Food for Thought - #FiveDaysOff Part 4

Show me an Indian who does not indulge in eating on a holiday and I’ll show you an Indian who’s either sick, comatose or is participating in the imminent Miss India contest. For Indians, holidays are as much about food as sightseeing or visiting.

Don’t we all go into a flurry when we have out-of-town guests coming over. What will they eat… we wonder. What’s the best we can do? And for the visitors - if they are close, a list ensues from us - don't forget to get me the famous sweet from there. For our part, from Mumbai, don’t we carry Alphonso mangoes to Delhi in the mango season and faithfully carry Mishti Doi when we return from Kolkata? Aren’t we reprimanded if we go to Rajasthan and haven’t partaken of Daal Baati? Why did you even go there, people tend to ask. And you look shamefacedly down, observe your toes keenly while you mumble excuses of how there was not enough time.

Tch.Tch. Food rules India. We may not be MasterChefs but we definitely are MasterFoodies.

Going to any place in India and coming back without smacking your lips on the local delicacies is in one contemporary word: #FAIL.

So would my #FiveDaysOff be any less? No way.  Dietary consciousness and weight regimens were left behind at the tarmac in Mumbai as we took off for Jammu.

I did my fellow Indians no disservice. Every local delicacy was partaken of, as a group or singly, every dhaba (roadside eatery) enthusiastically patronized, every wayside chaiwallah was given a boost in his daily income. As SG put it, we did great service to the local economy and one of the ways was through the eateries.

If I had a problem it was the coffee. Being a coffee drinker (which means – I don’t drink tea at all) I did have my share of challenges. But more about that later.

So we land in Jammu. Rajmah Chaawal (Kidney beans and Rice) must be had. The first opportunity we got was at the langar (kitchens) at the one of the temples. Simple wholesome Rajma and rice. The deliciousness of simple food cooked with the love of the locals is hard to beat. Our holiday had begun. The taste buds were already dancing!

Our next stop was Katra. In Katra the hotel gave us our first big meal. But later in the evening we stepped out to the local chaiwallah. The rainy weather was still a concern. Our man sagely told us that if it was to happen, it would happen. The important thing was to have freshly brewed tea. I gingerly asked for some coffee. And he magnanimously told me that he had some remnant coffee powder and that he’d make me some coffee later.

Once we had the entire group sipping, what I was told, really good tea, he proceeded to make my coffee. The tea vessel was perfunctorily rinsed. He pumped the kerosenes stove and put some water and milk to boil. Then added a handful of sugar (yes hand full – no spoon!). It was also a handful because I had told him I didn’t want it very sweet. I guess it would have been several fistfuls if I had not told him that. Then he added whatever coffee powder was in the pack. In my mind, very little. But it was cold and I wanted to have what I convinced myself would be coffee. It was. Somewhat. The final boiling hot brew that was handed over to me tasted of tea, kerosene, sugar, milk and coffee, in that order and in descending order of prominence. Oh well… this is too far north to expect good coffee, I thought, while I gently kicked myself for not carrying my travel kettle with me.
I missed my travel kettle throughout  my trip. Good coffee and the North of India do not get along very well. Not only that, even in the hotels, the sachets of coffee are the worst of MYFIRSTCOFFEE by Nescafe which to my mind is a sad apology for coffee and should be banned from the market.  Or should be arrested for masquerading as coffee. But never mind, I am wiser now. And I will never abandon my coffee dreams.

As we went uphill to the Vaishnodevi Shrine, the local restaurant (FOOD COURT, mind you) gave us our share of Gobi Parathas, Alu Parathas, the tangy North Indian pickle made in mustard oil and of course, Rajma rice! Out there, my coffee was served to me in a leaky Cocacola paper cup. Oh well!

As we came down to Katra, the market treated us to a Spice Fest! Katra revels in the richness of its offerings of nuts, dry fruits, aromatic spices and of course walnuts!

We descended on a shop and made the owner a happy man when he finally closed shop. Then wended our way to a smaller lane, from which we went into an even smaller dhaba. There we ate the best of parathas, vegetables and Rajmash! So we all thought it was a spelling mistake, but an ex-colleague told me that Rajmash was the Rajma mixed with the rice! Genius, isn’t it? And we were wondering why it didn’t come separately!

For those Indians who practise austerity on a holiday, let it be known that the food that we ate was mostly cooked in pure ghee with truly generous dollops of butter put in for good measure. If our clothes got tighter, it was probably because the fabric had shrunk – or contracted in the cold!

