Er...camels, anyone?

This morning on television, I saw the Border Security Force camel contingent practising for the Republic Day Parade on January 26.

Ha, ha, I said to myself, look, camels. How quaint.


The TV camera went behind the scenes, and showed little snippets of the camels stirring at dawn, and interviewed their proud moustachioed handlers. Delhi is cold and foggy right now (lots of flights and trains cancelled today); but the BSF camel contingent was up early, preparing the camels for the day's rehearsals. There are three months of daily rehearsals, as a lead up to Republic Day. And the men interviewed on TV were proud of who they were and what they were doing.

The camel parade is a colourful spectacle. They do look good, you know? The camels are all brightly tasselled; they have this brass band, and the camels march smartly to the drummers. They're even in the Guinness Book of World Records, for being the world's only camel band.


But to me, this sort of pageantry has never been particularly interesting - in fact, I find the Republic Day Parade really boring. I can understand the need for it. Every country needs to say, look, we're big and strong and guess what, my tanks (or camels!!) are better than yours. It's one of these feel-good things, I suppose, not just to reassure your own population, but also tell the rest of the world not to mess with you.

But I was more interested in finding out what the camels did when they were not parading.

As it turns out, nothing. These 100 are purely in showbiz :) They're a special set of camels, chosen for their haughty demeanour, much like their men are chosen for their moustaches. I kid you not. "No moustache? Sorry bro, you just don't cut the mustard." (The mustard reference is my idea of a pun. These men have to wax their moustaches every day with mustard oil, he he).

So anyway, while these 100 vain camels are kicking their legs smartly to music, there are another 700 not-so-vain camels behind the scenes that patrol our sandy desert borders with Pakistan. And it's a loooooonnnng border, stretching across multiple states.


Before 1965, the Indian border with Pakistan was patrolled by the state army. After 1965, when fighting broke out in the Rann of Kutch, a special unit was created - the Border Security Force, or BSF.

Have you seen the Rann of Kutch? Imagine an endless vista of flat land, dry as dust and baking hot. For three months in the monsoons, the Rann of Kutch is a salt marsh, when the rains bring moisture and the ground is inundated. The rest of the time, it is dry and caked; but there's moisture underneath, so it makes for difficult terrain (in fact, they're having trouble building fencing along the border there, because the ground gives way, and it is difficult to find purchase).

My friend Amit (who does really cool travel shows) clicked these photos in the Rann of Kutch while on a shoot. This is the Little Rann, not really the border, but you can see what the ground is like.



But obviously, this is good camel country! A camel costs 90 rupees a day; and doesn't need expensive diesel, or spare parts. Or repair shops or gas stations, all of which are impossible in this area. And - it has a good sense of direction :)

So everyday, the camelmen patrol the borders, up and down, looking for any signs of Pakistani presence. And, on the other side, there's a similar camel contingent in Pakistan, looking for signs of Indians (we are, after all, two sides of the same coin).

Here's a photo from Outlook India's special feature on the camel contingents of the Border Security Force. This photo is from Jaisalmer in Rajasthan, also desert country, but with a terrain quite different from the Rann of Kutch.

These then, are the working camels of the Border Security Force, moody, muzzled and tough. They're cranky creatures, apt to bite, and the camelmen use gur to coax them into better moods. I rather like them!

So I propose a toast - a toast to the working camels of BSF!! When we watch the prancing colour of the camels on Republic Day parade, I guess we should really remember who the real heroes are.

- Deepa

P.S. In 2007, the UNESCO asked the Border Security Force for 100 trained camels, for peacekeeping in Sudan. I don't think that proposal went anywhere, but obviously it means trained camels make horse sense (yeah, yeah, another bad pun, he he he).

The Non-Resident Indian

A large number of my friends and family live abroad. In the Brahmin community that I come from, this is quite common. In the 80's many went abroad to study engineering or computer science, or to do research. Most found jobs and stayed back, returning briefly to India to marry and take wives back with them.

Most of the Indians we know abroad are first generation immigrants. Almost all are well-settled and successful, with well-paid jobs and beautiful homes. They are, as a group, quite well-integrated into the countries where they live.

