Eating out? Hell no!

Restaurants are getting louder, dimmer, and much less fun; frankly, I'd rather eat in 

 

As someone who eats out reasonably often, I have to confess that the ‘restaurant experience’ is leaving me completely cold of late. Given a choice I would much rather cook for myself and eat at home or – if I am feeling lazy – just order in and serve it up on my dining table. Why, you ask? Well, let me count the ways…

 

First off, the thing that annoys me the most about restaurants these days: loud music pounding away relentlessly so that any conversation with your dinner companions is impossible. I have to keep asking my dinner guests to repeat what they say; and that can get really annoying (for both parties) after a while. And worse, I have to keep shouting at the top of my voice to be heard above the music. Result: my throat is a goner midway through the evening. 

 

I don’t know why more people don’t complain about this. Or maybe I do. Every time I have asked the manager of a restaurant to turn the music down, he has shut down my request by saying, “But madam, everybody else is enjoying the music!” Are they? Let’s just say I have my doubts. 

 

Then there’s the question of lighting; or should I say, the lack thereof. Most restaurants are trying so hard to be glamorous and night-clubby that they keep the lighting at the bare minimum to seem mysterious and alluring. The result is that you cannot even see what you are eating let alone the faces of those dining with you. 

 

I had the strangest ‘lighting experience’ at a Mumbai restaurant (which shall remain unnamed – but you know who you are) a few weeks ago. When we entered (a party of four) the restaurant was so brightly lit that my spirits rose at the sight. Then, just as we had finished our starters and were waiting for our mains, the lights dipped precipitously. We called the manager to ask what was going on. He said the lights are on an automatic dimmer. Okay, we said, as we tucked into our mains. 

 

Then, just as he presented the dessert menu, the lights dipped further. Now it was not even possible to read the menu. We called the manager again and asked if the lights could be increased. No, he said, they were on an automatic dimmer. “Nobody can touch the dimmer,” he said proudly, “not even me.” The only response to that was to ask for the bill and leave to have dessert elsewhere – which is what we duly did.

 

My other pet peeve about restaurants these days is the constant upselling. The moment you sit down, a waiter will materialize to ask if you want still or sparkling water; the unspoken assumption being that you are a cheapskate if you ask for tap. They will try and push you to order the most overpriced thing on the menu. And if you ask for a wine recommendation, you can be sure that they will try and steer you to the most expensive choice.

 

Is it any wonder then that I turn down most invitations to eat out these days? And that my dining table has become my favourite restaurant – where I call the shots, not some snotty/greedy restaurant manager/chef.

Keep it light and bright

When you are entertaining unexpected guests during Diwali

In the modern world, that old custom of ‘just dropping by’ without calling ahead has become a thing of the past. With just one exception: the run-up to Diwali. That’s when people (friends, family members, professional contacts, neighbours, etc.) think nothing of popping by unannounced, with a box of mithai/Diwali present/goodies hamper in hand. There was a time when this used to leave me frazzled. One, because the house was not looking at its pristine best. Two, because I did not have enough snacks in the kitchen or drinks in the fridge. And three, because I was often caught out in my pjs (my go-to uniform for a Diwali spring clean).

 

Well, I’ve learnt my lessons the hard way. And over the years, I have perfected my Diwali entertainment routine so that I don’t panic every time the bell rings during this period. So, here are some pointers to make your Diwali hostessing as low-key and high-impact as possible:

 

·       One easy way of making your drawing room look festive is to string some fairy lights around your walls, book shelves and along the ceiling. Then, with the flip of a switch you can turn your entertainment space into a fairyland of sorts, without having to bother with scented candles, diyas and the like. And if you want the sofa and cushions looking pristine when visitors drop in, just banish your family from this area during this period. No muss no fuss. 

·       Fixing everyone a drink according to their choice can often get quite bothersome – especially when every single person has a different drink order. So, rather than offer my guests carte blanche, I give them specific options: red wine or white; gin or vodka; single malt or blend. It helps to keep the liquor and mixers within easy reach with a fully loaded ice box. That way, you can serve everything up from the comfort of your couch.

·       Snacks need to be equally fuss-free. This is the one time of the year when there is a glut of dry fruit and sweets in the house. So just bung some of the stuff into bowls and let them take up permanent residence on the table and restock as needed. If you want to serve warm snacks in addition, then you can’t go wrong with frying some frozen aloo tikkis or popping some microwave in the oven and slathering some masala on it. Minimal effort; maximum taste. 

