Tranquility amidst adventure in the Kumaon Valley.

It all began on Whatsapp. But then, doesn't everything nowadays?

Six of us, siblings and cousins, communicate with each other via a group on whatsapp. Two weeks ago we were all extremely bored and frustrated with the oppressive heat in the city. As it always happens, one of us suggested a meet-up over the weekend. A movie, maybe? We went through the names and synopses of all the movies that were playing. Nothing worked out for all of us at the same time. And just then, out of the blue in his characteristic style, the youngest cousin (even he is almost 23 years old - gosh, we're old!) chimed in, "Let's go on a trip!"

At first everyone was hesitant, even dismissive. "Chal bey. Koi nai jaane wala. Rehne de." But since he was so insistent, slowly everyone came around. Someone suggested Vaishno Devi, still another said Jaipur. The ball was in my court now. Everyone was waiting for the verdict of the "firangan", referring to my recent US trip. Now if you know me well, you'd know I'd jump at every chance I get to take a vacation to a new place. So I piped in, "Sure, why not? But only if we hit a hill station. It's too hot in here!"

And that's how it all started. Mcleodganj, Shimla, Mussourie, Nainital, and Jim Corbett were considered. After much deliberation and heated debate, Nainital was decided upon. You would wonder why, since Shimla and Mcleodganj are much more picturesque, and certainly cooler. Well, our reasons for choosing Nainital were infinitely more convincing - two of our cousins had a relative there! :P That meant: (a) No expenditure on accommodation = more fun in a smaller budget, and (b) meeting up with relatives and having much more fun in a new place.

Our parents were surprised, to say the least, at this sudden development. More so because we wanted no elders to accompany us. At least one adult member of each family was like, "WHAT? Are you crazy? Come on, at least let me accompany you." But we didn't relent and had our way in the end. A Toyota Innova was booked for the following weekend (20th-22nd June), the relatives were informed of our upcoming arrival, weather and clothing were discussed, and responsibilities were assigned. I, of course, got itinerary planning and camera duty. Everyone was so excited that the whatsapp group title kept changing every couple of days to reflect the progress in planning. At times such as these, I realize the kids in our family simply skipped out on the part where we were supposed to "grow up".

At 5 am on Saturday, six of us set out on our first road trip together. Less than 100 kilometres out of the city, we ran into the most luscious rain clouds you could have ever seen. My wristwatch showed 8 am in the morning, but the skies were as dark as ink. For an hour we were rained upon like hell. Songs played in the background, and we all chatted and updated our folks back home with photos. It was amazing.

Due to the incessant rains and weekend traffic, we reached Nainital in the late afternoon. Our hosts were the gracious Batra family, and we all stayed for two days at their wonderful home 5 minutes away from the Mall Road. Upon my soul, it was the most awesome location to have a home at. Check out the view from their balcony!

The first thing we decided to go for, after a hearty lunch and freshening up, was paddle boating on the Naini Jheel. Punctuality isn't necessarily a strong suit of us Delhiwallahs. But luckily we reached the boathouse ticket counter in the nick of time - to just manage to get on the last boats out to sail for the evening. It almost felt as if Naina Devi had welcomed us into her lap with open arms. Needless to say, the boating experience was one for the ages. We took truckloads of photos and paddled away till our legs felt like dead weights. The lake is HUGE. And intensely beautiful. Clouds were passing through the sky, but it did not rain while we were on the lake. Like I said, it was our lucky day from the very start. We ended our boat ride just before sunset.

Our stomachs were rumbling by this time, so we hit the Tibetan market near the lake. We ate momos at a popular joint called "Sonam" on the recommendation of our hosts. Though, for all that hype, they were pretty normal. Nothing extraordinary; in fact we get better momos in saddi Dilli. Following pet pooja, we browsed the various shops in the market and on Mall Road. We bought hats and posed for the camera in them. (Come on, what else are you supposed to do with them? Wear them back home in Delhi?? *the horror*) After a long walk on the mall road, we returned home, tired but satisfied with the day we had had. Dinner, music and dancing followed. And then we all lay down on mattresses in the drawing room for a good night's sleep.

