Checking in...

Never mind the chit chat; just let me get to my hotel room quickly

No matter how basic or fancy the hotel you stay at, the odds are that you will interact with the staff the most on two occasions. One, when you check in; and two, when you check out. Other than that, most guests have minimal interaction with hotel staff these days. The key cards are electronic so you don’t need to go to reception to pick up your key. Housekeeping cleans the room when you are out and about. And so on.

Which is why it is imperative that hotels get their check in and check out routines just right. You would think that would be easy. But you would be surprised at how many of them fail the test. Well, in my book, at least. 

Let’s just deal with the check-in experience this week. We will talk about check-out routines another week.

First off, there is the patter. From the time you get out of your car to the time you reach your room, you will be asked the same question by every member of staff you encounter. “How was your journey?” they will trill cheerily. The truth is that none of us want to dwell on our ‘journey’ which probably involved an overnight layover at an airport and then several hours cooped up in a steel tube hurtling through the air. We just want to forget that whole nightmarish experience and get on with our holiday. So, reminding us of our travails serves no purpose.

Instead, hotel staff would do much better if they appreciate that when we enter the hotel we want to look forward not back. So, how about a greeting that says, “Welcome to our city. We are so looking forward to hosting you.” Something along those lines would make us feel welcome and put us in a better frame of mind than being asked incessantly about our flights, trains, road trips, etc.

But even this kind of interrogation is better than being greeted by, “Hello, madam, how are you today? You look very tired!” Really? No kidding. I’ve just spent a sleepless night on an uncomfortable airplane seat, eating execrable re-heated food. So, I guess I do look tired; but thanks very much for pointing that out. I would never have known otherwise.

No matter how tired you look, though, it will not stop hotel staff from offering you a property tour the moment you have checked in. This is the dining room, where we serve breakfast every morning. This is the outdoor pool; and that’s the gym at the end of the corridor (it has a steam and sauna as well). This is our specialty restaurant; can we make a booking for you on any night of your stay? Would you like to check out the bar before you head to your room? They make a mean Negroni.

No, I always want to answer, I want to do none of that. I just want to head to my room, use the loo, brush my teeth, have a hot shower, and slip into my pajamas. Your property tour can wait until I feel human again. 

Of course, I say nothing of the sort. I just nod politely and think longingly of the bed awaiting me upstairs, praying that I will get there sooner rather than later.

Are you on the pen?

Then chances are high that you will be Ozempic shamed soon

It first happened a few months ago, when I was at a party. A group of us were standing around and chatting when a lady of our acquaintance entered the room. Everyone smiled and waved but the moment she moved out of earshot, the whispers began. “She’s lost so much weight; she must be on the jab!” “Have you seen how gaunt she is looking? It’s all those injections!” 

And that’s how I was introduced to this new society phenomenon: Ozempic shaming. This occurs whenever a person who has been a little portly suddenly turns up looking suspiciously slim. They may swear that they’ve just been eating sensibly and working out to knock off the extra pounds. But the society aunties – and uncles, this is a gender-neutral game – will jump straight to Ozempic (or, more recently, Mounjaro) shaming. Oh, they will exclaim airily, there is no way he/she has lost all that way without some help from the pharmaceutical sector. 

The judgement, of course, comes with a side order of moral superiority. The Ozempic users, or so the shamers sneer, simply don’t have the will power to lose their weight the old-fashioned way. It is too much trouble to eat less and exercise more; so these lazy lay-abouts just jab themselves in the stomach once a week and let the GLP 1 inhibitors do their work. After all, why bother with endless gym sessions and cabbage soup diets when modern medicine has handed us a short-cut to slimness?

This kind of judgmental snippiness is becoming all too common as the use of GLP 1 drugs increases in India. But what the people who are making all these moral judgements about what is essentially a medical intervention, do not realize is that tackling obesity is not as simple as calculating food deficits and working out in the gym. On the contrary, obesity is a complicated medical issue that only qualified medical professionals can tackle, not jumped up ‘fitness influencers’ and ‘gym bros’. And sometimes to tackle these medical issues, medicines are necessary. Just as those with high blood pressure need medical help so do people with obesity.