·       Yes, I get it, nobody wants to spend all day gussied up in fancy clothes. And yet, you want to look presentable for your guests. My way around this is to wear a comfortable kurta pyjama set that allows me to bustle around the house; but keep a dressy dupatta/stole within easy reach. So, the moment the bell goes, I drape the dupatta around me, and go from under-dressed to just right in a matter of seconds. Another way of achieving high-octane glamour with low-key efforts is to keep your clothing simple but dress it up with a pair of statement earrings or a dramatic necklace. And yes, don’t forget to spritz on some perfume. Nothing says you’re ready for the festivities more than the sweet scent of jasmine, rose or even musk. Happy Diwali to you all!

 

Focus on the present

This festive season gift everyone experiences rather than things

 

Is your dining table beginning to get crowded with enormous dabbas of mithai and dry fruit? Do you now have a glut of scented candles and diyas littering your sideboard? And are you starting to get inundated with every kind of baked good imaginable? If the answer to any (or all) of these questions is yes, then welcome to the pre-Diwali period, when everyone is so busy sending out celebratory hampers that it becomes difficult not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

 

Finding myself in something of the same situation, I decided (entirely in the public interest, you understand) to draw up a list of all the things that could work as Diwali gifts – and not leave the receiver completely unimpressed. So, here’s just some pointers; feel free to add anything you feel I may have missed out on.

 

·       Books are always the perfect present, though they can get a little tricky if you are not sure of the other person’s tastes (or indeed if they already have a particular book). So, the next best thing is to offer a gift card for your favourite book store or even an Amazon gift card so that the receiver can choose something that works for him or her. 

·       Another thing that you can’t really go wrong with is skincare. Choose a brand that suits your packet and put together a basket of sweet-smelling shower gel, face cream, moisturizer, or whatever takes your fancy. Stick a few flowers on the basket and you have a gift that is both pretty and pretty useful.

·       I love receiving little pot plants on Diwali so I am going to go out on a limb here and say that they qualify as desirable presents. Just one caveat though: please don’t give away fancy bonsai arrangements or terrariums that come with a dozen complicated instructions for maintenance. Just send out plants that are near-impossible to kill and everyone will be happy.

·       Gifting experiences rather than things works as well – especially with close friends and family, whose preferences you are familiar with. It could be a gift coupon for a spa treatment, a haircut or a massage. As long as it feels like a special experience, it is always welcome. 

·       Sometimes it works to be a little utilitarian as well. If you know that your friend has an expensive Nespresso habit, then gifting her a six-month – or yearly, if you’re feeling generous – supply of coffee capsules will earn you plenty of brownie points (and a nice cup of coffee too, for good measure).

·       But if you are the traditional kind and insist on a good old-fashioned Diwali hamper, then here’s a pointer of some things that work well: a nice bottle of extra-virgin olive oil; a bottle of good red wine or whiskey; a small box of kaju katli; a colourful toran for its symbolic value; and a beautifully-designed diya that can do duty even after the festival of lights has come and gone. 

 

It's that time of year again...

The signs that the festive season is here are all around us

As surely as summer follows spring, Diwali comes calling soon after the Goddess Durga has gone back to her home in the hills after celebrating Pujos. But even if you don’t monitor the calendar too closely, it is easy to tell when the festive season is upon us. The signs are all around, even if you aren’t really looking out for them. 

In my case, the first hint arrives from Mother Nature herself. The two Shiuli plants on my balcony start budding and in a matter of days, tiny white flowers with an orange centre begin appearing. They bloom during the night, bringing the most amazing fragrance with them. And the next day, the floor is covered with the blossoms that fell overnight, creating a white, perfumed carpet to greet you as you wake in the morning. 

But there are some signs of the approaching festive season that are far more universal. Let’s count just some of them. 

• Everyone who serves you in some way tends to get even more solicitous around this time. The doorman of the hotel you visit opens your car door with a extra flourish; your hairstylist spends more time on your blow dry than ever before; the employees in your office can’t do enough for you; and your staff at home is suddenly full of smiles and good cheer. Is it just the festive spirit that is improving their mood? Or is it the thought of Puja and Diwali bonuses? An ignoble thought, perhaps. But we have all had them, haven’t we?

• No matter where in the country you live, the traffic suddenly increases exponentially during this time of the year. It could be that everyone is out celebrating with friends and family. And those that aren’t are busy delivering gifts to their near and dear ones. Add all those couriers schlepping across town to deliver corporate gifts and you have got a right royal traffic jam on your hands — no matter what time of day or night you venture out. 

• Markets begin to look like something out of a fairy tale with twinkling lights as far as the eye can see. The clothes on the racks get more glittery and sparkly. Gifting hampers tend to get far more elaborate. And mithai boxes start cropping up in the most unexpected of places. 

