Is life a beach?

Or is it a hill to climb?

So are you a beach person or a mountains person? Are you the kind of person that loves splashing in the waves and then drying off on warm white sands? Or are one of those who loves snuggling down under layers of covers next to a roaring fire, with a glass of brandy and a good book in hand, while the snow turns the landscape white outside your window? 

Which one am I, you ask? Well, to tell you the truth, I can’t quite make up my mind. There are times when I feel that I was made to lie lazily on the beach, sipping a cocktail under an umbrella, watching the immutable rise and fall of the waves. But then, the sea breeze makes my hair grow all crinkly, the sun makes me all sweaty and red and the sand gets absolutely everywhere, and I feel that I might be better off in the mountains. 

And I love the mountains! There is something magical about driving uphill on meandering roads and finding yourself looking down on a beautiful vista that changes subtly ever so often. The air is crisp and cold, the weather is bracing rather than blistering, and hot chocolate never tastes better than when you’re sipping it by the light of a bonfire. But then, the cold settles into my bones, the sun goes missing in the mist, and I feel as if I will never feel warm again — and I find myself longing for the beach. 

Is this just me — perverse to a fault — or is this longing for what we do not have an essential part of the human condition? 

There must be a reason why we all head for the cold of the mountains when the temperatures begin to climb in the plains. And why we plan our escape to the sea the moment winter comes calling. We want to enjoy the cold when it’s hot and revel in the heat when it’s cold. 

I am writing this column in Goa, where I am taking a little break from a Delhi winter that is inflicting record levels of pollution on us, and I have to say that the beach life looks perfect to me right now. The shrimp is fresh, the air is salty, and the sand feels soft and satiny beneath my bare feet. The beach is not exactly empty but there are stretches where you can enjoy a little bit of solitude. What’s not to like?

If I had headed to the mountains instead, what would I have encountered in this season? Traffic jams on hill roads because too many other people had the same idea as me, overcrowded hill stations heaving with tourists, crumbling infrastructure — and the guilty feeling that I was despoiling the environment with my very presence. Even the best hot chocolate in the world couldn’t possibly compensate in that scenario. 

So, maybe on balance, I might be better off as a beach person, after all.  Glad we got that cleared up well in time for the New Year!

Raindrops keep falling...

At long last, the monsoon arrives in Delhi – and I couldn’t be happier

 

It is an admission that is usually met with derision, but the monsoon is one of my favourite times of the year. There is something so magical about seeing those dark clouds gathering on the horizon, bearing the rain that will release the magnificent smell of petrichor from the parched earth, and bring solace to all those suffering from the blistering dry heat of a north Indian summer. I can spend entire days just gazing out of the window, watching the sky change colour, marveling at the rain as it comes crashing down, and luxuriating in the cool breeze that accompanies it.

 

This year, though, I had a long wait on my hands, as the monsoon was delayed in Delhi for one week, then another, and then yet another. Such was my frustration at this state of affairs that I decided to do something that I hadn’t done in my entire life. I decided that if the rains would not come to me, well then, I would go to where the rains were.

 

So it was that I arrived in Goa one cloudy afternoon, braving a flight from Delhi. The moment I stepped off the plane and smelt the moisture in the air, I was in heaven. As I drove to the hotel, the dark clouds threatened rain, which finally came pouring down after I had checked into my room. That was my cue to take up residence on the balcony and just watch the skies open up. 

 

And what a sight it was! The vast expanse of green lawn soaked up the moisture greedily, even as the tall palms swayed sinuously in the breeze. The grey sea roiled in the background, as the showers gathered in intensity and then abated to a gentle drizzle. The show was mesmerizing to behold and I was crushed with disappointment when the dark clouds finally moved on and sun came out in its full glory.

 

But this was Goa in the monsoons so, thankfully, I did not have to wait long for a repeat performance. In another hour or so, the clouds were back and so, in time, was the rain. This time I decided on a more immersive experience, and wandered along to the beach, where in solitary splendour – no one else was mad enough to venture out in this kind of weather – I allowed the rain to soak me to the skin. 

 

The experience transported me straight back to my childhood. In those more innocent days, the arrival of the rain meant stripped down to my chemise and running up to the terrace to get sopping wet in the rain. I would be joined by my best friend at the time and we would create a little swimming pool of sorts (by blocking all the water outlets) and skid around, whooping and hollering with joy.

