To Live By The Bullet

Sitting on a hard wooden bench, sipping hot sweet tea with the Maratha Regiment, in the back of beyond remote area of Arunachal Pradesh, we exchange stories of our lives. One a soldier, another a com patriot. Listening to the heartbreak of their stories of losing their brethren to terrorism. The fear of their families when they don't hear from them in a week's time. Anything can happen. It's just the question of a bullet. 

Today when the world bereaves the death of these innocent children, I cannot help but wonder about the phrase, you reap what you sow. 

The fathers of these children have stood by and let their fellowmen cross their borders and enter into our country to kill our brothers, our children, our soldiers. Would an Indian army soldier ever open its borders to send terrorists to enter into any of our neighbouring countries to create death and destruction. 

These Pakistan army officers now know what it feels to see a coffin wrapped in the national flag.... Just like our brave mothers and wives, who have seen their sons, brothers, husbands leave home, only to return as a body. 

In Uri, we lost our family, our soldiers for our democracy. Like we do everyday, be it a attack on our parliament or our Taj hotel or our gallis in Lucknow, Badlapur or Guwahati. 

For the sake of humanity, for the sake of our future, give up the bullet. It only hurts one and all, someday or the other.

The Tea At Jaswantgarh

With the travelling genes running rampant, I along with my family decided to head for the picturesque locales of Tawang in Arunachal Pradesh. 

We drove from Guwahati to Bomdila,

and the next day to Tawang. Our first halt was at Baisakhi. An Army post where u can get snacks like Dosa, vacancies, Maggi and samosa, cooked by our very own jawans. Piping hot tea and coffee were also available. A necessary stop as it gives the body time to adjust to the altitude. 

Nourished body and soul, we head towards Sela Pass. It is at an altitude of 13,700 feet. Fresh snowfall meant that the roads were slippery and wet. Slowly and steadily, we crawled towards Jaswantgarh, a memorial dedicated by the Indian Army.

There are two stories floating around this memorial. According to the Army, when the Chinese began attacking India in 1962, Rifleman Jaswant Singh, along with 2 officers, volunteered to capture an automatic machine gun. The 300 bullet a round gun, had almost wiped out the Indian Army. With fresh troops yet to make their way through the treacherous path, the heroics of Jaswant and his colleagues who captured the gun and therefore won that battle for us, made the Army name this place, Jaswantgarh.

However, the folklore has a somewhat different tale. The story is that the Indian troops were wiped out and with heavy snowfall, the troops found it tough to reach the battlefield. So for 3 days, Rifleman Jaswant Singh alongwith 2 local Arunachali sisters, Nura and Sela, fought the Chinese army with stealth and guile for 3 days, until troops could reach. The Chinese finally caught Jaswant Singh and beheaded him, and actually carried his severed head to show their Army Chiefs that it was the guile of one Indian that had prevented the Chinese army from entering Assam. 

The two girls committed suicide as they did not want to be tortured and killed. The battle has been named Battle of Nura while the pass was renamed Sela Pass, in tribute to these two courageous sisters. 

The significance of this battle is that the Indian army thereafter, was successful in pushing the Chinese back into China and reclaiming Arunachal Pradesh. 

As a tribute to the martyrs, a memorial by the Army has been installed and hot tea is served to everybody who drops in, by the Army. 

I really did not ponder much about what is folklore and what is factual, rather on the courage of our Indian brethren who laid their lives for our today. And it burns when anybody with eastern features are called Chinky. This is so unfair... India is about the Battle of Nura where a Garhwali took the help of Arunachalis to save our motherland... An Indian helping a fellow Indian

I was humbled by the efforts of the Indian army and their sacrifices, when I sat with the Maratha Regiment and they asked me about Mumbai, the new BJP government and how they miss their vada pavs.

The tea at Jaswantgarh, woke up a slumbering patriotic nerve in me. They proudly believe, " For your tomorrow, I sacrifice my today." Jai Hind, my brave Jawans. I salute you.

Goa, over the years...

Squeezing time between our business work, mom's schedule and my daughter's school, we managed to get a few days off to take a chill pill break to Goa.

Over the last 2 decades, I have made numerous trips to Goa. And each trip has had a different tale and experience to share.  I have also made the trip through every route... by ship, train, bus, taxi, car, air flight.. and with various companions. 

