Indian Woman Backpacker

"We offered her a ride. Once inside the car, she offered us Rs.500 to drive her down for some additional 40 kms..(of course we had to vehemently argue with her & also arrange for a cab for her. She was attending a marriage party.. her elder son spoke english, chotta wala is a neta, her daughter looks like me." 

Discovering the state of our education system

We offered a ride to three 7^th standard students on their way back from school. When asked what they had studied at school that day, they promptly replied, “Mathematics!”

So, we asked them a simple question, “What is 27 minus 3?”

After pondering over the question for 15 minutes and discussing it amongst themselves, one of the girls replied, “22”

I wonder if they would have been able to answer correctly if we had said, ‘What is Rs. 27 minus Rs.3?

Tidbits - Mountain Madness

While driving back to Mussorie late in the night, we encountered a traffic jam on a considerably precipitous mountain road. We saw a large number of cars parked to one side and a larger number of people shouting at the top of their voices. 

After making a few enquiries, it appeared that an Ambassador car had hit another car, breaking its bumper. The victim car was part of a large marriage party convoy. The driver of the Ambassador car had fled but for some incomprehensible reason, the people from the marriage party had broken down into smaller groups and were fighting amongst themselves.

We overheard someone saying, “Let us push the Ambassador down the mountain!” Another voice said, “No, let us throw a large rock on top of it.”

An old man went around apologizing profusely to every one. When asked if he was a passenger of the Ambassador car, it turned out he was part of the marriage convoy and was apologizing for no apparent reason.

This continued for an hour. Finally, they moved.

The Slowest Link

I just drove down from Mussorie to Delhi. It took me 9 hours to traverse the distance of 270 kms on a national highway, which translates into an average speed of 30 kms per hour. I am wondering if I am a really pathetic driver!!!

“Well!” I tell myself, “How the hell do you expect yourself to beat the swarming tractors, bullock carts and the local mobile contraptions pacing the pathetic two lane highways at their own idyllic speeds?  Even the trucks and the killer buses have to swallow their pride and follow them in humility.”

I recall witnessing countless number of tractors, and motorbikes driving the wrong way, and each time spending a couple of minutes in recovering from the shock of it. Motorists braving the onslaught of bicycles and carts and swerving dangerously in a bid to avoid them! Two wheelers refusing to budge from the middle of the roads

A car had stopped in the middle of the road while the driver was blissfully chatting on his mobile and blowing puffs of smoke in air. Tractor owners exchanged greetings, completely unconcerned about the traffic queuing up behind them.

Women holding small children waited anxiously for a gap in traffic so they could race across the highway. Old men on bicycles were trying to cross the road completely oblivious of the traffic. At one point, a bullock attached to a cart full of sugarcane harvest stubbornly refused to move. It was certainly a mad mix of heavy vehicles, pedestrians, bullock carts and bicycles.

Many a time, the state of roads made me wonder if I was driving on a highway or a jungle path.

I quizzed my travel companion in frustration, “What is the purpose of the highways? Were they designed for this juxtaposition of snail-paced vehicles and fast-moving vehicles? What are the bullock carts doing amongst heavy vehicles and cars? Are we always going to follow the pace of the slowest ones? Is that forever going to be the policy of our country?”

Chinese Strategy – Winning through the Stomach (How the Chowmein is Becoming the National Favorite)

I have just returned from a trip to some of the most remote yet excruciatingly beautiful places in Uttarakhand including some really picturesque villages on the way to Yamunotri, Tehri Dam and Dhanaulti.. 


The dhabas/restaurants at these places, including the two solitary dhabas at Yamunotri, were serving only local food . What I found striking was the fact that along with the ubiquitous dal, chawal and roti, and the all time favorites like bread omlette and Maggi, "chowmein" was being offered at these places as a regular staple food. I then realized that "chow-mein" had crept into our lives in a quiet revolution, a stealthy and entirely bloodless coup. From the various versions of the dish found at five star hotels and local restaurants in cities, it was now being served in the remotest corners of India.

Infact, upon quizzing a few dhabawalas, I was happily informed, "Madam, everybody is eating chowmein these days, they come and eat at the dhaba and then get some more packed to take back for their families." . Truly, the chowmein continues to the most popular import for us from China !!!

The Noodles Ready to be Fried for eager customers

The Local Noodle

How a Trek Can Transform Lives

It was in the month of April that my itch for going on a trek started again. It had been years since I had last gone for a trek. I was also feeling overburdened with the stress of work and everyday life and I knew the answer for me lay in nature.

But I also realized that I was surrounded by bums for whom the idea of going on a trek would not be appealing. I could already hear the responses in my head “Are you nuts? Let’s plan a lazy holiday by the beach! Let’s check into an Ayurvedic resort! I cannot possibly get an off from work!” And that’s exactly what followed.