• Your email inbox starts to look like a roll call of famous and expensive brands as anyone who has access to your details (which is everyone, basically) starts sending you promotional material, offering you ‘special festive season’ discounts on everything from luggage to furniture to shoes to baby care. 

Even if you are a bit of curmudgeon like me, who abhors the commercial aspect that has overtaken every festival of late, it’s hard not to get just a little bit excited about the festivities in store. So, here’s wishing happy holidays to all of you out there. May your lives be filled with light and love. 

Going back in time

Sometimes books can work as time machines, transporting us back to when we first read them

The other day, while rummaging through my book shelves, I came across a battered copy of the collected plays of William Congreve. I hadn’t read the restoration playwright since my days studying English literature in Loreto College Calcutta a million years ago. But I fixed myself a cup of coffee and settled down to re-read one of my favourite plays, The Way Of The World. 

And before I knew it, I had gone down the rabbit hole of time, and was once again that gawky little teenager sitting in a classroom, discovering worlds that I never knew existed. I could feel that same summer sun warming my back; I could hear the muttered sighs of my classmates who didn’t have a yen for plays; and I could hear the sonorous tones of my professor giving us the historical significance of the Restoration period in English history. 

That’s when it struck me. We don’t just re-read books because we enjoy the books themselves (though that, of course, is a big part of it). We go back to old favourites because they take us back to the times in our lives when we first discovered them. 

Some years ago, for instance, a close friend of mine gave me a copy of Black Beauty by Anna Sewell as a joke present for my birthday because she had heard me say it was my favourite book as a child. We both giggled over the gift and I placed it on my bookshelf without giving it much further thought. But then, a week later, in a fit of nostalgia, I picked it up on a slow afternoon and began reading. And in a matter of minutes I was once again that little child who was mesmerised by the world evoked in the book, laughing with childlike pleasure and then crying with the intensity that only young children are capable of. 

I feel the same nostalgia when I pick up some of my battered copies of Enid Blyton’s Mallory Towers series. No matter where in the world I am, I am immediately transported back to the shady verandah of my childhood home in Calcutta, sitting in a wicker chair, absentmindedly munching my way through a packet of biscuits even as my mother berates me from the kitchen, reminding me that lunch with be ready soon. 

Whenever I pick up a Georgette Heyer, I can see my sister’s disapproving face because she thought I was far too young to be reading her romance novels. When I leaf through a thriller by Alistair Maclean I remember my brother who introduced me to him when I was a teenager. When I delve into the plays of George Bernard Shaw, it is the face of my father — who was his absolute devotee — that swims in front of my eyes. And reading any historical novel brings back memories of my grandfather, whose favourite genre this was. 

Books may transport you into another world - as indeed they do. But they do something even more important. They transport you back into another part of your life — one that you have left far behind. And that can sometimes be the most precious gift of all. 

Delhi vs Mumbai

Yes, that tedious little debate is far from over 

Last week I visited Mumbai after an absolute age to attend an exhibition dedicated to the pottery of my late mother-in-law, Vimoo Sanghvi, one of the leading ceramic artists of her time. As I circulated among the guests, I came upon a journalistic acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in ages. We had barely exchanged pleasantries when she went off into a diatribe about how much she hated Delhi. “It’s such a jenani city,” she sniffed. 

I was a bit bemused. Do you mean that it has a feminine energy, I asked. Oh no, she responded, “it’s just so aunty, if you know what I mean.”

Honestly, I had no idea what it meant except that it wasn’t supposed to be complimentary. So, I just laughed and responded, “Well, you know, I am happy to answer to ‘aunty’ any time.” 

But as I withdrew from that conversation I began to think about why people in Mumbai are so keen to diss Delhi whenever they meet someone from there. I can understand that many Mumbaikars prefer their city to almost anywhere else in India. But what purpose is served by telling visiting Delhi residents that the city they come from is a bit rubbish? You may well think that Delhi is a hellhole but what does expressing this opinion achieve?

Do you want the Delhi dweller to feel bad about his or her life choices? Do you want to establish your superiority as a Mumbaikar? Are you trying to head off criticism of your own city? Or do you simply have a chip on your shoulder that you can’t help but use to batter another city’s reputation?

I really don’t know what all this is about. But I have encountered this kind of Delhi bashing at so many social events in Mumbai over the years that I have learnt to just smile and move on. Hate Delhi? Knock yourself out. As for me, I couldn’t give a monkeys. That, at least, is my attitude. 

While I can’t fathom why people in Mumbai have such visceral responses to Delhi, I do wish that they would try and look for the best in the cities they visit, rather than search for the worst bits. I try to do that as much as possible. 

