The Ladakh Diary : Drowning & Resurrection : Part 4/4

The authentic expression of freedom and living is in the resolute confrontation of death ... Martin Heidegger

Circa : 24th Aug 2014

Today was a free day and the bikers had decided to care for the bikes. Their tired pillions had decided to take it easy. Some of them had spent a large portion of the night in spiritual upliftment and there was just no chance of them waking up in time. There was river rafting in the Zangskar River and we were asked whether we would like to join and we enrolled. The push was mine though the better half was scared and sceptical. She had company in one of the noisiest of dentist girls in that group with the most mobile face we had seen. In a span of three and a half minutes she had pulled off seventy two different expressions that it was difficult keeping track of each one, and yes, finally encouraged her to join us too. 

The morning saw us and a few petrified faces getting onto a bus. We were thirty of us and the spot was some forty kms away from the Leh market where our Hotels were.

Excited we reached the station where we had to sign off disclaimer and no-liability forms that would protect the tour operators from any mishap in the event it happened. This intensified the petrifaction of the already petrified am sure but now it was almost too late to turn back. We were told that it is a 17 kms paddling stretch that passes through four rapids and nearly 10kms of it is free flowing calm waters. The Zangskar joins the Indus and it flows into Pakistan; Some information that got gathered into our tiny minds. We had never rafted before and my better half is scared of water. Going with professionals was one way of making sure that her fear gets knocked out of her. I do swim pretty well and water is my element but knew if push came to shove this skill would be of little use in the currents. We were given rubber body suits to wear as the water would be very cold, well melted ice is cold. Then there were shoes and a helmet. 

The organizers loaded the inflated rafts onto their tempos and loaded the other gear and we were off to the spot from which we would begin the ride that would end here. Time wise it was expected to be about two and a half hours. We started sweating inside the body suits on the bus and as the road wound around to the spot we saw the water foaming and gushing up. The river was not all tame as it looked (incidentally, rivers are never tame).

At the embarkation spot we were strapped into PFD’s / Life jackets ( personal flotation devices),a helmet and given a tough polymer paddle. Instructions on how to hold the paddle, rowing calls, back front, what to do if you fall in the water and all of these commands were cursorily heard. Then the guy dipped his helmet into the freezing water and poured it on him and every single one of us shivered with horror. Then he dipped the paddle into the water and splashed us with it, brrrr it was chilling cold. Then we positioned us into the raft steered by one Pavan (The Wind). Every single raft had on the steerage one of the professionals and our rowing would only add speed and momentum. There was also one single kayak that would accompany us bobbing, weaving in and out to aid us in rescue as a backup.

Shall we start Pavan yelled and seven of us got into position. Sana and Hinaa the twin sisters having rafted before were on the bow right and left first. Behind them were I and Sneha Kothare, behind me was LeelaMohan the biker with a death-wish and alongside him his companion Dr. Ashit Kadakia, Gauri was near the stern with Pavan. The ride started in a very non-descript manner and within a minute found myself dipping in the paddle and rowing forward. Up above the cliffs Nilesh Patil our team leader had parked his bike and was waiting with his zoom lens screwed on capturing the moments. Never in my wildest moments though that we would be the absolute stars of Nilesh’s photo-shoot. ( Photos credit of the rafting shoot is to Nilesh Patil - Trekmates ) 

We were the first raft in and on the steerage Pavan had us pointed into a rapid and all hell broke loose. The first rapid was by far the most fierce of all the rapids we would encounter and here were we, not even properly begun paddling nor got the hang of it. We found ourselves being tossed along with our raft first left then right without any respite and then up and down and in a swivel turn that lifted the raft straight vertical. All major instructions flew out of the head. i being second in line got caught in the vortex and was thrown right away from the raft straight down into the river as it capsized upside down. The chill water that was just splashing about us till a few minutes back had taken complete charge of me. The paddle had slipped away from my hand and as I looked up, saw the surface of the water and sunlight some seven odd feet above me. Quickly the swimmer instinct comes to the fore and whipped up to the surface. By the time had gulped in enough air the foaming water caught me and tossed me back right in and away yet again. This happened a few more times before I realized that had crossed three rapids in this fashion. Looking around saw Sneha holding on to her paddle while I was being swept away way past her at a pace I could not control. Then the instructions came to mind, and swiveled onto my back with the feet downstream holding onto the jacket. I only hoped that Gauri had got picked up early along with all the others. Looking around I could see no one, not a raft, no Sneha, no one and thought to myself now this is it. Flow buddy, flow with the hand you have been dealt. I held onto the life jacket and kept flowing downstream at a significant pace. For one moment thought that would flow all the way to Pakistan now and then the Raj Kapoor movie came to mind Henna, and thought like the hero maybe a Mandakini would come to my rescue. Even in god’s hands, stripped off all control, flowing in the river, filmy thoughts come to my mind, I totally laughed out loud and felt better for having done it. The whole thing was now getting to me as it had been some time since I was floating. While one is completely inside the cold water it does not disturb you as much as when one is partially in and partially out. The wind and the cold water had numbed the exposed skin of my palms and one foot was paining too. Lifting it in the water I noticed that had lost a shoe too. When does simple numbness turn to pain? That is the time zone I had come to and it was just then heard voices. I turned my head to see in the distance a raft being steered towards me. Wow, the relief was enormous; somebody actually had noticed that I was gone. A few minutes back I was dreaming of Mandakini and now felt it would be simply wonderful to just see Gauri wonlee. The raft was now upon me and a paddle was stretched out and I got pulled up. As the water dripped out of my body suit, did not realize how tired that short sojourn had made me. It took me about five odd minutes to get my breath and equilibrium back. As I asked about the others was told all had been picked up and you were the last one in. They banked the rafts to the side and we were sent back to our respective rafts. Gauri left our raft to prefer sitting in the one she had been rescued in.