 

I was very tempted to do the same sort of thing on the beach, but the presence of the lifeguard meant that I behaved like a responsible adult instead of a giddy child even though it went against my every instinct.

 

But like all good things, my Goa sojourn also came to an end. And it was back to Delhi, which was (still!) waiting for the monsoon to arrive. 

 

And then, finally, it did! I woke up one morning to see an overcast sky that promised rain later in the day. And sure enough, as I sipped on my first coffee of the day, the rain came pouring down, accompanied by a strong wind that whipped my hair all around my face and deposited a gentle spray of rainwater on me. The temperature dropped by a good 10 degrees and the mugginess of the atmosphere disappeared as the moisture was leached out of the air.

 

Monsoon had finally arrived in Delhi. And it was time to roll out all my monsoon rituals. Khichdi, alu chokha and begun bhaja for lunch. Kanda bhajiya for tea. And a walk in Sunder Nursery in the evening, as raindrops kept falling on my head. Bliss!

 

Monsoon Survival Kit

Some handy tips to keep you frizz-free and stress-free this rainy season

Is it my imagination or do civic services seem to get worse every monsoon? The traffic snarls increase, the number of potholes proliferate, and the flooding – even when the volume of rain is not out of the ordinary – gets more apocalyptic with every passing year.

So, I wouldn’t blame you if you regard the onset of the rainy season with dread and trepidation, wondering what fresh hell will be unleashed this monsoon. I would, in fact, understand completely, and make sympathetic noises even as you moaned and groaned.

But what good would that do you? None at all!

Which is why I have decided to compile my own Monsoon Survival Kit to provide you practical tips and advice to get through this season with your feet dry, your hair frizz-free and your sanity intact.

·       Grant yourself rainy-day holidays: When the rain is coming down so hard that complete and utter traffic dislocation seems guaranteed, call in sick. If you think that won’t wash (pun alert!) then claim to be flooded in and ask if you can work from home. Then you can hunker down on your bed (or sofa) with a nice, steaming cup of tea, and work on your laptop with one eye on the amazing monsoon sky raging and raving outside your window. And when the rain finally comes down, you can take a little balcony break to feel the fresh spray of rainwater on your face. Bliss!

·        Better still, hold over some of your annual summer leave for the monsoon. Then when everyone else is dealing with traffic jams and car breakdowns, you could be walking the beach in Goa or Kerala, getting soaked to the bone as your feet squelch across the wet sand. And while swimming in the sea may be out of the question in this season, you can still enjoy its stormy beauty as you sit at a beachside shack, knocking back some fish fry with a beer or a vodka tonic. (If the beach seems too messy, then head for the mountains to feast your eyes on the mist, the fog, and yes, the rain, from your vantage point in the hills.)

·       If you do have to go to work, then work on making your commute fun. If you are driving, load some nice rain songs on your music system or pop in the earphones to listen to your latest audio book. If you are being driven, catch up on your reading, whether it is with an e-book reader, an actual book or the Kindle app on your phone. Phone a friend you haven’t spoken to in a long time. Check out your favourite feeds on Instagram. If you can fill this empty time by doing something you enjoy, something that makes you happy, even the interminable jams won’t seem intolerable.

·       There will be several days during this season that you will find yourself marooned at home. So make sure that you have everything you need to keep yourself entertained. Subscribe to Netflix, Amazon Prime or Hotstar, so that you can binge-watch the latest shows. Make sure the liquor cabinet is well-stocked. Keep lots of microwaveable popcorn handy, so that you can replicate the movie-watching experience at home. (Added bonus: at home, unlike at the cinema, you can pair this with a glass or two of wine!)

·       But while there is a lot to be said for chilling in the dry comfort of your home when the monsoon is raging outside, you will be missing out if you just stay indoors. So, when there is a break in the rain, head out for a walk in the neighborhood park. The rain will have had a cleansing effect on all the vegetation, the leaves will be sparkling, the flowers glistening, the grass greener than ever, and the world will seem like a happier, shinier place.

·       This is the season of bad-hair weeks (rather than days). The humidity will make you sweat gallons and you will feel like washing your hair every single day when you get back home. But don’t just stop at a shampoo, pamper your hair with a frizz-free conditioner. And to make sure your ends don’t curl up by the next morning, squeeze on some frizz-free mousse for good measure before you blow-dry it. (Alternatively, you could just embrace your curly-hair avatar. But while there is something to be said for philosophical acceptance, it still smacks of defeatism to me.)