The first trip was with my room mates after I landed my first job, a rookie reporter with Plus Channel. The catamaran ride was long and luxurious. Soon after, the services were discontinued. As we were traveling first class, we were fed and feted all the way to the shores of Goa's lovely beach.

Seeing Goa for the first time was an eye opener. Sipping port wine on a moon kissed beach, with just the surf to keep you company, was soul searching. Solitude, with music of the waves and twinkling glittering light of the stars is an experience etched in time.

The most taxing time was covering the New Year celebrations in Goa for NDTV. From the 24th of December to the 2nd of January, me and my crew would be stationed in Goa covering the festivities. While the world around us drank and partied, we waited, stone sober to capture the ambience and get bytes of tipsy people.  

I have celebrated all my biggest occasions here. From my birthdays to my honeymoon, and each trip has brought out various flavours of Goa. From romancing in the rain, food fiesta as we discovered the various shacks, the crazy bike rides, shopping at the flea market, covering a naval plane crash, Goa kept flaunting her beauty.

This trip I discovered the joys of massage, by the beach side. The criteria for choosing a hotel has always been a good spa and and a good pool, and this year was no different. But, a good foot massage as you sip a chilled Breezer, and munch on golden fried prawns and masala fried squid, is best described as liquid pleasure. Ummm.. my version of reliving Cleopatra's lifestyle.

Each day, I would head to the shack to satiate an appetite for fresh fish and foot massage. Oh, you lovely Goa , you are my B12 booster shot.

The Royal Chinese Lunch

After a week of having vegetarian fare, as we had Ganpati in our house, we decided to have lunch out. Since we had a shoot in Bandra, we mulled over our choices and finally settled for Royal China. The eatery is on the expensive side, but as we had my mom visiting us, we headed for some exquisite Pan Asian cuisine. 

More than our stomachs, it's our eyes that are hungry, I have surmised. So as I made my way through the menu on the i-pad with the lovely pictures gracing each dish with elaborate descriptions, the mental imagery was deep at work. The eyes and mind ordered a fare that included crabs, prawns, pork and tenderloin. 

I experimented with a dish called Cheung Fun, which was

fried prawns rolled in rice paper, steamed, and served with a sweetened dark soya sauce. It was light on the palate. The crunchiness of the fried prawns in the sticky wrap, slightly smeared in the sauce, gave our appetite the lovely kick to get the gastric juices rolling. 

What we liked was that the freshly caught crab was first shown to us, before it was cooked. The 1kg fanged and clawed crab, was then presented to us on a bed of chilly tomato sauce, with a beetroot garnished and designed as a rose. I wonder why? 

While the pork spare ribs was barbecued in a honey pepper sauce, the tenderloin complimented the sweetness with a red chilly and spring onion spice. And it was served with egg fried rice, with small bits of ginger sprinkled, to give ample reason for the tongue to salivate. 

Pin drop silence reigned as we started eating. The nameless waiters disappeared as they realised that the patrons needed no assistance in serving.

Addled with all the good food, I went to the counter to pick up some of the restaurant's spicy red chilli oil. I saw a friend, who I thought was Zayed Khan, and greeted him as such, only to be gently told by him that he is Ranveer Singh. I died. 

Pondering about my mental state, I headed for the shoot, where Kareena Kapoor was shooting for an ad campaign. One look at my sleepy face, she asked me to come the next day for the interview. 

Without much ado, I sat in my car, cranked up the ac and the music, and was driven home, for a much deserved siesta. Saturday lunches are made of these... Good food and good friends...

TGIF on a Friday Afternoon

Cold, wet and dreary... that's what the weather gods gifted Mumbai this Friday afternoon. I decided to spice it up by whisking  my hubby for a working luncheon date to TGIF.

The weather demanded that we start with soup.. So we ordered the combination of chicken lemon soup and American Chicken Cutlet. The soup was thick and creamy, and the cutlet on a bed of salad, was good for a 2 year old, so tiny was it's size.

We made our way through potato cheesy skins, the sinfully calorie loaded mood lifter... followed by chicken wings. The appetiser was tangy and spicy...and the sauce.. simply nose wateringly yummy.

There was no time for any conversation as the main course arrived. The Miami Cubano Chicken Stack was fried chicken breasts with a lemon sauce, stacked with bacon and mushroom on a bed a herbed rice.