Instead of complaining incessantly about the traffic in Bangalore, I try to focus on the beautiful parks in the city. Rather than lament the dreariness of some Calcutta suburbs, I spend time in such attractions as the Strand and Botanical Garden. Instead of kvetching about mid-town congestion in Mumbai, I try to concentrate on the majestic beauty of the sea. 

Maybe that’s a strategy that visitors from Mumbai to Delhi could try. Instead of complaining about how horrid the capital is, how snobby the people are, they could spend some time enjoying what Delhi has to offer. 

And it does offer a lot: beautiful monuments that you can get lost in; wide, tree-lined avenues that lead to stunning parks that dot the city; world-class museums that offer a glimpse into everything from the Indus Valley Civilisation to modern figurative art; bustling restaurants hubs that offer cuisines from across the world; and more. 

What’s a little ‘aunty’ energy — whatever that might mean — compared to all that?

Homing in

 Going on holiday is great; but coming back home is even better

 

They say that you should consider yourself lucky if you have the time, the money, and the energy to go on holiday. That you are fortunate indeed if you can pack up and go forth to explore the world. That there is nothing quite like travel to broaden your horizons and expand your mind. 

 

All of this is true. But, if you ask me, the truly blessed are not those who get to take a vacation but those who are equally excited about the prospect of coming back home. If the comforts of your home rank as high – if not higher – as the attractions of the world then all is right in your universe.

 

Speaking for myself, there is nothing I love more than coming home after spending a week or two away. Don’t get me wrong. I love travelling as much as the next person, exploring sites, experimenting with new cuisines, meeting interesting people. But I suspect I would not enjoy it quite so much if I didn’t have the certainty of coming back home to my own comfort zone.

 

So, what exactly do I like about coming back home after a vacation? Well, here are just a few things that I look forward to:

 

·       After days of sleeping in unfamiliar beds, it is a special treat to slip between the sheets of your own. The pillows are just right (not too soft, not too hard), the duvet has the perfect thickness (so you don’t feel too hot or too cold), and all the stuff you need is well within reach on your nightstand. That is a luxury no hotel – no matter how pricey – can replicate. 

·       Exploring new restaurants, trying out new dishes, experimenting with unknown cuisines, all of this has its own charms. But after a week or so of this, my tastebuds start longing for some ghar ka khaana. And by that I don’t just mean that I miss Indian food (though my first meal when I return is always khichdi with aloo chokha) but that I long for the food I make at home, whether it is a spicy Thai curry, a railway-style omelet, or even just some oven-roasted potatoes. 

·       My husband and I have a rule that we don’t watch any television on our travels. No tuning into CNN or BBC to catch up on the news. No signing into Netflix or Amazon Prime. And no going down the YouTube rabbit hole either. This means that we always have a few good shows to catch up on when we return home. So, we settle down on our well-worn couch after dinner, a tray of tea in front of us, and binge-watch all the stuff we have missed while away – and know that we are finally home. 

·       But, in the end, what I enjoy the most about coming back home is the complete lack of disorientation. I know where all the light switches are, I don’t have to puzzle over how the shower works, I wake up in the morning knowing exactly where I am. And that feeling of being grounded in my surroundings, in my view, is worth more than a dozen holidays in the most exotic of locations. 

As Never, Meghan

The Duchess of Sussex tries hard to be the hostess with the mostess; but fails spectacularly

 

My first thought when I caught the first season of With Love, Meghan on Netflix was, “How on earth did this bilge make it to the airwaves?” And my last thought as I gritted my teeth to make my way to the end of the second season was – yes, you guessed it! – “how did this drivel merit a second season?”

 

Well, there’s an easy explanation for that. Apparently, all the episodes were shot in one go and then divvied up into two lots so that Meghan Markle and Netflix could announce that “Yay, the show has been commissioned for a second season!” But honestly, if you ask me (and the many, many reviewers across the world who have panned the show), Netflix would have been better off making a program on watching paint dry. It would have been more compelling viewing than watching Meghan flail around in a rented mansion, entertaining ‘friends’ (some of whom she had never met before), which, in her book, translates into making them do arts and crafts to earn their supper. 

 

Yes, seriously, that’s how Markle does entertainment. A ‘friend’ arrives at ‘her’ house, and instead of being served a drink and offered a snack, he or she is quickly put to work. One of them learns how to bind a book (so that we can literally watch glue dry); another is taught how to make home-made soap; and then there are those poor souls who are put to work arranging flowers in a ‘vessel’ that ‘speaks’ to them. Going by the trapped look in the eyes of most of them, I can guarantee that they will not be coming back for seconds.

