If it's Jaipur it must be...

...The JLF - the festival that turned the Pink City into a literary Mecca

I have been attending the Jaipur Literary Festival (JLF) on and off for more than a decade. And I have to confess that I had begun to take the wealth of riches it brings to us a little bit for granted. But when the Rajasthan deputy chief minister (and Jaipur Princess) Diya Kumari inaugurated the festival this year and declared that JLF did more for Rajasthan tourism in five days than the state government could do in a year, I realised with a start how right she was. 

Jaipur has, of course, always been on the tourist map. But it took the JLF to turn it into a literary Mecca, which attracts writing stars from across the world. This year you had Peter Frankopan, Mary Beard, Bonnie Garmus among the stellar speakers. And there were a plethora of authors from all across India, who write in such languages as Assamese, Kannada, Malayalam, Punjabi, Urdu and so many others. And, of course, there was Shashi Tharoor…

But while books — both in prose and in verse — were the focus of attention, as indeed they should be at a literary festival, the JLF is always about so much more than books. There is the author’s lounge, of course, where you can buttonhole your favorite writer and gush away for as long as you can hold their attention. I have to admit that I have never ever done so, believing as I do that it is never a good idea to meet your heroes in real life — they can only ever be a disappointment! But the one thing that I do enjoy are the musical performances that start and end each day at the festival. Not only does this showcase the superb talent in the state (and indeed the country) it also gives foreign guests a taste of Indian culture that they may never get if they visit this country on their own. 

Then, there are the stalls showcasing the arts and crafts of the region. You have the best of Rajasthani textiles, beautiful designer wear, stunning jewellery, and so much more. Even if you are not one for shopping (and I am most certainly not) it is still fun browsing the wares to get a sense of just how talented the locals artists and craftspeople can be. 

But it’s the evenings when the JLF really begins to work its magic. There are elegant soirées in the most splendid locations, showcasing the best that the city has to offer. You could be sipping cocktails on the rooftop of a boutique hotel with the entire city laid out in front of your eyes. You might be watching folk singers and dancers perform against the wondrous backdrop of the Amer Fort. Or you could sample the lifestyle of the erstwhile Maharajas in the sylvan environs of Rambagh Palace. 

Every experience that the Pink City has to offer is yours for the taking — and how amazing that it should all start from the celebration of books, books and more books! 

As a lover of reading, nothing makes me happier than seeing literature open up the world for those willing to let it into their lives. 

The spirit of Pujo

It's alive and well; and prospering outside the confines of Calcutta as well

Growing up in Calcutta meant that Pujo was a very special time — even for a true-blue Punjabi family like mine. Yes, my mother sowed a pot with khetri (wheat germ) and we had special pujas every evening in the Navratras and performed Kanjak puja on Ashtami like all devout Punjabis. But we also celebrated the Bengali-style Pujo with equal fervour. As a child I particularly enjoyed getting four sets of new clothes to go pandal-hopping on Shashti, Saptami, Ashtami and Nabami, eating the bhog at different pujos to get a true measure of the culinary delights on offer. 

And then, fate decreed that I had to leave Calcutta and come live and work in Delhi. For many years after I moved, I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate Pujo the same way as I did in Cal. Yes, I knew that there was a sizeable Bengali community in Delhi which celebrated the festival with zest and fervour. But somehow I couldn’t see myself joining the festivities I always associated with Kolkata in a small corner of Delhi that is always Bengal (Chittaranjan Park, of course). So I would content myself with ruminating on Pujas past and promising myself that next year — for sure! — I would go back to Cal for the festival. 

It took me several years to come to the realisation that that was not going to happen. So I did the next best thing. I began attending the Pujos in my immediate neighbourhood in Delhi. These were smaller, more intimate affairs, with many familiar faces, and a genuine sense of community. And I felt that familiar Pujo spirit return to refresh my mind and soul. I soon grew emboldened enough to venture further and attend the larger, more famous Pujos in the capital. And before I knew it, this became an annual ritual. 

This year was different, though. The day the festivities began I was due to travel to Jaipur to attend an event — and who in Rajasthan would be celebrating the Pujos? 

Well, it turned out that a lot of people would be doing just that! As I discovered, there are many as 15 Pujo pandals in Jaipur (reminding me of that old joke: What do you get when three Bengalis get together? Two Pujo Committees!) even though the Bengali community in the city is far from large. 