Yours Truly.

Anyone else reminded of DDLJ by these cowbells? :D

Umbrellas of every possible, conceivable type, quality, and design are available in Nainital (and I think most other hill stations in the Himalayas - because I saw them in Dharamshala too).

This shop in Tibetan Market, in the same line as the Gurudwara, has the most amazing artifacts and accessories. It is a must visit if you are planning on buying souvenirs from Nainital for your loved ones back home.

Hard Rock Cafe did not open their outlet in Nainital, so these people set up their own indigenous HRC. Give it up for the jugaadu nature of us Indians! :D

The next day dawned cloudy and wet, and all our hopes of paragliding at Bhimtal were dashed. So we woke up at our own sweet pace and left for Sattal. Sattal as in "Saat (7) + Taal (lake)" a.k.a. the land of seven lakes. After a rainy one-hour ride downhill from Nainital, we approached the stunning forest-covered Sattal area. Thanks to Deepti (I hope you're reading this :*), we were guided to the campsite by her wonderful friend Rahul. He was also with us through all our adventure activities at Sattal Lake. And despite all our pleas, he only charged us a fraction of the cost we'd have incurred at the lake if we hadn't been with him. Pahadi people are really, really nice and warm. We were touched.

The first thing we did was River crossing (albeit over a lake) and Flying Fox. The fox thing is where they deliberately swing your rope up and down a number of times so that you end up taking huge dips in and out of the water. Hanging mid-air over a deep water body was initially unnerving, but it turned out to be a lot of fun and a memorable experience. I was never really afraid of water or heights or for that matter anything else. But after this day, I can officially say that I am fearless. Cannot wait to try bungee jumping and skydiving now. Aan do!

Another fun thing we did was Kayaking. I'm glad we got the hang of it almost immediately. While some people were stranded near the edge of the lake because they couldn't row or navigate properly, we sailed around the lake at ease. I turned out the expert rower out of the two of us. Once we were alone in the middle of the lake, with all edges faraway and mountains surrounding us on all sides, I gently reminded my sister of that crocodile movie we had seen together - Lake Placid 3. Watching her squirm and yell out to me not to scare her like that was priceless! We also had a lot of tussles during this time, because I can be a hard taskmaster, and my sister wasn't rowing properly. So at one point I just forbade her from rowing, taking it upon myself to do the job. But she got bored pretty quickly and started rowing again. At this point I yelled out at her from behind, "Chappu mat maar, chill maar!" My cousins, who were within earshot, heard this exchange. And this sentence became the official one-liner of the trip.

 

One of the smaller, more isolated lakes in Sattal. As seen from the edge of a cliff.

View of the Sattal lake where we had just indulged in adventure activities. Seen from the same cliff.

I've wanted to get such a shot taken for so long now. Although this didn't come out too well, but I'm not complaining.

We came home broken and devoid of energy. But an hour later, we were off again to Mall Road for a last outing before our return to Delhi the next morning. We bought candles from the most genuine candle store in Nainital (Malhotra Candle-makers - don't buy candles from anywhere else!) We also visited Honey Hut, ordered funky honey-sweetened drinks, and took loads of pictures. Everybody was in their element on the last night. On our way back home at 11 pm, we picked up food from a restaurant called Machan. We ate, danced, chatted, and even heard ghost stories native to Nainital. The Batras - Charcha aunty, Anika, Hetu, Dhruv - and their friend Deepti Joshi (now ours too) were such fantastic hosts, we felt like we had left one home and come to live in another for two days.