All of us got to paddling back. All of us wet, wiser and having more respect for the river inside which we had gotten into. The paddling kept me from getting cold and it was curiously beneficial, tired though I was kept at it, all of us. Quite just as suddenly we hit a calmer patch, three of our companions jumped in again. There were just three of us ( Dr. Ashit, Sneha Kothare and I ) with Pawan now and I was mildly irritated at having to row while these individuals floated off.

As we rowed on ,two people from the other boats floated by us; Ninad Arul, the engineer n candid photographer and Sunil Vaggu, the cheerful marketing man & biker. Soon we were at the finishing point where the Indus joined the Zangskar. We got out of our wetsuits and back into our clothes. Sunil and I wandered off to one side to enjoy a smoke and a chai. It was heavenly just reflectively sitting there blowing circles after having gone through what we had. Boy, I almost had lost Paradise. 

Hot food was waiting for us. Lunch never tasted as good as it did that day, simple fare though it was and soon after relaxing a bit we got back into our bus. We had a stop-over at the Army museum at Leh. Where ever one encounters the army here in these parts, one can’t but help coming back impressed and reflective.

The army is omni-present being a border province of India which is natural. The condition that the army operates under with what little in terms of qualitative support is truly praise worthy. This museum houses many of the captured weapons from the war with Pakistan in 1999 and a soldier guided us through not only them but also the equipment they use when posted on glaciers. Siachen glacier is the world worst battle ground and both the armies face some of the toughest conditions known to mankind, ice, snow, uncharted mountains and inclement weather that changes within minutes. Here we bought some souvenirs for people, mugs and the like. We were shown a film on Ladakh and post that we retired back to our hotel, depleted of all activity surges we may have had.

The next day was the beginning of the return journey and we managed to pack ourselves completely. Again the picturesque journey back to Kargil began. We stopped at a village called Alchi to visit a monastery called the Alchi Gompa. Gauri and I had been charmed by the village of Alchi and its market that had tonnes of the same curios lined up in stall after stall. We decided to give the Gompa a miss and settled ourselves in one of the bakeries and gorged on sugared croissants fresh out of the oven with hot sweet n bitter coffee. The sustenance energized us for a mini shopping expedition and we ended up buying what we always buy, bells n cymbals with the sweetest sound one can hear. We have loads of this stuff yet we buy more. Call it a fetish...Ghantaa you say??? Ok ... Ghantaa !!! Half of the group had not the energy to get down from the bus and were whiling their time staring into nothingness, much like the Buddhist monks or were randomly clicking shots, some of them when we see them now have turned out quite superb. Soon we started back for Kargil.

This time the order of residents was reversed and we were accommodated with the bikers at the other hotel Caravan Serai, the oldest hotel in Kargil. It is a peculiarly located hotel on a circuitous path through the town and up a hillock that overlooks all of Kargil. The terrace looks onto a few points that are the border with Pakistan. On the way here we had seen signs that said “The Enemy Is Watching You” and it seemed like a reality here. This place is paradise sure but the being above balances everything out and people here have a slice of natures magnificence but also live under the hanging sword of Damocles, the enemy beyond a hill. Drass in 1999 had been bombed out, Kargil came on to the larger Indian consciousness only because of the war. What a way to achieve attention? Would anyone want that? But the people here are friendly and the service in the hotel was more than satisfactory for where we were. Reaching provisions is in itself a tall order here and then from it to provide hospitality is a huge challenge and these guys did it with aplomb. The day next would have us at the Kargil war memorial. We sure were looking forward to it.  

Kargil to Srinagar – The last leg on the road 

After a sumptuous breakfast we again got into our buses to head back towards Srinagar. We had two stops to encounter before that, one being the Indian Army War Museum at Kargil and the other was the Lamayuru Monastery. 

Indian Army Museum: Kargil

We had our eyes opened up at the Leh Museum already and the respect for the army now was bordering on wonder and worship. We had passed this place on our way to Leh and then we had cursorily used it as hygiene and feeding stop. Today the whole objective was different. This expanse once you enter the compound is divided into three main areas vertically divided as you stand with your back to the main gate looking in.

What grabs your attention is the tallest flag post one can ever see and the gentle wind blowing the Indian Tri Colour infusing one with a natural sense of pride. How do flags do this, is a wonder? Straight down is a walkway to the flag post. On the left is the cemetery for war heroes and there parked is a MIG fighter for display. On the right is the war museum and a helipad along with the pantry and a counter for curios. 

We were shown in and directed from the various personal mementos of soldiers who laid down themselves in the service of the country, the models and of various mountain points that were captured by Pakistani army when they sneaked in 1999; and the 28 days Kargil war which was won decisively by the Indian army in July 1999 at the cost of many casualties on our side. Outside in the parade ground, a jawan in a clear majestic resonant voice recounted the war and its progression. As he pointed this way and that we realized that we were standing in the actual war zone as he pointed to one mountain peak after another. The pride in his voice and its poignant tale that it told was moving and brought a hard lump in my throat. This was the ultimate sacrifice, for your soil, your motherland. The army personnel are awake braving bullets such that we sleep in peace. One feels instantly humbled and set me thinking on the mindset of a serviceman and what makes him opt for such a life. We moved to the cemetery and saw rows upon rows of soldiers honoured for their sacrifices in all the wars that have occurred, the headstones conveying a solemn story all on their own. The curio centre was kept busy by our group who purchased everything from army jackets to caps to T shirts and the like. 

A very solemn group sat in the bus and our bus got stranded outside the climb to the Zojila pass again. This time we were stuck at such a scenic locale that one bus and all the bikes clicked some of the most dashing photographs ever on the ride. Even the most bashful posed like veterans and struck poses that would have given a tough ride to professional models. As we ambled out in the open a chill wind blew into our clothes and it was two in the afternoon and getting distinctly uncomfortable after a while. It was a picturesque spot though and the wait was no problems save for the fact that we were hungry. Soon the awful zojila opened up and we snaked our way down in the able hands of Afzal. 

