On the road from Shimla...

We're hurtling down the Shivalik mountains in an Innova. Ranjit Singh, our driver, is a madman on a mission - to get us to Chandigarh by 2 pm for our flight back home.

Shimla was surprising and interesting in many ways...we stayed at Chalets Naldhera, away from all the bustle of Shimla. More when we get back home!

P.S. It rained last night in Shimla. This morning, the pine and cedar trees were sharp and clear against a blue sky.

Technology marries Religion, and India cheers

Have you noticed how neatly religion is wedded to technology in India? Like hot water and noodles, we've cleverly mixed the two to serve up God in an instant.

..

Take this advert for cell phone ringtones in the Hindustan Times this morning. "Devotional Special", it says, in a font that is inspired by the Sanskrit Devnagiri script. You can download mantras and chants on your cell phone for under 20 rupees, and when someone calls you, you can play them a little piece of the mantra. In the process, you dispense instant punya across the telecom network.

.
In addition to dispensing punya to people who call you, you can also earn punya for yourself. How? For 5 rupees, just download a religious wall paper as the background for your cell phone. The payoff? It lights up every time someone calls you, giving you small doses of darshan throughout the day. There's even a cartoon wall paper version of Lord Ram and his wife, for the young at heart. Or maybe it is meant for kids, to give them an early start in the lifelong process of acquiring merit.

.

I tell you, the gods must be pretty pleased with how well technology is working for them. And going by the number of prayers and chants I hear on people's phones these days, I'm sure the telecom companies are happy too.
.

But it's not just the mobile phone companies that have understood the marriage of technology and religion. Here's an advert on a popular website for online pujas. For $25 paid online, a priest will conduct a full-fledged puja on your behalf. All kinds of prayers and rituals are available, but what looks most popular is this one, a prayer to Kali that neutralizes any potential scheming enemies.

.

Astrologers have gone online as well. The simple road-side jyotish now has competition from "Ask Pandit" services, where for a fee paid online, you get horoscope consultation and religious advice via email. Advice is provided on everything under the sun, ranging from marriage, career, infertility and education. It is a tiered price structure, starting at $2 for a basic reading, and progressively becoming more expensive as you ask for more specific information. Oh and there's a shopping cart, where you can pay by credit card.

The big temples have understood technology too. The richest, Tirupati in Andhra Pradesh, offers e-Darshan, a facility where you can buy tokens online so you don't have to queue up to see the Lord. The Tirupati website proudly explains that they're now using biometrics to regulate entry at the temple gates. Tirupati also has branded their other offerings - they have e-Seva, e-Hundi, e-Donation and e-Sales (whatever that is!). The website is a smoothly functioning e-Commerce centre, where you can engage with the Lord from the comfort of your home.

But if you really want to see technology working hand-in-hand with religion, you should go see Akshardham in Delhi. It's a sort of cross between a hi-tech Disneyland and a traditional temple. There is a boat ride though an artificial tunnel, a yagna-kund that is also a synchronised colourful fountain, an "audio-animatronics" show, and a giant movie screen that shows a special movie filmed in over 100 locations in India, with a cast of 45000 people.

Akshardham has welcomed technology, dreamt large dreams in technicolour using technology, and moulded technology with a confident hand to fit the special needs of its faithful. The scale and drama of Akshardham make me wish it were a metaphor for modern India - eager to accept new learning, but at the same time, vibrant and self-confident enough to convert it into something uniquely Indian. Do you think that will happen?

In any case, to me it looks like Technology is quite permanently wedded to Religion in India, and this is going to be a long and fruitful marriage. All I can say is - Jiyo mere dulha dulhan. May you prosper and produce interesting offspring!

The choices women make - an Indian viewpoint

When my sis and I were growing up, the kitchen clearly seemed to be the arch-enemy of self-respecting women.

Around me, there appeared to be only two types of women: nondescript mousy housewives who did nothing but cook, and gloriously glamorous ones who went to that exciting place called "office".

Housewives. Sweaty slaves of the kitchen fires! They woke up at unearthly hours, muttered ancient prayers, and produced breakfasts, lunches and dinners in endless succession. They wore faded cotton sarees, their blouses damp with sweat. They chased and scolded and cajoled children. "Home makers" they might be - but when their husbands summoned them by name...Kamalaaaaaaa...they dropped everything else, and jumped to attention. Perhaps it was time for the next round of coffee. Perhaps there was a visitor who needed to be fed. Whatever. Clearly once the household woke up, the housewife's time was not her own.

But the women who worked - ah. They seemed to live in a separate world. Their sarees were crisp, pinned neatly at the shoulder with little golden pins. Their blouses actually matched the colour of the saree. They powdered their faces. Their bindis were neat stick-ons, not streaky sindoor that ran when you sweated. One of my earliest memories is of visiting an aunt who worked in a bank. How wonderful the bank was! Several women sat at desks, with important looking files around them. The fans whirled high above their heads; everything was cool and pleasant. Outside, customers sat on wooden seats, patiently waiting their turn. Inside, competent looking women counted money, totalled cheques and wrote in ledgers. Tringgg! The ringing of a bell would summon a peon. "Give Rekha madam this file", he would be told in an authoritative voice. Surely this was the good life! So much better than the kitchen!

