Location, location, location!

Should you live in the city centre or move to the 'burbs? Both choices have their pros and cons

 

When I moved to Delhi from Calcutta a couple of decades ago, the most stressful thing I had to do was house-hunt. Landlords tended to regard single women with suspicion and journalists even more so. And it didn’t help that my rent allowance wasn’t exactly going to land me a three-bedroom flat. 

 

Unless, of course, I chose to move to Gurgaon. Here my budget would get me a beautiful flat in a condominium which had a gym, a swimming pool, tennis courts, and even a hair salon. I made the trek dutifully and was duly impressed by the apartment. But as I drove back to my office in Delhi, I knew that wild horses couldn’t drag me back to live in Gurgaon, no matter how great the facilities. I had to live in Delhi, a 20-minute ride away from all my usual haunts, even if all I could afford was a barsati flat, in which I froze to death every winter and baked to a crisp every summer.

 

So, that’s what I did. And despite all the hardships this entailed (climbing up three floors four times a day is no fun!) I have never enjoyed myself more than I did in my ever-so-humble first abode in Delhi. I have fond memories of freezing nights spent huddled around a sigri with my friends, while some kebabs sizzled away on the grill; of hosting wine and biryani evenings in my tiny drawing-cum-dining room, with the overflow of guests making themselves comfortable on my bed; of family lunches during which my minuscule kitchen would be jammed full of people trying to get their hands on the next paratha off the tawa. 

 

It was that small space that gave me the greatest joy in my life. And I knew that I wouldn’t have been half as happy in a sprawling apartment if my friends and family (not to mention, Lodi Gardens) was at least an hour’s drive away.

 

I guess it all comes down to priorities. There are some people who prioritize space over everything else and are willing to make sacrifices – like an endless commute five or six days a week – to ensure that they can enjoy it. And then, there are those like me who are willing – even happy! – to live in cramped accommodation just so that they can feel like they are close to the action – and their workplace. 

 

The world is divided between Townies and Burbies; and neither group can understand how the other lives with the choice they have made. Townies marvel at the endless hours Burbies spend stuck in traffic. Burbies don’t get how Townies cope with being restricted to just one bathroom. And so on.

 

But I guess at the end of the day, the joke’s on Townies like myself. Because, two decades on, in Delhi at least, the city has expanded so much that living in suburbia feels like being in the centre of town. So now friends of mine who bit the bullet and bought spacious homes in Gurgaon find themselves surrounded by the best that city life has to offer: trendy restaurants, luxury hotels, top-end malls, cultural hubs that host the best plays and musical performances, and swish clubs that offer everything from golf to tennis to gourmet meals.

 

In retrospect, was that barsati a mistake, after all?

Spring has sprung

And it’s time to make the most of it, before it dissolves into summer

Every year, as the days get longer and warmer, I make a resolution: to make the most of the short-lived Delhi spring. And short-lived it most certainly is, dissolving into summer in the blink of an eye. I often say that living in Delhi means having the heater on one week and then switching on the AC the next. So, if you are going to enjoy the nano-second that spring lasts, then you better have your to-do list ready and be quick about ticking off all the items.

First on my list this year was an item that I have been putting off for way too long: a visit to Humanyun’s Tomb. I finally managed that last evening, going the whole hog and hiring a guide to make the most of the trip. My husband and I ended up spending a few hours in the complex, exploring every monument in sight, watching the sunset and the moonrise as we walked around the sylvan grounds. There was a cool breeze blowing and spring flowers blooming, and it was possible to forget all about the pandemic and pretend that all was right with the world.

That’s the magic of the Delhi spring. For the few weeks it lasts, it makes up for the bitter indignities of winter and harsh humiliations of summer that we have live through. The trick lies in making the most of it, so that you store up enough memories to carry you through for the rest of the year.

So here, in no particular order, are just some of the things that you could try and accomplish in this brief season.

• Have a blooming good time: Quite literally, that is. This is the period when all the roundabouts and parks in the capital are heaving with magnificent spring blooms. So, if you are driving everywhere, keep your eyes peeled for the splash of colour that they provide. Better still, visit your local nursery and pick up a few pots of salvia, cineraria, fuchsia or whatever else catches your eye to brighten up your balcony, terrace, or garden.

• Travel back in time: They say that at least seven cities once flourished on the site where Delhi now stands; and each one of them has left some evidence behind. This is the best time to explore that heritage. You can do the rounds of the usual suspects: Qutub Minar, Red Fort, Purana Qila, Safdarjung’s Tomb, all of which are much less crowded these days because there aren’t any foreign tourists in the mix. Or you could go totally off the beaten track and explore the lesser-known monuments in the city, where it will be easier to socially distance from your fellow citizens.