Lamayuru Gompa

The next stop was the Lamayuru Monastery and it is a seriously scenic outlier in the way it looks over the neighbouring countryside. Its high up and thankfully the buses go right up to its base from which there is a winding pathway upto the Gompa...beautifully serene, the fun part was in seeing the young lamas in the making, moving about in their cute little robes and bald heads smiling cheekily as kids would from one place to another. The Lamayuru houses a school and residential quarters like all monasteries. Sneha Gada joined us and showed a devout spiritual side of hers, by entering into a dark creepy cavernous section of the monastery and standing with folded hands eyes closed mobile face serene. As Gauri clicked a few shots then she realised that she had been the subject and the faces came back on. She was a sport though :-) 

As we approached Srinagar it was with trepidation. There was some tension around Jammu regarding militant activity and it was likely to have spread to Srinagar. We could see the army presence increasing and it made perfect sense to return back to the hotel straight before any curfew gets declared and we were caught out on the streets. Luckily we passed the slightly sensitive areas around Hazratbal too without incident. The trip had ended. Now each of the people here in the group kept lingering about trying to prolong the inevitable...the parting. Aiyyo, parting can be such sweet sorrow said some filmy poet. People had different departures some were leaving early the next day; most of us were on the 2 o clock flight while some were to travel the day after the next. 

I would not bring into this write up how at Srinagar airport one gets frisked a zillion times , they scan your bags  ten million times and ask you to open it for the inspection of whichever uniform at any point to expose your soiled linen to public scrutiny. Mr & Mrs Patil, Rupali Ambale and us were the passengers travelling together in the vehicle to the airport and all of us suffered this indignity in some fashion. We picked up some dry fruits at the airport and I waited for my Upma on the plane. How much have we eaten on this trip and that too vegetarian is something that surprised me, we don’t normally do this. Dr Kadakia had noted down numbers of people in his diary and used the spare time on the airport to note down some numbers into the phone. We were all on the same flight to Mumbai and the poor girl who came to sleep in the seat next to me, Sneha Kothare had to suffer non-stop chatter along with my Upma. As the flight landed and we collected bags to say goodbye to the group, sitting in the taxi we were slightly numbed. This hangover is going to last a long time....

 I was asked once, what according to me was a great trip? 

It never ever is about a destination...it is a journey, an experience lived, the friends one made along the way and the memories created. Photographs may fade, words written may  recede from ones consciousness, but a journey completed, always leaves one a better person than the one who started out.  

Chance Encounter - The Magic Of The Five

The voice was unmistakably Parsee “So beautiful, listen to what this talented Madarchod writes”

A Man Young and Old:

"My arms are like the twisted thorn

And yet there beauty lay;

The first of all the tribe lay there

And did such pleasure take;

She who had brought great Hector down

And put all Troy to wreck."

William Butler Yeats would certainly have choked and died yet again, had he heard this exact praise. The mischievous Bawa had now effortlessly switched to the Queens English. On the footpath that housed the bookstall he read aloud the verse. He was Yezdi Khambatta, a fellow browser of many a year.

I had made many friends browsing around the footpaths. Like smokers, footpath-book-browsers are a breed by themselves. Each one has their marked out spots like two or three favourite destinations, a few favoured vendors and this is how a gathering of the usual suspects comes together at a location. The past two and a half decades of browsing had turned me into one such peculiar stereotype. There are three stages in meeting people at these browsing zones. The first stage is where no one speaks to one another, neither the book seller to the new prospect nor the other browsers to the new entrant. He is sized and categorized from his first pull. The pull is the book that he picks up first that decides his station among the regulars and with the seller. A quick purchase and his leaving would at times be excused for shyness only if he makes a repeat appearance, which is stage two. Then the vendor would nod at him while the browsers still observe him. It is only after his next visit in the third stage that browsers nod at him and he begins his journey into seriously being counted. Once he is accepted as regular then other browsers and the vendors both start to recommend titles & ask for preferences, share information, on title availability of both location and period. He is now a bonafide member of the club. I have been a diamond class member for years now.

Yezdi was about 70 years old and very much into poetry. Yeats's inspiration Maud Gonne had gone into his creating this visage of Helen of Troy which was passionately enjoyed many miles away from his native Ireland nearly a century later. “This is pure genius, aisa creative Chutyagiri ek Irishman hi kar sakta hai” Yezdi had reverted into Bombay Bawaspeak again. The Irishman would have been proud to have his work treasured but I was not exactly as confident about the same enthusiasm display for the unique praise bestowed upon him, with absolute irreverence. Yezdi was a quirky piece of work. He referred to authors and characters in the first person. This though was extremely peculiar, never had pursued this line of inquiry with him. On noticing what I was looking for, he promptly said, Its Isabhai for you & whispered, you just may be ready for the magic of the first five. There are times when I think he has gone seriously senile. We were after all companions of a location and had never extended our acquaintance beyond this zone. It was the code, a line that fellow browsers never crossed. Isabhai had fresh stock, was the message for me. With a nod of thanks to Yezdi, I started walking across the busy street to the other footpath where that stall was. Isabhai is yet another one of Bombay’s unique component populace. He is simply huge not the baseball player kind of huge, but more like “Jabba the Hutt” (Star Wars) huge. He sits on a large metal folding chair wearing a lungi and a T shirt and if one can spot the chair from under him, I would give that person a medal. He simply spills over the chair from all sides. Isabhai knows his customers and knows his books. His collection is the best around not for its number but sheer quality. He had a natural eye for the rare book. Today though it was not the rare but the specific that I had come for. I looked around and picked up five books and retired into a corner to browse. My titles : The Prince – Nicolo Machiavelli, Arthashastra – Arya Chanakya, Sun Tzu and the Art of War, Shivkalyan Raja – Swami Ramdas, Ethics & Logic – Aristotelian Thoughts.

I have never articulated my utter fascination for books, both new and old. Leisurely browsing at a library, a book store or on the footpath, I lose myself. My techno friendly friends keep advocating the Kindle, a device from which to read E-Books. Store zillions of them into it, save money, weight and improve convenience.