Our descent to Amritsar was not without the necessary directions. A close friend  had not only told us where to go but what to eat there. Armed with this kind of insider knowledge our first night in Amritsar took us straight to Sarson da Saag and Makki ki roti followed by a (rather large) glass of lassi/salted buttermilk.

To say that we were ready to burst would be embarrassing. The poor cycle rickshaw driver, I am sure, found it more difficult to pedal back than when we got there first. Ah well. No excuses. A holiday is a holiday and will be celebrated with food.

The next day, we had corn – ummmm- roasted corn on the cob with a generous coating of lime and spice. Nothing quite beats that! And guavas. The guavas in the north are green outside even when ripe. And of course, white inside. Cut into slices with a bit of masala put on it, it takes you straight into Mother Nature’s lap. This is exactly what she had planned when she conceptualised this particular fruit.

You can’t go to the Golden Temple and not eat there. The food served with love and devotion and a serene sense of service is the best ever. Simple dal, beans, kheer and roti were on the menu of the day. You take only as much as you can eat and you don’t waste a morsel. The simple food tastes delicious. But that's because it is prepared with love, served with devotion and accepted wtih humility.

Evening again found us at Kesar da Dhaba. Amritsar buffs tell me that it is exactly as it was ever since it began some decades ago. I believe it. But what was amazing is that with the food we experienced good old-fashioned hospitality as the steward plied us with more and more of the local fare. After ordering Missi Roti, Chhole and Paratha, we were persuaded to not go without the Daal, Raita and the Gobi Paratha. When we protested, we were offered Phirni!  When the bill came it was so nominal that we were sure that there had been some mistake. But no… this was part of the great Northern hospitality and we left Kesar da Dhaba once again feeling the weight of too much hospitality!

The next day we flew back. And that came to me as a rude shock. My first meal of the day was in the aircraft. The sandwiches were over and I was offered Chettinad something or the other - which looked and tasted like something or the other. 

My gastronomical holiday was so over!

Did you miss the earlier posts?

Five Days Off - Part 1
http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2012/12/fivedaysoff-great-start-and-miracle.html
Five Days Off - Part 2
http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2013/01/helicopters-heights-and-new-high.html
Five Days Off - Part 3
http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2013/01/united-by-faith-fivedaysoff-part-3.html

 

United by Faith - FiveDaysOff - Part 3

If you've not read the earlier parts of this travelogue, feel free to go to the links below. If you have, brave on!

Getting off from the helicopter the Shrine was just about 2 kilometres away.

As we walked on the cobbled stones, it felt wonderful. And it was ccccold. But charged with the speed and efficiency of the helicopter, we marched onwards to our destination.

 The Vaishnodevi legend is beautiful for those who don’t know it. I am not going to narrate it here. Needless to say, I always approach a shrine with more of a spiritual feeling than a religious one.

And what always, always, always appeals to me in religious places is the collective faith that gathers here. The people who approach this shrine are indeed perfect examples of that.

They come with immense faith. And sometimes nothing but.

I saw a young couple with a toddler, walk, yes walk, all the way up. One of them carried the baby, the other person carried their bag. From time to time, they’d exchange their respective burdens. From the looks of it, I don’t know what difference it made, but they did it, as they chanted “Jai mata di” with all the religious fervor possible.

I saw old people wending their way slowly up the cobbled path to the shrine. Weary but with a clear glint of faith in their eyes. The Divine Mother was waiting for them. They’d do this no matter what.

I saw youngsters in jeans and t-shirts, the types you’d expect to see munching pop corn in your local theatre and they walked up with the gusto and strength of the youth and the belief and spirituality of age.

And I saw families. Friends. Groups of all kinds. Fat people. Thin ones. Young. Old. Ailing. Babies. Toddlers. Mothers. Fathers. All moving towards a common destination. All united by faith. A central mantra. A song. A hymn. Or just the rousing cries of "Jai Mata Di" (Hail the Mother) as if it added a spurt of energy into their step as they wended the arduous way up.

If the crowds in any Hindu shrine are a deterrent, the sense of faith that unites everyone is something worth experiencing. I’ve seen it time and again. Whether it is at the Sai Baba temple in Shirdi, the Golden Temple in Amritsar, here in Vaishnodevi or even the Mahalaxmi temple in Mumbai. It’s faith that brings everyone to the divine doorstep and faith that sends them back with the conviction that there is a higher power that will look after them in their times of need.

Long ago, somewhere I had read the definition of an atheist: a person with no imaginary means of support.I so agree.