 

But just in case Netflix is toying with the idea of inflicting a third season of With Love, Meghan on us, here are just some ideas that Markle can try instead of this earnest arts and crafting routine that even ten-year-olds would turn their nose up at.

 

·       A game of charades: This has the added advantage of being something that the royal family has done for decades on end at their various family holidays. So, she can easily shoehorn references to her royal pedigree (one of her favourite things to do) with some light entertainment that draws on her acting chops (such as they are). And who knows, maybe she can even make the audience laugh with her rather than at her.

·       Dancing lessons: Given how many shots we had in the Harry and Meghan Netflix documentary of Markle dancing goofily around, clearly she loves cutting a rug whenever she gets a chance. So, why not rope her guests into learning how to foxtrot or tango or just do a cha cha cha? That could well be parlayed into a starring role in Strictly Come Dancing, for when Netflix (as in inevitable) loses patience and moves on.

·       Karaoke: If she really wants to generate some laughs and show what a good sport she is, then a karaoke session or two is just what the executive producer should order. Meghan has always prided herself on having a good singing voice, but a couple of guest croakers would be just the ticket to keep us right royally entertained. Which is way more than what Markle is doing right now!

Air turbulence

Why do people forget the rules of civilised behaviour while in the air?

I have written earlier about how people seem to forget the rules of civilised behaviour while at the airport. It’s almost as if the airport is a portal between two places where anything and everything goes: drinking alcohol for breakfast; wearing your pjs out in public; stealing snacks from the lounge etc. 

But I have realised over the years that truly anti-social behaviour really kicks in when people are in the air. That’s when all inhibitions seems to disappear and it’s a free for all in the skies. It’s almost as if for some folks their inflight experience is less than perfect if they can’t make a perfect nuisance of themselves. 

And how do they do that? Well, let me count the ways. 

• For me, the most annoying thing is when fellow passengers start watching a video, listening to music, or playing a video game on the flight without using their headphones. This happens with a sickening regularity on almost every single flight I take. No amount of staring or looking askance makes a difference. Asking the airline crew to intervene only grants a temporary respite. The moment a decent interval has passed, the noise resumes. Honestly, what is up with these people? Do they not have earphones? Or have they gone missing along with their civic sense?
• Then, there is the species who boards the plane and immediately reclines their seat as far as it will go. It’s no point asking them to raise it for take-off (as mandated by the safety manual). And good luck trying to open your tray table when the crew comes to serve your meal. There simply will be no space to do so. And don’t even start me on those people sitting behind you who can’t seem to get up from their seats without pulling your seat back down without so much as a by your leave. 
• All of us make allowances for children and babies on flights who cry incessantly because we realise that flying can be a traumatic experience for them. But what I find unforgivable is parents who allow their kids to run amok on flights without making the slightest effort to control them. The kids will be racing up and down the aisle, annoying both crew and passengers and the parents will be busy watching their videos on their phones (without headphones, of course), ignoring their children’s antics completely. What is up with that?
• But a special hell awaits those people who are travelling in a big group and think nothing of setting up an impromptu party in the cabin on night flights when everyone else is trying very hard to sleep. Just as service is over, the lights have been lowered, and everyone else is ready to catch a few winks, these nocturnal beasts come alive — and make life miserable for the rest of us. Truly, the stuff of nightmares — if we’d ever get to nod off, that is!

'Tis (not) the season...

But there is a special charm to off-season holidays (not to mention lower rates and smaller crowds)

I was trying to work out the other day when my fondness for off-season holidays first began. And I traced it right back to my first visit to Venice nearly 25 years ago. It was the dead of winter, and Venice itself seemed deathly calm, with nary a tourist in sight. I wandered through a deserted San Marco Square, I visited the Doge’s Palace in near-solitary splendour, I sat in empty cafes sipping on steaming cappuccinos, and I wandered through the streets without being jostled by a million other people who had had the same idea. 

 

It was always freezing, sometimes very wet, but with an overcoat, boots and hat, I was well-equipped to deal with the extreme weather while reveling in the extraordinary beauty of Venice, which shone through even more intensely in the absence of crowds who would otherwise obscure it. I have been back to Venice many times since during peak seasons but I have never managed to recapture the magic of that first visit in the bitter Venetian winter.

 

Ever since then, I have been a fan of visiting prime locations at non-prime times so that I can make the most of them. In the old days, for instance, you could visit Goa or Kerala during the monsoon and feast your eyes on the verdant green, without the usual tourist hordes who otherwise ruin the experience. But, alas, those days are long gone. Now every hotel and resort in this region has special monsoon offers, which attract just as many (if not more) people to the area during this season. So, all the off-season monsoon bliss I remember is now a distant memory.