I was yet to be convinced to go down that path. With an E-book device, one can only browse within the confines of one’s knowledge or some ones suggestion. The E-Book browser can never experience the absolute pleasure of landing on a title that has eluded one in the past. I could picture myself picking up such a copy of an author never tried before nestled among other titles, turning the cover and experience the joy of flipping a page.

“From the top my boy, always from the top”, Ramachandran sir’s voice rang clearly in my ears. He had taught us English in the 9^th grade and had instilled this habit in all his students. “The pressure is off the seam as you turn a page from the top. He would insist , always use a bookmark instead of folding a page at the corners. Respect a book and you would be amazed at how it loves you back. The book then speaks to you way differently from the chap who doesn't care for it.”

The smell of a tome, musty and old in used books to the fresh ink of the new, running a finger down the seam of the binding to check its sturdiness, to caressing the cover to check for a blemish, I was a confirmed page turner. Someday in the future the e-book just may offer all these features as an experience but by then I would have moved on.

The busy traffic of Flora Fountain whizzed on, cars were honking, people were yelling as I browsed on, examining the condition of the books; reading a line here and there at random, checking whether there were any missing pages. At Isabhai’s one generally got good stuff and these were outstanding by any standards. I got lost in the pages.

I felt something brush past me again and again while my face was buried in the tomes. The dull dank day vanished and brightness took over.The sounds of the city receded and died. After a while I looked up to find myself staring into the face of one of the handsomest of men. He was tall, very fit as if he exercised every day. He wore a saffron loin cloth and had a flowing beard with hair worn long tied back. His eyes were a nut brown and sparkled with such radiance as he smiled at me; inadvertently I smiled back at this friendly visage and then looked around. There was no footpath; no Isabhai, no city and we were standing beside a cave up on a mountain. There was a large banyan up here in the clearing and sitting on its foundation around was an assorted group of three men while a fourth one paced about in front with a manic energy. The pacing man wore the bare clothes of a Brahmin about to go to a temple, he curtly nodded at me. Among the sitting three, one wore clothes of such magnificence but from an era past and his sharp features and dark black eyes told me he was distinctly Italian. Farther to him sat a plumpish man with a very friendly face obviously oriental with his almond eyes shining bright. He was middle aged and carried a long smooth willow staff. The last of them wore the strangest of costumes quite similar to our lungi and angavastra but worn very much like a Greek toga. Then I looked at his face and he too nodded sagely, he was indeed Greek. What was happening, where was I and who are these people, why was I here and more importantly how did I get here?

The Greek spoke as if he heard me, when I introduce us you will arrive at the answers yourself. My name is Aristotle the Greek there was a time when I was Macedonian but in your times its best to introduce oneself this way. Sun Wu said the oriental, Niccolo Di Bernardo Di Machiavelli from Florence said the guy who I had guessed was Italian, the man pacing up and down barked out a terse Vishnugupta – jeez this was the famous Chanakya and the tall man standing in quiet repose said Narayan Suryaji Thosar – holy cow this was Samarth Ramdas. He just nodded at the books in my hand and said it was time.

Now Yezdi’s quirky message started to make sense. Ramdas continued that there comes a time and tide in the life of every man that he does what he does. It’s a combination of heart, will and love after which he can achieve anything. We are the living proof of it. Living? I blurted out, at once regretting my tactlessness. Ramdas nodded; yes living in fact when you hold our works in your hand we remain alive. We shall live as long as our work gets read, digested and understood. How shall I address you because I do not want to seem to presumptuous and each one smiled now. Whatever you have been calling us so far said Chanakya. I felt relieved because this man seemed so ill tempered that a force emanated from him that made one wary of his presence. Chanakya, Sun Tzu, Nick please interrupted Machiavelli with a charm that was switched on so suddenly that I was dazzled, Aristotle and Ramdas Swamy. Please drop the Swami and use only Ramdas because it’s a contradiction my name and how it has been made popular. When I am a Das (Servant of god) how can I be a Swami (Lord and Master)?

These very questions were in my mind that these guys were answering way before I had even uttered them. Looking at me Sun Tzu said, why waste time on that when we can talk ahead of things to come ? It was then I realized that why these men became forces of nature in their times they walked on this earth. Of all the people in the world what connects the five of you? There have been many before you and after you, why are just the five of you together. Aristotle looked at me and beamed. We are here together because of you, now why did you pick us five? It did come back to me . I tried articulating nervously and said that Heroes and Kings have been recognized celebrated and even worshiped for ages. But it was my conviction that they would not have been great Kings or even reached their station without guidance. Being Guru Pournima that day, the idea had cropped up and I had before me five majestic Kings in King Helu of the Wu dynasty, Sun Tzu smiled, Chandragupta Maurya and his golden age, Alexander of Macedonia, The Medici’s & Borgias of  Rome and Florence and Shivaji Raje Bhosale of Deccan.

Aristotle (384 BC – 322 BC, 62 years)

Aristotle exclaimed that this was what I advocated before it was understood properly. I had a question mark on my face as he continued while the others soberly listened to the great man speak. His voice rang out clearly and his oratory was magnificent. His toga twirled around as he captured the circle and looked straight at all of us. Didn't your mind separate the wheat from the chaff, the sense from the verbiage and step by step arrived at the answer when probed. I nodded quietly. This process in its most simplistic form where the answer is reached by separating the sense from the rhetoric is called Logic. The mind has a natural ability to cull out the useless but it needs practice else the garbage piles up. So beautifully did he put the point across.