There were other examples. At school, the Teachers Room was filled with all-powerful women. Since my mother was a teacher, I was witness to their camaraderie. I saw women sharing jokes, laughing over school politics, and debating what the annual day program should showcase. How much more interesting than housewifely discussions of rasam and sambaar at the local temple!

Clearly, those who wanted to be anything at all, had to forsake the kitchen. They had to study. They had to go to college, and make a place for themselves in the world of career women. My mum dreamt this dream for us, and kept us out of the kitchen. While other girls my age were chopping vegetables and learning to tell tuar dal from lal moong, I grew up with my head buried in books. I drew and painted and played marbles and flew kites. I got my MBA. I travelled. I earned money. But somewhere along the way, I also learnt to cook.

It was motherhood, of course, that forced me to learn. Starting from simple "koozhu" and boiled vegetables, I graduated to complex delicacies. I had a child who loved good food. At the age of 10 she could tell one subtle flavour from another. As my skills grew, so did my desire to entertain. All of a sudden, visits by family members became opportunities for me to experiment with food. I discovered and was totally trapped in the atavistic pleasures of feeding an appreciative audience. In the process, I came to understand that those glamorous working women of my childhood - the ones with the crisp sarees - woke up at unearthly hours too. They too cajoled their children, they too pandered to demanding husbands and in-laws. But their kitchens were not always hateful prisons to them. While their worklife provided them with independence and confidence, cooking and feeding people gave them deep satisfaction too.

Today my kitchen is home to several recipe books. My spice box is rich and inviting, and tempts me often to create new dishes. When I travel abroad on my consulting assignments, I raid speciality stores for delicacies. I've launched bazaar walks and cuisine tours in Mumbai and Delhi. Great-aunts and old female relatives have become a source of inspiration, and mum and I have conversations around food. Cooking has become a truly creative, rewarding part of my life.

Life is funny, I tell you. Ten years ago, I would have laughed at the very thought of cooking. Today, I'm watching Kylie Kwong's magic cooking on TV with my daughter. And we're both fascinated by it.

Understanding the Rain Gods!

The Southwest Monsoon will be upon us next month. Delhi is baking-hot right now (88 °F / 31 °C), but the blessed rains will bring cheer to everyone, especially farmers and traders. The Southwest monsoon represents more than 80% of India's annual rainfall. Indian agriculture is still largely rain-fed, and produces 20% of our gross domestic product.

.

For those of you who are planning to travel to India between May to September this year, let's look at what the Rain Gods did last year, shall we?

.

In 2007, the Southwest monsoon arrived over the south Andaman Sea, Nicobar Islands and parts of southeast Bay of Bengal on May 10. It was 5 days ahead of its normal date.

.

There were some disruptions, after which the monsoon revived gradually and arrived over Kerala on 28th May (again about a week earlier than its usual June first week arrival).

It advanced further up the country on 8th June, after a hiatus of 9 days. It covered the north-eastern states by 10th June, Peninsular and Central India by 25th June and subsequently the entire country on 4th July, nearly 11 days ahead of normal date.

We had good rains last year - overall 5% more than normal. Click on the image to see the rainfall distribution pattern across different states. The red states are the ones that didn't get enough rainfall last year. The blue ones got more than average, and the green ones are those that had normal rainfall.

.

Last year there was an unusual delay in the withdrawal of monsoon from extreme west Rajasthan (cyclonic circulations, said the Met, whatever that means!). The southwest monsoon withdrew from western parts of Rajasthan and some parts of Punjab and Haryana on 30th September (normal date of withdrawal from west Rajasthan is 15th September).

.

I'm waiting to see the forecast for 2008. There was one report that said it would be early this year. We had unseasonal rains in Kerala and Andhra Pradesh in March this year. I haven't yet seen the forecast for 2008, I'll look for it online and update this post in a couple of days.

For my eyes only

I bought myself a little tube of Mumtaz kajal today. The model on the casing tempted me with her large lustrous eyes. Maybe I should try the exotic oriental look, I told myself.

I flipped the case around. Hmm. Sixty rupees. My sister pays a hundred rupees for her fancy Shehnaaz Husain kajal. And at the lower end, this kind of thing can be bought for five rupees as well. Obviously, Mumtaz was a middle-to-high-end brand. Maybe it was worth trying? Would it give me a softer look?

I looked at the ingredients. The Sufoof-e-Syah had me stumped, but syahi is Urdu for ink, so I figured this Sufoof thingy was the dye that made the kajal black. And Bhimseni Kafoor was probably camphor. Ark Phudina is "extract of mint" - cooling perhaps? Who knows.

All in all, very interesting and mysterious. So I bought it, and tried it, and the results were, ahem, quite encouraging. I think I can face 40 now.

Sri Yantra in Khari Baoli

In a crowded little spice shop in Khari Baoli, I found a Sri Yantra hanging on the wall, alongside heaps of pistachios, almonds and dates. The man in the shop smiled at me in a benign sort of way. Business was brisk.