 

More recently, though, my husband and I decided to give Puglia (in southern Italy) a try before the season truly opened. We were a bit apprehensive because the weather forecast threatened thunderstorms for some of the time we were there. But we bit the bullet and headed out there anyway, with waterproof trench coats and umbrellas at the ready. 

 

As it turned out, we needn’t have worried. Even though some of the attractions hadn’t opened, and the sea waters were too cold to venture in, these deprivations were nothing compared to the absolute bliss of wandering through the many quaint towns and villages of the regions without being crowded by thousands of other tourists. So, we walked through the stunning streets of Lecce (known as the Florence of the South), stopping to admire the many astonishing buildings the city houses. We visited the magnificent cathedral in Monopoli. We feasted our eyes on the amazing sea views from the terraces of Polignano di Mare. And wherever we went, we rejoiced in the complete absence of crowds. 

 

We were so happy with the experience, that we made a resolution right there and then that from now on we would only holiday during the off season. Not only does it make financial sense (both flights and hotels are so much cheaper at this time) it also makes for a stress-free holiday experience, when you are not competing with thousands of others to enjoy the same destinations. 

 

So, next stop is Sicily, just when winter is on the wane and spring is about to dawn. Palermo, here we come!

The power of 'no'

Don't be a people-please like me; recognise that 'no' is a complete sentence

 

Growing up as an inveterate people-pleaser, I came rather late to the power of saying ‘no’. As a child, a teenager, and then a young adult, I spent many hours of my life doing things that I actively disliked because I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I could actually refuse to do them. Now that I look back, I realize that I must have wasted an entire year (if not more) of my life saying yes to stuff that I really should have said a firm ‘no’ to. 

 

Well, those days are long gone. Now that I am in my middle years, I have zero compunction about saying ‘no’ to people, no matter how awkward the interaction may become as a consequence. I think the transition occurred in the Covid years, when enforced solitude made most of us examine our life choices. And as I looked back on my own life, I realized that most of my unhappiness stemmed from occasions when I had said ‘yes’ despite my misgivings. And with that realization in mind, I gave myself permission to say ‘no’ to anything that left me cold.

 

The resolution made, I implemented it on my first trip abroad soon after the Covid restrictions were lifted. We were wandering through Spain, when an Indian couple turned to me, held their phone out peremptorily, and asked me to take their picture. The very thought of holding someone else’s phone (which might as well be a petri dish of germs) brought me out in hives. In a previous incarnation I may have tamped down on my germophobia, taken the photo, and spent the rest of the day obsessively sanitizing my hands. But this time, I took a deep breath and replied with a simple, “No, thank you.” The couple looked as if they had been slapped in the face, but I wasn’t going to add any explanation to my refusal. 

 

‘No,’ as the saying goes, ‘is a complete sentence’.

 

Since then, I have deployed the power of ‘no’ in myriad situations, and I am much happier for setting up boundaries for myself (and for other people). At parties and dinners, I refuse to get brow-beaten by hosts who insist that I have ‘just one more drink’ or another helping of dessert. Initially, I would try and shame them into backing off by explaining that I was a diabetic. But now I offer no sugar-coating (oh! The irony!) to my ‘no’. I have had my fill of your excellent wine, I don’t want any seconds, and no, dessert doesn’t occupy a separate compartment in my stomach. No means no.

 

The same goes for invitations. If they don’t spark joy (with apologies to Marie Kondo) in my heart, then I would rather stay home than waste my time pretending to have fun. Which is why when a friend invited me to a bhajan evening at her home with her spiritual guru, I decided to adopt my new-found mantra and reply, “Thanks very much, but no, I’m really not a bhajan-type person.”

 

Her reply came back immediately. A laughing emoji followed by, “I love your honesty!” Which made me think that all of us would be better off if we applied the power of ‘no’ judiciously in our own lives.

Down memory lane

The tricky bit is - nobody remembers the same experience the same way

Memory is a funny thing. Two people may have the same experience but ask them about it many years down the line and they will remember it completely differently. It’s as if the brain selects elements that are important to you, retains them, and deletes everything else as extraneous. So, no two people can ever have the same recall of an experience they went through together. 

I thought of this again recently when the classmates of my English Honours course in Loreto College, Calcutta (as it then was), formed a Whatsapp group to stay in touch, update each other on our lives, and plan reunions for the future. Sadly, soon after we formed the group, our formidable principal, Sister Maeve Hughes, passed away. So we shared her obituaries and chatted about our interactions with her in college. 