 I had to ask him the thing which no historian had clearly answered for me. How did Alexander die? Is it true that you had a part to play in his death? He took a deep breath and paused before replying. He said, Plato was my guru and I studied with him in Athens till 347 BC. Then I was 37 years of age. For the next 4 years I wrote studied and had the best part of my working life creating my thesis on Logic, Live Sciences, Metaphysics but then in 343 BC Philip of Macedonia invited me to tutor his son Alexander. I had refused initially, stating private tutoring spoils and unless there were other boys of equal merit to compete with him he would never make a good King. Philip had vision and he had Ptolemy from neighboring Egypt along with Cassander brought along to keep his son company. My nephew also studied with them. When they were about 12 years old in one of their boisterous plays my nephew was killed at Alexander’s hands. Philip was the man who I looked up to for justice but he kept mum then on account of his son. It would be a lie to say from that day on I did not bide my time. Yet I was true to my job and taught them well. All were bright and after their graduation Ptolemy went back to Egypt. In my ward lurked an ambition to conquer the world. I hated the moor Darius the III and his grand kingdom of Persia and steered Alexander to him. Either ways I would have my satisfaction. Alexander proved to be a brilliant tactician and brave in battle and kept winning all the way right up to the Indus. It is from here with his tired troops that he turned back. He also was injured. An arrow had hit his ankle,his excesses in celebrating battle victories had damaged his liver and he also had a venereal disease that today we know as Gonorrhea. By the time he reached Babylon in 323 BC it was Junos and he was delirious. I had him in my care. In my biological studies I had access to many rare poisons and every single day was tempted to temper his wine glass. But in the boys suffering I laid to rest my ghosts of revenge and he breathed his last. Ptolemy and Seleucus Nicaetor his generals had a difference of opinion and Nicaetor came back as a victor to Macedon. Ptolemy dug out the body of Alexander from Babylon and had him buried in his own kingdom of North Africa naming the port Alexandria. He nursed a hope that the warring spirit of his friend would protect the kingdom. That in god’s presence is the truth. 

Sun Tzu / Sun Wu / ChangChing / Chang Qing (544 BC – 496 BC, 48 years)

I looked at Sun Tzu and asked him Why did he come to write the “Art Of War”? The monk in a sing song voice said China then (2500 years ago ) was only known as the middle kingdom and in it we had provinces that were at war with each other. My education was simple in the temple of the Wu-dan province where I learnt calligraphy, sword fighting, meditation and the Wu-Shu arts. After my education at the age of 30 I joined the court of the principality of Helu. Helu was young and a good administrator but faltered in warring times. His commanders and army had no clue. For two years in his court I simply watched the young King being misled by his generals.By this time I had enough clout in his court and got myself appointed the sole General of his armies. I had no choice then but to kill the then current general who refused to vacate his position. He paused as I asked a question “So you are a warrior?” In the blink of an eye I found myself flying in the air and landing on my back as the plump man had transformed into a speedball. The staff in his hand that I had mistaken for a walking stick was twirling in the air and he had it stop a hairs breadth away from my Adams apple. The others simply laughed. Sun Tzu without any modesty stated, I was the best warrior of my time and all that I have written is from my own experience.

The preparation of an army starts with the idea of a nation. The middle kingdom was forever attacked by the fierce raiding Manchus along with the armies of other provinces. Against them, I allowed this idea to take birth and grow into the land of the Wu. I sacked all the mercenary professional soldiers and recruited from the land; those who have something at stake fight the fiercest and longest. I trained spies and had them garner latest information and keep it updated. Advance information is the key to winning a battle. A prepared man wins because he fights from a position of knowledge. This is the position that allows a man to also avoid a engaged battle and win without bloodshed. This is the greatest of victories when the loss to self and others is minimal. It seemed so natural coming from his mouth and so practical and I told him that his work has now being used most often by corporate businesses. It is a reference book in most management schools. He bowed humbly and said my greatest teaching is the one very few understood which was how to have no wars. Helu and the Wu dynasty after the initial battles ruled the middle kingdom well for 50 long years. I had retired from active life to meditate and it was then that I captured my thoughts and learnings into the “Art of War”. Why is it not the Science of War because victories can come from even numbers inferior, ask him, he will elaborate this point better, he said pointing to Ramdas. War is a state of the mind but its execution is a skill that lies in the realm of creativity because you are managing the most intemperate of resources ever known, your fellow man. With that he sat down and looked at Chanakya.

Arya Chanakya / Vishnugupta  ( 370 BC – 283 BC, 87 years )

Vishnugupta was an impatient spirit and his energy hit me the moment he turned his eyes upon me. He seemed friendly only with Aristotle but then it was only natural, they were two great minds both teachers who lived in the same period of time. They had a lot more in common and had much to share with each other. Chanakya looked at Sun Tzu in the same manner a brilliant student would look at his even more brilliant guru. He had seen me catch that look and said, I was a teacher in Takshashila ruled by the great Ambhi the father of this Ambhi who invited Alexander in. I learned under the great Panini who was the principal of the University of Takshashila and after him I became the head there. At age 32 I felt its time to go back home (Kusumpur, near Pataliputra) and that’s how I landed back in Magadha. It was ruled by Dhanananda who was a degenerate king  but the kingdom had a good prime minister in Amatya Rakshas. As he looked up I asked him “Who exactly was Chandragupta Maurya ?”.

He smiled at my question and said Magadha though well administered had in Dhanananda a man who indulged himself in a whole lot of vices and women. He himself was an illegitimate son of the previous monarch. “Is it true that Chandrupta was fathered by Dhanananda ?

Well who Chandragupta’s father was not known even then. He had to be from a higher family than his mother was sure. His mother. Mura was a maid in the palace of the Nanda’s, hence the rumours, however Chandragupta’s being from a noble family was definite. He was a platoon commander in the army of the Nanda’s. I too was employed in the court for sometime but the Nanda’s insulted me and I left the court. In a fit of temper had shouted back that this Brahmin will bring down your empire in such a fashion that people shall remember your successor far more easily than you. Sun Tzu’s scrolls were transcribed in the library of Takshashila and I had learnt the art of strategy from this work. Chandraguta was the student that every teacher hungers for, quick to learn, having loads of potential and absolute faith in his master. Together we raised an army and won many battles. Sun Tzu is right, most of our battles were psychological and we won them without even having to draw a weapon. Our spy network was strong hence we could spot the Vishakanya sent and we inverted the game. We out thought the Nandas and established the first golden Age of this subcontinents history. Down south Raja Raja Chola & Krishna Devaraya and in the north Akbar came after. No other periods have been titled so. It was then I started writing the thesis on Economics and Administration called the Arthashastra. One European sociologist Adam Smith and an economist john Malthus are rumoured to have drawn inspiration from this work. Boy, I was impressed with the sheer pride that existed in Chanakya…age that even death had not managed to dull.