You can take an Assamese from Assam, but she will still yearn for her plate of rice. Richly satiated, with the Texas style food and beverage, it's back to the routine of work.

But a Friday afternoon at TGIF was worth the time spent eating a spicy meal and romancing hubby dearest on a working day...

Shooting with Jatin Kampani

I have eaten extremely well and oft unwisely on my shooting sets... I have eaten the tastiest biryanis, to delicately seasoned kababs and tandoori chicken, from the famed south cuisine of Muthuswamy to the exotic Italian food of Blue Frog. But today's tale of good food comes with a lovely after taste.

Shooting with Jatin Kampani is always a delight. He has excellent taste in music which keeps the tempo alive. A great sense of humour and so easy on the eyes, Jatin makes mundane shoots exciting. 

Lunch time came with some spicy prawns biryani and equally spicy chicken tikka masala. The rains complimented the food and we ate much more than good health allowed us.

After slouching in the comfy depths of his sofa, Jatin's caterer presented us with a Bengali sweetmeat called Pantua. The miserable looking fried mithai soaked in a sugar syrup beckoned me. Like in a trance I bit into one 1000 calorie byte and was transported to heaven. God, why are the best of food so unhealthy?

Disgusted for indulging myself, I sulked. Cajoling me out of my sour mood, Jatin offered me a paan, wrapped like a chocolate. 

I tentatively opened the cellophane paper and popped it into my mouth. It dissolved like hot butter. Nirvana. A fitting end to an indulgent meal, and I knew what Akbar felt when he sat on his throne...

The Fish Orgasm in Kerala

Meeting Mohanlal was good enough, but shooting with him in his city, meant a food fiesta. Not many know that the superstar from south was a sea food exporter and also ran a restaurant business, The Harbour Market, across cities like Goa, Pondicherry, Chennai, Cochin and Dubai.

Today, he is no longer in the restaurant business, but the man knows his fish. Keeping that in mind, the caterers in Cochin, where we were shooting an ad film, took out a spread that brought out the fishy happiness in me.

Sear fish in Kerela fish curry was served the first day. Succulent pieces of fleshy fish that broke from the bone, was lovingly fed to my palette by hand. Mohanlal's manager explained to me that in reality there is no fixed recipe for Kerela fish curry. The superstar's staff did a culinary survey across the state, tasting the said dish after every 50 kilometres, and the taste differed from each restaurant. Apart from the mind believing that the colour of the preparation is fiery red and has mustard seeds, chilli powder and curry leaves, the prerequisite is met and the tongue happily feeds on the grub.

On the second day, the spread got bold and ambitious. Crab

Chettinad, sear fish in spicy Malabar curry and baked Telapia in a spicy raw mango and red chutney paste... were the seafood highlights of the meal. The baked fish was wrapped in banana leaves after it was smeared with a cooked paste of onions, ginger, red and green chillies, raw mango, curry leaves and turmeric. Had with steamed rice, the tender flesh of the fish just melted in the mouth.

I died a fishy death. Tummy full and stretched to astonishing elastic capacity, I paid the ultimate penalty... I had to finish my shoot. Burp... what a meal...I think I can just about manage to think and ask a few questions...

A Mother’s Dream

As the clock struck the 20th hour of the day, I waited for the door bell to ring. Cooking a meal on week nights is a real chore, but with my cook, Saraswati, a mundane meal can become delicious as I feel she infuses a lot of TLC in her cooking.

She came right on time. But one look at her anguished face, and I knew that something was terribly wrong. Cradling her in my arms, incoherent words were uttered as she started sobbing profusely. Her 20 year old daughter had eloped. 

Like most migrants to Mumbai, Saraswati came at the age of 13, running away from her home in West Bengal to escape a society that had nothing to offer a girl child. Fed up of not going to school and waiting to be married off, she boarded a train and realised that her destiny had brought to Mayanagri or Mumbai. But to survive in this city was not easy, so she started working as a live in maid.

Dance bars were at their peak in the 90's and the lure of easy and great money, attracted Saraswati to this profession. Saraswati was rechristened as Priya. 

However, she found a good man, who married her and Priya once again became Saraswati.  They had a baby girl, named her Purnima, and life was all hunky dory. She started working with me once she lost her husband. Whilst I started educating her daughter, Saraswati worked her magic in various homes, saving money for her daughter's marriage. Purnima finished her 12th and started working in a call centre, where she met a colleague and eloped.