• Parks and Recreation: This is the best time of year to visit such parks as Sunder Nursery and Lodi Gardens. Take a brisk walk around to enjoy the spring flowers, and then find a shady corner to settle down with a nice book or a picnic. But hurry, because the rest of the city will have had the same idea, and it’s the early bird who will bag the best location. 

• Eating out: If a picnic in a public area does not appeal in the time of Covid, don’t worry. There are plenty of other options for al fresco dining in the city. Choose a restaurant that does outdoor seating and enjoy the last few days of balmy sunshine. Or simply throw your last barbeque of the season, hosting your friends and family in your garden or your terrace. 

• Spread your wings: If you have done all you could in the city, then head a little further out to make the most of the decent weather. You can still squeeze in a skiing vacation in Gulmarg, making the most of the snow before it finally melts. These are the last few weeks you can vacation in Rajasthan before the heat makes it all but impossible. And this is possibly the best time to visit game sanctuaries across the country.

But don’t worry if you can’t squeeze all of this into the remaining spring days. Just do as much as you can, and store the rest away for the following year. Because if winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Up the garden path

Falling in love in the times of Corona

Dear readers, I have a confession to make. I have been unfaithful. Over the last few weeks, I have been cheating on my long-time love on a regular basis. And what’s worse is that I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

Well, partly, at least it is the fault of my long-time love, or as you may know it, Lodi Garden. Once the lockdown was relaxed in Delhi and it was possible to go for a walk in its sylvan surroundings, I excitedly donned my sneakers and mask and headed out for my evening constitutional.

Suffice to say that it didn’t go well. Even though I went in the late afternoon, when the park is usually relatively empty, this time around it was teeming with people. I may have made my peace with that if it hadn’t been for the fact that about 50 per cent of these people were not wearing masks (or had them dangling from their ears or draped around their necks). So, I spent all my time gesturing to them to put their masks on properly, or asking them to do so in my most polite tones. Of course, nobody paid the least attention.

So, after a traumatic 45 minutes of this, I finally gave up the good fight and headed back home, convinced that I had contracted Covid because of my love for Lodi Garden.

Two weeks on, it was clear that I hadn’t been infected with anything other than a seering distaste for repeating that experience. That’s when I turned my lusty gaze to another beauty that had been hovering on my horizon for a while. I speak, of course, of Sunder Nursery.

Sprawling across 90 acres and boasting of manicured lawns, wild woodland areas, sparkling water bodies, effervescent fountains, and historic monuments, this green wonderland had been sending out its siren call to me with every picture I saw on Instagram. So, I finally gave in to temptation and headed there one evening.

Would you consider me a promiscuous so-and-so if I say that it was love at first sight? Would you judge me if I said that the wonder that is Sunder Nursery drove the amazing beauty of Lodi Garden right out of my mind? Would you call me a faithless lover because I switched allegiance in the course of one evening?

Well, never mind, I will take the name calling in my stride. And that’s because the stunning splendor of my new love more than makes it worth my while. 

For one thing, there’s the fact that the gardens are blissfully empty compared to crowded pathways of Lodi Garden (the entrance fee may have something to do with it). There are vast, empty stretches where you don’t see another human being for ages. So, it’s perfectly safe to remove your mask for a few minutes to breathe in the air redolent with the smell of freshly cut grass or the scent of petrichor. I can’t begin to describe what a luxury it is in these times of Corona to have the breeze waft gently against your naked face and have the sun kiss your entire visage.

Just like Lodi Garden, here too the landscape is littered with historical monuments that have been painstakingly restored. So, when the heat becomes too much, you can take refuge in the cool interiors of these centuries old structures, and bathe in the aura of antiquity they exude.

And then, there are the birds. There is, in fact, an entire habitat that has been given over to peacocks, where you can sit around and watch them frolic. If you are patient, you may be lucky enough to see a peacock unfurl his feathers and honour you with a private dance performance.

It’s not just peacocks and peahens, either. The grounds are littered with birds with brightly coloured plumage (one day I will find out what they are all called). And if you stay late into the evening, you don’t even need to plug in your earphones and listen to music. You can, instead, revel in the sound of birdsong.

So, are you surprised that I am in love? Yes, I guessed not.

Home Truths

When you can’t venture out, you have to make your home your whole world

When your house becomes your entire world – because the world outside is off limits for you – how do you cope?

That’s the question that I have had to grapple with over the past few months as Covid-19 ensured that we hunkered down at home, for fear of contracting the infection. And even now, though the lockdown has been relaxed, I continue to cower in my flat. It’s not just that I am a coward who fears infection (though that is part of it); it’s also that I have several comorbidities that put me at particular danger of a bad outcome were I to get the disease.