So it was that on Mahasaptami I managed to recreate my Calcutta memories. I put on a new outfit and headed out with my husband to visit Jaipur’s oldest Durga Pujo pandal in Bani Park. And strangely enough, it was this Pujo that most closely mirrored the Pujos I remembered from my childhood. The pandal was small and compact, the Durga idol was beautiful and serene but not overstylised, the bhog was a simple khichri and tarkari, and the place was overrun by the same kind of Bengali aunties and uncles who used to spoil me when I was a kid. 

Perhaps that explains why, as I stood there, saying a silent prayer to the Goddess, I felt myself retreat to a child-like state of wonder. Or maybe it was just the Devi blessing me with a few moments of grace. 

I would like to think that it was a little bit of both. 

Break Time

Taking a vacation amidst the Coronovirus pandemic? Here’s where you can go…

I don’t know about you but I must confess to being consumed with envy when I look at the Instagram posts of those of my friends who live abroad. Here’s one who is holidaying in Florence with his wife and adult children, traipsing through near-empty museums, and feasting on the most amazing Italian food. Okay, so they have to wear masks while out in public, but frankly that’s a small price to pay for being able to finally get out of home and explore the world beyond your own four walls.

There’s another group of friends, who live in London but are currently coasting along the Amalfi coast, enjoying the azure skies and the indigo waters. And then, there’s my friend who is a chef and runs restaurants in both India and abroad, who is wandering the length and breadth of the Ligurian coastline, trying out the local cuisine as she seeks inspiration for her new menus. (Yes, I see it too: it seems Italy is the destination of choice these days, even though it was one of the countries to be hit hardest by Coronavirus pandemic.)

I have no shame in admitting to travel envy. In fact, after five months (and counting) spent in my home, it seems an entirely reasonable reaction to me. But given that jetting off to my favourite Italian holiday spots (Venice is top of the list, though these days – after bingeing on the Godfather trilogy – I am dreaming of exploring Sicily as well) is out of the question, with the quarantine rules in both countries being what they are, I am setting my sights nearer home.

And when I say ‘nearer home’ I mean that quite literally. There is no way that I would risk getting on a plane right now, so any holiday destinations I consider have to be within driving distance. And I am guessing that that is the preferred choice of most other people as well. Some of my Mumbai friends, for instance, are heading off to their holiday homes in Alibaug, Khandala and Mahabaleshwar, to escape the incessant rain and flooding in the Maximum City, while the more adventurous are even planning to drive all the way down to Goa. All that verdant post-monsoon scenery will probably act as a balm on their bruised and battered souls.

Those of us who live in Delhi have a slightly more diverse group of destinations to choose from. If you want a resort just a short hop, skip and jump away from the city, you could drive to Manesar or Neemrana, to enjoy some stunning architecture, acres of manicured gardens, and perhaps a round or two of golf (that’s one sport where social distancing is no problem at all). Sadly, going to Agra – even though it’s just a little further afield – is more complicated for now because of the quarantine rules imposed by the Uttar Pradesh government.

But if you are willing to drive for another couple of hours, then Rajasthan is just the place for you. The obvious stops are, of course, Jaipur and Udaipur, with their beautiful palace hotels and other heritage properties, but there are plenty of smaller, scenic cities to visit as well. Yes, it will be hot and muggy, and you won’t really be able to hit the shopping districts without a mask in place. But if you choose your hotel well, you can enjoy a break away from home, swim laps in the pool, sip on a cocktail, and enjoy the sinful pleasures of room service.

If the thought of the sweltering heat in Rajasthan is putting you off, well then, the hills are the right place for you. The good news is that if you have a Covid negative test (which you have to upload on the government site before you head out) then you don’t have to quarantine in such states as Uttarakhand. So, you can drive down to any hill resort you choose, and enjoy the misty mountain air, go for bracing walks (or treks, if that is your thing) and enjoy some Pahari food chased down by a nice glass of wine of a peg of smoky whiskey.

But if you do decide to head out for a holiday in the midst of this pandemic, then do keep a few rules in place for a safe vacation.

First off, if at all possible choose smaller properties that have fewer guests in house. That will ensure that your interaction with strangers is kept to a minimum. Before booking into a hotel or an Airbnb, get all the information that you can about their disinfection and cleaning policies. If you have the slightest doubt on that score, then look elsewhere. Make sure that the hotels you book into have adopted contactless service so that you don’t have face time with staff as far as possible.

