#my flask is full of chai

[technoscriptsemb-blog]

Java Full Stack vs. Python Full Stack: My Journey Choosing One

Back when I was figuring out my path as a coder, I spent countless evenings at a tiny tea stall near my apartment in Pune, scribbling notes about whether to go all-in on Java or Python for full stack development. It felt like choosing between two best friends—one steady and reliable, the other quick and fun. Both could help me build websites from the flashy front end to the gritty back end, but they had such different flavors. If you’re standing at the same crossroads, wondering whether Java full stack or Python full stack is your vibe, let me walk you through what I learned, like we’re chatting over a cup of chai. This is about what each path feels like, how they work, and what they mean for your coding life.

Java and Python both let you do this, but they’re like cooking with different spices. Java’s the old-school chef, meticulous and trusted by big restaurants. Python’s the trendy food truck cook, whipping up dishes fast and winning fans with ease. I remember my first gig at a small tech firm, where I had to pick one to build a client’s app. That choice shaped how I saw these two worlds.

Java full stack felt like stepping into a well-oiled machine. Java’s been around forever, powering huge systems like bank apps or online stores. For the front end, you’d use something like React or Angular, which are JavaScript-based, but Java takes over on the back end with Spring Boot. I worked on a project for a logistics company, using Spring Boot to connect a user-friendly dashboard to a database tracking shipments. Setting it up was like assembling a complicated LEGO set—lots of pieces to snap together, like configuration files and dependency setups. Java’s strict rules, like spelling out every variable’s type, made me slow down and think, but that rigor meant our app could handle thousands of users without crashing. It’s a favorite in places like finance or government, where things can’t afford to break.

Python full stack, though, was like cooking with a recipe that just clicks. Python’s so easy to read, it’s like writing a letter. On the back end, you’d use Django or Flask, which are like cheat codes for building apps fast. I helped a friend’s startup build a booking app with Django, and we had a working prototype in days. Django gave us pre-built tools for user logins and database connections, so we could focus on making the app look good. Like Java, you’d pair it with JavaScript for the front end. Python’s perfect for startups or projects tied to data crunching, like apps that use AI to recommend products. The downside? It’s not as speedy for massive systems, so if you’re building the next Amazon, it might struggle.

The tools you use show how different these paths are. With Java, I was glued to IntelliJ, an IDE that felt like a spaceship control panel, and Spring Boot for back-end logic. We used Maven to keep track of all the libraries we needed, which was handy but felt like paperwork. Python was simpler. I’d fire up VS Code, a lightweight editor, and use Django with pip to grab packages. Java’s setup took time, like prepping a gourmet meal. Python let me jump straight to coding, like tossing ingredients into a stir-fry.

Learning each one was its own adventure. Java was tough at first. I’d groan at writing long chunks of code just to do simple things, like connecting to a database. But that structure taught me discipline, which paid off when I joined a big team where everyone had to sync up. Python was a joy to learn. I’d write a few lines, and boom, something worked. It felt like magic, especially for small projects at places like Technoscripts, where you’re churning out prototypes. But Python’s looseness meant I had to be careful not to write messy code that’d haunt me later.

Jobs-wise, both are gold in 2025. Java full stack devs are snapped up by big firms—think Wipro or Accenture—building systems that need to last decades. In India, freshers might earn ₹5-10 lakh a year, more in the U.S. Python full stack devs shine in startups or tech-driven companies like Flipkart, especially for AI or data-heavy apps. Salaries are close, maybe ₹4-9 lakh for beginners. Java’s strength is its grip on corporate giants; Python’s is its speed and AI edge.

So, which did I pick? I started with Python because it got me coding fast and felt less intimidating. Later, I learned Java to tackle bigger projects. If you want to build bulletproof systems and don’t mind a challenge, go Java. If you love moving quick and dreaming up cool apps, Python’s your friend. Either way, you’re building the web’s future, and that’s pretty darn exciting.

Want to master Java and Python ?

So enroll now in our Full Stack Java Course in Pune or Full Stack Python Developer Course in Pune

[mandoalorian]

hi I ADORE Vanilla Latte (I’m a barista myself so I just shsjshhsshjk :)) and it got me thinking... what do you think each of the Pedro boys would order at a coffee shop?? obviously Din would be like “I don’t do that bc mask” but like... if he could. lol.

So glad you enjoyed it lovey! I'm a sucker for coffee shop AU’s, I think because I too also used to be a barista! (@ Starbucks though, it was pretty 👎) — and oooh, I like this request! I’ve actually done something similar before which you can find HERE, but let me see...

Headcanon Masterlist

What the Pedro boy’s would order at a coffee shop:

Din Djarin

I've said this once before but our loveable Mandalorian lives off caffeine pills. If he could have any drink though, he'd opt for a cappuccino. The froth excites him more than he might like to admit. He even takes some of it on his finger for Grogu to taste.

Maxwell Lord

Uhm, recognise that businessman in Vanilla Latte? Listen, I’m not saying anything other than a triple shot espresso, extra hot and extra wet with no sweetner or sugar.

Oberyn Martell

A mixed berry frozen iced tea! He's got a sweet tooth and we already know how much he loves munching on berries, canonically. I’m a sucker for frozen iced teas, they’re my personal preference (mango & passion fruit ftw)!

Frankie Morales

Vanilla Latte! Although when he's with the guys he's afraid they'll tease him for it, so he just opts for a regular latte. But when he's with you he can truly be himself...

Ezra

Chai Tea Latte. He loves the smell, and his favourite colour is green just like the powder the barista's use to make it with. Ezra is the kinda customer who leans over the bar and watches you make his drink intently, asking you questions about the process and what you're going to do next.

Marcus Pike

This angel has a serious sweet tooth and loves a strawberry and cream frappuccino with extra fruity syrup on top!

Javier Peña

He doesn't know what to ask for, he only drinks whatever Steve brings him back. He doesn't care too much because anything is better than that disgusting coffee that comes from the machine in his office.

Max Phillips

He's a businessman, but he wants you to know that he's no boring businessman... so it's a caramel macchiatto!

Dave York

Milk.

Jack Daniels

An Irish coffee, of course! Obviously Jack will just order a regular black coffee but when he goes to sit down with it, he looks around and sneakily takes out a flask of whiskey, adding it to his beverage for that extra kick.

Pero Tovar

A flat white. I can't tell you why exactly. I just know he drinks a flat white. With like, full fat cow's milk.

