It's been a while since I last posted on my blog and I kept wondering where do the prolific bloggers get their ideas...and then on an impulse I thought "Oh, what the heck! Let me just write about that - the fact that I don't know what to write about!" And like most other things that one does, you just take the plunge and the rest just comes along. Am honestly hoping that the "rest" does come along! Heh heh!
I happened to attend a dance recital recently. A new age dance form called the "Porcelain dance" that had got some generous press. It was being performed at one of the happening 5 star hotels in New Delhi and the invite graciously asked one to stay back for cocktails post the performance. I'm glad I went for this. Not that the dance was great. In fact I can't really comment much on that as the Delhi traffic played truant and I barely managed to get the last five minutes of the recital where much to my chagrin I watched the pretty danseuse go through some moves that in my dictionary would be "slapping" the self and then like an utterly confused traffic cop pointed in multiple directions. Suffice it to say that it was enough for me to work up an appetite for the wine and cocktails that were to follow. Several glasses of wine, titbits and interesting conversation with strangers followed. Having gone with a buddy of mine who is a foodie, food consultant (don't know if he calls himself that!), an avid photographer of food among many other hats that he dons, I was in for a night that could only be termed as a "gastronomical delight!"
We headed for dinner and feasted on Tamil cuisine from the ancient ages which was painstakingly researched and lovingly created and presented by a very charming young chef named George. I was intrigued to discover that the cuisine did not use onions, tomato & garlic because in 7th century BC that had not been introduced in that part of then India.
I started with a refreshing drink made from jaggery, tamarind pulp and ginger. Then followed some amazingly flavoured Turkey Biryani! None of your regular biryani spices...nope! It had curry leaves among others! One word - delicious! The followed a rice with nuts - nice, tandoori quail (a first for me, that too delicately marinaded in south indian spices), rabbit in coconut milk curry, fish in tamarind among other delicacies. More food followed and amidst very appreciative slurps and burps the feast continued. The only disconcerting note that evening happened to be the news of the serial bomb blasts happening in Ahmedabad and being accompanied by journos on our table, conversation kept veering towards what next and who is behind it all and so on...The entire meal was washed down with a cotton seed halwa (didn't even know that was edible) & tea made from curry leaves (simbly south)! It was past midnight and with all that food tucked in all I could think of was the comfort of my pillow on which I wanted to rest my head and dream of more such evenings to come...

Ode to Majuli

1995, early summers in Assam. As a tele journo of sorts at that time, I happened to go to the river island - Majuli. It's claim to fame is that it is the largerst riverine island in the world. 20 kms off the town of Jorhat, the only way to reach it is by a ferry ride on the river Brahmaputra. I was going there to do a TV story on how erosion of the island was threatening its very existence. The concern was compounded by the fact that the island was the seat of Satriya culture that is unique to Assam. The Satras there are a microcosm of the religious ideology of the great Assamese medieval Vaisnavite Saint Sankardeva & Madhavdeva. (For more on Majuli visit http://www.majuli.org/)
We drove from Guwahati to Jorhat. In Jorhat, we halted for the night at the Circuit house. Early next morning, we set out for Nimati Ghat on the outskirts of Jorhat from where we were to board a ferry to Majuli. My heart skipped several beats when I discoverd that the ambassador car that we were traveling in would also make its maiden ferry ride with us. Two startegically placed wooden planks served as the bridge for the car to board the ferry. Needless to mention, the TV equipment, the amby & a girl with this motley set up was enough fodder for the locals to ponder and stare at us.
Packed to its gills with people and stuff that was ferried to & fro from the town to the island, the motor launch then made its way across the muddy, swirling waters of the mighty Brahmaputra. A clear sky, sunny, humid and warm air tinged with a smell of the river and the morning catch of fish added to my excitement. I was like a sponge, ready to absorb whatever lay ahead of me. After a ride that took less than an hour, we reached the banks of Majuli. Some more excitement followed the de-boarding of the car. Then, off we went in the car, driving through embankments. Either side of the embankment was flanked by paddy fields punctuated by neat bamboo houses on stilts.
We put up in a guest house with one of the Satras. It was a great learning for me to discover the Satriya culture, the NGOs struggling to reverse the process of erosion, the unique way of life in the island and most of all a peep into the lives of the Mishing folks. I fondly recall how I was fed a meal of boiled rice & fresh fish curry (that still had some remnants of where it had come from). The family watched me eat, as I sat on the floor of the bamboo house on stilts through which I could see the turbid water gently flowing. I was pleasantly surprised to learn of how aware the people were of the effects of the erosion and how they were partnering with the NGOs to save their part of the planet they called home.
4 glorious days of discovery, brilliant shots of the island, scary footage of land eroding and slipping away into the swirling waters, colourful canvas of the Mishing handlooms, whispers of the nexus between ultras, government & traders, glorious images of the Satras the Deos (monks) and their life.....there have been very few experiences post this, that have matched up to my discovery of Majuli.

What's in a name?

Naju - that's my name. Have had responses range from a raised eyebrow, cocked ear to rhymes of "kaju naju" and what have you. I must admit that more often than not, I like that response. I like the fact that it has a quaint story attached to it, thanks to my parents. My father was called Biju and my mother is Moina. As is the custom in most parts of India, these were their nick-names. My brother came into this world before me and my parents decided to name their labor of love "Mobi". Mo from Moina and Bi from Biju. When he grew a little older and was introduced to tales of the blue whale (Moby Dick), he decided to spell his name Moby. I followed into the world a few years later. Again the parents got together, looked at what was left of their names that could be strung together and decided to give me the remaining syllables of Na from Moina & Ju from Biju and ever since, for good or worse the world has known me by that name. No nick names & good names for me. Years later, I discovered to my delight that this name does have a meaning and you might come across other Parsis or Muslims with this name. In Persian, Naju means someone 'dear'.

Christmas is knocking at the door and the year is almost on its way out...there is a festive mood that is so typical of this time of the year. The chill, smog and wayside hot milk & pakora kiosks that spring up around market corners add to that mood. No wonder, I already feel like its friday today!
This time of the year makes me very nostalgic. Having grown up in the 70's in oil townships of Assam, I was raised in a very cosmopolitan environment. Apart from families from almost all over India, we had some British and Anglo-Indian families as well. Christmas time for us "baccha log" (that's what the club staff affectionally called us) was a time for going house to house singing carols, eating cake, preparing for the annual stage show of "Baby in the manger". Bundled in our woollens, like cherubs, we descended on every doorstep, whooping in delight whenever the cake was laced with rum! We would have a Christmas tree that was brought from Shillong and in true Christmas spirit, everybody would decorate it with a special prayer on their lips - "Santa, please, please bring me my present". What made the day even more memorable was the fact that Santa came in (hold your breath) in a chopper!! I remember one time, when I felt extra blessed that Christmas because my dad became Santa. I may be fantasising, but I did add two inches to my swollen forehead and was so proud of my dad and when he stepped out of the chopper, patted his protruding belly and let out a baritone "Ho, ho, ho!"

A new beginning...

I finally took the plunge! Had been toying with the idea of my Blog for a while now and realised that this should definitely not become one of those things that I regret not doing when I am old(er!).

So, hello me & welcome to you all.