For those who believe in God, or a Supreme Being, no matter what their religion is, there is this pillar that is always there to lean on – whether in times of joy or sorrow. Every time I visit one of these temples or shrines, I come back my soul refreshed, my spirituality renewed, just seeing this spectacle of faith.

Jai Mata Di!

Did you miss the earlier posts?
Five Days Off - Part 1
http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2012/12/fivedaysoff-great-start-and-miracle.html
Five Days Off - Part 2
http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2013/01/helicopters-heights-and-new-high.html
 

Helicopters, heights and a new high! - FiveDaysOff Part 2

If you are on your way to Vaishnodevi (approximately 6000 ft above sea level), as I was, you should know by hearsay that you are not there till you are there. That was exactly the case.

It's often said, and I believe it now, that you cannot go there till she, the Divine Mother, calls you. (The Bulawa, as it is called.)

I had been fortunate the first time I went there. I didn't think otherwise this time. However, rain the previous day had dampened our spirits. The locals said it was impossible that the helicopters would be operating the next day.
Fatalistic thinking! Oh well!

We slept with apprehension. The next day however was miraculously clear. Sunshine touched the tops of the mountains and streamed through the windows. Exhilirated, we were off.

A short ride and we were at the Katra helipad.

While my travails at the helipad have been outlined in a previous post (http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2012/12/fivedaysoff-great-start-and-miracle.html), here is where I want to talk about not just the heights of the mountain ranges but the new highs I got out of the helicopter ride.

It's appropriate to say hats off to Jammu and Kashmir Tourism for taking the helicopter service to Vaishnodevi to really superior levels of efficiency.

I don't recall much the last time I was in Vaishnodevi. It was almost a decade ago. I do recall a somewhat unplanned helicopter ride. I remember hanging around waiting and then taking the ride from one kind of makeshift helipad to another.  While I did appreciate the service at that time it was definitely rudimentary and disorganized. And if I’m not mistaken,  expensive too.

Now it's supremely well done. Each flight is serially numbered from both sides.

 As you check in, a boarding card has your number written on it. Ours was 11. Each helicopter carries 6 passengers. One sits next to the pilot, two behind him with their backs to him and three facing these two passengers.

Each flight from helipad to helipad takes roughly 5-7 minutes.

 At some point your flight number is called out and six passengers are ushered in through a security check to the helipad, away from the landing bay.

As the wind whips your face one of security personnel tell you what to do.

Wait here till you are told to move. When the helicopter lands run towards it and allow us to buckle you in. When you land, allow the security person to unlock the doors and undo your seatbelts. And run from the front of the helicopter to the terminal!

More, you are quickly divested of any largish baggage that you are carrying and assured that you will be given that back once you land and run across the tarmac.

Uh-oh!  There's a rather embarrassing detail I forgot to mention. At check-in, besides the infamous PAN card there's one other number that needs to be checked: Your weight. A huge industrial size weighing scale stands prominently and ominously outside the check-in window. Once you weigh yourself on it, you announce your weight to the guy inside who quickly writes it down. Mortifying, I thought. Luckily for us the weighing scale decided it would stop working for a while. Which meant we could safely go to the window and a bit quietly disclose our weight (as we thought or imagined it to be) to the impassive guy across the counter.

Why the issue about weight? This was not really a diet and wellness centre! (Nor for that matter how heavy your religious or spiritual fervour was!) Apparently it was to balance the helicopter with the right amount of weight. Even more importantly, it was to decide who would sit in the hallowed place right next to the pilot.

So down to the truth. Which hurts. I knew in a moment that the hallowed seat next to the pilot was not to be mine (all those missed Crossfit classes, sigh!).

Once our flight was announced, we were marched through security on to the helipad Five of us were lined up on one side. One lone (slim) person was isolated (rather chosen) to be on the right.

Then the helicopter landed. A gust of wind caused by the rotors blew into us and before we knew it we were hustled to the helicopter (a 100 meter dash – Usain Bolt style!) and ‘placed’ into our designated seats. And even before we could say the traditional “Jai Mata Di” we were up, up and away!

The copter rotors never did stop.

Up into the air we could suddenly see the valley as the helicopter took a curved way around the mountain to the other side. It’s standard to say that the valley view was breathtaking but what was even more beautiful was the snow-dusted peaks of the mountains. Fresh snow had fallen the day before and it glistened in the soft morning sun like a flannel baby blanket. The air was crisp and clean and we were on our way up… to our destination.

