Author: manuscrypts

  • Juley

    In my mind, I can still hear that Ladakhi greeting, though its been a few days since our return from Leh. There are stories of mountains and mountains of stories I could tell you. Of the trip that almost didn’t start because the taxi service got the day and month right, and booked us a cab for 2010!! Of the Delhi weather which over delivered on the warm welcome premise at 40 deg C.

    Of the jovial captain of the Leh flight, who said that one third of our trip cost would be ‘made up’ by the first view of Leh. Of him being proven right by a sight so magical that one could hear a collective gasp as the lofty snowy peaks were seen for the first time through the windows. Of the mountains that for one moment looked the magnificent phenomena they were, and in another looked like clay models that kids made for school exhibitions.  Of another statement the captain delivered on – a free camel ride, he called it – the landing at the Kushok Bakula Rimpoche Airport.

    Of being on a high already and wondering whether one would be hit by the much written about high altitude sickness. Of being phlegmatic while popping pills and drinking bitter cough syrup at the first sign of phlegm. Of wandering through streets where tiny wrinkled old people chanted with prayer wheels in hand, and the next generation listened to heavy metal and peddled rock bands’ skull tees. Of wandering up mazes to see the ruins of the old palace and then lazing in the relatively palatial comforts of the hotel. Of waking up at dawn and setting out on journeys in which every view was click worthy, of getting tired of clicking and relying on the video mode far too much, even as the mind captured images. Of the visit to the gurudwara, where one was caught between the twin pleasures of the awesome sweet tea and the warmth from the cup.

    Of gazing at the mighty river that spawned a civilisation, and wondering how much has changed for the nomadic tribes that live in tents and roam about with their Dzo (a hybrid of yak and cow). Of the noisy rush of air as one climbed up mountains to gompas (monasteries) that awed you with their silence. Of glass cases that carefully and lovingly stored centuries old manuscripts and a realisation of the tiny timeframe of six years of blogging. Of the excitement of staying in a tent, quickly followed by the realisation of how exactly one could feeze to death, and then feeling an intense thankfulness for one’s supple and warm bed companion, despite the rubbery exterior -the hot water bag.

    Of boarding passes that got you to 35000 ft in no time, and mountain passes at half the height that made you crawl for almost three hours to get to them. Of being driven up narrow mountain roads, slipping on snow every now and then, and wondering if your final destination was going to be up or down. Of pitying the military guys who lived in the severe cold, and then muttering at them for making decisions that cost us an entire day. Of creating yellow snow after getting tired of holes in the ground and portable loos that cleared up the blocked sinuses in no time!! Of seeing a lake at 13500 ft- Pangong, shared by two countries, that competed with the sky for the shades of blue that could be displayed. Of a heavy snow fall that forced one to get out of the comforts of the push back seats in the vehicle and attempt to push the vehicle, which pushed back!! Of the disappointment of knowing that nature took only a few minutes to shatter one’s well laid plans. Of begging and pleading and cajoling cops to let us through after the official closing time.

    But most importantly, of the wonderful wonderful person who took it upon himself to make sure that we got to see all the sights we wanted to – Tsewang. He, who confessed after much questioning, that he was having his first meal of the day at 3 pm after driving 9 straight hours through horrible conditions at altitudes above 14000 ft.  And then proceeded to drive up to Khardung La, the world’s highest motorable road at 18380 ft-  all in a day’s work, he said. Nothing I said or did could assuage my guilt.

    The long journeys through the mountainscape pushed random thoughts into my head- of heaven, and whether living at such high altitudes meant that one was closer to God. 🙂 Of whether the milieu that nature offered in these places instilled the compassion and concern for fellow humans, that I saw in many around, and if that was the secret behind the peaceful and happy faces, despite the hard conditions and lack of even common facilities in several places. The great heights and its citizens gave me perspectives and a sense of harmony that I still seem to be carrying with me, hoping that the daily grind won’t take it away.