Niccolo Di Bernardo Di Machiavelli (AD 1469 – 1527, 58 years )

Isn’t it surprising that the more recent the history the less clearer it becomes? Machiavelli had to possess the most perspicacious mind amongst these five was pretty obvious. The Prince was such a work that more could be inferred from reading between the lines than from the lines themselves. This skill of writing and choice of words had conjured up a crafty, evil, manipulator instead of the strangely good looking open faced man facing me. Do not be mistaken, I practiced very hard to never betray my feelings on my face because the times I lived in Florence were very violent. Then I discovered that people read just as easily from a blank face and a closed expression and worked at a unqiue deception which was the approachable friendly face. His frank admission had me laughing out for the first time I was with them.

He said all of our times were very violent yet of them I am the only one who has experienced physical torture at the hands of the same people who I helped bring to power, the Medici’s. Cesare Borgia, have you heard of him? Pope Alexander VI th’s son? Yes, you know your history, good it helps me proceed faster. The pope was one of the most violent of men but his son was infinitely worse. They had designs on all the provinces of Italy which were kingdoms in their own right. Florence, Venice, Rome, Tuscany were the principalities Alexander like his namesake wanted under the ambit of the Vatican. I was in charge of the Florentine army for 3 years and we defeated Pisa but the Medici helped by the Spanish took over Florence and I was relegated to surviving in the courts. Briefly I also served in the courts of the Borgia’s and then back with the Medici’s when they tortured me. Political survival is a game and the Prince is my allusion to the effort invested in surviving through such a time which perhaps was the bloodiest in Italian history. I backed anyone and everyone. The Greeks, he said looking at Aristotle had invented the Democracy and a political system of administration. But I may just be the one credited to have given the word Politics a verb form in "Politicking" and making it sound negative. He laughed his charming laugh then he said, I had to use the only tools in my possession way better than those brutes, my mind and my wits, simply to exist, live and be. I never intended to write a treatise, it was just a satirical mockery of the Medici’s but here are you trying to read between the lines. Read well my friend, I have left as much unsaid, now you go and say it.

Narayan Suryaji Thosar / Samarth Ramdas (AD 1530-1608, 78 years)

 Ramdas smiled and said Machiavelli is right. The more recent the history the more cloudy it appears to be. There are people who call me a saint, which I certainly was not. I chose not to have a householder’s life which the family had planned for me. So is it real that you ran away from your own wedding? I asked. Yes, said he. Simply because why spoil a girl’s life? How did you come to aid Shivaji ? He looked around and said originally am not from these parts but have lived here at Chaphal and Sajjangad the longest. It is here that I met the young man from the Sisodiya clan who had sworn to establish the Mahratta Empire. Basically he wanted to win his land from the outside invaders who were the Muslims from Adilshahi kingdom in Central and South India and the Mughals from the North.

Shiva Bhosle was a single minded man;  he was not the best swordsman though his guru Dadaji Kondeo skilled him adequately, nor was he physically impressive, he was short, but what he had was the gift of leadership, a silver tongue, tonnes of courage and sheer ruthlessness when it mattered. What are u saying , wow, really so?  I asked. He continued, do you know the incident of Chandrarao More…I said vaguely yes I know. He was one of the Maratha chieftains who did not agree to Shivaji usurping leadership of all chieftains. History has romanticized this episode while it was brutal in reality. After More had announced this disconnect, Shiva just attacked his house and had him killed. No fair chance was given, in fact no chance at all. He would certainly have become an enemy later and a powerful one too hence he was squashed, immediately, there and then. So also when he looted Surat not once but twice after because money was needed to raise an army and buy provisions. He was a great man and great men are focused. When he came to Sajjangad, we had met a few times; this is the first time I am referring to. I saw his soldiers all heavy, broad and stocky, they were hardy fighting men but something did not sit right with me. I told Shiva, at this rate you won’t last one year. He was surprised as he had come in from a spate of victories. I told him his men were unfit, have them exercise, do the surya namskar drop weight.  A heavy man sits heavy on his horse, tiring it and reducing the speed, time and distance the animal can travel. He had no spies in his camp and till then his information gathering process was adhoc on an as is where is basis. So you were his spymaster? He laughed loudly. Of course, someone had to be. People being people do not question a religious man and my followers in all temples, devasthanas and muths were spread across the land ideal for just this purpose. I simply deployed them and created the most efficient information gathering system this state ever knew.

They had started talking among themselves. Aristotle and Chanakya walking side by side had gone on into a distance.  Sun Tzu had kept the staff beside him and had closed his eyes. In repose he looked like a marble statue, so quiet that the fly which had buzzed around was now perched on his forehead but did not seem to bother him. Machiavelli was stretched out eating a ripe mango enjoying it immensely and said to Ramdas, this is very good. We don’t have this fruit in Florence or Pisa. Ramdas too turned to go into the cave. All the attention was off me. I looked in pure wonder at possibly the best collection of strategic brains the world had ever produced, casually exchanging conversation totally comfortable in each other’s company. And I had conversed with them. This was fabulous; I had enough material for a thesis and as I stepped back, bumped into an overhanging branch.

***********

It hurt and as I rubbed the spot, my ears rang. I closed my eyes. Opening them, saw that Isabhai had opened the door of his cabinet box next to where I was sitting on the compound ledge. The door had swung with a wind and bumped into my head. I was back on the footpath of Flora Fountain. Paying Isabhai for the books, I walked back wondering what had happened. Was it a dream, a hallucination or something entirely different? Walking on I bumped into Yezdi again. One look at my face and he seemed to know it.  You are wondering now what was it, right am I correct? He asked and I nodded. Arrey Chootyyaaa why bother, just call it a Chance Encounter.