It was around this time that I ran into a very old friend of mine, Ruchie. Ruchie and I had spun some magical experiences together in the past. She had been a free and wild spirit. But we had not met in years and had not bothered to stay in touch. Life had changed in all these years. Ruchie was going through a major phase of depression; she had just lost a brother, she had filed for a divorce and had resigned from her job. Nevertheless, being the bohemian that she has always been, the idea of a trek got her totally excited.

I was a little sceptical though. I have not ever been really close to a woman, nor have I ever considered women to be really adventurous, so the prospect of spending a week alone in the jungles with another woman was daunting indeed. To top it, Ruchie had put on a considerable amount of weight and did not look fit at all. Nevertheless, I said my prayer and agreed.

So that’s how, Ruchie and I found ourselves in Manali a week later, looking out for guides to accompany us on the trek. Since it was April, most of the mountain passes were still impassable, and we had to finally settle for a six day trek from Manali to Malana. Early morning, we set out on the trek. We had hired a guide and a cook. They were accompanied by two horses carrying the food supplies, tents, cooking equipment and our backpacks.( Ruchie was unwilling to carry her backpack)

It is impossible to describe the restorative and comforting effect the mountains and the trek had on our burdened souls. Spring was unfolding its vital force all around us as we sallied forth into forests, meadows, orchards, bushes and perilous mountain paths.

We both cheered up as we wriggled with ecstasy in the green meadows, imitated the sound of the birds and stopped to chat with random strangers in the villages we crossed on our way. We stopped to do yoga at the most exotic spots. We took pictures of children on the way, and of weathered, old women going about their tasks in the villages. We spent long hours in pouring out our troubles and miseries, and gaining a clearer perspective on life.

Our limbs would be sore from the hard trek, yet at night, we would frequently sit with the guide and the cook, listening to their edifying tales, and taking malicious pleasure in their human frailties. We would lie down outside our tents in silence and listen to the sounds of wind sighing in the tree tops, mountain torrents roaring down the gorges, and insects hissing in the undergrowth and we would instantly feel that God was speaking to us through these sounds.

As we were lying down one night, I told Suchie, “Trekking is like meditation for me. I have never been the type to close my eyes and sit in silence for hours. But walking is different. The entire world comes to a standstill and a deep sense of peace permeates every pore of my being. And it feels that all my emotions have been emptied out.” Ruchie totally related with this feeling, acknowledging that she was experiencing an inner transformation of being.

Everything negative within us, the diseased, the decadent and the sorrows slowly died a natural death over these 7 days as we drank from the springs of refreshment, purification and childish innocence.

We returned back to city life completely refreshed and restored. The trek had a profound effect on Ruchie’s life. Upon return, she enrolled for power yoga classes and over the months got herself into top form and shape. Within a few weeks, she registered on an online dating site, where she met a man with whom she fell in love. She has been married to that man for over two years now and is leading a life of her dreams running an eco-tourism lodge near Kaziranga National Park. She also goes regularly for treks as the man she married is a travel writer and an adventurist.

As for me, I took up a new job, wrote down my bucket list, and was ready to kick some butt again!!!

Kuchkuchstan or Shahrukhstan??

My recent interactions with people in Malaysia and Indonesia made me realize how strongly the Bollywoodmania virus had managed to infect the masses in these countries as well .

Invariably, the first comment that everyone made upon discovering my nationality was ... Shahrukh Khan, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. While back in India my friend really had to jog her memory for the movie (KKHH), the movie is very much alive in the hearts and minds of these Malaysians and Indonesians. Young Indonesian boys would start singing the song "Kuch Kuch Hota Hai' when I passed by and with bright, sparkling eyes ask me if my name was Kajol. I would be questioned on whether I had ever met Shahrukh or Kajol. Then they would try to beat each other on the number of times they had watched the movie. I was infact repeatedly tortured with the narration of dialogues from the movie. In excited tones, I would be informed of the local theatre in their city that screened Indian movies


A young Indian owner of a restuarant in Bali while expressing deep gratitude towards the movie and the actor shared how the movie had changed lives for thousands of Indians settled in these parts. Prior to the movie, Indians were looked down upon with condecension. However, the movie had single-handedly transformed the image of the average Indian from that of an intruder or an illegal immigrant to that of a romantic, charming hero personified by Shahrukh Khan in the movie. Indeed, many young girls confided in me that they wished to be wooed by a romantic Indian boy.

I have never ever been a fan of Shahrukh Khan or of movies like Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. But I guess the experience changed my entire perspective and I am now hungry for more of this kind. . I confided in my fellow traveler, "maybe its time for our country to be rechristened as Shahrukstan or Kuchkuchstan.What diplomacy cannot acheive , Bollywood surely can."