    As I looked at Leh before I stepped into the airplane, I realised that this might be the only time I’d visit this place. I also realised that perhaps my memories would fade, and I might forget the images I could now easily recollect in my mind. But I like to think that there’s one picture that will never go away – the lofty peaks of the mighty Himalayas, glistening with snow, and a light breeze that causes the flags at the monastery to flutter silently, all of this can only make up the background for the innocent, peaceful joy on Tsewang’s face as he plays with the Lama kids, and as he sees me approaching, he  asks me with his customary smile, if I’m ready to continue the journey.

    until next time, a daily lama

    PS. You can catch a few photos here.

    collage1

  • Rakabdar

    One of the side effects of the vacation was the discovery of a restaurant in (almost) our backyard. We saw a write up of Rakabdar in the Jet in-flight magazine, and as always checked it up on Burrp before deciding on it. Rakabdar is located exactly opposite Forum Mall on the Christ College/Dairy Circle side. That, I assume, also takes care of your parking queries. 🙂

    A ‘Rakabdar’ is a master chef of the royal courts of Awadh and Lucknow, so now you know what cuisine to expect here. They were considered “alchemists of cuisine”, as they sought to better their recipes every time they served it. No, they are master chefs, and so there’s no reason to feel that they’re experimenting on you. 🙂

    The restaurant is on the second floor, and we were escorted there after a tiny halt at the reception on the ground floor. We had reserved in advance, but since its a new restaurant, that proved to be unnecessary, as there was only one other group during the entire meal. So we got to choose a nice cosy corner. They have a couple of  seating options which could’ve offered a Forum facing view, but for some reason they’ve chosen to have no windows there. Wonder why.

    We decided to skip the shorba options and asked for a starter recommended in the menu – the Seekh Kabab Imtiazi,  “skewers wrapped with lamb mince mixed with cassia powder, mace and kashipur chilli and char grilled”. There were a lot of veg starter options, and quite some in sea food too, though the latter are quite expensive. While we waited for the starter to arrive, they gave us a complimentary kulcha with dal and chana gravies. That was quite a different take from the regular papads. 🙂 The starter was excellent and fairly large in terms of quantity. The chutney given along with it did complement the taste, but I felt it could’ve been better.

    For the main course, we again went for two dishes recommended in the menu – Achari Paneer, “paneer simmered in a tangy gravy of pickled tomatoes” and Murg Rizala, “boneless chicken stuffed with herbs and green chillies, dum cooked in a gravy of yoghurt with a hint of almond and garnished with egg”. We asked for the paneer dish to be made spicy, since the chicken gravy was bound to be bland. To go along with that we ordered an Aloo & Pyaaz Kulcha and a missi roti. Again, there were lots of vegetarian and meat (chicken, and a few lamb) options for the main course, but only one seafood option. (prawn). Our choices were a bit of a downer though. I’ve never been a fan of ‘achari’ dishes, but this one had sounded different. However, it suffered from an overdose of what we figured was a cumin flavour. So we didn’t like the paneer dish much, though that could be due to our taste preferences too. The chicken dish was better, though the bones were conspicuous by their presence. (as against what was printed on the menu). When we asked them, they insisted  it was a menu mistake and not a cooking mistake. 🙂 The gravy was quite good, very creamy and thick, but some parts of the meat were undercooked. The kulcha was good, and the roti,  just okay.

    We were quite stuffed and so couldn’t check out some special kulchas we haven’t seen anywhere else. (zattar and cheese, for instance). While on the subject of missing out, here are a few items you could consider. If you’re the seafood and shorba type, there’s an interesting shorba made of prawn, calamari, salmon, ginger, lime leaves and orange juice. You could also try out the biriyani, since dum b is an awadhi speciality too. You can judge how stuffed we were from the fact that we even skipped dessert. Other than the usual suspects – phirni, gulab jamun and rasmalai, there was also a Shahi Tukra and something we hadn’t seen earlier – Qubani ka meetha.

    They seem to have an extensive beverage menu – lots of white and red wines, martinis, single malt, cognac, apertiffs, and a decent selection of mocktails and cocktails, among other things. Your parameter of reference is as always KF beer – thats at Rs.150, and the bottled water is at Rs. 40. 🙂

    The service was quite good, and they even took us on a tour of their lounge – aira, on the third and fourth floors  of the same building. The fourth floor option seemed quite a nice place to lounge around, excellent cityscape views – in a small way reminded me of 13th Floor.

    Our meal cost us Rs. 1165, and that includes a service charge at 10% and the taxes.

    Try the place if you’re in the mood to splurge on a slightly different cuisine, especially if you want a change from the nearby excellent but usual options of Sahib Sind Sultan and The Taste of Rampur.