[familycuisinee]

how to use milk powder to make tea in kenya

<p>Tangawizi is a Swahili word which means ginger, in English. This flavorful Kenyan Tangawizi Chai (ginger tea with milk) is the perfect comfort drink and will definitely have you asking for more!</p> <figure><img src="https://ift.tt/3mCZb0r" alt="Kenyan Tangawizi Chai - Ginger Tea with Milk" /></figure> <p>I am encouraged to share more recipes from East Africa, seeing how well you guys are loving my East African Kuku Paka and Pilau Masala recipes! Tangawizi chai has always been on my bucket list of to-do recipes, more so because I drink it almost daily! I started drinking ginger tea during my teenage years and I haven't stopped since! This is particularly a wonderful drink for the cold winter months.</p> <p>Now, I can't really say who taught me how to make Tangawizi tea. It is just one of those things you pick up, growing up in East Africa. For those of you who do not know, the average Kenyan family drinks black tea for breakfast, daily. As a child growing up in Kenya in the 80s, I remember already drinking black tea from around the age of three (things have certainly changed now and parents know better - no caffeinated drinks for children)!</p> <p>This healthy African tea is so full of flavor, and I have a feeling you will love it as much as we do.</p> <h2>Benefits</h2> <p>Tangawizi (ginger) tea has numerous health benefits. Some of these include:-</p> <ul><li><strong>Helps reduce nausea and vomiting</strong> - contains gingerols and shogaols which help relieve symptoms from nausea and vomiting. </li><li><strong>Pain relief</strong> - Tangawizi has anti-inflammatory effects which means it aids in pain reduction. A recent study has even shown that ginger can aid in reducing menstrual pain.</li><li><strong>Weight-loss</strong> - a study has also shown that ginger may aid in weight loss by controlling the appetite, suppressing the metabolic process that contributes to the storage of fat as well as lowering the intestinal fat absorption. </li><li><strong>Ginger and testosterone</strong> - A study conducted in 2018 showed that ginger supplementation enhances the production of testosterone in males.</li></ul> <p>I could go on and on but I think these are a few good enough reasons for you to drink your tangawizi chai or ginger tea! Well, not to forget the taste, of course!!</p> <h2>Ingredients</h2> <p>Here is what you will need to make this ginger tea with milk recipe. The exact measurements are on the recipe card.</p> <figure><img src="https://ift.tt/3akfnhx" alt="Ingredients Tangawizi Chai" /><figcaption>Ingredients</figcaption></figure> <ul><li><strong>Black tea leaves</strong> - I would advise you to choose strong tasting black tea leaves. We traditionally use chai black tea in Africa for this recipe but you can also use Assam tea or black smoked Lapsang Souchong tea. I would not recommend using Earl Grey, since most varieties have a weaker black tea taste.</li><li><strong>Ginger</strong> - use fresh or ground (powdered) ginger.</li><li><strong>Milk</strong> - you will also need some milk. <strong>For a vegan, paleo and low carb option, use plant-based milk alternatives</strong> such as coconut, soy or almond milk. </li><li><strong>Water</strong> - to dilute the milk. </li><li><strong>Sweetener</strong> <strong>(optional)</strong> - use regular or paleo sugar alternatives, or a suitable sugar-free alternative if you like your tea sweet. I personally do not like my tea sweet and like to skip the sweetener altogether. </li></ul> <h2>How to Make Kenyan Tangawizi Chai (Ginger Tea with Milk)</h2> <ol><li>Add water and sliced ginger pieces or ginger powder to a medium-sized pot and set it on the stovetop, under medium heat.</li><li>Allow the water to come to a boil, then add the milk. Allow this to come to a boil as well. You want to keep an eye on the water-milk mixture to make sure it does not spill-over.</li><li>Next, reduce the heat to a low, stir in the black tea leaves, then allow this to also come to a boil.</li><li>Once boiled, switch off the heat, set the pot aside and pass the ginger tea through a sieve to separate the tea leaves, into a thermos flask or a pot.</li><li>Pour into cups and serve hot.</li></ol> <h3>Recipe Video</h3> <p>Here is a short instructional video on how to make Tangawizi Tea. Feel free to check out more of my recipe videos on my YouTube Channel.</p> <h2>Storage and Recipe Variation</h2> <p><strong>Storage</strong> - there are some things that do not work so well with refrigeration and this tangawizi (ginger milk with tea is one of them)!! The best way to preserve this tea is to keep it in a thermos flask and consume it within a day!</p> <p><strong>Recipe Variation</strong> - use your favourite <strong>plant milk</strong> substitutes (almond, coconut or soy milk) for a vegan alternative. I love to use a milk to water ratio of 1:1, but feel free to use more or less, depending on how creamy you like your tea. I have used fresh ginger to make this tea. You can substitute this for a tablespoon of ground ginger.</p> source https://familycuisine.net/how-to-use-milk-powder-to-make-tea-in-kenya/

[priyastandon]

Pitch in to keep your pitchers full

WATER – THE ELIXIR OF LIFE

 Shortage of potable water is something that India or for that matter even the world is struggling to combat. I recently saw a picture in a newspaper of a man bathing while sitting on a chaarpai. Under this traditional cot woven with ropes, was a plastic tub. His bath water was being collected in the tub and would be reused by his family to bathe. The very sight of the picture made my hair stand on end.

If we think of the time we spend under the shower and the amount of water we use, a terrible feeling of guilt takes over. While visiting a doctor for pain in my neck, he suggested that I should take a hot shower every day. ‘At least half an hour’, was the prescription. As I looked at him wide-eyed, my husband Sanjay who is known for being much more vocal than I am said, “Doctor saab, we can’t afford it. Where is the water for taking a shower for half an hour?” The doctor said, “Oh come on Tandon saab, why should there be a problem in your house?” Sanjay said, “Of course we can’t afford it! How can we be so insensitive to the needs of those around us! People are not getting water to drink …” Well! To cut it short, I settled for doing hot fomentation using a traditional hot water bottle (and emptying out the bottle after it had cooled, into the garden). I decided that although no one would know, I could not bring myself to relieve myself of pain while becoming a pain to the society in the process!   

A friend told me that she uses the waste water from her washing machine to wash the cars. I thought it was a brilliant idea.

Rain water harvesting wells were made compulsory in Chandigarh for one kanal and plus houses. But only a handful of owners have complied with the regulation. Besides that the number of large houses in Chandigarh, are few. So for the replenishment of the ground water, perhaps these wells need to be made in government offices, community centers, places of worship and educational institutions too. 

Besides the larger steps that need to be taken at the institutional level; there are little things that each one of us can do at a personal level. We can turn the tap off while brushing our teeth or washing dishes. Bathing time could be minimized.

Fruits and vegetables could be washed in a bowl instead of under free flow of running water. When we fill up flasks or water bottles for school kids or for traveling, what do we do with the left over water? When we want to refill the flask we just empty it out first. This water goes down the drain. But it can be used for drinking, cooking, dish washing or even watering the plants. Leaking faucets need to be fixed ASAP. Let’s ensure that we run our washing machines and dish washers on full capacity and not just unnecessarily. 

Gardens should be watered only early morning or late evening so that the water goes into the soil and does not evaporate. I learnt a lesson from a guest who asked me to give him a quarter glass of water and not a full one. Take only as much as you need! A drop of water saved is a drop earned; just like pennies … My father used to say, “Boond boond se banta hai dariya. Dariya dariya se banta hai samundar …” 

An organization in Mumbai has started the concept of ‘cutting pani’ akin to the famous ‘cutting chai’ of Mumbai. Here everyone takes half a glass of water; because that is how much we really need to drink at one go. Let’s all pitch in to keep our pitchers full. It’s better to start economizing before we are left high and dry … literally! 