We left Nainital at 8.30 am the next day. Most of the return journey was spent sleeping. We only stopped at Sagar Ratna in Moradabad to refuel ourselves. Our weekend sojourn finally came to an end at 5 in the evening when we reached home. All the fatigue aside, if someone had asked me that very same day if I'd like to leave for Nainital again soon, I would have shouted yes! Because you can simply never have enough of some things.

Here's to my amazing first road trip with cousins, and to many more such trips to come in the future!

~

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An Unforgettable Date with Uncle Sam: Part II

13th May 2015. It was nine thirty in the night, but the day seemed to have just dawned at the Uppal residence. Everybody was out and about. A makeshift throne was being prepared for the modern-day queen of 18, Cherrygate Lane. Turmeric and scented oils were being concocted in an urn to make the sacred haldi paste. Aunts and uncles, cousins and friends had descended from far and wide, and could be caught sitting around sipping on their teas and martinis. The air was festive, the mood exuberant.

 

I was the newest entrant into this huge conundrum of family and friends. So obviously I was going around greeting everyone, introducing myself to some of the members I didn't know (of whom there were many) and then slinking back into a corner and willing myself invisible. I have this thing where I get all clammy and self-conscious in the company of too many new faces. At social gatherings I generally tend to lurk on the sides, alone, until I'm forcibly included in a conversation. That's just how I am. But I digress.

So as I was sitting behind the kitchen table, updating my folks back home on our safe arrival, I heard footsteps coming down the wooden staircase. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a dainty little thing enter the room wearing clothes I wouldn't exactly call, um...festive. Why, it was our very own pretty bride Neha, all ready and dressed up down for her Haldi ceremony! Wearing her best clothes for the occasion wouldn't have been a very bright idea anyway. Much like stepping out on Holi in brand new, shining white clothes (something only Bollywood celebrities and other insane people do) isn't.

For all those who think traditional Indian ceremonies in the West lack the charm and ritualistic authenticity that is found here in India, what I observed was actually completely otherwise. For the entire evening, and for that matter the entire duration of the wedding, I almost forgot I was in the US and not in India. (Excepting the scenic locales, of course.) Sure, there initially was some confusion regarding what all to put into the haldi paste, and whether olive oil would do in place of mustard oil without bringing down the auspiciousness quotient of the sacred paste. But the rest of it was pretty much smooth and very much 'Indian'. Take a look.

The proud father beginning the haldi-lagaoing ceremony. Look at the smiles! So much feels.

And the chirpy little sister, Anisha. I so envy the bond these two siblings share - it's amazing.

The adorable nani of the bride. A real fun person to talk to!

The bride's Bombay-wali mami. And the ecstatic looking bride herself. I couldn't imagine being half as happy as her if I were being smeared with haldi paste left, right and center. But then, I'm not half as sweet as Neha either. So.

The bride's bua and chachi (i.e. my mom) making sure her legs get some haldi-ka-nikhaar too.

The haldified Neha dancing to Bhangra beats with her awesome cousin Cashy Cash Akash.

And that's me, your 'phoren-return' narrator, with my dadi's sister - so technically my dadi-masi - so in short, dadi only. Duh.

By the time I went to sleep on my first evening in the US, I had already taken about a hundred and fifty pictures and added a posse of new relatives to my extended family tree. Way to begin a holiday! But like I said, this was just the first day. There was so much more to come, and I have so much more to tell you all. So stay tuned and I'll treat you to all my US stories as I keep taking trips down memory lane.

You can find the previous post in the series HERE.

And while you do that, also head over to Facebook and connect with me here. Only if you like, yo.

An Unforgettable Date with Uncle Sam: Part I

In the dead of the night on the 13th of May, we - Mom and I - set out for the Delhi airport, passports in hand, luggage in tow. The roads were not nearly as deserted as you'd expect at that time of the night, a fact that bears witness to Delhi's reputation of being a city that never sleeps. It took about a half hour to complete the various check-in formalities. Another hour went by without my realizing, and just like that, all of a sudden I was on my way to board the plane slated to take me on my life's first foreign trip. I was remotely conscious of the impossibly long journey that awaited us. Wondering where we were headed? Well, first to Abu Dhabi and from there on to New York. Yes, finally a date with the mighty Uncle Sam!