It’s amazing how one can think at the speed of light. Now speed has another metaphor: the helicopter ride from one pad to another. Before we knew it we had landed, the rotors still on, we were hustled out of wind’s way into the landing. We had reached Sanjhi Chhat. Another 2 kilometers and we would reach the shrine.

On our way back, the procedure was the same. This time, thankfully we didn’t have much of an issue (a tiny hiccup yes, but not an issue of the PAN card variety).

We waited for our flight number to be called out. This time however, there was just two of us from the group on our flight: SG’s mother and I. Her uncle and aunt were on another flight (read carrier).

 We waited patiently for the ride back. When it did get called out we knew the procedure and marched out to the helipad with a great deal of confidence.

As we reached out and proceeded to stand in a single file, one of the attendants approached me. He asked me to stand on the right side of the file. Ooooooh! I knew what this was! He asked me gingerly if I had any problems sitting in the front. Problems?!  No! No! None whatsoever! My heart leaped like the legendary Wordsworth heart without even seeing a rainbow in the sky! I was skipping with joy inside!!! And then my inner wicked self tugged me from behind! My weight hadn’t been noted this time.

I froze. Was this man making a mistake?

What if he suddenly decided that I was not as ‘light’ as he probably thought I was? Then to make matters worse, to my horror, I saw a slim young girl walking up to the helipad. I am not discussing sizes here but she was definitely and visibly slimmer than I was.

I decided to stand my ground, behave badly even throw a tantrum at that height if need be but not give up my hallowed place next to the pilot. I don’t know why I had earned it but the very fact that I was asked and I had agreed made me somewhat special and the righteous owner of that sacred seat.

It turned out ok! As I looked on, I realised she was on her honeymoon, her (newfound) husband close at heel. The ‘thoughtful’ attendant (God bless him, twice over) had decided not to separate the honeymooning couple and thought I’d be the next best candidate!

And so the chopper came in and I rushed excitedly to my designated place. I couldn’t wipe off the silly smile on my face all through the dash to the copter and through the flight. I was asked to completely put off my cellphone – which I willingly did - and sat strapped into the sit and savoured the experience.

In seconds we were airborne and I gasped as I looked down. We were in the ‘bubble’ part of the helicopter and the bubble extended to below my feet! If I could sing, or if this was a Hindi film, I’d be singing Karen Carpenter’s “I’m on the top of the world, looking down on creation...” But it wasn’t and I didn’t.

Yet it was a wonderfully a giddy feeling. Even if it was for a short time. And as we landed. I held on to my smile because all in all, I’d managed quite a bit in one short day – and it wasn’t just the heights, but things were looking up, weren’t they?

LINK to previous post : http://tectonicshifts.blogspot.in/2012/12/fivedaysoff-great-start-and-miracle.html

A Great Start... and a Miracle? - FiveDaysOff - Part 1

Almost being branded as a workaholic, it was high time I proved the cynics wrong.

A planned trip to London had fallen through when I got a chance to go to Vaishnodevi with a friend. (Yeah, yeah, I know the difference!)

I jumped at the opportunity. And said yes. She let me know that some of her family members would be part of the group. More the merrier I thought.

The plan grew. Amritsar was added to the itinerary. Just two days, but why not, I thought. The Golden Temple beckoned. And so it happened.

Five days off.

Before long, I was up, up and away.

The way to get to Vaishnodevi is by flight or train to Jammu and then by road to Katra. We took a flight to Jammu.

On reaching Jammu we had to wait for our fellow traveler and my friend SG and so we organised a car to take us around a couple of places.

Security was tight in most places. And mobiles and cameras were not allowed inside the main gates. My ipod was declared an 'electronic item' and debarred from entering too.

Two places of worship and several monkeys later, we were heading back to the airport to pick up SG.

Just as we did that we felt the first drops of rain. As we set off to Katra, it was cold. And grew steadily colder. And rainier. And as we wound our way uphill, we realised that if this was the weather, our trip to Vaishnodevi by helicopter was suspect.

The road from Jammu to Katra is fairly good and we reached in about 90 minutes even with the rain.

Once checked in we stepped out of the hotel!

It was freezing. And rightly so. The locals merrily informed us of the first dusting of snow on the mountain tops off Katra. Oh well, it IS winter isn't it, I thought.

The only problem now was, would the helicopters still operate?

No. The locals shook their heads pessimistically.

The most optimistic one brightly encouraged us with a fatalistic, If it has to happen, it will happen. It's HER will.

By late evening as we wended our way to the market a pall of gloom had descended on us.

But we were a determined lot. A mere helicopter flight was not going to stop this motley gang.