 This article was published in the Tribune on 27.7.2019

[poorna-chandra]

Obscured by Clouds

// At the behest of a few close friends: This entire writing is nothing but a piece of fiction

Ever wondered how your life would be if you were not answerable to anyone? Literally no one. Not your parents, not your your family, not your close circle of friends, not your job, not your boss - no one. Also, not answerable to the long list of cliched ambitions you have built for yourself since the time society subconsciously started imposing the elements of ‘you have made it’ upon you. Not your 1200 sqft house, not your shiny red car, not your extensive closet of designer wear, not your pockets filled with notes of cash. Sahi mein, zindagi aapko chutiya bana rahi hai aur aap bante jaa rahe ho.

You can only imagine how life would be and yet your wildest of imaginations do not come anywhere close to the actual feeling. You will never know what true liberation is, until you have taken a brave-heart gutsy call to live life without any answerability or have accidentally stumbled upon this situation. You have never truly lived, never understood yourself and the world around you - unless you have destroyed all the boundaries of answerability. 

The lack of answerability is a tricky weapon. It can only be handled with care if you have a sense of conscience. Thoda bore karta hoon aapko. There are four sets of situations that can shape the basic character of a person. A sense of answerability with a conscience - that is where you become a part of the ‘majority’. This is where the society has trapped most of you. A sense of answerability without a conscience - you will end up leading a ‘dual life’. Bahar se lagta hai aadmi seedha hai, par andar se yeh tedha hi hoga. Zero answerability without a conscience - you are a ‘terror to the world’. In logo ko duniya se ghanta farak padta hai aur yeh humesha kaand karte rahenge. Zero answerability with a conscience - you become a ‘free spirit’. That is where I am (or so I aspire to be). 

Last year, I lost my family in a plane crash. I am in no mood to explain the details of the events prior to and following this incident. Yeh kahaani unke baare mein nahi hai. But the moment I realised I am not answerable anymore to my closest set of people and I do not have to live life in a certain way that would make them happy - I was reborn. Shayad aap soch rahe honge, yeh kaisa insaan hai. Parivaar ke marne pe isko azaadi mil gayi! But yes, I was reborn. I quit my job, sold my property, bid a temporary good-bye to the few friends I had. (Fortunately, I am not married and did not have to deal with that side of things.) 

Here I am in my early 30s - far away from the rushes of a crowded city, breathing the form of air the way God intended us to - amidst the hills far far away. This is a small village on a hill top. People call it ‘HaraTopi’. The conifers here are alive and lush green for most of the year - you get the green (Hara) from there. And it seems that the shape of the hill resembles that of a hat (Topi). Life here is as simple as the way the village gets its name. 

The only reason that got me here, to this particular village, is that my childhood was heavily inspired by Bhagwan’s novel ‘In Through the Back Door’. Bada hoke sochne laga, yeh kaisa naam hai? In Through the Back Door. Kabhi yeh nahi socha tha ki ek din wakai mein gaand maregi. This novel to me was what ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ was to the kids of the 1950s and there upon. No other product of art described teenage angst to me better than this novel. I was a rebel right from my school days, and the protagonist of this novel ‘Tipu’ resembled me (or so I felt). Tipu was a teenager based out of HaraTopi, who questioned the way the society was organised - study well, get a job, immigrate, keep your family happy, get married, provide for your kids, and then one day - die amidst your kids and grandkids. Tipu wanted to break free and be a ‘free spirit’. I idolised him and he was my hero. And now, when I had the opportunity to break free, HaraTopi was on top my list to visit, and l wanted to live here for sometime and feel like Tipu.

When I reached HaraTopi, I was a mere tourist. The monsoons had just ended, and it seemed like an ocean of greenery wherever I looked. The skies were clear without a single patch of clouds, and their blue was just bright enough to lighten up my soul. I spent time doing things that most of you would do on a scenic hill top. I enjoyed the local food, trekked a couple of places nearby, mingled with the locals and got high when the situation called for it. HaraTopi is best explored on foot, or on a cycle. Riding a cycle by the hills and the conifers, sipping on a hip-flask with an RD Burman or a Simon & Garfunkel on the earphones, as the chilly winds of the hills hit my face - I felt alive. 

Ever wondered how it feels like to be completely alone? Let me tell you. There is no better companion than loneliness. An entire world resides within you, with no limit for self-exploration. Loneliness is your guide to this world. Sink to the bottom of boredom all by yourself, face and overcome the fear of dying alone by yourself someday, and you shall bear witness to the blossoming of the companionship with your loneliness. Blossoming into not just one flower, but into acres and acres of new species of magical possibilities. Loneliness is the seed. Through the journey of loneliness, there will be a few people and moments one may yearn for - and trust me, those are the only entities that really matter in life.

There is a trekking spot about 2000 ft. above HaraTopi called ‘Satila’. Here, the snow has stuck together to form sheets of ice and has become smooth enough to turn into a slide. It was a severe adrenaline rush to cycle all the way to Satila (have one of the locals get my cycle down), and slide downhill on my buttocks till a point I could. With almost a cliff to my left overlooking HaraTopi and other villages, tall and green conifers to my right and a bright horizon in front me - I slid my heart out. This was my form of skiing, my form of meditation - wherein I forgot all the noise in my head, all the relationships I had failed and all those that had failed me, all the mediocrities of life we are meant to chase till we die. It felt like how ‘Thelma and Louise’ would have probably felt in their eponymous movie when they jump off the Grand Canyon in their car - except, I was alive. And the nights - they were surreal. There were a countless number of stars in the sky and I had never thought a village could be lit just by the moon and the stars. Meri baat maano, aapke dilli wali shaadi mei bhi itni roshni nahi hogi. These were not mere stars, but this was a masterful artwork by some power beyond my cognition. 

One fine morning, I was having my usual cup of chai at this view point they call ‘Lal Tibba’. My routine was to sit on a chair, sip chai until the fog dispersed and the Himalayan ranges hundreds of kilometres away became visible. There was this lean guy, in his early 20s perhaps and in fairly rugged clothes, next to me. He did not look like a local though, and identified himself by the name Guru. As the Himalayan ranges became visible, he turned towards me and said “Saab, ek din main bhi Everest ko chadhne waala hoon.” I just reluctantly smiled at him. I said to myself “Everest chadhega yeh! Kisiko jhaant farak padne waala hai”. 