But the one thread common to all of them, is that their hearts and souls are still Indian.

They are Indians, because their initial years were lived in India. Whether you grow up in a small town, or a sleepy city, or a big bustling metropolis, growing up in India is an experience that shapes you, defines you. The friends you make at schools and college, the often over-protective family that cloisters you, the extended community that you love to hate...the weddings, the festivals, the food, the weather, the crazy conversations over cricket, the laughter, the bitching, the rants about the bureaucracy - all of these define you.

So it's not surprising that almost all of my family and friends living abroad make visits to India, every couple of years. Most speak fondly of the country they left behind, and are nostalgic about the food, festivals, family and community get-togethers. As they grow into their forties and fifties and sixties, the nostalgia gets stronger and stronger, and the trips often more frequent.

But their children - second and third generation migrants - are a different matter altogether. They were born abroad, and their passports mark them as a different nationality. It's not just their accents that sound different - their slang, their jokes, their TV programmes, their food (yes, food is a big thing) - are all different. Just as my generation was shaped by India, these children have been shaped by the countries they live in.

They are, at heart, not Indian - although their well-meaning parents have sent them for Sanskrit classes, or music and dance lessons. These children will never know or relate to the many little anecdotes that bind Indians together - Ajit jokes, or the magic of Sholay, cricket.

Instead they are world citizens, global in their outlook, as comfortable with sushi as they are with tacos or nasi goreng. My nephew in New York learns Mandarin. A friend's daughter learns the cello.

The rational half of me recognises that this is a good thing - that as people migrate and spread and intermarry, many of the artificial boundaries that separate humans from each other are blurring. This is surely good for the planet.

But the other half - the emotional half - sharply mourns my personal loss. These are my friends and family, and their children, now strangers to me. As I head into my forties, I want to be surrounded by these people. Instead, they are far away, and we are each forced to move on with our personal spheres, intersecting occasionally. Digital images and facebook updates take the place of flesh and blood meetings or evenings spent over drinks, debating and laughing.

I feel especially sharply, the loss of my family. My nephew and niece, twins, were born in Cinncinnati a few months ago. I have not seen them yet. Another will be born in San Diego and I will not see that child either. I cannot gather them to me, or rock them to sleep, or tell them stories.

Even though my life is so full, I feel a sharp sense of loss. It is even worse for older people. I know elderly parents in India whose children have migrated abroad. Their days loom empty and lonely, without the sounds of grandchildren. Their visits to their family are complicated by unfriendly visa rules and alien surroundings.

All migration brings loss, yes. From village to city, or from one city to another, migration is difficult on those left behind. But migration abroad seems to have a finality, a severing of common ties, language, food and culture, that is harder to cope with. When asked, "Are you Indian?", my nieces and nephews in the US are going to answer, "No, we're American." I have yet to come to terms with that.

Delhi to Agra by train

It started, as many trips do, with chaos.

We were taking the 6:15 express train from Delhi to Agra. We got to the New Delhi Railway Station in time, but were met by a crazy mess of cycle-rickshaws and cars and autos and buses, all trying to get to the same place, and weaving in and out of the "lanes". A 20-minute hold up, while we debated how heavy our bags actually were, and if we should make a last dash to the train on foot.

As we neared the station, the mess worsened. Meanwhile a bright yellow board smiled down benignly at us. "Zero Tolerance for traffic law breakers" it said. I simply had to grin. Our car driver was confident. "Don't worry, madam, there is enough time".

The sky lightened while we waited, and finally we entered the station with 15 minutes to spare. The first thing we did was to find a porter. We gave him our bags, and told him our train name.

Inside there was the usual crowd, but the big pink and red board was easy to read. We found our train was on time.

As we walked inside the station, we found people waiting for trains. There are simply not enough seats, so people with long wait just find a convenient place, spread a newspaper and sit down. Most of the pillars were already taken :)

We trundled blindly along behind our porter, trusting him to find our train and coach. That's my husband with his laptop. I hurried behind them, stumbling as I clicked and half-ran, half-walked. In case you didn't know this already, porters in Delhi walk really fast!