Saraswati always dreamt big for her daughter. She lived in a one room tenement, called a chawl. She wanted Purnima to live in a flat, hence the education and English speaking classes. Numerous dreams were being weaved, whilst chopping onions and stirring the pot. Today, her dreams are shattered as the boy is not educated, lives in a chawl with his parents, 4 brothers and a sister. 

I don't know how to console Saraswati. The numerous sacrifices, the hours of toiling from sunrise to sun down, making a small gold earring from the bonus she got during Diwali, the hand me downs she wore to give her daughter new clothes...now, all in vain. Seeing her cry, I just had one prayer to the Almighty, to give me the power never to cause a tear to fall from my mother's eyes…

Daddy's Little Girl

Happy Birthday, Daddy

Blue skies, white fluffy clouds and me soaring high and then hurtling down...to be caught in Daddy's arms... Every girl has this memory of their dads. I do too.Today, he is not beside me. Just one night he decided that his time was up and departed. It was just another night...

As I was waiting outside the ICU doors waiting for the doctor to bring him out of an overnight stay in the hospital for a health scare, I heard Daddy call out to me. Soul to Soul. He wanted to leave. He said he was finding it tough going. I was in a trance. I did not want to let him go. He was perfectly healthy. I fought for him. I fought with all my willpower to give him that extra strength to fight this weakness of leaving me, leaving all of us. The struggle continued for a few more minutes. Finally, he said bye.

The sobs shook me and I just looked at Bobby, my husband and told him that Daddy is no more. My Mama sitting next to me started shouting at me to shut up, screaming at me that he was going to be shifted out of the ICU in a few minutes.

I looked at my watch just as Daddy bid adieu. It was 9.15am. Twenty minutes later the doctor came and broke the news that daddy had passed away at 9.13am.

It's been a year since he died. I still can't forgive him for just quitting when he was so fit and healthy. Just ten days prior he was in the tennis court playing his daily game. He had dry pneumonia and within a few hours of being diagnosed, he died. Apart from the myriad soul wrenching moments and questions of, "could we have done more, was he suffering from before...",we had no answers.

As people celebrated Father's Day and put pictures of their dads, I was bereft. I had left home 20 years ago to make a

name for myself in Mumbai as I wanted my own identity, rather than be known as Ashok Das' daughter. What I would do now to change the course of events and time and be Daddy's little girl, all over again...

The Backup Tiffin Plan

A meal at Shilpa Mansukhani's house always needs a back up plan. With all good intentions, Shilpa better known as Bestie goes out of her way to lay a great spread, but the food lacks the bite to take it to culinary excellence. 

 

A great hostess, her house is artfully decorated, crockery and cutlery all set on the table. Juices to ice cream are stocked in the fridge. But the food.... 

I always play safe when I am invited to her house. I ask her to make egg curry because one can rarely screw up that dish. The second back up plan is that I bring some home cooked food as a goodwill gesture, but more for my gratification than anything else. This time round, I had cooked fish kalia, a bengali dish.

But Bestie had shifted house and had a new cook. The dal

has always been good, but the suspect has  been the mutton dish. When the lid was taken off, the aroma of the  mutton rogan josh assailed my senses. I dug in without much ado.

You know the mutton curry is perfect when the meat is just tender enough to bite without breaking into slivers in your hand and when the marrow slides noisily out of the bone into your mouth and the curry looks like hot molten lava, without the chilli powder but from ripe tomatoes. 

The alu fry was just perfect to have with dal and rice accompanied by some chicken kababs. A meal like this is best had with the hand. Bestie smartly postponed her manicure date until next week. No ways the manicure would have survived the finger licking experience without tainting it with yellow food stains.

I sat cross legged on the dining table chair and did full justice to the meal, never venturing far from the mutton curry. And that my friends, is the polished plate.

Mint saunf and tamarind golis were served to me after lunch. This is Bestie, a girl who can't boil water and has never fried an egg till date. Memories of her, our buddy and soul mate, Meetu come crashing as we loll in bed after such scrumptious meals, either at my place or Meetu's. 

Bestie finally unearthed a gem in the kitchen and has ended a long standing tradition of me getting a tiffin from home.

So all our lovely friends... bravo, we have found a new address for our luncheon meets...