For some strange reason people have this extreme selfish desire to accomplish something in order to be immortal - to be remembered forever by the future generations, under the pretext of ‘making a difference’. Trust me, no matter what you do, you will be forgotten within a few years - even by your own ‘so called’ loved ones. Being remembered forever is nothing but a myth. Everyone will be forgotten except the ones in power, and power is the bastard child of ruthlessness, revenge and deception. Are you really willing to stoop so low? In fact, I am someone who has given up on this whole philosophy of ‘human endeavour’ and is running away breaking its walls forever. I simply do not understand ‘human endeavour’. Turn back the pages of history and this is the very reason for the hundreds of wars and the bloodshed that followed them. While advancements in technology and healthcare may have had a few benefits, aaj to har koi mobile ke gaand mei ghusa hua hai aur shahar ke pollution se mar raha hai. Apna desh ko hi dekh lo. Tarakki ke naam pe kisi ko desh chalaane diya aur abhi desh ki maa behan ho rakhi hai. 

With time I realised, I cannot be a tourist at HaraTopi for long. It feels like you are looking at something through a tinted glass. I had to break the glass, and feel the place like I belonged there. After a few weeks passed by, in order to provide for my livelihood, I decided to run some local enterprise. It was not that I was running thin on money. But the plan was to not settle down in one place. I wanted to be a nomad for the rest of my life. I wanted to meet strangers but not get too familiar to be friends. I wanted to see places but not get too comfortable to call it a home. But the options for an enterprise were limited though. There were always a bunch of tourists at HaraTopi and I thought I could build on that. One thing that struck me was to run a bar. I had always wished to run a bar some day. 

You may say “You are a fucking hypocrite. How is this any different from that guy who wanted to climb The Everest? Is this also not a form of ‘human endeavour’?”. Well, there is a fine line between vocation and vacation, and I am treading on that. This is only a means to blend with the locals, fulfil my little dream of running a bar and earn some money before I turn into my nomadic self and move to a different location. And do not term me a hypocrite. I dare you. There is only one set of people in this world that do not have my respect and those are the hypocrites. Politicians, celebrities, religious leaders and life partners - the world is full of them. I do not judge people with loose morals, dishonesty, dual lives. But hypocrites - I would eliminate them if I could. Maa kasam, inse bade gaandu log duniya mein koi nahi hai.

I met with a retired Army Colonel who spent his winters in Delhi and summers at his villa in HaraTopi. I learnt that he owned a couple of shops which had been closed for a few years now. It seems he never trusted the locals to have the acumen of running a fancy enterprise for the tourists and had decided to rather have the shops shut. Locals warned me “Bach ke rahiye saab. Colonel khadoos hai. Maa chod dega kuch galat kiya to”. 

But my meeting with the Colonel went well. He was a Haryanvi, a widower in his late 60s, clean shaved and had the height and build of someone in the army who would have retired a decade ago. Colonel was also a whiskey connoisseur. The moment he got to know that I was well-read, educated and had quit a job that was paying me enough to put me amidst the ‘elite’ of the society - he ‘ordered’ me to have a drink with him and I obliged. Colonel had a loose tongue though, or maybe he was just bored of having not met someone recently to have a meaningful conversation with. 

Colonel: I can judge a person just by looking at the way he drinks his whiskey.

Me: What do you mean, Sir?

Colonel: The way one holds the glass - the firmness says a lot of the character. The quantity of ice in the drink - differentiates a man from a boy. The amount of sip you take in - usse pata chalta hai woh sharaabi hai ki bevda. 

Me: Well, Sir, your pointers seem a bit dubious. But I guess your experience is something that I cannot question. By the way, what do you make of me?

<Laughing> Colonel: I am not stupid to give away that answer. You are going to be my tenant soon. And all I can say is that I am happy to lease out my shop to you. What are your plans for the shop?

Me: Sir, I plan on running a bar here. Mostly tea, snacks and alcoholic drinks. I want to create a vibe and ambience that will attract the tourists. I am a huge fan of neo-noir Hollywood movies - so I want to create an ambience around this. I also love music of the 70s and 80s - so I will play their music as much as I can.

Colonel: Yeh neo-noir kya cheez hai?

Me: Sir, these are stylised crime movies with a dark humour. Aap shayad Pulp Fiction, Taxi Driver, Reservoir Dogs jaise movies ke baare mei suna hoga?

Colonel: Never heard of them. But anyway, people like new things. They may get attracted to this because they have no idea about it.

Me: No Sir, I plan on attracting the tourists. I guess they would appreciate this.

Colonel: Oh, tourists! Yes. They will come. Quite a few Israelis, Turks, Uzbeks and Asian people here. The ladies are hot, aren’t they?

Me: Yes, I have seen a few hot ones for sure. The locals are also beautiful in their own way.

Colonel: Tum shahar se itna door rehte ho aur akela rehte ho. Yeh batao, sex ke liye kya karte ho?

I was surprised for a moment, but perhaps the whiskey was kicking in. 

Me: Wahi Sir, jo mai shahar mei karta tha

Colonel: Shahar mei kya karte the?

Me: Thodi der khud khel lo aur saali hawas mit jaati hai

Colonel: Kaafi seedhe lagte ho. We used to visit nearby villages during our army days. Affairs were a common thing. Men without the balls for an affair would depend on flings. Kabhi aadmi ko dekhte hi ladki maan jaati thi, aur kabhi bandook ko dekh ke.

With the permission to run my bar at his shop, I took leave from Colonel. The winters were soon approaching and Colonel left for Delhi a couple of days later. With the help of a local named Dhiru, I started setting up my bar. Dhiru had spent all his life at HaraTopi. He was about 35 years old, a little over five foot in height, brown skinned and had a thin moustache that looked out of place on his otherwise plump body. Dhiru’s wife had eloped with a tourist a couple of years back. Since then, he had turned into a alcoholic. He was famous in the village to drink late into the night and talk to his cows about his wife. My bar meant that Dhiru could get cheap booze if he worked for me. 

The bar was ready in a month. The lighting and the ambience resembled those of the bar from the famous ‘Goodfellas’ scene with the dialog “I’m funny how? I’m funny like I’m a clown?”. The bar had wooden walls, a wooden roof with wooden pillars supporting them, dull orange lights, round tables, LED lights dispersed across the room, local hand-made lamps that felt like kaleidoscopes hanging from the roof. The walls had frames of neo-noir movies that I had loved and treasured all my life - The Usual Suspects, Chinatown, Pulp Fiction, Fargo, Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Reservoir Dogs, Blue Velvet, True Romance, Mulholland Drive. The tunes, well, ranged from - Beatles, Floyd, Zeppelin, Sabbath, Eagles, Dire Straits, Rolling Stones, Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel, Bowie, Doors, The Who, to Johnny Cash. Bar kaafi dhaasu lag raha tha. This felt like a place I could have a drink any day and anytime of the day! 