The 18 hours it took to transport us halfway across the globe felt like an eternity. I watched 2 movies and a couple of TV show episodes, ate 3 meals, had a couple of drinks and slept in several bursts of an hour or two. And yet I was wide awake when the plane began its descent at the John F. Kennedy Airport in Queens, New York. As I stepped out of the arrivals area and glanced back, the airport seemed small - tiny really - when compared to the airport I had just left behind in India. I felt proud.

Arrivals parking outside the JFK International Airport

It was evening but the sun shone brightly. That's when all those geography lessons on time zones and climatic differences seemed to finally make sense. In tropical India, you would never get to see the sun beyond 7.30 p.m. and that too at the peak of summer. But summers in temperate USA often witness the sun setting as late as 9 p.m.! The weather was pleasant and a chilly breeze blew. I soon realized what it meant when people in those New York-based TV shows would say, "what's the weather like today?" Because I was told that there was no climate per se; the weather could change dramatically from one day to the next! And we did come to experience that for ourselves over the next two weeks that exposed us to scorching sun, light and heavy rain as well as intensely cold days.

It was a two hour drive from JFK airport to what was going to be our residence for the next two weeks. Wait, did I completely forget to mention the reason why we were even going to the US? My mind must have skipped out on that part. Now normally I'd have loved to say that we were going to the US 'on vacation', but only if wishes were horses. It was in fact my cousin's wedding on the 17th of May for which we had been invited by our gracious hosts, Archana and Rajiv Uppal, to their home in Trumbull, Connecticut. Rajiv uncle is my dad's first cousin. He went to the US for higher studies way back in the 80s after graduating from Benaras Hindu University. Through hard work and determination, the couple have created a formidable identity for themselves and their two lovely daughters Neha and Anisha in this foreign land, while keeping in touch with their Indian roots. There is so much more I have to say about these amazing people, but I'll reserve it for later. 

The Uppals' home was every bit as beautiful as it was stately. Flanked by a pretty driveway out front, a back deck and a swimming pool beyond which lay woods on a small hill, the house had a dreamy quality about it. I got so lost in exploring the lush green surroundings that I inadvertently stepped on the swimming pool that lay covered in tarpaulin. And it turned out, it was filled to the brim! Luckily I escaped with only a few splashes on my dress and shoes. But now I can proudly boast about having walked on the surface of a swimming pool. How many people can claim to have done that, right?

Reminds me of my favourite lines every time, "Woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep".

 As I was saying, we went from the airport to our hosts' place chatting away about our families, the wedding and just how much fun the next four days were going to be. As soon as we landed at their doorstep, everyone came out with open arms and gave us a very warm welcome. There were many more relatives in the house and festivities seemed to be in full swing even at that hour. It soon became apparent that preparations were being made for a ceremony that was about to ensue. What was that ceremony? What happened next? I'll tell you all in the next post in this series. Keep watching this space for more stories from my unforgettable date with Uncle Sam.

My life, my mother and everything in between.

As a little child, I remember memorising and reciting a song in school that serenaded teachers on Teacher's Day. But since I was the teacher's pet, she let me in on her big secret: the song was originally written for mothers and she had conveniently replaced the word 'mother' with 'teacher' throughout the song. And I wondered to myself how changing the very subject of the ode still hadn't caused any change in the context or meaning of the song. That was the first time the uncanny resemblance between a mother and a teacher dawned upon me. Over the years I came to realize how my mother was indeed my first teacher. She taught me how to write, all alphabets aligned according to their heights, nothing over or under the designated lines. She taught me how to behave around boys and how to handle relationships and heartbreak. She taught me to be kind, charitable, strong-willed yet adaptable. And to this day my mom remains the best teacher I ever had.