Voila! Our compartment! The porter was right as usual, leading us unerringly to it. I got a photo of him as he waited for me to catch up.


We checked and found our names neatly printed on the Reservation Chart stuck near the compartment door.


He helped stow the bags, and smiled his thanks when we paid well.


Meanwhile, other passengers arrived, children, adults, locals, foreigners...everyone settled in for the two hour ride.


In spite of the traffic, we had arrived with some minutes to spare, so I went exploring. The cabins are connected through little gangways, the toilets are near the gangways.


I pushed open the toilet door somewhat gingerly and took a peek inside. It was a Western-style toilet, with toilet paper, but not a particularly nice toilet. I was glad it was a short trip!


I stepped out of the train to click some photos. Several families were waiting for our train to leave, and for the next train to come in.


A railways employee was transferring what looked like the post. Piles of blankets and pillows were on the station, perhaps to be transferred to the next long distance train.


I went back inside the train, just in time for the newspaper delivery. The turbanned "bearer" is a cool idea! The Railways employs 1.4 million people, by the way, but very few of them have turbans :) It is India's single largest employer.

As we settled down, the train moved with a little jerk; and we were off to Agra!


A security guard came round, checking that all was well.


In about 15 minutes, morning tea arrived on a bright red tray, with a couple of biscuits. It was very welcome. For me, the worst part of the Agra trip was having to wake up at 4:30 a.m. and get out of the hotel by 5:30 a.m. without a decent breakfast. I polished off the biscuits but I was still hungry.


Then came the ticket checker, to inspect our tickets.

I was glad to see the breakfast tray. It was a mediocre breakfast at best, but I didn't care. I polished off two slices of bread with jam, and ate my oily cutlet. My husband had an egg omelette instead of the cutlet.


After breakfast, I tried to snooze a bit, since I was still groggy. In any case, there isn't much by way of scenery. We pulled into Agra Cantonment at 8:15, to a pleasant sunny morning. We had pre-arranged to be met at the station, so everything was nice and easy, we had another porter to manage the bags, and all I had to do was walk out, clicking away.



Here's the exterior of Agra Cantonment. It was less crowded than I expected; or perhaps most of the crowd had dissipated by the time we exited the station.

And so ended our train trip from Delhi to Agra. Of the 9000 or so trains that the Railways runs, this is one of the most popular ones on the tourist circuit. If you're taking this train, you will arrive too early in Agra to check into your hotel, so it is better to head straight to the Taj, and then go later to the hotel for check in and lunch. Also, I guarantee you, if you're anything like me, you'll be sleepy after lunch, so plan a little snooze before you head for Agra Fort at 3:30 p.m. And stay the night at Agra if your itinerary will allow it. Heading to Jaipur (5 hours), or back to Delhi, (long wait for the express return train at 8:30 p.m.) can be very tiring.

Post-Script: If you are considering a day trip to Agra, please see this new blog post. I wrote it after the new expressway to Agra opened in 2012, and it has timings and schedules for how to best manage a day trip.

A Giant Indian Mantid for company

As I write this, I keep glancing outside at the verandah. About 20 minutes ago, I discovered amongst my innocuous garden plants, a Giant Indian Mantid!!

She is all of 6-inches long, and she's at least an inch wide. This is the biggest insect I have ever seen in my life!

And frankly, this is hardly sort of thing you'd expect on the 14th floor of a city condominium. How did she even GET here?

Can you spot her? She's good at hiding, you know?

Anyway, I ran for my camera, before she moved. She gave me her best praying pose. I clicked and clicked and *swore* at the poor quality of the photos. But here's one of them anyway. It does no justice to the utterly gorgeous creature in front of me, but at least you can see something of her (click on it for a larger view).

Did I say gorgeous? Yep. She is gorgeous.
Check out those spiked forelegs (they're called "raptorial" legs, used to hold prey!)

Yeah, yeah, I know they're related to cockroaches. But this one is a beaut. And she's huge. I can't tear my eyes away. They're cannibalistic, you know? You can't put two mantids together in the same area, or before you know it, you have just one of them!