Winter had arrived and sipping a hot beverage evoked an altogether new life from within. Chai was the winter drug for the soul. The clouds hovered around once in a while, but it used to be clear for most of the day. The days grew shorter and the village would shut by 6pm, except for a few tourists and locals at restaurants and at my bar. But I used to get done with work by 8pm, and taking a stroll in the darkness below the umpteen number of stars, galaxies, and the cosmos became an everyday habit. Walking aimlessly in the open is perhaps one of the simplest joys of life, and I had rediscovered it. And sometimes, I would sit by my cottage and gaze at the stars for hours together, trying to make formations and learn a few concepts of astronomy through my newly couriered telescope. In life, after everything is done, connecting the dots to make formations is a no brainer. But a dot in itself at its inception has little meaning. That dot could be a star, or could just be an artificial satellite - only time can tell. Also, we often wonder about a few dots that do not connect anywhere - I think either we have not lived long enough or have not lived brave enough to understand them. 

Slowly and steadily, the tourists started pouring in to my bar. Some for the chai made from the tea leaves of nearby tea towns, but most for the alcohol served under an ambience that was not available anywhere nearby. Dhiru and I also made interesting cocktails - Rum served right out of a melon, Apricot Martini made from locally hand-picked apricots, BBB (Beer, Bourbon & Barbeque) Cocktail amongst others. The money was decent and soon we started issuing ‘monthly cards’ for the locals which allowed them to have drinks at much lower prices. 

Running an enterprise also meant that I needed some sort of security to guard my territory. Given that the bar actually belonged to the Colonel, it was unlikely that I would face any issues. But then, I was not the one to take any chances. Soon, Dhiru introduced me to another local named Biju. Biju was astoundingly thin and always roamed around in his vest and a pair of worn out shorts. Biju had a dog named Rosie that had given birth a year back. Dhiru got Biju to my bar and told me that each dog would cost a thousand rupees. 

Me: Kyu bechna chahte ho? Koi problem hai kya un mei?

Biju: Saab, kya bolun? Yeh Rosie hai na, saali raand hai!

Me: Kya matlab?

Biju: Itna kuch karke usko paala posa aur badha kiya. Par woh har koi kutte se chudti hai saab. Saali kutiya ko farak nahi gali ka kutta kaun hai aur apna shareef type wala kutta kaun hai!

Me: Woh sab theek hai. Par bechna kyu chahte ho?

Biju: Saab, main tang aa gaya hoon usse. Mujhe lagta hai usko maar hi dunga ek din. Aur uske haraam pillon ko bhi. 3-4 pillon ko bech chuka hoon. Yeh 2 bache hai bas.

Biju showed me the two dogs, and Dhiru confirmed that they belonged to Rosie and were about a year old. Surprisingly one dog was about 90% black and 10% white, and the other the complete opposite.

Me: Yeh kya hai? Ek kaala hai aur doosra gora

Biju: Aur kya hoga saab? Har koi kutte se chudegi to aise rang birange pille hi paida honge na. Tabhi to aapko sirf hazaar mein bech raha hoon

I felt it was a good deal, and I trusted Dhiru on this one. I bought the dogs, and named them Rinnie and Vinnie - one was a girl and the other a boy. I asked Dhiru to watch on them, since I did not want them to accidentally start humping each other in a few weeks time. For god’s sake, they were siblings! But that is how the village was. Discussing sex lives of your pet dogs at length in the open was considered normal and usual.

Over time, I grew fond of the general silence around me. The magnitude of silence increased as the day went by. In that silence, I started to observe and listen to nature as much as I could. Silence that is usually this uncomfortable space of air between people or entities, turned refreshing and soothing. In that silence, there was an introspection that had the power to take me on a ride ranging anywhere between the past, the future and within - deep within. That silence was so intimate that I don’t think I would ever be able to share it with anybody else. It belongs to me - just me. The forms of chirpings, burbles, fizzles, pitter-patters, ripples, murmurs, rustles - all of them started to feel like music to the ears. I guess I learnt to realise the simplicity of things around me and the power of observation to find beauty within that simplicity.

A few months passed by and the monsoons were soon approaching. The weather was fine and clear for now. The conifers were soon springing up to their usual self. The onset of monsoons also meant that it was the month of the festival ‘Singi’ for the tribal people who stayed at a nearby village ‘Singrawa’, about 1000 ft. higher when compared with HaraTopi. Dhiru narrated me the legend of this festival Singi. I have known Dhiru to narrate a few unbelievable incidents in the past - the three legged eagle of the size of a piglet that created havoc many years back; that after the Mahabharata, Ashwathama was roaming around the jungles a few hundreds of kilometres away from HaraTopi and as a result those jungles are now cursed with poor vegetation; few parts of a song from the hit movie ‘Jab We Met’ were shot at the foothills of HaraTopi. I assumed he was either hungover from the previous night or was plain lying.

But the legend of Singi was a notch above all of these stories. According to Dhiru, the festival of Singi is celebrated only in the night time post sun-set. The ceremony is blessed by the leader of the tribe. Soon after, they offer their prayers to their ‘Goddess of Procreation’ named ‘Miriya’ who is suppose to save the future generations of the tribe. This is followed by a feast of umpteen meat consumption, booze and as Dhiru calls it ‘kaala sutta’. 

Me: Kaala sutta? Yeh kya hai?

Dhiru: Wahi saab aap marte ho na! Nashe ke liye.

The interesting part is after this. It seems the unmarried women are dressed in their best attire and jewellery during the feast. The men start picking a woman of their choice, and if the woman agrees - they have sex for the night. 

Dhiru: Ladkiya mast tayyar rehti hai. Woh aag ke saamne line mei khade ho jaati hai. Aur aapko jo marzi hai, chun lo. Agar ladki maan gayi to raat bhar chudaai chalti hai saab.

Me: Dhiru, kuch bhi bakwaas karta hai tu!

Dhiru: Nahi saab. Chahe to bolo, leke chalta hoon. Par ek hi problem hai. Waha raat mein jaana padega. Raat ke 7-8 baje se pehle entry nahi milti hai. Aur ek phal aata hai ‘Arkoodi’ bolke. Usko kha lo to raat bhar daudoge.

Me: Yeh koi cinema theatre hai kya ki entry nahi milegi. Aur nahi, mujhe koi arkoodi nahi khaani hai. Aur mujhe jaana bhi nahi hai!

Dhiru: Waise, shadi karna zaroori nahi hai. Bachcha ho gaya to ho gaya bas, unka sarpanch hi sab kuch dekh lega. Waise, kuch din mei unke ladkiyan yahaan saamaan khareedne aayenge. Aap hi dekh lo.

I was neither in a mood to leave my progeny at the mercy of their ‘sarpanch’ (tribal leader) nor in a position to get married to a sex-deprived female from the tribes of Singrawa. But listening to such amusing stories of Dhiru made my day, and talking to people like Biju kept my day interesting at its best. 