So, as long as Coronavirus is out there, I am going to stay safely inside.

Which is why my world has contracted to my home. Or, to put a more positive spin on it, my home has expanded to become my entire world. Either way, I have to live my entire life within the confines of my apartment. And though it did feel a little claustrophobic at first, I have gradually found a way to make the space work for me and my quarantine partner (aka the husband).

The first thing I did was to make dedicated workspaces for both of us. After a little territorial jostling, we finally settled on a formula that worked. He has taken over the dining table to do his writing (in longhand) while I have annexed the sofa in the den to work on my laptop. One armchair in the living room, which gets the best light, has been designated as the spot from where he does his Zoom calls, webinars, and TV commentating. I make my video calls from the study, mostly because the wifi is strongest here. And over time we have learnt to treat these as sacrosanct spaces, where neither of us intrudes on the other.

The other area that I have spent reorganizing is the kitchen, where I now spend more time than I did before. The first thing I embarked on was a massive clear out, throwing out old expired bottles of sauces, spices past their sell-by date, and ingredients that I had no use for. Then, it was time to organize my drawers, putting stock cubes in one, curry pastes in another and so on. I ordered kitchen racks and spice jars online, cut out little paper labels and organized all my herbs and spices. I can’t begin to tell what a difference that made when I was cooking to have everything I needed within range and neatly labeled.

The lockdown also made me discover the virtues of an oven. For years, I had just treated it as a way of reheating food. But as the challenge of providing three meals a day took its toll on me, I needed to expand my repertoire from stir-fries and curries and do something more ambitious (by my standards, of course). So, back I went online to order some roasting pans and dishes in which I could make one-pot meals. And ever since they arrived, I have been making at least one meal in the oven every day. (It helps that you can just assemble everything, bung it in for an hour, and relax with a book or a nice glass of wine while dinner gets ready.)

But while I experiment with all kinds of cuisines – Italian, Thai, Vietnamese, French, Chinese – I am never happier than when I am making the kind of comfort food that I grew up eating. So, rajma, kadi, alo wadi makes a regular appearance on my table. And out of respect for my husband’s Gujarati roots, I have also learnt to make dhokla and handvo, the tastes of his childhood.

The other area of the house that I am re-developing is my balcony. It always remained bare and empty because houseplants didn’t seem a good idea given how much we travelled. But now that I am stuck indoors, and the balcony is the only outdoors I have access to (so to speak), I am slowly greening it, so that I have something pretty to look at.

It started off with a few jasmine plants, which are already budding with the promise of fragrant flowers. When I was sure that they were flourishing I got a little more ambitious and bought some frangipani plants. My cousin, who has both a sprawling garden and a green thumb, sent me some basil and mint along with some flowering plants and creepers. And slowly but surely, my bare balcony is transforming into a green bower. It’s not quite Lodi Garden (ha!) but for now, it’s enough to keep me sane.

Talking of Lodi Garden, I still haven’t had the courage to head there for my usual evening walk. Instead, I have created a walking track within my house, which I use for an hour everyday. I start off from the bedroom, walk down the long corridor past the dining area to the den at the other end of the house, take a detour into the living room, then back to the long corridor which leads to the bedroom. Sometimes, just for a little variation, I take in a few turns of the front and back balcony as well. It is a bit tedious but it ensures that I keep to my 10,000-step count for the day and get enough active minutes.

And for the moment, at least, that’s quite enough.

The new normal

It’s time to take baby steps back into the world; no matter how nervous it makes us

The first thing I did once the lifting of the lockdown was announced was to drive to Amrita Shergill Marg. No, I wasn’t visiting family or calling on friends. I just wanted to drive down the road to see the amaltas (or laburnum, if you prefer) flowering in all their glory.

Throughout the lockdown, one thought had persisted in my mind. That I would end up missing the blossoming of the amaltas this year altogether. And given that the sight of those yellow blooms is the only thing that makes suffering the Delhi summer worthwhile, it was a depressing thought.

Much to my surprise, though, as I drove through Amrita Shergill Marg, which is studded with laburnum trees on either side of the road, I realized that the trees were late blooming this year. Some of them were showing flashes of yellow, but most of them still had their green canopy.

Phew. There was still time to catch them in all their glory in the weeks to come. My relief was overwhelming as I drove back home, content in the knowledge that I hadn’t missed out on what has always been the highlight of my summer.

What I did miss out on, though, was the beautiful spectacle that is Lodi Garden in the spring. When the lockdown was first announced, the first spring flowers were just emerging shyly from the earth, inching higher every day. But before they could reach even halfway through their life cycle, life as we knew it was over and we were all imprisoned in our homes.