Amidst all this sneering, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that these GLP 1 drugs are medicines that have a great effect on your overall health. They control sugar levels in diabetic patients (for whom these drugs were designed in the first place). They improve cardiovascular health in people with heart problems. They help bring down your cholesterol and improve the health of your liver. They reduce the desire to smoke and drink, and help those with drug addictions as well. And now there is some evidence to suggest that may help with inflammatory diseases too. 

Sure, there are some people who are using these drugs to bring about a cosmetic improvement in their appearance. But that fact does not change the essential nature of the drugs in question – or the benefits they bring to those that need them. So, when you Ozempic shame someone who is on them, what you are really indulging in is a bit of old-fashioned fat-shaming. It may be framed differently, but the moral judgement hits just the same. 

And those that delight in shaming other people are pretty shameful themselves.

Native blooms

Yes, tulips are not Indian; but then, nor are marigolds

Every spring, over the last few years, Delhi comes ablaze with tulips of every colour. While these appear in many traffic roundabouts and city parks, the most impressive display is along Shanti Path in Chanakyapuri. Here the long boulevard is lined with tulips that are so stunning that there is always a little crowd gathered around photographing them from every angle. 

I joined this crowd a couple of days ago, and was recounting how amazing the display was to a group of friends, and encouraging them to visit while they lasted (tulips have an amazingly short shelf life). While everyone else was open to the idea, one lady wasn’t at all impressed. “Tulips,” she snorted. “Why tulips? They are a foreign flower. This is not Amsterdam. This is Delhi. And we should be planting local flowers like marigolds!”

Marigolds? Well, okay. But did she know that marigolds were not native to India either? They are originally from Mexico and had been imported to India in the 16th century by Portuguese and Spanish traders. 

Impossible, she said. The marigold was an Indian flower. They were an integral part of Hindu pujas and had been used to decorate temples since time immemorial. Yes, I countered, the marigold had become an integral part of our puja rituals over the years – but only since they were introduced to India in the 16th century. 

It was only when I summoned up Google to substantiate my case, did she concede the point – though with very bad grace. The conversation then moved on to other less contentious topics but it left me wondering about how many things we regard as indigenous when they actually came to India from elsewhere a few centuries ago.

As a Punjabi, I grew up loving my rajma-chawal and makki di roti and sarson da saag combines, and regarded them as dishes of an ancient origin. Imagine my surprise when I grew up to find out that rajma was introduced to India (again from Mexico/Central America) in the 17th century. And that it only became a staple dish in the late 19th or early 20th century. The tomato that is integral to its taste was brought to India only in the 16th century; before that all Indians used things like tamarind and yoghurt as souring agents in dishes. Similarly, there was no makki di roti in ancient times. Corn was brought in from south America in the 16th century but it wasn’t until the 19th century that makki di roti became a staple of Punjabi cooking. 

I am sure if I were to point out these inconvenient facts to proud Punjabis they would be up in arms about my dissing their ancient culinary tradition. But the fact is that even up until the end of the 18th century, rajma and makki di roti did not exist in this country. But that’s not to say that these things are not regarded as quintessentially Punjabi now. 

In fact, that is how the world evolves. Things that came in from abroad are absorbed into the local culture so smoothly and seamlessly over time that they become Indian in due course. So, who knows, maybe 100 years down the line, the tulip will regarded as an Indian flower as well – just as the marigold is today! 

The eight hour rule

Some tricks to make sure you sleep through the night

I have never understood those people who spend their time boasting about how they get by on three or four hours of sleep every night. Oh, they announce airily, we simply can’t stay asleep for longer than that; and frankly, anything more than that seems like a waste of time. They then pause dramatically so that their listeners can coo admiringly at them and exclaim how lucky they are.

Well, I must confess that I always keep schtum in such situations because I simply can’t fathom how anyone can get by without at least seven – if not eight – hours of slumber. And over the years, as insomnia has discovered me, I have perfected the art of getting in the requisite hours of rest every night. These are just some of the tricks I have adopted, if you would like to follow suit.

• No TVs in the bedroom. That is a hard and fast rule that I always abide by. Not just in my own home, but even when I am travelling. If my hotel room has a TV facing the bed, it remains resolutely off. If I am staying with family and the guest room has a TV, I make sure I disconnect it to remove all temptation. That way, there is no chance that I will get absorbed in a series I am watching and stay up till the wee hours of the morning, waking up sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed the next day.