Life was definitely better than I had imagined. I had never thought that I would meet a variety of people. But having a fancy bar at a fairly travelled tourist place helped me. And being the conversationalist that I am, sometimes I did get to speak to my customers at length. My customers so far have included - a transgender couple who were open enough to discuss about their issues with the current judicial and societal system; a Nizam of Hyderabad who lost most of his ancestral wealth due to the forceful annexures by the Government of India and had eloped to Burma unable to pay off his debts; a famous rock musician (who prefers to be unnamed) in his 60s now, who has traveled the world and went on boasting at length about his sexual escapades with women from about 80 odd countries; an adventurer who had cycled all the way from Rajasthan to Sweden; a man in his 30s who was handsomely paid to accept a rape he had not committed as a minor and now, post-release, was spending his money travelling the world; a retired businessman who narrated the experiences of his grandfather who gamed the system to be a juror on multiple criminal cases and made it a way of life. And trust me, these are just the tip of the iceberg. I should probably narrate these conversations (censoring the private parts of the conversations, of course) to you. But let me keep that for another day.

A few days passed by and as Dhiru had mentioned, the women from Singrawa came to HaraTopi to buy clothes and jewellery. There were a couple of local guys with the ‘monthly card’ who were drinking at my bar. It was about 4pm and was a time a bit too early for the tourists to pour in. As the women from Singrawa waited for someone to come pick them up on a cycle for a ride back to Singrawa, the two guys started uttering something that disturbed me. They would point at a woman and say either ‘Choot’ or ‘Bhosada’. I was curious about what they were talking and approached them. On questioning them with a tone that indicated I do not mind using my fists on them, they revealed that if they think a Singrawa woman is a virgin, they would shout ‘choot’, and if they think she is already impregnated, they would shout ‘bhosada’. I lost of mind for some inexplicable reason, and gritting my teeth said “Kato yaha se. Warna yahi beer bottle tumhare pichwade mei ghusaake bhosada bana dunga”. I think I would have hit them that evening.

Retrospectively, even though this incident seems to be a minor one, it left me in a philosophical turmoil. My nature of reaction was perhaps uncalled for. What those two men were talking was in a pseudo-private setting - so why did I almost ambush them? Was there really something derogatory in their tone? Why is a sexual joke a taboo and why cant it be as integral as any other topic? Why can’t being a virgin or not, be discussed with the same comfort as being educated or not? In fact, who was I to judge them? Had I not agreed that I will not judge anyone but hypocrites? Am I the moral police now? Why did I behave in such a volatile, aggressive manner out of the blue, which is so uncharacteristic of me? Am I getting too comfortable with this place that I care about how people behave and act? Am I intending to turn HaraTopi into my home? Is it time for me to leave? When do I ever know what is the right time to leave? Am I waiting for some sign? Is there a sign? Is this a sign?

I pondered over this thought for a few days. Dhiru could make out that something was worrying me. Maybe, so did Rinnie and Vinnie. The monsoons were soon arriving and the gloomy clouds were reflecting my thoughts to some extent. I felt I had seen enough of this place. The very fact that my behaviour could affect Dhiru and the dogs told me that this was turning into my home. I did not want them to miss me when I was gone. And I did not want to miss them and this place when I was gone. But no matter how hard you try every living being - humans, animals and the rest of nature - gets mentally attached to one another over a period of interaction. Familiarity is the mother of all longingness. I had not signed up for this, and I realised I should be leaving soon. It was, perhaps, time.

The monsoons arrived the next day. The clouds were as dark as they could get at HaraTopi. It was quite a heavy shower that evening. The bar was open as usual, perhaps for one of the last few times. A bearded gentleman with grey hair, in a red jacket and khaki coloured shorts entered the bar. He closed his umbrella by the door. He clearly looked like someone from the cities. He came by the bar and took a seat. He started glancing at the alcohol cabinet and seemed to be making a choice of his drink. He seemed like someone with a keen sense of observation.

Me: Sir, kya lenge aap? Daaru peeyoge? Main yeh recommend..

<Cutting me short> Him: Meri bas chali to daaru se naha lunga

Me: Haha.. bahar baarish ka mausam hai sir. Aur bhi options hai nahaane ke liye

Him: Kaafi suna hai aapka yeh bar ke baare mein. Kaha se ho?

Me: Sir, kal ka parwah nahi lekhin abhi to main yaha se hi hoon

Him: Lagta hai kaafi cinema dekhte ho (looking around) aur kitaabein bhi padhte honge

Me: Yes, Sir. I do. How about you?

Him: I write. Watching or reading something makes me jealous. So I avoid others’ works of art

Me: Interesting. What do you write?

Him: Get me the best whiskey you have in the house. On the rocks.

I got him his drink and waited for his answer. He took a couple of sips and turned towards me.

Him: Do you keep cigarettes? 

Me: Yes, Sir. Would you like..

<Cutting me short> Him: Do you have Camels?

It was extremely odd that he would ask me for Camels. Why would anyone keep Camels in a place like HaraTopi? And even if they did, why would someone expect this to be a default choice to ask? But I smoked Camels. Ever since I read that Tipu (from the book ‘In Through the Back Door’) flees to Delhi out of his angst and tries Camels during one of his night-outs in the city, I had romanticised trying them out someday. I always got the Camels couriered from Delhi for my personal consumption, along with the alcohol for the bar.

Me: Sir, I do not sell Camels. But I smoke them. You can borrow from my pack.

As I handed the pack to him, in that moment I realised that this was a familiar face. The media-shy author of ‘In Through the Back Door’, Bhagwan, was sitting in front of me. He had a beard now and seemed to have lost weight. Behenchod, yeh to wahi aadmi hai. Pooch hi leta hoon.

Me: Sir, are you the author Bhagwan?

Bhagwan: That is how the world knows of me. I am otherwise known as Surinder Koli.

Me: Sir, I am a huge fan of yours. ‘In Through the Back Door’ is my favourite book. I have..

<Cutting me short> Bhagwan: Good lord. What are the odds! I come here once in a while to reminiscence my writing days of the book. I read on Trip Advisor that a young man from the cities has opened a fancy bar here. Wait, let me take a punt. You were inspired by my book, a situation arose in your life and you decided to come to HaraTopi?

This literally made me shake where I stood. I had not told anyone about this - not the Colonel, not Dhiru, not my friends back in the city. In fact, most of my friends did not know my exact location right now. How on earth could he guess this? Or is it so straight-forward and is he making me seem stupid?

Me: Sir, you are right. I quit my job, sold my properties and came here. Tipu and your book have always been an inspiration. I thought..

<Cutting me short and laughing> Bhagwan: Mujhe pata tha duniya mein chutiyon ki kami nahi hai. 

Me: What do you mean?

Bhagwan: Yeh bar aur aapko dekh ke lagta hai kaafi shaukeen aadmi ho. Shayad ameer bhi honge. You seem educated. The world out there would probably do better with a person like you. And look at you. Here you are! What difference are you making? You think running a bar in some secluded village will make you immortal like some childhood hero from the books?

Me: I do not want to be immortal. I just want to be free from all the traditional expectations of the society and the..

<Cutting me short, again> Bhagwan: Make me another drink.

I tried to gather myself through the rush of emotions - from a fanboy moment to the shock that he had deciphered me to the confusion that he was suggesting me to live life in a different way. I poured him another drink.

