and its cheerful celebration of conspicuous consumption. By the time the series ended, even the dark-haired Rupert Campbell Black had begun to grow on me, as I began the impatient wait for series two.

 

But while Rivals more than lived up to the rambunctious promise of the book, there is a vanishingly small number of TV adaptations that do justice to the books they are based on. Which is why it makes sense to give a shout-out to those who have succeeded. So here, in no particular order of importance, are some TV series that have done their best – or even better than – by the books that were their source material.

 

Slow Horses

 

The first show that comes to mind is, of course, Slow Horses, the series based on the spy novels by Mick Herron. In fact, I am going to go out on a limb and say that TV series is far better than the books. The plots have been tightened, the climaxes are far more tightly crafted, and the performances of the actors – especially Gary Oldman, who is sublime as Jackson Lamb – provide an edge that the books don’t always have. 

 

Apples Don’t Fall

 

Liane Moriarty is another author who has only gained from having her books subtly changed for the streaming services. Both Big Little Lies and Apples Never Fall were great books which I enjoyed immensely when they first came out and I was a bit sceptical about whether they would survive being transposed to America from Australia. As it turned out, I need not have worried. Both the books were even better as TV series – thanks, in no small measure, to the assured performances of such stars as Nicole Kidman and Annette Benning. 

 

Disclaimer

 

More recently, the TV series that has captured the spirit of the book perfectly is Disclaimer. The slow burn of the book, with new details being drip-fed to the reader, until you are hit by the sledgehammer of the revelation at the end, which turns the entire narrative upside down, depended on a multiplicity of narrative voices. And there was a real danger that the plot would be overshadowed by the erotica in a visual medium like television. But as it turned out, the TV series was pitch perfect, with marquee performances by such stars as Cate Blanchett, Kevin Kline and Sacha Baron Cohen. And the denouement (no spoilers, don’t worry!) was as chilling in the series as it was in the book.

Friend indeed

Your closest friendships are those you form in school and college

 

I still remember the trepidation I felt when I headed to school on my first day. I didn’t know what school entailed exactly; all I knew was that I was about to be catapulted into an entirely new environment, in which I would know no one. Except that wasn’t precisely true. I was heading to school, determinedly holding hands with my first bestie ever. Kavita Bagga was her name though to me she was always Sweety (her pet name), and the two of us clung to each other like limpets as we made our way through our first few months in school until we finally branched out to make other friends as well.

 

That’s the thing about being a child; it seems the easiest thing in the world to make friends. Put a bunch of kids who don’t know each other in a playground and in a couple of hours’ time they will be happily chatting and laughing (or crying) with one another and making plans to meet again. And that’s true of both toddlers and teenagers; there is something about being young that makes us far more receptive to – and accepting of – friendships. 

 

There is a reason why school and college friendships are among the closest that we ever experience in our lives. This is the time when we are looking to make connections with those around us whose lives are at a similar stage. This is the time when we feel most deeply about issues (blame it on the hormones!) and most intensely about those we care about. This is the time when we find our tribe. And this is about the last time when we have the luxury of spending long hours with our inner circle, deepening our bonds; once we get caught up in work and demands of our own growing family, it becomes impossible to find the hours to develop close friendships. 

 

Unless, of course, you are lucky enough – as I was – to make close friends at your workplace as well. There is a certain camaraderie that forms among office colleagues who are beginning their careers at the same time (though it could easily tip into competition if you are not careful), and those late nights at work can double as bonding sessions as well. Even twenty years after we last shared an office, I am still close with some of my former co-workers, and the segue from colleague to friend has been near-seamless.

 

But now that I have reached my middle age, I find it quite a challenge to expand my friendship circle. With my old friends, we already have a shorthand developed after decades spent laughing and crying together. They have seen me through the lows. They have cheered me on through my highs. We have shared experiences that have calcified as seminal memories of our lives. We can complete each other’s sentences. We can go months without talking, and then pick up effortlessly from where we left off. We offer each other friendship, faith, forgiveness and freedom in equal measure.

 

Could I possibly create bonds like that with someone new I meet at this stage of my life? It may well be possible; but, to be honest, it seems less than probable. Or am I just being close-minded? From where I stand, it’s pretty hard to tell.

 

Winter is coming

Heading for a winter break? Here's where you should go

As the year winds its way inexorably towards its end, our thoughts inevitably begin to focus on our year-end breaks. And if you live in Delhi, where the air quality begins to plummet around this time, it becomes even more imperative to head out somewhere where breathing is not in itself a health hazard.

So, here - in no particular order of importance - are five best winter holiday destinations. And the bonus is that they are all about four - or less - hours away no matter where you live in India. 

Bhutan

I know that most people prefer to go to Bhutan during the summer, escaping the scalding heat of the plains. But there is a special charm to this destination in winter. The air is crisp, the snow-capped mountains provide a perfect backdrop, and the steaming momos are the best way to beat the bracing cold. 

Maldives 

If you want to escape the cold, on the other hand, there is always the Maldives (now that the political kerkuffle between our two countries seems to have died down). There is something magical about boarding a flight wearing three layers to ward off the cold, and then getting to your hotel in the Maldives to walk on the beach with warm sand scrunching between your cold toes. Pro tip: book a hotel that is speedboat-distance away from the airport so you don’t waste time hanging around for a seaplane to your final destination. 

Sri Lanka

If you like your water sports interspersed with a bit of temple-hopping, a spot of culture, and maybe a visit to a hill resort, then head for the Emerald Isle of Sri Lanka. Not only is this one plane ride away from India, it is small enough that you can drive from Colombo to Kandy to Cape Weligama in a matter of hours. And as an extra bonus, the food is to die for. 

Thailand

If city destinations are more your bag than you can’t go wrong with Bangkok. There is an astonishing energy to this city, whether you eat at the bustling food courts, shop at the heaving malls, or do the touristy thing at the many temples in the old part of the city. And the good thing about Thailand is the beach resorts of Phuket or the mountain destinations like Chiang Mai are only a short hop away. 

Dubai 

I must confess that I wasn’t the biggest fan of Dubai when I first started visiting but over the years the city has begun to grow on me. Not only does it have one of the liveliest dining scenes (taking in everything from international chains to local favourites) it also has some amazing resorts in which it is possible to forget that you are in a city destination. I am not a great one for shopping while on holiday but even I have succumbed to the temptation of mall walks — and loved every busy, bustling second of it.