That’s when the bombshell dropped. Two of our members talked about how she had taught us Milton’s Paradise Lost. That came as a complete shock to me. I had no recollection of ever attending such a class. When I said so on the group, my college bestie, Seema Mayecha, commented, “You sat right under her nose! Paradise was truly lost!”

But just as I was worrying about whether I was getting early onset dementia, I was reassured to find that several others on the group didn’t remember Sister Maeve teaching us either. (Or, it wasn’t just me who was losing my mind!)

But as the conversation progressed it became clear that all of us remembered completely different things from college. I had picture perfect recall of the classes taught by the witty Miss Chatterjee. Others had fond memories of different professors. Clearly, even though we had attended the same course, the memories that stayed with each of us were completely different. 

Going back further in time, it is much the same story. My childhood best friend, Kavita Walia,  and I often have catch-up sessions in which the conversation invariably veers to our growing up years. But strangely enough, we never ever remember the same things. She reminds me of the time we played a trick on my grandmother; an incident I have wiped from my mind. I remind her of the time when we were chased down the street by a cow; but her mind has erased that traumatic memory. And so on. 

This selective retention of facts extends to my working life as well. Much to my chagrin, my husband remembers some stories and interviews I did as a young journalist much better than I do. And the interactions and articles that left an impression on me, he doesn’t recall at all. We often joke that between us, we can fill in the blanks that exist in the other’s mind. 

So, I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad that so much of my college life is lost in the mists of time. Perhaps now that all my classmates have got together we can pool all our memories and thus manage a perfect recall of our college days. As they say, it takes a village. In our case, I guess it’s takes an entire class!

Home is where...

The heart is? Or is it a little more complicated?

What is the image that pops up in your mind’s eye when someone mentions the word ‘home’? Well, in my case, it is a series of images that flash past, of the various places I have called home in my time. 

 

The first image is of my childhood home in Calcutta (as it was known then) with its sun-dappled verandah on which I spent many blissful afternoons reading my Enid Blytons and daydreaming of the time I would also get to go to boarding school (spoiler alert: that never happened). The next picture to materialize is of my first home in Delhi, a humble barsati in Defence Colony, which was too hot in summer and too cold in the winter – but which I loved anyway, because it was the first space that was mine and mine alone. My thoughts then drift to the apartment in Mumbai, where I spent some precious moments with my mother-in-law in her last years. And only then, do I think of the current home in which I have lived for nearly a decade now.

 

But while these physical spaces have spelt home for me at one time or another, I have come to believe that ‘home’ implies much more than a house where you live. Sometimes it is the presence of another person that makes a place feel like home. It could be your parents who have the knack of making you feel at home no matter how long you have been away from the house where you grew up. It could be your spouse, whose presence by your side when you wake every morning and go to bed every night, makes you feel at home. It could be your kids – which is why empty-nest syndrome hits so hard. It could even be a beloved pet who makes a house feel like home.

 

Sometimes, though, ‘home’ is just a feeling, which kicks in when you get truly comfortable – either in a particular space or with some special people. It could be a holiday destination which you visit so often that it feels like coming home even though you’ve never lived there. That’s the feeling I get when I visit my two favourite cities in the world: Bangkok and London. Even though I don’t have a house in either city, I have managed to replicate that ‘home-like’ feeling by always staying in the same hotel – and, with a bit of luck, in the same room. That way, even the hotel feels as familiar as a home, with the same sofa to sink into, the same bed to sleep in, and even the same view from the window.

 

I guess the instinct to make ourselves feel at home is so strong that we try and recreate a ‘home’ wherever we go. It could be by vacationing at the same places, as I do ever so often. Or just recreating a home-like ambience in a strange environment by bringing along those creature comforts that we swear by. I carry my own coffee pods wherever I travel, along with a packet or two of Mcvities dark chocolate digestives. That way, I can effortlessly replicate the tastes and smells of my morning routine. And I can feel truly at home, no matter where in the world I am.

Start 'em young

What's the best way to introduce kids to the joys of cooking Indian food?

 

I have always been a fan of Jamie Oliver’s, having enjoyed his many TV cooking shows. I became even more of a devotee when Oliver dedicated himself to improving school dinners in the UK. But it was his recent initiative, 10 Cooking Skills for Life, rolled out for schoolkids to help them learn how to cook, that set me thinking: how could we best introduce our kids to the joys of Indian cooking? It must be done in a way that doesn’t scare them off the process. And yet, it needs to be challenging enough so that they learn the requisite skills to put an Indian meal together.