Every evening, around the time that I would usually head out for a walk, I would be overwhelmed by a sense of sadness as I thought about the beautiful flowers that I could no longer feast my eyes on. To paraphrase that old saying, do flowers really bloom in a garden if there is no one around to see them?

Silly question. Of course they do. But somehow in the absence of people who can appreciate their beauty, their existence seems far more insubstantial, ephemeral even.

Even after the lockdown was lifted, though, I could not summon up the courage to head out to Lodi Garden. Given that I have certain co-morbidities that make me more at risk of bad outcomes if I contract Covid, I thought discretion was the better part of valour and continued to exercise in the safety of my own home. And while it would have felt good to get some fresh air after being cooped up for so long, I thought the added pressure of socially distancing from fellow walkers and joggers was not really worth it.

So, even though the lockdown has been lifted I still find myself homebound, because of a combination of fear and anxiety. All these weeks, I have been looking forward to hair salons being opened, so that the disaster that is my hair could be fixed by professionals. But now that I all I have to do is pick up the phone and make an appointment, I find myself hesitating. How embarrassing would it be to admit to someone that I contracted coronavirus because I couldn’t wait to get a hair cut and colour? How vain would that make me seem? And did I really want to risk paying such a high price for my vanity?

Yes, yes, I know what all you brave souls out there are thinking. That there is a minuscule chance of contracting the virus when you are walking in the open air while wearing a mask, especially when others in the park are masked as well. That hair salons – and other such establishments – have sanitary protocols in place to make sure that their clients are safe from infections.

At a rational level, I know all that. But there is still a part of my brain – and the predominant one, at that – which keeps telling me to hunker down at home and not risk stepping out unless it is absolutely essential. And while I can use my cross-trainer at home, and apply the home hair-dye kit (no matter how ineptly), leaving the house for a walk or a root touch-up seems unnecessary at best and frivolous at worst.

So, what would I risk leaving home for?

Well, doctor’s visits are on top of that list. Though, I must confess, that I was frightened out of my wits on my last visit to see my endocrinologist, Dr Ambrish Mittal. The first shock was seeing the clinic so empty, and being treated like a pariah by the staff at reception (“Please stay behind the barrier, ma’am,” one of them instructed me sternly, as I leaned over to hand him my credit card). Then, there was the dystopian sight of seeing Dr Mithal in full PPE gear, complete with face shield, from a safe distance across the room, from where we shouted at each other to be heard.

But I guess all of this is now part of the new normal, and the sooner I adjust to it, the better it would be for me. So, from this week on, I resolved to put my reservations aside and try and re-enter the world as best I can.

Of course, there was a certain inevitability to the fact that the first thing I did in this endeavour was pay a visit to Khan Market. But those familiar environs calmed me somewhat, and now I am all set for new adventures.

Baby steps, I know. But we all have to start somewhere.

Switch off

Is it time to disconnect from a hyper-connected world?

It was a Whatsapp message from my nephew that first alerted me to the fact that something was up. “Hello, I’m not going to be using a phone any more,” he announced cheerily to all his contacts. “If you’d like to get in touch, I’d be delighted to hear from you on email.” It’s now been a few weeks since that announcement and Arjun maintains that he’s never been more at peace than since he gave up on his phone. There are no incessant calls and messages, both personal and professional, no constant notifications from social media platforms; instead there is blessed quiet in which he can hear himself think.

I would have dismissed this as just my nephew being his usual eccentric self – he did, after all, give up on being a successful lawyer to train in drama therapy – if I hadn’t meet many other millennials since then who also seem to be disenchanted by phones and what they are doing to their lives.

One of them confessed that she felt so stressed at the thought of having to take work calls at all hours of the day that just the ring of her phone was enough to trigger an anxiety attack. Another had deleted all social media apps like Twitter and Facebook from his phone, using them only when he accessed his laptop, and felt much more productive as a consequence. And then, there was the one who was so concerned by his ‘screen time’ reports (did he really spend 2.3 hours on Instagram on average every day?) that he had downloaded an app that automatically cut off his Internet usage once he had breached a certain time limit.

I could go on, but you probably get the point. I certainly did, and inspired by these young people, over the last fortnight I have attempted to bring down my ‘screen time’ as well (no, you really don’t want to know how long I spend on Twitter every day) and see if that helps me concentrate better on the book that I am working on at the moment. My way of doing this was to activate ‘Airplane mode’ when I sat down to write, so I had to perforce focus on my writing rather than disappear down the rabbit hole that is the Internet.