• Beds should be phone-free zones. I haven’t always followed this rule. In fact, for many years, I used my phone as an alarm clock to wake me up every morning. But I knew that had to stop when I found myself reaching out for in the dead of night to scroll through Instagram or read a story on some news site. The truth is that a phone within arm’s reach is always a distraction – and one that actively interferes with sleep. So, you are best advised to leave it in the living room to charge when you retire to bed.

• Read yourself to sleep. There is a catch to this. Don’t use a tablet or a Kindle last thing at night, because the screen light can be disruptive to your sleep. Instead, use this time to read a physical book. But not just any book. If you choose a spy thriller or murder mystery there is a good chance that you will stay up till late because you simply must find out what happened next. So, choose a non-fiction book – a history tome, a biography or autobiography – which allows you to disengage in good time.

• Pop a pill. No, I don’t mean a sleeping pill; that is not a long-term solution. Instead, take a supplement that will help you get a good night’s sleep. In my case, what has worked like magic is taking a tablet of magnesium glycinate before I turn the lights out. Not only do I get eight hours of uninterrupted slumber, as a bonus the leg cramps I suffered from every night are gone as well.   

Remains of the day

 My very own anti-Valentine Day's guide

It’s a fortnight to Valentine’s Day as I sit down to write this. And my inbox is already inundated with messages about special V Day dinners, discounts on designer stores, offers to buy overpriced flowers and the like. This happens like clockwork every year; and it drives me mental every time.

So, this time I decided to devise my own anti-Valentine guide for those of us who choose not to celebrate with exorbitant tat and overpriced restaurant meals. Here is what you can do instead, in no particular order of importance.

• Instead of spending an insane amount of money ordering roses for your significant other – prices tend to multiply around this time – on this day, do something far more thoughtful. Spend a little more and put in a standing order of a nice bouquet to be delivered to her/him every week. That way, you can express your love the entire year around; not just on one arbitrary day. And as a bonus, your home with have fresh flowers all year.

• Booking a nice dinner and getting all togged up to go out is all very well. But it doesn’t stand up to the commitment involved in planning a three-course meal at home, featuring all the favourite dishes of your partner. Splash out on an expensive champagne, secure in the knowledge that it will still cost less than that overpriced wine at the restaurant. And the best part of this is that you can simply slope off to bed after – no hanging around waiting for an Uber.

• If you are into buying gifts then don’t restrict yourself to such twee options as chocolates and strawberries. Invest in something more meaningful. Sign up for a cookery or pottery class that the two of you can do together. Gift yourselves a spa day so that you can relax together after a nice couple’s massage. Or plan something completely out of your comfort zone – like a trekking or rock-climbing adventure – to keep things lively.

• Do something that indicates that you have been paying attention to your partner. If they love art, organize a museum tour for them. If they are foodies, then a guided food walk will hit the spot. If they love the outdoors, then take them on a picnic in the most scenic spot you can find. But whatever you do, choose something that makes them feel seen.

• Most importantly, use this occasion to recalibrate your relationship. Make a pact to go out on your own – no kids, no parents, no friends – at least once a week. Have a digital detox for a couple of hours around dinner time at home every day, so that you can completely disconnect and just focus on each other. Take a pledge to do one thoughtful thing for the other person every day. Promise to take mini-breaks with each other to keep the relationship fresh and make new, happy memories. This way, you won’t just celebrating love on one particular day – but all through the year.

End of an era...

When life is no longer a walk in the park

Regular readers of this column will be familiar with my love of Sunder Nursery – given how much I have rhapsodized about it over the years. It was my lifeline during the Covid years, when the open space and verdant green provided a respite to being cooped up at home. It helped that it had yet to be discovered by most Delhi folks, so there was no overcrowding and it was possible to walk for an hour and not be unduly disturbed by other people. 

In the years since then, of course, the nature of Sunder Nursery changed, slowly but surely. Not only did more Delhiites discover its charms, making it picnic central during the winter months, but more and more events began to be organized there, which increased the footfall tremendously. Like all ‘regulars’ at some place which has now become too popular, I was a little sad about having my own little slice of heaven invaded by the marauding hordes visiting exhibitions, attending dance recitals and the like. But I consoled myself with the thought that at least more people were becoming acquainted with the park – and that could only be a good thing.