 

So, how do we reconcile these two objectives, while keeping things fun and wholesome in the kitchen? Well, here are just some tips I thought of in case you have children around the ages of 10-12, whom you would like to introduce to the art of cooking their own cuisine.

 

·       The easiest route to learning how to cook for a child is through the humble egg; and the easiest recipe to master is the akuri, the spiced scrambled eggs that make an appearance at most Indian breakfasts. Just chop up garlic, onions, tomatoes and green chillis, sautee them quickly, then add the whisked eggs with your choice of spices like cumin and coriander, and you are good to go. Once your child has mastered this art, you can move on to the other Indian breakfast staple: the masala omelet. 

·       All parents struggle to get their children to eat their vegetables, so cooking with them may present a challenge. But not if you start with something every kid loves: the potato. Teach them how to peel and cut the potato in thin strips to make aloo bhaja; to boil potatoes and sautee with masalas to make a tasty aloo dum; or mash it up with onions, chillis, spices and a dash of mustard oil to make a chokha. Once they have mastered these arts, you can incorporate other vegetables into their recipes: maybe add some aubergine to the bhaja; slip in some peas or even a few florets of gobhi into the aloo dum.

·       If you’re starting with the basics of Indian cooking, then you can’t really ignore the yellow dal. Thankfully, making this is not difficult and long-winded. All you need is a pressure cooker to boil the dal and some ingredients for the tarka. This can be as simple or as complicated as you wish. You can go the whole onion-garlic-tomatoes route or you could just teach your child to heat some ghee, toss some jeera or mustard seeds in, add a dash of red chilli for colour. Splash over your dal and enjoy.

·       While making a chicken curry or even mutton kebabs may be beyond your child’s burgeoning skill set, there are simpler ways to incorporate fish and meat in your meal. Fish may be messy to handle, but prawns are easy to peel and stir fry with your masala of choice. A finely-chopped keema is easy to put together with some beans for texture. And once you’ve taught them how to boil rice, they are ready to feed themselves for the rest of their lives. Bon Appetit, everyone!

Face-off

Brigitte Macron and Queen Camilla are a study in contrasts -- in their approach to cosmetic work

The two women presented a study in contrast as they posed next to each other. The occasion was the state visit of the French President, Emmanuel Macron, to Britain. And the two ladies in question were the French First Lady, Brigitte Macron, and Camilla, the Queen of the United Kingdom. 

 

On the one hand, you had Brigitte, whose unnaturally taut face carried signs of every cosmetic procedure she had ever had. Her cheeks looked hamster-like because of filler, her forehead was immobile because of Botox, and her smile looked more like a grimace on a face that had been stretched tight as a drum. On the other hand, you had Camilla, whose every year was visible on her finely-wrinkled face, with laugh lines, frown lines, wattled neck, et al. It was clear that the only cosmetic procedure the Queen of England had ever signed up for was the beeswax facials that she relies on to keep her skin glowing.

 

But glowing she certainly was: her complexion all peaches and cream, with wrinkles that were completely age-appropriate for a woman in her late seventies. Her hair was an ash blonde so that the greys merged in and was cut in a wispy style that worked well for her angular face. And that’s before we even get to Camilla’s beautifully tailored dresses – that hit just below the knee and were cinched at the waist to draw discreet attention to her figure – that were perfectly judged for the occasion. 

 

On the contrary, Brigitte looked like a caricature of herself, all nipped and tucked, with a preposterous bouffant hairstyle (that looked suspiciously like a wig). Her outfit did her no favours either, with the skirt ending well above the knee, and the jacket cut so tight that she could barely move her arms. The silhouette may well have worked on the runway, but it looked completely inappropriate in the shadow of Windsor Castle. 

 

Looking at the two women pictured together, it was all too easy to tell which one of them was happy with the process of ageing and which one was fighting it all the way. 

 

And while I have no intention of sitting in judgement on women who want to keep the predations of age at bay with every weapon at their command, I can’t help but feel that when it comes to tweakments, after a certain point the law of diminishing returns sets in. So, when you are in your forties and fifties, a little (and very little, mind you) bit of Botox and filler goes a long way. But by the time you hit your sixties and seventies, no amount of cosmetic treatment can mask the inevitable depredations that Nature subjects all of us to as we get older.

 

Once you cross the 65-year-old mark, every tweakment instead of making you look younger, only makes you look just a little bit weird. And by the time you reach your seventies, you end up looking like a cautionary tale, just like Madame Macron did on this occasion.

 

Given a choice, I know which woman I would rather look like if I am lucky enough to get to my seventies. Yes, you’re right, it’s Camilla all the way, the Queen of ageing with grace and dignity.