Mothers, I tell you, they are funny people. They can cry at the slightest provocation (at least mine can) and yet can bear the greatest physical and mental pains for their children. I always knew my mother was an expert at everything. I have encountered experts in many fields, and many other mothers who are experts in their own right too. But for me, my mother was my very first expert in life. The more I write about my mom, the more I realize she's a great blessing in disguise. Why in disguise, you might wonder? That's because we don't see eye to eye on anything, and in fact keep arguing all the time. :D But that doesn't in any way affect my gratitude to her or my immense respect for everything my mom stands for. Mom and I love each other in ways that may seem unfathomable to some, but come naturally to both of us.

I am the second-born of two daughters. A few days after I was born, my mother's best friend's mother (sounds complex, but really isn't) paid her a visit. With a sombre face she told my mother how sorry she was that mom had had another daughter. My mother, blunt that she always was, clearly told her that she needn't be sorry, because my mom was extremely happy to have borne a daughter and not a son. Two daughters was the dream, and a son had never been a part of that dream. My parents both worked for a living and had to slog a little extra to take care of us. But never once did we ever feel that we lacked a thing, be it love and care or material things. My dada-dadi weren't of much help during our growing-up years. When I was too young to go to school, I had to be put in a creche because dadi wouldn't babysit me. When I grew up and began school, my mom would wake up early to prepare breakfast, lunch as well as our tiffins. My father was a huge rock for her. He'd brush our teeth, braid our hair, dress us up for school and drop us at our bus stops. Then my parents would go to their respective offices. The value of equality in domestic duties and the concept of shared workload are deeply ingrained in me thanks to my parents' wonderful efforts at it. 

I was the second child but somehow always commanded more affection than my elder sister. I have always been a love-hungry child. I still am, though I won't admit it too often. My mom fondly recounts how I'd sit in her lap even after I had grown too big to fit in there! I was also often fed by hand when I was too lazy to eat on my own. (I don't think it was about laziness though. I always loved being fed, it is such an intimate way of showing love!) My bua and other relatives would reprimand my mom for indulging me thus. But mom never paid heed. I was her beloved and try as she might, she could never deny such little pleasures to me. Looking back, I realize what a happy childhood I had. Not a single picture has me sporting anything but a toothy grin. I was a happy child, and my mom and dad both had a lot to do with it.

My mom was always a fashion icon for me and the entire family on both sides. Even to this day whoever sees our childhood pictures comments on how graceful and elegant she always looked. Her collections of trinkets and big earrings from old times are still preserved with us and we fight with each other to wear them; they are so timeless yet chic!

My mom has always been a fitness and sports freak. There is hardly a sport that I haven't seen her play and excel at. Badminton, Table Tennis, Carrom, Javelin and Discus throws, all kinds of races, Aerobics - my mother is a sports star at her workplace. The house is so full of trophies that we readily give them out to whoever happens to fancy one or more of them. We could certainly do with less of them! I haven't been in my best shape for the last 2 years (round is a shape too, or so I hear) and she keeps pestering me to do something about it. Sometimes I like being inspired thus, and sometimes we lock horns on the matter. But her level of fitness to this day, at over 51 years of age, is something that inspires me greatly.

This photo has been on my laptop's desktop for as long as I can remember. It is just so beautiful. Isn't mom the picture of grace and beauty? I look cute too. :p and of course, my sweet, sweet sister who looks like a boy. Always.

Riding a pony on the streets of Mussourie. My childhood years were spent travelling to the best of places, and I owe my parents big time for those beautiful memories.