Well, my experience last week made me change my mind. It was a rare sunny afternoon in Delhi, so my husband and I decided to head out to lunch at Manish Mehrotra’s new restaurant, Nisaba, in the Sunder Nursery complex. The ride from our home to the park usually takes no more than 20 minutes but this time it took more than an hour. Partly it was that Delhi Police, in its wisdom (sarcasm alert) had decided to barricade one of the main roads leading to Sunder Nursery so everyone had to take a long detour to get there. But mostly it was that the footfall was so great – and the number of cars so large – that it was a nightmare even getting to the entrance. In fact, such was the over-crowding that all the parking slots were full, and everyone had to abandon their cars and trudge along to their destination. 

I arrived there to discover that the Sunder Nursery I knew and loved had disappeared; it had been invaded by a heaving mass of humanity who had no inhibitions about shoving and pushing to get ahead of the crowd. Some of these people were there to visit Humayun’s Museum (part of the same complex), others were waiting for tables to open up at the various outlets in the restaurant hub downstairs, and yet others were just struggling to get into the park itself to enjoy a bit of sun.

We finally made it to our table, a good 40 minutes late, and had an excellent meal. But that is probably the last time I will be making that trek. Sadly, I have to admit that the Sunder Nursery I cherished as my personal haven is long gone. In its place, is a vast commercial enterprise, where every square inch of the space has been monetized without much regard to how it will spoil the ambience of the gardens.

So, I guess I have to find another park for my perambulations from now on. But I won’t be writing about my new haunt, having learnt the hard way that it is important to gatekeep some things. Wish me luck!

Diet bores

 There is nothing more tedious than someone banging on and on about their diets

It is a truth universally acknowledged that January is the month when everyone begins to regret their excesses over the Christmas-New Year period. And as surely as night follows day, those periods of extreme feasting are followed by rigorous fasting. Which is just a fancy way of saying that January finds almost everyone following some sort of diet regime to get back into shape (or, at the very least, into the trousers they were happily wearing until November of the previous year!).

So, like everyone else on this planet, these days I find myself surrounded by people who are not only on a diet, but are prone to aggressively announcing their new eating plans, with the unspoken assumption that I am the only Greedy Gretel, who is still stuffing her face at the beginning of the New Year. Honestly, there is nothing more annoying than the self-satisfaction of these dieters as they munch on lettuce while looking superior when I order a burger and fries.

Sadly, there are as many types of dieters as there are diets these days; and each one of them is annoying in their own peculiar way. Allow me the luxury of listing just some of them:

• First up is the no-gluten, no-dairy brigade. Members of this group turn up at a restaurant – or, God forbid, your home – with a list of items that they are simply not allowed to eat. Then, follows an entirely joyless meal in which they pick at their food listlessly, while everyone else feels vaguely guilty about enjoying their own deep-fried delights. More often than not, their resolution breaks by the time dessert comes around. Then, having virtuously turned down every fattening offer, they order the most calorific thing on the menu, which has every ingredient they just proudly announced that they have renounced. Er, sorry, what happened to that no-gluten, no-lactose rule? And no, a sheepish look is not a good answer.

• Far worse are those dieters who seem to think that calories don’t count if they eat them off someone else’s plate. These are probably the most irritating people to share a restaurant meal with. They will order salad (dressing on the side, obviously) and then steal the French fries you ordered, while sneaking bits of someone else’s pizza or pakoras for good measure. They will put on a saintly expression as they refuse dessert. And then – yes, you guessed it – it will be open season on everyone else’s pudding. Honestly, darling, who do you think you’re kidding?

• And then, there are the Diet Bores. You know the ones I am talking about. Yes, those people whose only conversation is about the calorific value of every dish, the benefits of every diet they have ever been on – all the way from Atkins to the Zone diet, taking in General Motors along the way – and how much weight they have lost on each of them. Tellingly, they never tell you how much weight they put back on; or they wouldn’t need to be on another diet in the first place, right? And that, quite frankly, tells me all I need to know about diets – and dieters.