Bhagwan: Kitaabein padhne ke liye hai bas. Inspire hoke chutiyaape karne ke liye nahi hai. In the real world, people like you have to work on challenges such as publishing, cutting costs of book production and making books more accessible to people through technology. If everyone gets inspired and runs away being a ‘free spirit’ like that Tipu, people like me would die. We would all go back in time where we led a primitive agrarian life.

Me: But is that not what you professed through your book? Tipu represented all the rebellion that a teenager expresses in this country. Tipu was a hero..

Bhagwan: Tipu bawla tha. Waise, woh sirf kitaabon ke pannon mein hai. Gutter mein fek do, ya jala do - do second mein mar jaega. Kis duniya mein jee rahe ho? If everyone gets inspired by art - then the world would have come to an end after watching apocalyptic movies. Art is to be read, watched, heard and forgotten. Art is not meant to be followed as a way of life. Maan lo koi Mahabharat padhke Arjun se inspire ho gaya. Pata hai Arjun ne kitne kaand kiye the? Do you know how many wives he had and what he did to his son Iravan?

Me: I don’t know. But I assumed you actually believed in the message of your book. I thought you were..

<Cutting me short> Bhagwan: Bol raha tha na duniya mein chutiyon ki kami nahi hai. Jab tak tum jaise log ho, mere jaise kalakaar aapko banaate rahenge. I have a family to take care of. I have desires to lead a comfortable life. I need to sell books in order to achieve all that. This is what any artist does - create an art that reciprocates with the needs of the contemporary consumer. That need can be sexuality, madness, revenge, patriotism, rightist or a leftist ideology, laughter, or sometimes teenage angst. Make the consumer go crazy - that is it.

Me: Unbelievable! Kaisa insaan ho aap? Dekhiye, sirf apka naam Bhagwan hai, aur aap khud ko asli bhagwan samajhke baithe ho. What you are saying is..

<Cutting me short> Bhagwan: Make me another drink.

I wondered if I should ask him to leave, or just play my usual self of being a host who is having a conversation with one of his customers. I wondered. I poured him a drink, reluctantly. 

Bhagwan: I guess the tempers are flaring. Look, it is your life. I was just trying to save you from a future disappointment. It feels rebellious now to give up on the society and be liberated from the traditional goals of life. But you will regret this in the future. 

<Trying to compose myself> Me: Well, thank you for your concern. But I think I am capable of taking my own decisions. 

In that moment I realised that this guy was perhaps the biggest hypocrite I had ever seen in my life. I did not have anymore respect for him. It would have been a mammoth gulp in the throat, but this first hand experience made me realise the true Bhagwan in one instant of a finger snap. 

<Lighting a Camel cigarette> Bhagwan: Look at you! You smoke the same cigarettes as Tipu. Even after all these years. You cannot deny that that book is your inspiration. And it surprises me that you are in no mood to listen to me now.

Me: You are a fucking hypocrite. I’d rather not listen to anything from a man like you. 

Bhagwan then took a last sip from his glass, looked for his wallet and left a two thousand rupee note on the table. He took a long hard puff of the Camel, and blew it up in the air.

Bhagwan: Well, you have already listened enough (referring to the book) of this hypocrite. And that has changed your life. And that has made all the difference.

Bhagwan took his umbrella and left.  It had stopped raining by now, and the dark clouds had started to pass away for the day.

After a few seconds Rinnie and Vinnie came running towards me, expecting my undivided attention since there was no customer at the bar. They started licking me, as they always fondly did. It felt good to be back in a world where living beings were simple and so were the relationships.

[vsplusonline]

A dash of lime, a touch of road: Poha across the nation

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A dash of lime, a touch of road: Poha across the nation

It was the early 90s. We were driving from Rajasthan to Tamil Nadu, via Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra, Karnataka, in a rickety Fiat that we ran alternately on petrol and LPG to save money. The ancient Padmini, bought second-hand from a sweet old lady in Belgaum, was not an LPG car — there were none those days — but my extraordinarily resourceful husband had modified the carburettor or whatever thingamajig so it would run on gas. We would lug two cylinders in the boot, searching frantically for refills in tiny towns that had all of one LPG distributor.

We were driving through central India in a tiny car, our three-year-old in the back seat, with little money, no mobile phone and one map. The car wasn’t exactly fast and we needed to get to at least a mid-size town before nightfall each day and leave really early come daybreak. To save time, we would try and eat breakfast on the run, and halt only for lunch, usually at ramshackle roadside dhabas. And as we drove, across Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra, our breakfast was invariably poha. Yes, the very same flattened rice that so unnerved a BJP leader that he had to alert his compatriots that poha-eating eccentrics could well be illegal immigrants.

By six in the morning, most roadside stalls would be up and running and the only stuff on the menu was poha and chai. We would buy two servings, fill the flask with chai, hop back into the car and drive off. The sunshine-yellow, feather-soft poha, liberally garnished with peanuts, freshly grated coconut, green chillies and a dash of lime, would be served on large squares of newspaper. My job was to eat a few spoonfuls and then shove some into my husband’s mouth as he drove.

It was the most delicious poha I’ve ever eaten. Even today, try as I will, I never seem to get that exact taste. But then, I am never able to add a touch of road, that dash of newspaper, the nip in the morning air, the lightness of being.

In Calcutta, in my very first newspaper job, my dearest friend and colleague would bring poha in his dabba sometimes. I used to love it and I had imagined his mother made it for him. I later found that his mother was very unwell, and it was my friend who was chief cook and bottle washer. It was his recipe that I followed for a long time — it used to have diced potato in it but also tiny florets of cauliflower. Of course, in Calcutta, come winter and we put phoolkopi in shingaras too, a delicate intervention that I find hard to describe to philistines brought up on that crude monster called samosa.

Teatime tradition

In Bengal, poha is chire, and it comes emphatically into its own at teatime as chire bhaja, where it is fried crisp with peanuts and red chillies, tempered with kalo jeere for that hint of spicy sweetness, and seasoned with salt and pepper. Heading west, chire bhaja becomes chivda in Maharashtra and pauva no chevdo in Gujarat, but now has fragrant strips of ghee-fried coconut, plump raisins and cashews thrown in.

It was one of my father’s favourite snacks, and we would wake up many a Sunday afternoon to find him in the sunlit kitchen patiently crisping batches of chire and peanuts. Then he would sit himself down with a bowlful of it, three sharpened pencils, and The Hindu’s cryptic crossword till mother brought the coffee.

In fact, our home had quite a steady affair with poha. When we were really young, I remember father used to leave for work very early. Finding it hard to eat an elaborate meal, breakfast for him those days was poha — soaked and drained to soften it — mixed with curd and a dash of salt. Mother sometimes tempered it with mustard seeds and curry leaves, sometimes not.

On days when father was not rushing off, mother would make another variant he loved. This pepper poha – milagu aval in Tamil – had nothing more than mustard seeds and curry leaves, roughly ground jeera and pepper, and cashews fried in ghee. It looked completely unimpressive, a nondescript black and white heap unrelieved even by a touch of turmeric, but it tasted quite heavenly.