I must admit that it wasn’t easy to begin with. With an almost Pavlovian response, my fingers kept reaching out for the Twitter or Instagram icon, as my attention wandered from the computer screen in front of me. But when the feed would not – or more accurately, could not – refresh – I had no option but to turn back to my writing. The first few days were tough as my brain rewired itself to focus on one task rather than flitting from one to another as it had become accustomed to doing. But after a period of time, I actually began to look forward to these islands of time when I could concentrate on one thing to the exclusion of all else. And now, two weeks later, I can’t even begin to sit down to write without first activating ‘Airplane mode’ on my phone.

One happy outcome of this is over the last fortnight, my screen time is down by 47 per cent. And it would be even lower if it wasn’t for the fact that I have downloaded the Kindle app on my phone and do all my late-night reading on it.  The time I spend reading news sites is still a bit high, but I justify it to myself by calling it work (which, in a way, it is) rather than pleasure. I dip into Twitter only once or twice a day, and I feel much calmer – and much less outraged! – as a consequence. And I treat Instagram like a late-night treat rather than an hourly indulgence, which makes me appreciate it a lot more.

I am now pushing the envelope a little further by leaving my phone behind when I go on my daily walks. It felt a bit strange at first, not being able to listen to music or an audio book as I ambled through Lodhi Garden. But as I walked on, I began to appreciate the real world around me a lot more when I didn’t have a distracting soundtrack playing in my ear. I drank in the beauty of the flowery verges, the majesty of the monuments that suddenly sprang up on me, and the sweet sound of birdsong as the sun set on another day.

In a way it was a throwback to a gentler time, to my mobile phone-free youth, when I used to leave work in the evening and head straight out for a bracing walk secure in the knowledge that nobody could get hold of me for the next hour or so no matter how hard they tried. This is not a feeling that most young people these days are at all familiar with, given the hyper-connectedness of their lives, when they are never truly off the grid. Work mails keep pouring in at all times, bosses Whatsapp at odd hours and expect an instant comeback, and parents want to know exactly where you are and what you are doing at any given time.

No wonder the poor dears want to turn their phones on silent, or even switch the damn things off. In this day and age, sadly, that’s the only way to get some peace and quiet – and a tiny sliver of time to yourself.

Breathe easy

This winter, treat yourself to some clean air – even if it is just over a short break

There was a time when I spent the entire year looking forward to the time when winter would finally come to Delhi. There was a special pleasure in melting some white butter on the first sarson da saag of the season, and scooping up all that creamy loveliness with a makki di roti. There was something magical about lighting a tiny little bonfire on the terrace and gathering around with friends and family. Or even just going for a long walk in Lodi Gardens, secure in the knowledge that you would not return home soggy with sweat.

Those days are long gone. Now the moment the mornings begin to get a little cool and the sun sets a little earlier, I begin to worry about just how bad the pollution will be this winter. Will the air purifiers, sprinkled liberally all through the house, be enough to ward off those almost-inevitable asthma attacks? Will I make it through the season without having to invest in another N99 mask, to slip on every time I step out of the house? And how many years will this particular winter take off my life?

Which is why the moment the weather starts to turn I begin to think of winter getaways that will whisk me away to healthier, less polluted climes. I dream of destinations where I can breathe in fresh air, where I can put my inhaler away and forget about it, and where my wheezing becomes a distant memory. 

If you are beginning to feel the same way, and can think of nothing better than to escape the gas chamber that is this city – and most others; Kolkata is just as polluted, and Mumbai only marginally less so – then here are a few suggestions to start you off on your winter destination hunt.

• If you are heading for the mountains then steer clear of overdeveloped and busy hill stations like Shimla and Nainital. You will be much better off going to smaller, less crowded places like Sattal, Bhimtal or even Ranikhet. What you lose in terms of quality of the accommodation, you will more than make up in the quality of the experience. You will finally be able to fill up your lungs with sweet mountain air, breathe in the freshness that blooms all around you, and exhale with relief.

• If you don’t mind travelling further, then the south has some stupendous hill stations that are worth exploring. Ooty is a perennial favourite with honeymooners, but my personal favourite is Munnar, with its verdant green and almost toy-town like beauty, though some of my friends are big fans of Coorg and Kodaikanal. 

• If beaches are your thing, then I would steer clear of Goa. This gets awfully overcrowded at this time of year and is horribly overpriced as well. You would be better served heading to the south. Your best bet would be Kerala, where you could squeeze in some Ayurvedic treatments as well as walks on the beach (though I myself am partial to the backwaters). Or you could head to Tamil Nadu, where the entire shoreline is dotted with lovely beach resorts where you can revive your tired lungs with those moisture-laden breezes from the Bay of Bengal. If you are willing to look beyond domestic beach destinations, then you can have your pick of Thai beach resorts, some of which may actually be cheaper than those in our own country. (If money is no object, then head to the Maldives.)