.

The Sri Yantra was drawn on a faded piece of paper, covered with plastic to protect it from the elements. It was anointed with two vermillion dots. Clearly, the shopkeeper believed it would bring him luck. The little shop was filled to the brim with spices; maybe it was the yantra doing its job!

.

I've never understood this Sri Yantra thing, perhaps because I didn't grow up with yantra-worship at home. But geometric figures - symbolic representations of divinity or truth - are common to both Hinduism and Buddhism. They are most commonly seen in the traditional rangolis and kolams of women. The most auspicious of these figures is the Sri Yantra. Here's a better illustration of it:

The yantra is, in essence, an illustration of the universe, of all creation. It represents the unity of the male and female principles - if you look carefully, you'll see there are four upright triangles representing the male (Siva), and five downward ones representing the female (Shakti). The little dot at the centre is the bindu, the source of all creation.

Here's a three-dimensional view of the Sri Yantra. I am oversimplifying, but in this form, it is easier to see how you can focus on the Sri Yantra as a way to ascend from the outer material levels to the ultimate reality of the bindu.

Western women and the saree

This week, on a travel advisory column, an American lady asked me a question. "I'm coming to Delhi for a wedding", she said. "Should I try wearing a saree?"

Many overseas visitors to India are fascinated by the saree, of course. The women look at the fabrics and designs, and immediately wonder what it would be like to wear one. "How long does it take you to drape this?" they ask me. "Can you teach me?" "What does it cost? Does it come in different fabrics?" "You think I could wear it? I mean, can I pull it off?"

The questions are very female, framed in a sort of universal language that all women understand. One question that I get asked often is "Do you like wearing it?"...perhaps the person asking wishes to really understand what's going on inside my head...why do I drape six yards of fabric around my body, when I could be more comfortable in other clothes?

To tell the truth, I find the draping of the saree a sensuous pleasure. That final flinging of the pallu over the shoulder, the twisting to look at your back in the mirror, the feel of crepe silk as it goes round the bare midriff - everything contributes to a subtle sensual delight even as you dress for work. The saree allows me to be feminine, to experiment with colours and jewellery, confident that no matter what kind of figure I have, this garment will help me look my best.

On formal occasions such as weddings, saree draping is a group affair. At tea-time, the women of the household exchange notes: "What are you planning to wear?" "Ah, that gold and maroon one? Perfect." "Are you going to wear those ruby tear-drops? You know, the ones you bought in Hyderabad?" By 6:00 p.m., the bedrooms in the house have been invaded by women, there are sarees strewn everywhere on the bed and garlands of jasmine by the dressing table. The women are in a state of sensory exploration. You hear the swish of Kanchi silk, the smell of sandal and perfume, the jingling of bangles. You see the gleam of gold-and-rubies, and you smell the heady scents of henna and jasmine. And then it is time to troop out of the house, and crowd into a car, more swishing and jingling sounds...the car fills with the smell of flowers and perfume, and the women are transported to the wedding grounds.

So - coming back to the American woman who asked me for advice - I wondered what sort of experience she'd have with the saree. Would she be part of a household of women? Or would she have to cope with the saree in a hotel room by herself?

And even if she did have other women to help her, there was still something else that bothered me. You see, I think what makes the saree graceful is not just the drape, but also a certain body posture and walking style. Just as the African woman has her own gait, and the Japanese woman her own, the Indian woman does too. This is what gives beauty to the saree and makes it seem feminine and graceful. I've always thought that the saree is not easy for Western women, whose walk is more of a confident stride, and less of a gentle sway. To add to that, there's the artificial wobble that high heels bring, and the discomfort that is natural to a first time wearer.

So although I wanted to recommend the saree, I was also very hesitant. All things considered, here's what I finally said to the lady: "If you're tempted to wear a saree, buy one and try it in the privacy of your hotel room. Get a little used to it before you wear it to a wedding. Or stick to a lehenga, it's much easier to wear because it is essentially, a skirt and blouse."

I'm still trying to figure out if I said the right thing!

What is it with Indians and tinsel?

I am constantly amazed by the Indian fondness for kitschy, shiny stuff. There is not a single part of India where your senses are not overwhelmed by colour and tinsel.

Take this shop in Kinari Bazaar, for example. They sell garlands for weddings, festivals and other assorted uses. Whoever their supplier is, obviously they've achieved the happy bliss that only shiny plastic can deliver!

The shops do brisk business. This is obviously the right place for traditional stuff, so most of middle-class Delhi comes here for all those special things you need just for weddings - gift bags, gift envelopes, little give-aways, jewellery boxes. In most of the shops, you can order in bulk, depending on the number of guests you have planned for the event. Payment is, by and large, in cash.

But it's not just wedding shoppers who come to Kinari Bazaar. Most of Delhi's female population comes here as well. Housewives and teenagers, designers and bargain shoppers, they walk through these lanes looking for sequins and buttons and little bits of fancy embroidery to make their own fashion statement.

If you go on the Delhi Magic Old Delhi Walk, ask the guide to show you these shops. And check if the tinsel tempts you!