My mom liked to travel and luckily so did my dad. No wonder my childhood was a long series of road trips and weekend holidays. Mussourie, Nainital, Shimla, Dehradun, Ambala, Srinagar, Chandigarh, Jaipur...I can't even list out all the places we visited while my sister and I were children. Most of the tours came along because of my mom's sports and cultural tournaments. She's in a central government office and is very passionate about all extra-curricular activities. At least two trips every year were made because she had her nationals competitions in a new location every time. Of course we absolutely loved it! Come to think of it, my wanderlust is a direct outcome of all those trips from my growing up years. And I cannot thank mom enough for it. Really, nothing can measure up to the beautiful memories I hold from all those family trips, just the four of us, to places I couldn't ever have imagined I'd get to visit. The parents of most of my friends and cousins never took them out much. I am a lucky kid to have such amazing parents who instilled the love for travel in me.

There are just so many more things that my mom is good at. But the best is probably advice. I think that's where I get my philosophical streak from too. We both tend to act as agony aunts and advisers to people. We both have such a strong outlook at everything in life. No wonder we're at loggerheads so very often! But I owe my strong personality entirely to her. My dad is fun-loving, happy-go-lucky, even docile to an extent. My mom's the fiery comet, the one who won't take kindly to inefficiency or stupidity. She's the one who likes to do all things perfectly, and would make you do them her way too, if she could. She's had the greatest impact on my life, my attitude and my personality during my later formative years. It is a famous proverb on my mom's side of the family that if a kid turns out rebellious or naughty, that kid's definitely taken after my mom. I guess it holds true for me. Like mom, like daughter.

Mom and I share a one-of-a-kind relationship. She isn't like the other moms, fussing over me about food or clothing. She never forced me to eat an extra parantha or wear an extra piece of clothing in the cold. She never ran after me every time I fell down or hurt myself. For sometime she tried dictating how and when I studied or did my homework, but she quickly realized I wasn't like other kids. So she gave up, and we've had our very own special arrangement ever since. She doesn't ask me to study, and in turn I don't give her a reason to complain when the results come out. People would rebuke her for not giving enough attention to my studies, especially when the boards were around, because she wouldn't take leave and sit at home to monitor me like other moms. But we proved everyone wrong when the results were declared. It was always like that with her and I. We've always adjusted to each other's ways through trial and error, finding a mutual comfort level along the way. We were never the conventional mother-daughter duo, we never will be. But we're us, and we're the best thing there ever can be.

Happy Mother's Day mom.

* * *

This is #MyFirstExpert story for the Mother's Day contest by Godrej Expert.

Don't you worry child

Don't you worry child, he said

Everything will be alright

I know you've been forsaken

And had your share of woe

I know you hit the edge, he said

But that was long ago.

The pain will wither away

And the tears will be no more

Love will heal your heart, he said

Of that I'll make sure

I rue all those times when

I wasn't with you before

But it's a new beginning, he said

And I'm standing at your door

I know you've been aching

You miss a true friend

Here, hold my hand, he said

And I'll walk with you till the end

Your eyes are clear as glass

They tell me that you fear

 Go be a shining star, he said

Don't be afraid, I'm near

You'll fall, you're only human

And I'll swoop you off the ground

I'll be your shelter, he said

When the sky is falling down

You'll learn to trust again

And the sun will shine bright

Don't you worry child, he said

Everything will be alright

~

Why does everyone want to be a photographer these days?

What is it with photography that's turning mostly everyone into a photographer these days?

Seriously, what? 

Everyone wants to be a photographer today (and I don't exclude myself from that list). If you come to think of it, the number of SLR-brandishing amateur photographers in the world has escalated way too quickly for anyone to really fathom the hows and the whys. Sorry for the misleading title, though, because nope, I'm not going to give any well thought-out explanation for this most interesting phenomenon that's currently taking the world by storm. It's definitely got something to do with the falling prices of professional cameras in the market, I think. And of course, Canon and Nikon ad campaigns have a lot to do with it too. But I'd rather leave the analysis to the experts, which I clearly am not.

So what is it about photography that's so exciting?