• If you prefer the buzz of city life to communing with nature, then there are several options in our immediate neighbourhood that won’t break the bank. Head out to Singapore, where you can shop to your heart’s content, eat the most marvelous food, and then dip your toes in the sand at Sentosa. If your budget stretches further afield, then this would be a good time to visit Portugal, which is warmer than the rest of Europe. Base yourself in Lisbon and then make day trips to explore Sintra, Cascais and other smaller towns. (If you’re a creature of habit who would rather head back to London or New York, then you can do that too; though, really, wouldn’t you want to expand your horizons?)

• If you’re a nature lover, then this is best time to head for the wild life reserves in India. Go in for a spot of tiger-watching in Ranthambore or Corbett National Park, try your luck at sighting the one-horned rhino in Kaziranga in Assam. The Bandipur National Park in Karnataka is a good place for elephant watching. And if birds are your thing then head to the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary in Rajasthan. December is also a good time to hit Tanzania’s northern circuit where the Serengeti’s Great Migration is in full swing. Or you could head to Kenya, where the rains are just over and the scenery looks lush and green. 

To be honest, it doesn’t really matter which destination you pick. The important thing is to get away from Delhi and its awful air at this time of the year. 

I know, I know, you’ll have to come back soon and breathe in those noxious fumes all over again. But at least the worst will be over (we hope!) and your lungs will have had a bit of a respite. And you will have had a reminder of what clean air looks and feels like.

Sometimes, life is just a walk in the park...

Actually, these days, it’s more of a photography session!

Spring is always the best time to take a walk in Delhi’s Lodi Gardens. The flowers are blooming, the trees are alive, the grass is greener than ever, and the birdsong is enough to make your heart soar. This spring though, as I walked briskly down its little winding roads, I realized that while I hadn’t been looking Lodi Gardens had turned into a photography studio rather than the neighbourhood park I remembered it as. 

To be fair, over the years, you could always find the odd couple posing for their engagement/wedding photos, looking self-conscious and embarrassed in all their finery amidst the joggers in their track pants and T-shirts. But this was something entirely different.

As I entered through the Ashoka Gate, the first thing I saw was a heavily-pregnant lady, wearing a maroon empire-line maxi-dress, posing in silhouette against one of the many monuments Lodi Gardens is littered with. Kneeling in front of her was a man who I presumed was her husband, his hand placed proprietorially on her baby bump. Immortalizing this moment for posterity (and for the progeny) was a burly bearded photographer wielding a DSLR camera like it was an offensive weapon, while his two assistants held up sheets of white thermacol at different angles to provide the best light.

I smiled indulgently at this tableau and moved on. I couldn’t have gone more than thirty paces when yet another photography session caught my eye. This time it was a couple who looked to be in their early 30s, accompanied by a whole team of hair and make-up people, who had opened their little suitcase of products and were conducting urgent repairs on the principals. Once the touch-up was done, one of the photographer’s assistants handed the couple a golden balloon in the shape of the number one. They hoisted it up between them, smiled widely and said ‘cheese’ to celebrate what I can only hope was their first anniversary. 

Fifty yards on, another love story was being memorialized on camera. This time, it was clearly a proposal, or rather, the re-enacting of one. The boy was in the now-mandatory position of being down on one knee, holding up a ring box in his right hand, while he held out his left arm in what can only be described as a Shah Rukh Khan pose. The girl was doing her best Sushmita-Sen-wins-Miss-Universe impression, holding her hands to her mouth in mock-shock and faux-awe. They held this pose for absolute ages as the photographer captured it from every conceivable angle. Given how much effort they had put into the ‘proposal’ I was sure that their marriage would be the stuff of legend.

And thus it went, photo-session after photo-session, as I tried my best to meet my target of 10,000 steps. And not just that day either; this wa pretty much par for the course every single time I went for a walk in Lodi Gardens.

As I trudged along, I tried to figure out what accounted for this sudden urge for ordinary, middle-class folk to conduct ‘glam shoots’ to commemorate some moment or the other. And then, it suddenly hit me: Instagram!

That’s where all these photos were headed; to be posted on ‘Insta’ with a plethora of hashtags for their family and friends to ‘like’ and comment on. And everyone knows that when it comes to Instagram, you have to look your very best, the photo has to be professional quality, so why not hire experts to do the job? Sure, it can’t be cheap. But hey, a good photo will live on forever on Insta; and who knows, if it is striking enough, it may even go viral!

I guess this was bound to happen one day. A movement that began with everybody taking pictures of their breakfast, lunch and dinner, and the odd fancy meal at an expensive restaurant was bound to end up with heavily-curated pictures of seminal moments of our lives, all subtly highlighted and posted on Insta with a suitable filter (X-pro or Lo-fi, anyone?). After all, if you post innumerable photos showing off the beautiful locations of your summer/winter vacations, then how can you ignore important milestones like proposals, anniversaries, pregnancies, etc.? And surely, such landmark moments rate more than the usual ‘selfies’ (even if they are taken with a selfie-stick). No, you need to call in the professionals at such times.