And the females eat the males during mating, like some species of spiders. There are photos here, go on, click here, it's fascinating!

How do I know this one in the photo is female? Because she has 6 segments to her abdomen, the males have 8. I wonder how long it's been since this one ate her last mate. :D

I'm still watching her. She's moved to the underside of the leaf now. She hiding, waiting for the next unwary insect to come buzzing by. Snap! Crackle! And the lady will feast.

Paranthe Wali Galli

People are always asking me about Paranthewali Galli. What's it like? What do they serve? Is it really as tasty as they say it is?
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So here's an inside look at paratha making in Paranthewali Galli - you decide if it tempts you enough to go there!
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. . Step 1 - Pre-preparation - grated vegetables for stuffing the paratha.

This guy was sitting on one side of a small shop, grating vegetables. The photo above has grated cauliflower. Other stuffings include potatoes, cabbage, cottage cheese, peas, pulses, dry fruits...even sweet rabri. Very innovative.

Step 2 - A handful of the right stuffing
The ingredients for the paratha are are all laid out in trays. Depending on the order placed, a full handful of the right stuffing is used. In some parathas, the stuffing is a mix of multiple ingredients...I ordered a mix vegetable paratha that had paneer also in it.

Step 3 - Adding spices
Spices are added from the spice tray - cumin powder, red chilli powder, coriander powder, masala. Green chillies and ginger also often added. I didn't see onion or garlic, though. Perhaps because the shop is Brahmin, and this locality has many Jains as well (check out the nearby Jain Naughara if you can).
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Step 4 - Rolling the paratha
The paratha is then rolled in a dough that is wheat-based. The stuffing and spices go inside. There was an assistant helping with patting the dough into flat circles. You can also see the green chillies and ginger tray in this photo.

Step 5 - Now comes the deep-frying!
The paratha is then deep-fried in ghee. Instead of a flat griddle, here in Paranthe Wali Galli, they use a curved pan.

Step 6 - The paratha comes out brown and crisp on the outside, steaming hot
More like a puri than a paratha, actually :) Check out the amount of ghee in the pan!

Step 7 - It is served with accompaniments

You can see their interesting mixed vegetable pickle in this photo. Other accompaniments include a potato and peas curry, potato and methi curry etc. There are some chutneys as well, although I don't know what they are.
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Step 7 - The runner boy pickups the hot parathas and takes them inside the "restaurant"

Check out the guy in the background licking his fingers!

A portable shrine (and a piece of clever storytelling!)

Have you ever seen a Kavad? I saw one in Udaipur, and I was fascinated by it.

A Kavad is an amazing wooden painted temple, with lots of panels and secret compartments that fold out to tell a story. The Kavadiya Bhats, the Priests of the Kavad, take these around from village to village. The really fascinating thing is, the story doesn't make sense unless you open the panels in the correct sequence. Why? Because a fair bit of tricky carpentry has gone into the kavad - some panels slide out, some swivel on a stick, some open out like drawers, and still some others are fold-outs...And of course, only the Kavadiya Bhat knows the secret sequence! So the audience sits, fascinated, as the Bhat tells the story in song and dance, turns the little panels this way and that. Here's one of the panels:

As the story develops, the Kavadiya too progresses towards the inner-most central panel, and the story comes to its logical climax with the final image of the God or Goddess in full regalia, very much like a temple sanctum.

Here's another kavad (about ten feet wide when it is opened out fully). And you can see, at the centre of the kavad, the grand finale of the story - the coronation image of Lord Ram!

Here's a closer look at the central sanctum:At this point, the narration ends, and, guess what, the audience is required to put money into the kavad - there's a little box for it, a slit in the kavad, specially designed for this! Ah, what a tricky box of carpentry, and what a fantastic story-telling aid this. I wish we could bring a Kavadiya to the cities, and ask them to fashion this as an aid for history lessons in our schools. How utterly delighted the children would be!

Ten things that define Delhi (9 & 10)...and 11 and 12 and...

So finally, I've come to the last entry in the 'Ten things that define Delhi' series. And of course, I'm in a fix, because when you try to define the essence of a big, ancient city like Delhi, it's hard to stick to 10 specific things.