A Mirror for the Modi'ans

Congress has been booted out comprehensively is right...but truly amazing are some of the terms being used very loosely for this government. These are used by all those who are fans of Modi & seem to be swept away by the euphoria of his resounding win.  I would like to bring to notice certain things and put them into proper perspective. It will ease the pressure on Modi and allow him to do his job better. It is so much better than him being made a hero or worse still a God, way before he has even started. He doesn’t need that baggage on his back; believe me you are only weighing down the athlete way before he has started his run.

1) History being made here.

Hogwash!!!. It is just a change of guard at the top, Congress gone, BJP in. Nothing more, nothing less.
At Infosys, when Narayanmurthy retired, Nilekeni took his place, When Nilekeni went, Shibulal came  & now NRN returns, is this corporate history? Not at all, Its succession as a process. 

The CEO has changed & with him has changed his team ..you say he is good, OK, so let him do his job in peace.

2) Historic Mandate.

Historic for BJP perhaps, but not for India. India has seen higher number in seats won by one party. Circa 1984.

3) The Nation building begins.

No siree, it began in 1947 and has progressed so far with all governments and 14 Prime Ministers before NDM. He is only going to continue the task. Maybe he will undo a few things that he feels unnecessary and start a few other things, all that he is allowed to do from his chair.
The Nation progressed before him and shall progress way after he is gone. It will be great if it progresses at a more rapid rate than before under NDM. It’s what is expected. Who built that expectation? BJP's own media machine. Frankly speaking , I personally wouldn't penalize him for stretching the truth as long as he shows the intent to do a good job and work sincerely at it. And others must remember that he is a continuance in a long line before him and many who would come after. Reality being, he is not THE nation builder but yet another nation builder.

4) Criticizing / Not voting for Modi, makes you an anti-national, unpatriotic Indian.

That makes 69% of Indians ( or 550 million people ) who either did not vote /could not vote/chose not to vote for Modi or BJP unpatriotic and anti-national. 69% is a whopping greater number than the 31% ( 250 million)  of the vote share that BJP won. So we live in a unique country whose 69% voting residents are anti-national, oh boy. Pretty much weird isn't it?

5) Silence all those who criticize Modi , they are pessimistic, jealous that he won, depressed that their own candidate lost etc etc.

Actually no, they too are happy that a new leader is in the chair. They just may have a different opinion on other things he represents that is all. 
Criticize the English word has its roots in the Greek word Kritikos, which means having the ability, the right  and the freedom to form one’s own opinion and judgment. It is pointed out such that the person criticized looks at it constructively and raises the bar. Now there are two freedoms that are under scrutiny here both of whom stand the chance of being denied. One is the right to have a different opinion and two is the right to air it openly and publicly.

Do understand that they are equally passionate about India and care about her. Allowing that opinion to find a voice is the truest essence of Democracy.

Would you rather have it otherwise ???

The Indian National Congress: Is it relevant for India?

The past is a 20 : 20 Vision, but in it lies the key to a future that is not visible - Anonymous

On 16^th May 2014, what was only till then merely writing on the wall became a humiliating reality. The INC slumped to its most crushing defeat ever in its century old history and being in the electioneering fray since 1952. Out of the total 542 seats of the Indian Parliament, the INC got 44, its ally the NCP has 4. The Opposition the Bhartiya Janta Party (BJP) and its allies have secured 48% vote share and a total seat tally of 336 seats, while the BJP on its own secured a simple majority by winning 282 seats from the required 272 numeric.

The numbers tell their own story but the manner in which they lost is an epic on its own. The opposition organized its election juggernaut under the leadership of Narendra Modi ( now the Prime Minister in waiting ) was a study in election management. A stiffer reply was required to the military style, American Presidential campaign approach of the BJP which was extremely clear on

• Making Development & good Governance as the primary issues.

• Corruption as an issue, the scandal tainted Congress already was a ready-made target and the BJP never let the voter forget till the voting day.

• A State wise focus and customization of the sales pitch by the BJP. In UP under the mentor-ship of Amit Shah they played the caste card selectively keeping Modi away from it, Modi could then attack the Mamta Government in Kolkata on the Bangladeshi illegal immigrant issue, Kashmir and article 370 and its relevance for today, Andhra Pradesh it tied with TDP and took the moral high ground in the split state, and the BJP ruled states of Goa, Gujarat, Rajasthan, Chattisgarh & MP delivered totally. The screws were tightened in Maharashtra driving the NCP & INC alliance up the wall on two main issues of corruption and farmer suicides. It was spectacular in its execution. Every single point in the campaign hit the bull’s eye.

• The strategic use of the new media namely taking the campaign on Television and Social Media given that 80 million of voter base was going to be added. The “first time voter”, the youth constituted about 10%of the  and total voterbase and additionally about 3-5% of the young and professionals, all of them who loudly communicate here. They could see only Modi and his campaign plugs creating a loud sound byte that resonated and multiplied. Modi the messiah, the salvation the deliverer. It was very clever. 

Where did the Congress Fail?

• Arrogance and Hubris of the leadership. Instead of taking the lead and putting forth the good work done and there has been work, the Congress failed to communicate.

• Instead of looking at media and its own proper marketing, they took their own Brand value and the Voters acceptance for granted.

• One could confidently make a claim that the INC was clueless about what was happening on the ground and entrusted their leadership into the hands of a callow perpetual debutante, Rahul Gandhi, who had already cost them UP in the state assembly poll in 2012. This was by far their biggest mistake. Nothing can be worse to a Party than having a loser for a leader, he doesn't charge up the rank and file; he has no perspective or clarity of thought and hence does not know what’s relevant or the need of the hour. Projecting him against a seasoned guy only added to the luster on Modi.