We had dinner. Much rajma-chawal, red beans and rice were relished. Aloo parathas, gobi parathas, and mooli ke paronthe made their way to our table. Followed by thick sweet lassi and even salted buttermilk. A satiated, well fed gang walked out of that eatery.

And as we stepped out SG's Mother excitedly said, I can see stars!

Don't mistake this for a metaphor. We all looked up and could see stars in the dark sky. That meant the sky was clear! Wheee!

We went back hopeful. But still a niggling doubt remained: What if tomorrow is not like that? What if it rains tomorrow?

The next morning however was beautiful. A patch of sunlight lit up the mountain facing our hotel window. What joy!
And so with great gusto we were all set to go,

The Vaishnodevi shrine is approachable by a long and winding road uphill to about 6200 feet above sea level. It's an 11 kilometer walk which most devotees prefer to do by foot. Since it is uphill it takes between 4 to 6 hours of steady climbing. Horses, ponies and what are called 'Palkhis' are available to aid the young, old, infirm and disabled.

Almost a decade ago J & K Tourism started a helicopter service. A barely 5 minute flight takes you from the helipad in Katra to Sanjhi Chhat, the helipad in Bhavan, barely 3 kilometers away from the shrine.

Now this service operated by Global Vectra and Pawan Hans is literally a breeze to avail of. Bookings can be done online through the Vaishnodevi Trust site. Details required are what you'd require for any flight booking - name, age and identification details - ideally a PAN card number.

I'd shared my PAN card number with SG's sister MK as she had done the flight booking to Jammu and also the helicopter booking.

As we checked into the flight in Mumbai as a group she had got all our PAN cards and given them back as we proceeded for security check.

I have a standard place to put my PAN card in my wallet but in the hustle of going in for security check I just shoved in my wallet and decided to put it properly later. Bad decision. Bad, bad decision.

If only I was one of those meticulous types. A place for everything and everything in its place! But no! I'm in a rush. I'm excited and... And.., I'm finally off on a holiday! Is a PAN card going to delay me by a few precious seconds at this juncture? No way!

I'd forgotten about the PAN card till the morning of our departure to Vaishnodevi. We needed to show the PAN card as identification at the helipad.

I opened my wallet with a flourish when MK asked me to remember to carry mine as we were leaving.

And then I froze. My PAN card wasn't there.

What had I done with it? I tried to jog my memory. I knew for a fact I had put it in. Did it drop off somewhere during the security check? Somewhere else? On the aircraft to Jammu? Or while we were moving around in Jammu?

SG and MK were remarkably cool. They helped me look for it. Each of us checked my wallet. CHecked my bag. Just in case. Checked my wallet again. I removed the ATM slips collected in there. Rearranged the notes. No sign of my PAN card.

Twenty minutes later, we started looking at options. My driving licence could be used as an identification. But at the back of my mind I was worried.

On two counts. If I wasn't allowed an alternative means of identification, this trip was not happening. And then there was this whole issue of getting the PAN card made again.

Oh why oh why had I been so foolish, I berated myself!

SG's family was most understanding. Her Uncle (Mamaji) most optimistically said we'd manage.

But at the time for check in, we were told off. No way could we go without a PAN card. Mamaji convinced the person at the checkin counter that we had forgotten the PAN card at the hotel. Much apologizing, pleading and persuading later, my driving licence was accepted. The person at the counter reproached us for being so careless. I agreed with him, apologising again. He let us go. Finally!

As I turned away, having averted a near-cancellation of my trip, I don't know what prompted me to do it, but I pulled out my wallet and looked again. There, in the middle of some 10 rupee notes nestled my PAN card! I couldn't believe my eyes!

I gave a whoop of joy, ran back to the window and proudly displayed the card, grinning much like a child who had got an ice cream after throwing a tantrum! The man at the counter nodded sagely, pulled out the check in sheet again tallied the numbers and handed my card back to me!

As I turned back towards SG and family there were incredulous looks all around. Both MK and SG had checked my wallet, over and over again! I had checked it at least 3-5 times. And we had not found the PAN card. And here was the elusive card, all the while out there! Or in there, should I say?

Even now as I think back there was no logical reason for me to have looked into my wallet at that moment. We had already been allowed to go by the man at the counter. I don't know what prompted me to open my wallet again. I still don't know. And I'll leave it at that. There are some things that just cannot be explained...
They say these things happen. Calling it a miracle will get cynics up in arms. I am not labelling it.

So on we went. More in the next round...

And yes.. if you get inspired (and called) to make this trip, the link below will help.



VaishnoDevi link