So, I guess that’s why my favourite neighbourhood spot for long, lonely walks has been transformed into Photography Central. There are more glittery stilettoes in evidence than sturdy running shoes. There are more shiny dresses around than there are jogging pants. And there are more hair and make-up people around than actual exercise enthusiasts.

And you know what? I love it!

I love watching those young lovers making gooey eyes at one another. I love seeing the look of pride in a young man’s eyes as he cradles his wife’s pregnant belly. And, of course, I love the corny proposal scenarios that play out every day in front of me.

I don’t know how much these photography sessions cost (and I, for one, would never pay good money for them). But I do know that for sheer entertainment value alone, they are priceless. 

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.

Listening in...

Sometimes all you need is a couple of overheard sentences to get a glimpse into someone's life

Shaming though it undoubtedly is, I have to confess that I am one of the world's eavesdroppers. I go through the day, snatching up fragments of other people's conversations, trying to get a glimpse into their lives through that snapshot in time. Truth be told, I treat the people around me as performers who are putting up a private cabaret, entirely for my entertainment and amusement -- or even as inspiration for my next column. As the late great Nora Ephron once said, everything is copy.

There was a time when I used to practice my craft in restaurants. I loved listening in to awkward conversations of people on first dates. I giggled on the inside as ladies who lunched tore into one of their absent friends. I eavesdropped on the silences that marked long-married couples dining together; more telling than any words could have been. I squirmed as I overheard a couple breaking up messily at the next table. And yet, I kept on listening.

Those days, alas, are long over. No, I still go to restaurants. And yes, I still love to eavesdrop. But sadly, these days restaurants don't offer much in the way of conversations that can be listened to. Everyone is far too busy taking pictures of their food and Instagraming it, posting pithy food reviews on Twitter or updating their Facebook to do anything as mundane as talk to one another. 

Thankfully, however, the voyeur in me has found a different venue to feed my habit. Actually make that several different venues; basically anywhere where I go walking in the evening, whether it is Lodi Garden in Delhi or Marine Drive in Mumbai.

Unlike almost everyone I know, I don't listen to music when I go walking. Nor do I keep my eyes glued to my phone, scrolling down sundry social media sites, messaging a friend or emailing the office. No, that's not for me. I keep my eyes peeled and ears on alert to catch the conversations happening around me. And trust me, it's great entertainment. 

Let's take last evening, when I went on a walk down Marine Drive. There were the usual sights that we all take for granted. The pairs of lovers sitting on the railings, secure in their own invisibility because their backs were turned to the milling crowds on the streets. The sun making a spectacle of its everyday task of sinking into the dark blue waters of the Arabian Sea. And the evening walkers, marching determinedly on, white earphones peaking out of their ears.

But I wasn't interested in any of them. It was the people who were walking in twos, talking animatedly to one another, that interested me. 

There was the young couple, clad head to toe in Lycra, the mom pushing a buggy with a sleeping child in it, the dad carrying baby supplies in his backpack. Mum: "...I don't care what your mother thinks. This is my child, not hers." Dad: "She's only trying to help. You keep saying that no one helps and then when she does..."

That's all I caught as I walked briskly past them. But in those two sentences I could hear their entire story. First-time parents working long hours in office, the doting grandmother filling in as unpaid babysitter, the insecure young mom scared that she was losing control of her child, the harried young father caught between two strong maternal forces. Shorn of its details, it was a story as old as time itself. 

A little further on, I fell into step with two 50-something ladies, walking with the companionable air of old friends. Lady one: "You know that he's gone into rehab, na?" Lady two: "I know. I don't understand why her parents don't just call off the engagement." Lady one: "Arre, he used to spend nights there..." Lady two: "Sorry, but I don't approve of all this nonsense!"

There you have it: the culture clash that characterizes today's India. Two young people, engaged to be married, indulging in a bit of pre-marital sex, leading to shock-horror all around. Mix in a bit of recreational drug-taking and you have the making of a society scandal. Will the rehab take? Will they live happily ever after? Sadly, I'll never know.

As I turned around to retrace my steps to where my car was parked, I found myself behind a couple who were done with necking at the sea's edge and were now walking arms entwined, hips joined, whispering sweet nothings to one another. The phrases 'love you' 'love you more' floated happily in the air, until with a loud gasp, the girl disentangled herself, and whispered agitatedly to her boyfriend, "Stay away, that's my chacha in front." 