·       Whether or not you have kids of your own, this is as good a time as any to relive your childhood. As a child, rains to me always meant heading straight for the terrace to get soaked to the skin. Then, it was time for a quick shower and settling down to some chai-pakora, served up by my long-suffering mother. Now that she is no longer around, I go through the ritual all on my own. But I can feel her presence even in her absence; and I feel like a six year old again. And I have the rains to thank for that.

Raindrops keep falling...

When the monsoon comes calling, it's time to fall back on those rainy-day rituals

Whenever the rain comes pouring down, I remember my grandmother. She was a true believer in the magical properties of rain water. So, even as the skies darkened, she would be ready with buckets, tubs, steel pans, and whatever other container she could lay her hands on. They would all be lined across the verandah, carefully positioned in the places where she knew (from her vast experience) the most rain waiter would fall.

When the skies finally opened up, she would press us kids into service. The moment a bucket/tub/container filled up, it was our job to pick it up and jog across to the large water tank next to the kitchen, empty it in and come back for more. The higher the water level in the tank at the end of the downpour, the happier my grandmom.

Then, until the next shower, this water would be rationed out carefully to all the women in the family (men really didn't rate in my grandmom's world; the feminist before her time). Not to bathe in; that would be a criminal waste. The rain water was only used to wash our hair. And I have to admit that, in that pre-conditioner era, it left our tresses silky smooth and shining.

It was only after my grandmother passed on that I developed a rainy-day ritual of my own along with my best friend in the neighborhood. The moment it started raining, we would run to the terrace and block all the water outlets with balled up pieces of cloth. Then, the two of us would get soaked to the skin, fairly screaming with joy, even as the terrace slowly transformed into a swimming pool (admittedly, a very shallow one!). Once the water was a few inches deep, we would 'swim' or more accurately, skid along the smooth concrete, having the time of our lives.

When we were a little older, we incorporated a bit of arts and crafts into this routine. Once we had satiated the thirst of our animal spirits, we would settle down in the shade, piles of old exercise books by our side. We would carefully fashion paper boats and sail them across our miniature ocean, keeping close tabs on whose boats made it the farthest.

But by far, the best part of the monsoons was the 'rainy-day holiday'. In Calcutta, where I grew up, you were guaranteed at least four days off due to torrential rain. So, every morning I would get up and run hopefully to the window to see if the rain was coming down in gallons. And you cannot imagine my delight on the rare occasions that we were in fact given a 'rain holiday'.

That day, breakfast would not be a glass of milk and a couple of slices of buttered bread. It would be milky tea, teamed with steaming hot singaras (what you would call samosas in the north) and jalebis from the neighborhood 'mishti dukaan' (sweetshop). Then, I would grab my favorite book - an Enid Blyton when I was younger and a Georgette Heyer when I was a little older - settle down in the window seat and prepare to read the day away while glancing occasionally at the grey skies outside, fortified by many cups of chai.

And then there were the rainy-day menus, all unified by the theme of deep frying: fluffy puris for breakfast with aloo subzi; steaming bowls of kitchdi served with begun bhaja; pakoras made with everything from fiery green chilies to soft creamy paneer for evening tea; and if we were still hungry at the end of that, another helping of kitchdi for dinner.

I think it is fair to say that as I got older, rainy-day rituals became a spectator sport rather than a full-on, immersive experience. Rare was the occasion that I allowed my inner child to go forth and frolic in the rain. Instead, in keeping with my new grown-up status, I would watch indulgently from the sidelines as my nieces did much the same thing, playing out my childhood in front of my own eyes.

But no matter how old I get, I find it hard to eschew rainy-day rituals altogether. So now, when I am in Mumbai, my rainy-day ritual extends to taking the day off, keeping a pot of coffee on the go and just sitting on the balcony, watching the rain slash down into the Arabian Sea.

One of my favorite weekend breaks is to head to Goa during the monsoons, when the grey of the sea and the skies is set off to perfection by the verdant green of the vegetation. And suffice it to say, if you haven't walked down a soggy beach, being pummeled by the rain, the salty sea spray, and the buffeted by the winds, you haven't lived at all. If I have a little more time off, Kerala is my 'rain destination' of choice, with egg roast and parottas taking the place of  singaras and pakoras, and coffee standing in for milky tea.