The Big Breakfast

Breakfast is a meal introduced to me a few years ago. All through my 2 decades as a journalist, my first meal of the day would be around 6pm after my first story would be edited and telecast.

But as health took priority, I started discovering the joy of eating early. Not always healthy, but always sumptuous. So some of the best breakfasts that I have ever devoured are...

The Keventer's breakfast at Darjeeling is a carnivorous' delight. The platter comes loaded with sunny side up double eggs, ham, bacon, salami, thick slices of bread, warmly toasted, with gooey butter and home made marmalade. Wash it down with cold coffee and pls give a healthy burp.

As a journalist, one tends to visit many places. Once while

shooting for a film called Aazaan in Bangkok. We reached location at 5 am. The breakfast served was sticky rice and pork fry with veggies. As I attacked the food with a gusto alongwith my Thai co-workers , my Indian colleagues could be heard saying, "sick", "disgusting". A full belly later, I was the only one energetic enough to shoot an action sequence from a 90 storeyed building...

After a long outdoor schedule, all I ask for is home food. And it is customary for me to have my favourite paratha and alu bhaji with the chilli pickle on the morrow of my return. No one asks me how many parathas, I am served hot ones until I am exhausted. A finger bowl is brought, and I curl up on the bed and promptly fall asleep. That is my way of recuperating.

I shall save the finest for the last.  The IHOP breakfast at

6am, post an all night shoot of IIFA in Tampa, Florida, last month. James and Olga, my friends, took me for a diner experience, which served, thick slabs of southern fried steaks ( these steaks are actually beef cutlets, smothered in cornflour and some cornflake crunchy stuff and deep fried), two fried eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy and endless cups of black coffee. 

Exhaustion attacked in all fronts... tired teeth sitting drunkenly  in a disjointed mouth, a stomach that has just realised the momentous task ahead of it to digest the food and noodly legs trying to hoist my body slumped on the booth... Oh heavens, how far is the bed, asked my satiated soul? 

Breakfast in my house is a grand meal, and comes in courses, unlike any other meal.. Fruits and nuts follow a glass of warm water, honey and tulsi leaves. Then the stuffed Roti ( cabbage or radish or potato) with a mint chutney and tea. An hour later, it's a chilled glass of buttermilk.   

Next time, anyone is in Mumbai, please drop over for breakfast. An open invitation to all who believe that eat breakfast like a Maharaja.

Dilip Saab’s Ashok Babu

Daddy has always been a die hard fan of the golden era… Actors like KL Saigal, Balraj Sahni and Dilip Kumar fascinated him. And I guess their histrionics must have extremely good because Daddy never spoke the hindi language with any finesse.

When I started journalism and got the cinema beat, my dad was a worried man. I had seen all of two hindi movies until then. Trishul when I was 8 years old and Qurbani when I was 10. And my hindi, well, lets just not start that topic. But he soon realized that he had a tenacious daughter who learnt the ropes quickly and soon became the Entertainment Head of a leading news channel.

I had my chat show then, and lo behold, the chat show was in hindi. One of my first guests on the show was Dilip Kumar and Saira Banu. I set up for the interview in their garden and commenced my interview.

As my parents were visiting, I asked them to meet me

outside Dilip saab’s bungalow at a designated time when I would have wrapped my interview. Shoot wrapped up, I thanked them and asked for their leave. As Dilip saab escorted me out, I turned around and at the spur of the moment, I requested him if he could meet my parents. A gracious man, he immediately agreed.

I ushered in a visibly shell shocked mom and dad. They sat in the drawing room and Dilip saab asked dad his name. When he said Ashok Das, the thespian replied, “in that case, you are my Ashok Babu.” They sat and chatted for over two hours over tea with biscuits, samosas and jalebis. 

The actor drew out a reticent fan and spoke on topics that had nothing to do with movies. From books to places, from history to politics…the conversation carried on, whilst me, mom and Saira Banu looked and listened.

Finally, the evening came to a close. Daddy was in seventh heaven, Mama was deeply embarrassed, whilst I thanked God for my impulsive action that brought him so much happiness. Daddy is no more with me, but I am sure as fans across the globe rush to grab a copy of Dilip Kumar’s memoirs, Daddy will be reminiscing about his time with a superstar, a legend…Thank you, Dilip saab, for making his Ashok Babu feel so special.