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!

Calling it a day

Where will you head when retirement beckons?

My cousin is on a bit of a high these days. Both literally and metaphorically. Her dream house in the mountains, with a spectacular view from every window, is finally coming together. The woodwork is done, the plumbing works, the furniture is in place, the curtains have been hung, and the kitchen is on its way to being fully functional.

This is where she intends to retire when her work is finally done. Living blissfully among the clouds, breathing the fresh mountain air, cooking the vegetables she grows in her own back garden, going for long walks, spending endless afternoons reading and drinking green tea.

It sounds like an idyllic retirement, doesn’t it? Well, I guess it does to most people. But when she showed me the pictures of the house and the view – both amazingly beautiful – and told me of her plan, the first thought that popped into my head was: “Where is the nearest hospital?”

No, of course, I didn’t actually say that out loud. That’s not the kind of thing you say when someone you love announces the fulfillment of the dream of a lifetime. Stamping down on that voice in my head, I went through all the pictures and told her how spectacular it looked – and it truly did.

But all the while I was making the right noises I was thinking about logistics. How long it would take to get to a doctor? How she would negotiate the steep climb up if – well okay, when – her knees went? Instead of voicing these concerns, however, I restricted myself to encouraging her to persuade her sister and brother-in-law (both doctors) to buy a house nearby so that they could serve the tiny community’s medical needs.

Yes, I know, I sound like a complete nutcase. But the truth is that when I think of my own retirement plans, the one thing that takes precedence over all else is the proximity of medical facilities. I would never dream of moving to a faraway village in the hills, no matter how lovely, if I wasn’t sure that there was a good hospital a short ambulance ride away.

The other thing that I am obsessed about is having a single-level house. I have done my share of duplex living, trudging up and down from bedroom to living room and back again. But as my knees begin to twinge every time I walk down a staircase and my heart rate goes up when I walk back up, I have come to realize that I can’t keep this up for long. In another two decades I will need a living space that allows me to shuffle slowly from one room to another, without negotiating any steps along the way.

And where would I like this home to be located? Well, having being born and bred in one big city and lived in several others, I know that country pleasures are not for me. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a trip to the beach as much as the next person. I love to take a break in the mountains when the heat in the plains gets too much. I read, I sleep, I take long walks, I revel in the natural beauty, I unwind, I detox, I distress. I slow my life down, tune out the static so that I can hear myself think. I get in touch with myself.

But after a week of this enforced calm, I start to get itchy. The quiet seems to weigh heavy upon me. I start to miss the energy and excitement of the big city. I begin to long for a visit to the cinema, a quick trip to the shops, eating out at my favourite restaurants, meeting up with friends, catching an exhibition, attending a music recital, or just sitting at a coffee shop, sipping an excellent cappuccino and watching the world go by.

All of which leads me to believe that I would not enjoy a retirement spent in the mountains or beside a beach. The truth is that I only ever feel truly alive while living in a big city. A city that keeps me engaged through night and day, through the seasons, and indeed, through the years.

A city where there are enough public spaces where I can spend an hour or two with friends, with a good book, or even by myself. A city dotted with museums and monuments, where you can drop by when you want a sense of the past that shapes our present. A city that hosts everything from plays, art exhibitions, musical evenings to seminars and international conferences, to keep your brain stimulated in the best possible way. A city with enough beautiful green areas so that taking a walk doesn’t seem like drudgery. A city that is safe enough for a single woman to negotiate on her own, no matter how late she is getting back home.

At the moment, the city that best fits the bill is Delhi – with its verdant Lodhi Garden, its amazing monuments like Purana Qila and Humayun’s Tomb, and the full menu of programmes at such venues as India International Centre and Habitat Centre. The only area where it falls short is on women’s safety. But with luck, by the time I am old and doddering, that problem will be sorted out.

Until then, I live on a hope and a prayer in my one-level apartment, a stone’s throw away from the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS). And take comfort in the fact that at least medical help is only a (very) short ambulance ride away.