And most importantly, just because you are on holiday, don’t skip on the usual precautions to keep safe in the times of Corona. Keep your mask on in public areas, keep washing your hands, and observe social distancing. Remember, this is a vacation from real life, not a departure from it. You may be on holiday, but the virus is still out, working hard at trying to infect you.  

So while you can slip your mask off when you’re relaxing by the poolside, always remember to keep your guard up.

Memories of holidays past...

That’s all we have to sustain us as we stay closeted at home this summer

This is usually the time I would be heading out to holiday with my husband, escaping the worst of the Delhi summer. But like all of you reading this column, we are currently homebound, with no prospects of venturing out further than the neighbourhood market for the foreseeable future.

Even if international flights were to resume this month or next, I can’t see myself donning full PPE gear to vacation at some scenic destination. Not that the rest of the world is holding out a welcome banner for us Indians – given that we currently rank third in the list of nations with most infections, we are, for all practical purposes, international pariahs. And the few countries that would take us in would insist on a 14-day quarantine, which is about the length of the average vacation.

Of course, there is always the possibility of vacationing somewhere within driving distance of our city. Agra and Jaipur come to mind but, honestly, who would want to drive a few hours to another equally hot destination, and become prisoners of their hotel rooms rather than their homes? You could drive to the hills but most states are asking for a fortnight’s home quarantine, which doesn’t exactly make for a memorable vacation.

So, it’s time to face up to some tough, incontrovertible facts. We aren’t going anywhere this summer. We have to stay home and make the best of it. And my way of doing that is to dwell in the memories of holidays past, so that I can satisfy my wanderlust in my mind, if nowhere else.

Here, in no particular order, are some of the holiday memories that have sustained me as I continue to isolate within my home.

Japan: This was the most magical vacation ever. The night we arrived in Tokyo was the day that the sakura – as the cherry blossom is known as in Japan – flowered. The next day, along with what seemed like the rest of the city, we headed for the central park to feast our eyes on this magnificent sight. The Japanese have a name for this activity; they call it hanami. And as we mingled with the locals amidst the blooming cherry blossom trees – which took in every shade from white to a deep pink – we truly felt part of the inner life of the city. In those transcendent moments, it was easy to forget that we were just tourists and come to believe that the city, and its beauty, belonged to us as well.

Spain: I know that everyone raves about the energy of Barcelona and that the stately beauty of Madrid has its fans as well. But while I love both these cities too, when I sit back and dream of Spain, it is Seville that comes into view. The shimmering gardens of the Alcazar and its magnificent buildings – familiar to Game of Thrones viewers as the Palace of Dorne – had an almost unreal beauty to them as we wandered through in a veritable daze. And it was from Seville that we drove a couple of hours to visit the legendary Alhambra, the castle built by the Moors, in Granada. We were so blown away by its magnificence that we ended up visiting it twice!

Italy: Rome has its antiquities and Milan is justly celebrated as the centre of Italian fashion and style. But is there a more stunning city in the entire world than Venice? I think not. I first visited it more than a decade ago, arriving in the dead of winter when there were no hordes of tourists cluttering up the streets and piazzas. And as I wandered the near-empty alleys gazing on the jewel-like buildings, wandered wide-eyed through the museums and explored the tiny canals that wound their way through sleepy neighbourhoods, I fell in love with this city. I have been back several times since, each time discovering a new facet of Venice which makes me adore it anew.

England: Every summer, London turns into India central, with everyone from Delhi to Mumbai to Ahmedabad and Nasik making their way to this city. For most affluent Indians, summer holidays mean London, even if they are just using as a take-off point to head elsewhere in Europe. Which is why I much prefer London later in the year when the temperatures drop a little and the tourist throngs thin out. That’s when I can make the most of its splendid parks, its superb museums, and its buzzy restaurant scene. Though I must confess that of late when I think of England, it’s not London that comes to mind first. It’s the English countryside in general, and Oxfordshire in particular, where I spent a blissful birthday in the sylvan surrounds of Soho Farmhouse.