We may tell ourselves that we are living in a modern, liberal society. But when two teenage lovers come face to face with a family elders in public, they still experience the same panic that generations before them know all too well. Clearly, the more things change, the more they remain the same. 

That's just one of the life lessons I've learnt on my evening walks. Stay tuned for further updates in the months ahead.

Fun free

Top ten ways to enjoy Delhi, without paying a paisa

It struck me first when I spent a week in London late last year: there were so many fun things you could do in that city without spending a penny. There were all those amazing parks you could walk or jog through, or simply picnic in. And if you chose St James Park for your constitutional and timed your visit well, you could take in the colourful spectacle of the Changing of the Guard in Buckingham Palace. If you felt like watching a bit of performance art, you could stroll through Covent Garden.

I guess that's the thing about the great cities of the world. There is so much on offer that you can enjoy without spending any money at all. Which is why, this year, I have decided to start an occasional series: the top ten fun things you can do for free in the great cities of the world. And where better to begin than in the national capital.

So, here's my list of fun, free things to do in Delhi. Do feel free to write in with your own suggestions:

* Take a walk through Lodi Gardens. You could always power your way through on the jogging track that runs along the periphery, but I recommend a leisurely stroll through the 90-acre park. Take in the glories of the trees, foliage and flowers. And stop to explore some stunning monuments which date back to the 15th century. There are tombs of the rulers of Lodi dynasty, an old mosque, and two domes that are perfect examples of the architecture of the period.

* Pay homage to Gandhiji at Rajghat: This is a mandatory stop for every dignitary visiting India. But there's no reason why ordinary mortals like you and me can't enjoy the serenity of the samadhi of the Mahatma. If you have the time you can stop by at the memorials to Pandit Nehru (Shanti Van), Indira Gandhi (Shakti Sthal) and Rajiv Gandhi (Veer Bhumi) as well.

* Marvel at the Jama Masjid: Built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan between 1644 and 1656, this adjoins that other great Mughal wonder, the Red Fort, in old Delhi. But you don't have to pay an entry fee to gaze on the splendid mosque, with its three domes and two towering minarets, but it will cost you if you want to climb one of the minarets and enjoy the breathtaking view below. And yes, photography costs extra, so if you don't want to stump up, leave your camera and smartphone behind.

* Sample the delights of Chandni Chowk: A short walk from Jama Masjid is this bustling market that epitomises the best of old Delhi. This has the best of street food, old-style perfumeries, textile shops, silversmiths, jewellers and more. So long as you exercise self-control and restrain yourself to window-shopping, this jaunt won't cost you a rupee.

* Feast your eyes on Akshardham: Built on a grand scale with intricately-carved sandstone and marble, this temple of the Swaminarayan sect is both a visual delight and an oasis of peace in the middle of a bustling metropolis. There is no charge for visiting the temple or enjoying the grounds, but there is a fee should you want to catch one of the exhibitions or perform a special puja.

* Wander through the Huaz Khas Complex: You can start off at Deer Park, a wild expanse of greenery that is named after the deers that frequent it. Then, walk through the newly-gentrified Hauz Khas Village, with its plethora of designer shops and quirky restaurants, until you reach the historical tank (hauz) for which the area is named. Its banks are dotted with historical monuments dating back to the 13th century Delhi Sultanate (Khiljis) period, which are an absolute joy to explore.

* Breathe in the wonder that is the Baha'i temple: Shaped like a lotus (a flower that has holy connotations in many religions), this is one of the seven major Baha'i temples in the world. An architectural triumph, this is open to people of all religious denominations, who are free to worship here in their own way (but no musical instruments can be played on the premises).

* Soak in the history of the Sikh faith: You could start with Sis Ganj Sahib in old Delhi, a historical Sikh temple, marking the place where the ninth Guru, Tegh Bahadur, was beheaded in 1675 on the orders of the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb because he refused to embrace Islam. Also worth exploring is Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, near Connaught Place, which is associated with the eighth guru, Har Krishan, whose central lake (Sarovar) is credited with having healing properties.

* Make a tryst with history at Teen Murti Bhavan: This used to be Pandit Nehru's residence when he was Prime Minister of India and his private quarters have been preserved just as they were while he was alive. You can see his book-lined study where he would spend his evenings, his spartan bedroom with the single bed on which he breathed his last, and then go through the rest of the museum dedicated to his life and work.

* Hang out at the capital's favourite hangout: If you want the quintessential Delhi experience, you can't do better than Khan Market. Set up by refugees who came to Delhi after the Partition, this has effortlessly transitioned from a typical neighbourhood market to a trendy shopping area, teeming with restaurants, cafés, designer boutiques and the odd store selling fruit and veg. Explore for free, but be prepared to spend big if something takes your fancy.