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My friend Sanjaya says it quite evocatively: "(Delhi is) many other things for me... Parathewali Gali in Chandni Chowk (a drunk Sadat Hasan Manto on a tanga near where Ghalib might have lived)... The Delhi Zoo in the Old Fort Complex... next to the tomb steps where Humayun died ("He tumbled through life and he tumbled out of it" in the words of Stanley Lane-Poole)... and DU with St. Stephen's College... not easy to list only a few!"

And thus it is for every dilliwalla or dilliwalli. So many impressions, big and small, come together to create a complex, colourful, emotive picture of the city.

For Kirti, who went to B-School with me (beyond all doubt, the leggiest girl on campus), Delhi is about classical concerts at the park between October and March, with glorious monuments as backdrop. I'll go with you next season, Kirti!

Vandita says she likes the unique student culture of North Campus, with its mix of upscale and downmarket colleges. Sandy says for her, Delhi is all about glorious, noisy weddings. Dimple, bless her, says it's the colourful jhumkies and jutties on sale in the shops. Shobna says it's sinful dollops of ghee in winter. For Pooja, with whom I photographed the city, Delhi is all about glorious monuments that spring suddenly round the corner when you're just driving by.

If you really want to understand Delhi, experience it with someone who loves the city. In the last 15 years, I've wandered through Delhi in the company of many wonderful people, on several different occassions...long days spent working, talking, shopping, dining, photographing, finding snippets of history and art and culture...loving the bazaars, hating the Gurgaon traffic...

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Over the years, the city has slowly revealed more and more of itself. But just when I begin to think I know the city well enough, something new turns up, and the discovery starts afresh. I suspect the journey will never end.

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Older posts in this series:

Ten things that define Delhi - (8)

Ten things that define Delhi - (7)

Ten things that define Delhi - (6)

Ten things that define Delhi - (5)

Ten things that define Delhi - (4)

Ten things that define Delhi - (3)

Ten things that define Delhi - (2)

Ten things that define Delhi - (1)

Ten things that define Delhi (8)

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Shahjahanabad - yeh dilli hai mere yaar...

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If you open any Delhi Guide Book, you'll see the city divided into two parts - New Delhi and Old Delhi.

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By Old Delhi, they mean Mughal Delhi, Shahjahanabad, the city that Shahjahan founded in the mid-1600's. It was the new capital of the Mughals, a prosperous city of fabled riches, of elegant mansions and gardens.

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Two hundred years after it was founded, Shahjahanabad fell to the British. The end came as a consequence of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857, when Indian troops (sepoys) in the service of the East India Company rebelled and tried to overthrow the Company. Fighting spread across the Gangetic plain and Central India as civilians rallied under local banners and joined the resistance.

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Shahjahanabad was the epicenter of the battle. The 82-year old Mughal Emperor Bahadur Shah II - more a poet than a commander - became the frail figurehead under which Indian forces rallied. Indian rebel troops arrived in Delhi in May 1857, routing the small British force which was present in Delhi at the time.

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Over the next 5 months, the British (with their Pathan, Sikh and Gorkha regiments) laid siege to the city. On September 14, they stormed into the city through Kashmere Gate.

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The storming of Kashmere Gate

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The gate still bears marks of cannon.

After a bloody fight that raged through the streets of Shahjahanabad, the Mughal empire ended.

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The fall of Shahjahanabad, and the surrender of the Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah, had far reaching consequences. The city was looted, its civilians killed, the Red Fort vandalised...it became a ghost city as many of its inhabitants fled.

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Today when you walk into Old Delhi, you can still see the ruined mansions and gardens, vestiges of the once glorious Shahjahanabad.

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Zeenat Mahal, residence of Bahadur Shah's favourite queen.

To me, Shahjahanabad is the very heart of Delhi. If you explore Shahjahanabad on foot, then amidst the crazy noise and chaos, Delhi's history will still call out to you. There are so many buildings here, each with a story to tell. You just have to stop and listen.

Previous post in this series: Ten things that define Delhi - (7)

Next post in this series: Ten things that define Delhi - (9 & 10)