Maldives: This one is an eternal favourite, and I have visited it almost every year for the past decade or so. And what I have discovered is that it doesn’t matter where you go in the Maldives, or which hotel you stay at. What makes this destination memorable is the amazing water that encompasses every shade of blue, the pristine white sand beaches, and the blazing sunshine that makes every corner of your resort brighter and more beautiful. There are no distractions as you would have in a city, so you have no choice but to relax, enjoy the view, and order up another cocktail. Bliss!

The book's the thing...

Unless, of course, you are at a Literary Festival, where it is often, quite incidental 

If winter comes, can Literary Festivals be far behind? Of course not. One follows the other as surely as summer follows spring. And much like the heat of the summer, these Lit Fests - to give them the fond diminutive they go by in chatterati circles -- tend to take over the world. 

They are held in locations as far apart as Chennai and Chandigarh. Major cities like Delhi, Calcutta and Mumbai score more than one. But it is scenic locations like Jaipur that really rock, with literary stars flying in from across the world to participate in panel discussions, do some book readings, drink some bad wine, and with luck, flog a few copies.

I have done my fair share of schmoozing (what other, more elevated, souls call networking) at such events. And sometimes it has been entirely worth the effort. Listening to Ben Okri recite his poetry in the central courtyard of that splendid edifice, the National Museum in Calcutta, was a somewhat surreal experience. And seeing authors like Ian McEwan and Margaret Atwood, whose writing you have worshipped from afar, in the flesh is always a pleasure. 

And yet, despite my passion for books and a serious reading habit that often leads me to ignore real life for the imaginative world of fiction, I end up declining many more invitations to Lit Fests than I accept. And there's a good reason for that. With a few honourable exceptions, Literary Festivals have turned into tamashas, where books tend to get lost in a whirl of socialising and an epidemic of air-kissing. 

In a sense, Lit Fests are to this decade what fashion shows were to the last one. People turn up to be seen and heard, nobody really cares about the main event, but nonetheless, they all scramble to be seated in the first row.

I guess that's fair enough. Everyone finds entertainment where they can, and if Lit Fests are now the places to be seen and photographed at, well then the Beautiful People are bound to throng to them.

You know the kind I mean, don't you? The women are manicured perfection, every hair in place, wafting around in chiffon and pearls or rigged from top to toe in Fab India. The men are doing their best to blend in with the 'literary types' in their kurtas and waistcoats, pairing their designer blazers with well-worn jeans. And all of them are secretly hoping that one of the many photographers snapping away will get them on to Page Three so that their friends can see what well-read, literate types they are.

But these are not the only specimens you find at Lit Fests. There are plenty others who are much in evidence, as they flock from one session to another. Here, in no particular order, are just some types you can be sure to come across:

* The Poseur: You can't miss The Poseur even if you try. He's the one who rushes to occupy the front row at every session. She's the one who grabs the mike the moment the session is declared open, to make a speech masquerading as a question. You can recognize them by the librarian-style spectacles they wear, regardless of whether they need them or not. 

* The Intellectual: He's the quiet one at the back, taking copious notes in a tatty notebook. She's the one quoting from books that nobody else has heard of, let alone read, in the belief that conclusively proves her intellectual superiority. Steer clear of them once the drinks start flowing, or (fair warning!) they will bore you to death with their Existential musings and their Copernican theories.

* The Wannabe Author: This one is ubiquitous. No matter where you go, you will bump into him. If you are a publisher, he will hack you mercilessly for a book deal. If you are an author, she will unabashedly ask for writing tips, and pointers on how to get published. And if you are a journalist, you will be asked for an email id so that they can send over the manuscript for you to have a look at (just give me honest feedback, yaar!).

* The Selfie-Seeker: He doesn't have the slightest interest in books; it is, in fact, doubtful if he has even read one. She couldn't tell William Dalrymple apart from William Boyd if her life depended on it. But both can tell who the most famous person is in every gathering, and they inexorably head for that hapless soul to press-gang him or her into a selfie (duck face entirely optional).

* The Free-Loader: This one is a familiar figure. We've all seen them at fashion shows, book launches or, indeed, any other event that has an open bar. So, it is no surprise that they are out in force on the Lit Fest circle, where the booze is always plentiful and free (thank you, kind sponsors!) and the canapés are substantial enough to stand in for dinner if you manage to scoff enough of them in the course of the evening. Thankfully, they can't talk with their mouth full, so you will, at least, be spared all that cant about Kant.