I don't know about others, but I for one have been smitten by photography ever since I owned my first camera. I don't remember my first - was it the 2mp Sony Ericsson phone camera or the Sony digital camera my family owned? Or was it the manual Yashica camera from the 90s? No, that can't be. My father wouldn't have let me touch it; it was his wedding present from mom and I was just a kid. But I know one thing for sure - I've always been fascinated by photographs and travel pictures. While I was an adolescent, my parents would get exasperated with me every time we'd go for a family trip. I'd always click more landscapes and sunsets than I'd click them! As we grew older and everyone got their own smartphones, the tussle lessened and they came to realize I had no interest in clicking family photos and was happier living in my own fantasy world where I was one with my surroundings.

Now I can understand the urge to post one's pictures to Facebook when one is just starting out and could do with some appreciation or acknowledgement. I shared some of my pictures too, in a cheesy album called 'My tryst with the camera', while I was in first year of college. But the practice quickly spread and there were so many of those albums on Facebook that I never revisited mine to add more work. I rather posted them as part of my travelogues and review posts on the blog, and saved the rest up on my hard disk. I sometimes revisit the pictures from my travels and smile at the memories of old times.

And that, finally, brings me to the gist of it all. Memories and moments. The entire purpose of photographs is to keep alive the memories of old times, of places and of people you encounter in life. And that's not even it. Sometimes a picture can evoke countless emotions and thoughts in your mind, transporting you to a heavenly realm where beauty manifests itself in every atom. To be able to elicit such passion and joy in another person through a work of mine is what spurs me on in my photographic journey. As a step in that direction, I've made a portfolio of sorts on Behance.net. Since I get little time to write, I'm running behind on some pending travelogues. Until I don't post here, you can visit my albums there to see the world through my eyes. 

As the Chinese genius Confucius has rightly said,

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

I know I'm not half as good as even the most mediocre photographers out there. But I also know that I see beauty in everything around me, and that experience is the best teacher. So I trudge on in life, my faithful Canon 600D slung over my shoulder, with stars in my eyes and wind in my hair. I'll let life happen to me and tell you how it was.

~

Disappointed that this post had no pictures? That's because I have something even better for you. The Sony World Photography Awards, fellas! Although I went through many of the submissions, and had my mind completely blown over, here's a lowdown on the 15 best pictures. Check them out here, and you can thank me later with tears in your eyes. As a sample, here's one of the best from the lot.

Cute Balinese orangutan with his homemade biodegradable umbrella, anyone? I'll have one for me, please, thank you.

P.S. I realize in hindsight that I've mentioned Sony thrice in the above text. This isn't a sponsored post, people, just in case you thought otherwise. I am not an ambassador of Sony, and the kanjoos Sony-wallas have not paid me a single paisa to write this (though they certainly should have). Disclaimer done. Ciao now!

Face to face with the man behind 'The Frog and the Nightingale'

I've been a writer for over 5 years. I know I'm probably repeating this, but it's just so astonishing that I sometimes can't believe it's been that long. It's been an incredible journey, and there's still so much more to do and learn! I started writing professionally on a whim some three years back when I was approached one day by the directors of an upcoming travel portal to freelance for them. Before that, I'd always pictured myself as a published writer sometime in the future. Signing copies, delivering talks, being appreciated for my works the world over. That has always been the dream. But as I began doing more of freelance work, my blog took a hit. The quality and frequency of posts on my blog began depreciating. Very soon, I had started doubting myself, writing less, thinking but not translating the ideas into good pieces.

In hindsight, I also realise I was reading very few books during that time. I just didn't have the time, what with all the writing work and exams. But that didn't dissuade me from attending social gatherings, especially those related to literature. Along came Penguin Spring Fever - an annual event where writers, journalists, and other famous people come to read from their books, deliver lectures, hold workshops and so on. I was impressed by the line-up of events that particular year. And so I turned up one evening at the open air amphitheatre where Vikram Seth, the man himself, was scheduled to read from his book Beastly Tales. I took along my closest friend who, although not much of a reader himself, was a great supporter of my dreams of being a writer.