And if I am stuck in Delhi, not the best place to enjoy the monsoons admittedly, then it's off to Lodi Gardens to take a walk in the rain and get soaked to the skin. It's hard to resist the temptation to fashion a few paper boats to float down the water that collects in large puddles as I dawdle along the jogging track. But now that I am no longer that little girl who would try so hard to transform her terrace into a swimming pool, I try my best to resist.

Sex, lies, and lack of videotape

It’s all very well to outrage about the Tehelka case; but let’s also try and ensure that such cases don’t recur

Over the last fortnight, the media have been ‘larcerating’ themselves over the sexual assault allegations leveled against Tehelka editor, Tarun Tejpal, by a (now former) staffer of the magazine. The account of the aggrieved journalist makes for sorry reading, but what was even more disturbing was the attempt by Tehelka to try and pass this off as an ‘internal matter’. When journalists dared ask questions of Tehelka managing editor, Shoma Chaudhury, she shot back angrily: “Are you the aggrieved party?” (Presumably, Shoma, or to call her by what we now discover is her real name, Suparna, was an ‘aggrieved party’ in the Assaram case, or else why would she chose to cover it?)

Well, you know what, Ms Chaudhury? We are all aggrieved parties in this. Not just every woman who has ever had to fend off unwanted sexual advances in the workplace; but every young girl in school and college today, who one day hopes to step into the work force. Not to mention, every unborn child who deserves to enter into a world in which women are not preyed upon sexually – and then victim-shamed when they summon the courage to speak up.

But how do we create that world? Outraging on Twitter, fulminating on TV and in columns such as this one, is a good way of venting when our rage, frustration and despair threaten to overwhelm us. But it doesn’t really change things in the real world. And nor does the constitution of sexual harassment committees in accordance with the Vishakha guidelines.

So, what will? I have spent the last week or so trying to come up with some answers. This is what I have so far:

1)    Start work on the next generation. Much as it saddens me to say this, most of the men in my generation and the one above are beyond redeeming. It was telling that the only people who were willing to come on TV and defend Tejpal were men of a certain age who had grown up in an age of entitlement. In their world, junior staffers should be flattered when men in power show sexual interest in them; and shut up and put up with sexual harassment, or even sexual assault. A mentality like that is hard to change. So, while we shouldn’t let them get away with victim shaming, let’s not nourish any illusions that their Neanderthal thinking will change.

Instead, let’s try and get the young men of today and tomorrow to see women as something other than sexual objects. In this endeavor, the mothers – and indeed, fathers – of young boys have the biggest role to play. Teach your son that a woman’s right to her bodily integrity is inviolable. Make him understand that no means no. Upbraid him when he makes sexist comments. Respect his girlfriend/wife rather than undermine her. Teach him by example. Don’t refer to women in short dresses as ‘sluts’. Don’t act as if a girl who has premarital sex is a ‘whore’. Don’t sneer at women who frequent nightclubs as ‘easy’ or ‘fast’.

2)    But while the role of parents is crucial, schools, colleges and other educational institutions can also play a vital role. Alongside classes on sex education, we also need to teach lessons about sexual behavior. We need to tell young girls and boys what constitutes sexual harassment or even sexual assault. Young girls need to be taught that it is okay to speak out against any man who violates their body. Young boys need to be taught that consent is crucial when it comes to sex. I know it seems self-evident but it is frightening how many men grow up believing that a woman’s ‘no’ means ‘not yet’ and that if they persist it will change into a ‘yes’. It bears repeating. No means no.

3)    A policy of zero tolerance. I remember going on a TV programme on rapper Honey Singh and being asked if I was just picking on him because he was a ‘soft target’. There are no ‘soft targets’ when it comes to sexual violence against women. The man who pinches your bum in the bus, the guy who makes a sexual comment on the street, the singer who raps about violence against women, the boss who acts as if sexual favours are his God-given right, the man who molests or rapes a woman. All of them need to be punished with the full force of the law

4)    No sexualisation of the workplace. And this applies to both men and women. Just as we take it for granted that it is not okay for men to watch pornography at the office, or indeed, decorate their desks with pin-ups of naked women, it is also not okay for women to sexualize the workplace by dressing like wannabe porn stars. There is a time and a place to wear a mini-skirt or a camisole top. Your office is not that place. And while I am all for the right of women to dress as they please, we also need to understand that showing butt cracks or acres of cleavage sexualizes our workplace just as much as dirty jokes do. We wouldn’t stand for it if our male colleagues dressed like that. The same standards should apply to us.

For a truly equal, sexual harassment-free workplace, men and women need to work together. And that work needs to start now.