Puranic poha

And, of course, we children grew up on the story of Sudama having nothing to take to his best friend Krishna, the king of Dwaraka, but a handful of poha bundled in cloth. My large illustrated book had a drawing of the palace guards blocking Sudama’s way. It made me so furious I took a sharp pencil and slashed at the guards, even though I knew full well the very next page would unite Sudama with Krishna.

On Republic Day this year, Kolkatans employed a milder and more filling form of protest — they simply distributed chire to everyone.

Avalakki, poya, atukulu, sira, baji, phovu — poha has a word in practically every Indian language. In a paddy-growing, rice-eating nation, it’s hardly surprising that flattened rice should be so ubiquitous that it even made it into the Bhagavata Purana. But now, mythology itself must be re-examined. Was Sudama Bangladeshi? Who wrote the Bhagavata Purana? Are we all Bangladeshis? Was Krishna an anti-national because he ate poha with such love? And if we show poha recipes instead of identification papers to the NRC enumerators, will we all be sent to detention camps?

SUNDAY RECIPE

My friend’s poha

Image: Getty Images/ iStock  

Ingredients

1 cup poha or flattened rice

A handful (or more) peanuts

1 cup chopped potato, cauliflower and green peas

Salt to taste

A squeeze of lemon juice

For tempering:

A tsp each of mustard seed, cumin and aniseed

1-2 sprigs curry leaf

2-3 green chillies

1 tsp turmeric powder

To garnish:

2 tbsp grated coconut

A handful chopped coriander leaves

1-2 slit green chillies

Method

1. Wash thick poha for several minutes, drain and keep.

2. Heat oil in pan and do a tadka of mustard, cumin, aniseed, curry leaves and chopped green chillies. Add turmeric.

3. Fry a handful of peeled, roasted peanuts in the oil.

4. Add diced potato, cauliflower florets and green peas. Stir and cover till cooked but firm.

5. Add drained poha. Add salt. Stir well and cook for a few minutes.

6. Sprinkle grated coconut and chopped coriander. Add a dash of lemon juice.

7. Arrange a couple of whole, slit green chillies on top.

8. Serve. (On newspaper squares.)

vaishna.r@thehindu.co.in

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Montana 6: Lake Bowman

Lake Bowman was a 90-minute drive from Apgar village. We left around 1.30 pm after confirming that campsites were still available. Manasi drove this stretch and turned a dull scenic drive into an unforgettable, exhilarating experience! For reasons unknown, she decided to test the max angular velocity of the car at the curves and there were many. After a point, the road quality deteriorated and we hoped that will diminish her spirits, how wrong we were! Manasi just went into her "Challenge accepted" mode and pressed the accelerator harder :P Me and Shruti had seat-belts on and were holding on for our dear life! After a couple of narrow misses and some scratches on our poor now-dusty Malibu, we reached the campground by 3 pm. There were plenty of campsites available and we chose a decent one close to the exit loop.

Getting to know fellow campers might be an overwhelming experience where you just don't know how to begin talking to random strangers. Luckily we had Manasi on this trip. Within minutes of reaching the campsite, she went around and spoke to everybody! How to do that? Simply follow these 6 easy steps :) Step 1: Buy an expensive phone Step 2: If it's an iPhone, turn off 'find my iPhone feature' Step 3: Absentmindedly keep it somewhere Step 4: Go to the washroom and then immediately realize your phone is missing. Step 5: Go to every campsite and say "hello, sorry to disturb you but have you seen an iPhone in the washroom?" Step 6: Later find out that it was still in the front zipper of your bag :P

Everyone will surely remember you, now that you have created a certain mystery around you and your phone. Everyone will have these thoughts running in the background - what happened to the phone? Did someone steal it? Did someone find and actually return it? Next time you come face to face with anyone, you don't have to do a thing. They will strike up a conversation starting with "What happened to your phone? Did you find it?"! :)

After finding Manasi's phone in the front zipper of her backpack, we set up the tent quickly and then decided not to go to Lake Kinta but to chill around the lake. There were three trees close to the lake, perfect for Shruti and Manasi's hammocks with the best view possible. I neither owned a hammock nor really believed that they are worth having until I actually tried Manasi's and they were amazing! There were already a few groups around the lake - closest to us was a couple with months old baby and a 2-3-year-old boy (Manasi became their family photographer later that evening), an Indian couple were playing with this 2-3-year-old kid for a brief period, on our left were a group of friends with a dog who were throwing stones and playing fetch (poor thing - I was praying it wouldn't choke on some stone. What a stupid game!!), a tattooed hot couple were swimming in icy cold water and at far right there were 2-3 folks peacefully fishing.

I and Shruti made our first Girnar's masala chai (I almost missed my flight for this!!) and for snacks, we opened up Udupi banana chips. After reading novels for a while, Manasi decided to practice her culinary skills by preparing early dinner with jasmine brown rice, Chole, and banana chips! How to make Chole on a camping trip? All you really need is a can of soaked chickpeas, tin of tomato puree, some organic curry powder, some salt and pepper borrowed from Quizno's-Missoula and obviously the secret ingredient - lots of love! :P We started playing music softly in the background while having this awesome dinner and by the time I finished eating, we were the only ones left and it was starting to get dark. Shruti chose this auspicious moment to reveal a scary fact - Bears sense of smell is 100 times that of a dog!! Knowing that our dinner smelt really good, we began to make loud noises while cleaning the utensils in record time and then headed back to the campsite with nervous glances around us every few seconds :)

After setting up the sleeping pads and bags, we went back to the bench and started sipping Baileys from the fancy flask, with Bollywood classics playing softly on my roommate’s tiny Sony speaker. Although moonlight was adequate, to better the ambiance further we turned on a soft red glow from our tiny camping lantern! It was almost a picture-perfect setting (we missed campfire!) and we ended up talking for hours together about anything and everything. This time, Shruti slept in the middle facing other direction because I wanted to wake up before dawn, go out and gaze at the night sky. Shruti who hikes every weekend and to whom star-studded nights are no big deal was confused by my enthusiasm for the night sky. Only once I mentioned to her that unlike her, I play Cricket every weekend and have very few chances of watching the milky way galaxy, she probably realized how lucky she was! Also, I knew Shruti is a good soccer player, so I slept as far away as possible facing the other direction!

The hot tattooed couple turned out to be our neighbors having a palace like enormous multi-tiered tent hooked on to their jeep. They had a proper stove and were making full-fledged breakfast early in the morning when we woke up around 8 am. No, they didn't invite us but I was wishing that they did :) I and Manasi even kept staring at them continuously for some time but that didn’t work either! We finished up our bread, hummus, jam with masala chai for a quick breakfast, packed up everything, filled up our bottles with water and finally said goodbye to Lake Bowman as we finally headed off to our backpacking adventure that we actually came for!