By God, was I not completely awed the moment Vikram Seth walked in. The man just doesn't seem to age! With a humble air, he settled on the lone sofa in the middle of the stage. He talked a little about his book, its various editions, and some other stuff that I'm afraid I cannot recall now. It was when he finally flipped open the hardcover edition of Beastly Tales and began reciting a poem from it that I thought I'd died and gone straight to heaven. The man is known the world over for his eloquence. It sure bowled me over! After a couple of poems, he read out his final one - The Frog and the Nightingale. Waves of nostalgia came crashing down on the arid sands of my overworked brain. That was one of the most beautiful poems I had studied in my English class in high school. I still remembered parts of it vividly, but Seth's emphatic voice lent a new depth and charisma to the lines.

"Well I charge a modest fee."
"Oh! " "But it won't hurt, you'll see"
Now the nightingale inspired,
Flushed with confidence, and fired
With both art and adoration,
Sang - and was a huge sensation.
Animals for miles around
Flocked towards the magic sound,
And the frog with great precision
Counted heads and charged admission.

The reading was followed by a round of Q&A. Through his answers to people's questions, Seth gave out a lot about his life, travels, journey as a writer and the ups and downs. For me, his life story was as inspiring as one would say Milkha Singh's or Mary Kom's is. Before that, I had come to love his epic novel A Suitable Boy. But that night, my respect for Vikram Seth, the person, grew manifold as well. As the evening drew to a close, it was announced that he would be signing copies outside. That struck me as lightning; I realised I didn't have a copy of any of his books in my hand. I rushed outside and looked here and there. Yes, there was a counter retailing his books! I made a rush and bought a copy of Two Lives, a biographical novel chronicling the lives of his great aunt and uncle as well as his own life during his years in Europe.

There was a long line of fans waiting outside to get their books signed. I was in a fix. It was 9.30 pm already and my parents were calling to ask why I wasn't home yet. I just couldn't think of leaving without an autograph after coming so close to meeting one of the greatest writers our country has today. So I stood there in the line, fretting, while my friend said he'd do something. And he left. After a couple of minutes though, he came hurrying back and asked me to follow him. I did, only to be told that he had cornered Mr. Seth and had made up some absurd reason as to why he needed to sign my book right away. And then he took me right up to the author and pushed me forward.

I was flummoxed. I was standing right in front of Vikram Seth! He greeted me, and I thrust my book forward along with a card that had my name on it. He started walking towards the table to pick up a pen, but stopped midway and asked me a question instead. "Where do you have to be so urgently that you couldn't wait a little longer?" I had been prepped up beforehand, so I easily blurted out the perfect alibi. He looked at me, and emphasised, "Are you sure, young lady? Look me in the eye and tell me you're speaking the truth." A chill ran down my spine. I was making up lies in the face of one of my favourite authors. Exhilarated, I reassured him that it was true. He smiled, an all-knowing, smug kind of smile. And he proceeded to sign my book and ask me to "run along" so as not to be late.

I thanked him profusely then, and I thank him profusely even now in my heart for being such a great inspiration to me. Meeting him that day, talking to him, no matter for how short a duration, instilled in me the confidence I needed at that point to fuel my dreams. It made me realise how down-to-earth and real some of the best authors are. They're as human as you and I. And yet they've achieved great heights because they worked hard and didn't get discouraged in the face of failure. This little encounter filled me with the hope that someday I shall be on the other side too, signing books and looking people in the eye, seeing through their little lies.

P.S. While writing this post, I realised I did write about this experience earlier too. Check it out here. I promised in that post that I won't tell how I got Vikram Seth to sign my book. Well, 2 years hence,I guess I finally was ready today to tell that story after all.