    Rakabdar, 7, Bhuvanappa Layout, Hosur Road Ph: 43431111, 43431100

    Menu at Zomato

  • First Proof

    Penguin – Compilation

    I’m a few years late in reading this, so it’s no longer ‘new’ writing. But that doesn’t take away much from a decent collection of fiction and non-fiction. A book which can be read from both ends (Fiction and Non fiction start from opposite ends) and consists of 17 works of fiction (including a trippy graphic one) and 13 works of non fiction. I liked the former, and not just because of my reading preferences.
    A few of the non fiction works are particularly relevant now – Nirupama Subramanian’s piece on the LTTE supremo Prabhakaran, and Saba Naqvi Bhaumik’s, Edna Fernandes’ and Smita Gupta’s works on the nature of contemporary Indian politics. Also worth mentioning is ‘Boarding School’ by Andre Beteille.
    My favourite fiction work would easily be ‘Kopjes at Serengeti’ by Arun John, and his awesome description in the ‘Notes on Contributors’. Indrajit Hazra’s Post-mortem is an interesting tale, so are the stories by Rana Dasgupta and Mita Ghose.
    I do believe that an anthology with more ‘breadth” (kinds of themes and writings) is possible, perhaps Penguin is doing it in the following volumes. (this is an annual project)

  • The Real and the Virtual

    He got married on April 24th 2003, to the woman he had loved for six years. He noted that somehow it all seemed to add up to 6. And so, on the sixth day he created ‘manuscrypts‘. From then on he was in seventh heaven. It’s been six years.
    It would’ve ended there, but manuscrypts was tempted to finish his sixth year with sixty six words.

    until next time, six degrees of separation 🙂

    PS: Next post, in about 7 days. 🙂

  • Rambowed

    I started reading a Pico Iyer book a few days back “Video night in Kathmandu”. I was hooked on from the first page because he started off with an icon from my childhood – Rambo 🙂 Pico Iyer writes about how in the mid 80s Rambo took over Asia – China, Indonesia, Burma, Thailand, India lording over cinemas, inspiring local versions and becoming what the author calls (then) America’s single biggest export, and the most powerful force in Asia that autumn.

    I could identify totally with this. I still remember the trips to Guruvayur, the famous temple town in Kerala. No, I haven’t totally lost it. You see, the rest of the family went to Guruvayur with spirituality in mind, but for me, it was mostly materialistic, the kind of simple joy that a typical 7 year old finds in staying in a hotel for a few days, having ‘non home’ food three times a day, and most importantly, after convincing everyone on how intact his spiritual outlook is, manages to charm his way into getting himself a few toys. The strange thing was, the toy shops that abounded around the temple had some excellent collection of superhero stickers, labels for notebooks and various knick knacks that I could never find in Cochin. So I always made it a point to devote a lot of time to checking out the stuff on display before I made a purchase.

    [Aside: I also remember buying my first and only guitar there – a plastic contraption with Rishi Kapoor and Karz on the packaging]

    And that’s how I found a toy set that enthralled me for (I think) at least a year. It was a Rambo kit! And in the days that followed, several citizens of a certain university campus in Cochin claimed to see a creature that suddenly sprang out of the bushes and from behind the acacia trees, dressed in (what were formerly decent) t shirts and trousers, with dark green crayon marks on them, similar to the ones on the face, with a cloth around his head and carrying plastic bows, and arrows that stuck to conducive walls using vacuum, and with a plastic gun and a sheathed plastic knife inserted into the trouser loops. The outdoor covert operations lasted only a few days, since, after scaring an old woman, the creature was captured, hauled (bawling) to his mom’s presence and subjected to severe interrogation, and mild physical punishment which resulted in more bawling, and confiscation of weapons. The weapons were returned the next day, but the theatre of overt operations was restricted to indoors. More than a couple of decades later, these memories came storming back when I read the book, and as though the cosmos was conspiring, I got to know that Rambo (Part 4) was premiering that night on television.

    But though he had conquered enemies in Vietnam and Afghanistan, Rambo was yet to face an Asian force, that having been born in the late 70s, would prove a formidable opponent to the aged warrior – D, no, not the one with the shades and company, but my wife. Yes, you could  argue that she has shady company too, but I shall ignore that for now. And that was how Rambo lost his first battle, as D refused to  even entertain the thought of watching the movie, and an agitated fan helplessly watched Cloverfield on another channel. D had drawn first blood!! Maybe I should practice my bawling.

    until next time, marital laws!!