• Corruption Scandals and their taint could not be effectively defended or washed off. Manmohan Singh’s haplessness especially in his second tenure came out even more starkly.  Narsimha Rao, Singh’s one time boss also was not a communicative man as far as the media goes, but he was a leader and on that front there were no doubts. It was a thought leadership coupled with a politically savvy brain, there was none on exhibit here.

There would be innumerable reasons attributed for why one lost and the other won. Suffice it to say the nation gave them a chance over two terms now and were clearly not happy with them. The Congress paid for it and how.

The moot question is Modi’s clarion call on “Congress Mukt Bharat”.

Is that a possibility? Is there anything that the Congress is doing to prevent it? Does India need the Congress at all?

Introspection Congress Style : 

The INC went into a huddle as every party goes into when they lose. Then they come out with spectacularly profound words for the media when questioned, sample some here...
a) We clearly need to introspect on why this happened. (Vapid)

b) We have done good work but failed to communicate it to the people (Pure brazenness)

c) We only missed out on seats but do also look at our vote share (Even more brazenness)

d) The responsibility is collective and the Rahul –Sonia Gandhi leadership can alone really not be blamed.(Denial)

e) They still are our leaders.(Delusion, Fait Accompli ??)

Did all of these things happen yesterday? Yes they did? Did Congress really appear contrite, hurt or humiliated enough to come out fighting? From yesterday’s meeting it certainly did not give that impression? Is the same lack luster leadership going to continue and the only spice that the Congress may add in the name of change would be to add Priyanka Gandhi-Wadra’s name to rally around? She looks like her grandmother but does she have the charisma, political acumen, ruthless single mindedness and gravitas to effect the turnaround that Indira managed in 1980 ? With her few appearances in Amethi looks seriously doubtful plus she comes with her own baggage called Robert Wadra. Her own chances of winning an election with him around are bleak let alone springboard the turnaround.

A functioning democracy, especially when it has neighbors of friendly (sic) disposition like the ones we are saddled with ( Pakistan, China, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka ) & with whom or on whose soil we have engaged in actual wars albeit carried out military action in the distant and near past, needs a very strong leadership to counter them and a strong opposition to maintain the balance. 

This is not only applicable for security but for other issues as well. Majoritarian polity can have a tendency to fly off the handle unfettered & unchecked. This is where a constructive strong opposition plays a role. A rational voice of opposition ensures policies and bills that get presented, debated, to later become acts or law are thoroughly examined on all sides for probity, relevance and utility. Today with the Congress decimated the same roles need/can be performed by regional parties coming together. We do have three major state players in Mamta Bannerjee, Jayalalitha & Navin Patnaik who have kept the in-form Modi from totally breaching their bastions. The other option which could have been AAP has been rendered irrelevant with just 4 seats and that too from a single state. AAP needs to go down its own introspection route.

For the Democracy of India an engaging opposition is needed sure. but there is no compulsion on the part of the political ethos that this should have to only be the Congress. It can be the Congress or any other party with their mandate. 

Mahatma Gandhi in 1947 had suggested that now that the country had won its freedom, the Congress can be disbanded, its utility and relevance is finished. The leaders then disagreed. Should the Congress persist in the blithe introspection style it is exhibiting so far without undergoing real metamorphosis, It faces immediate disarray and certain extinction where "disbandment" as the Mahatma had suggested in 1947 would not even be required. It would implode all on its own. 

Goa Food Binge - Two New Finds - Foxes Fiesta & Casa Bhonsle

It was time, the wife looked at me, then at the calendar and then at the computer. She raised an eyebrow and both of us nodded with barely contained smiles. What to do, we were having serious withdrawal symptoms on our Goa fix.

What is this Goa fix, you may ask? It is a 3 days short break taken by us when we fly off to our favourite holiday destination. Step 1, we check into our assigned business hotel in the middle of Panjim that gives us a good functional room, sans top end service & a very good buffet breakfast. Step 2, hire a two wheeler and fish out a map (the new mobiles with the GPS have made the job even simpler) close our eyes, put a finger and whichever destination the finger shows & then take off for there. As a rule from Mumbai we fly to Goa because one arrives quicker and fresh. The business hotel is chosen both for its convenient location and a super deal (why spend more on a room which one shall use only for sleeping after a day out) and the money that gets saved thus, is spent (all of it ) on the food experience, which we love.

We are fair people and are fair to the other destinations too albeit for forms sake. When the eyebrow goes up ( check circa sentence 2 of this article ) we also look at Coorg, Mahabaleshwar, Kochy etc and then always settle for Goa eliminating the other destinations because they do not have Susegaat. Susegaat is the deal breaker...Susegaat and Food.

Goan Food is not just a cuisine, it is an experience. Commonly called Gomantaki cuisine it shares some core principles with the food of coastal Karnataka which extends on to its south border but Goa also has a confluence of the Portuguese style too. Now those guys parked themselves here for more than four and a half centuries till as recently as 1961. Hence they have indelibly left their mark on both the way of life and its food.

This is the clear distinguishing feature of the food in that belt. Towards the North of Goa is coastal Maharashtra and the Malwan district which has its own cuisine called Malwani. Now city dwellers that are not familiar often confuse Gomantaki cuisine with Malwani food and very loosely use one nomenclature when they are actually meaning the other. In my book this is a cardinal sin. My roots are in Malwan district and as much as I enjoy eating in those parts, like the people and their language the food too is very spicy. Malwani’s too consume a lot of seafood but rely a lot on frying which does not happen so much in Goan food. Second when it comes to the curries in Malwani food, the main ingredient ( meat, shellfish, fish or vegetable ) is killed, annihilated. It won’t be a stretch when I state that the Malwani style is Murder by Masala. The masala in the curries is so intense that it overpowers the main ingredient completely. That never happens in Goan cuisine where the spice is delicate and the curry light, bringing out the flavour of the fresh sea food, shellfish or meat. One can truly savour the taste of the main with the flavour of the spice.

The spirit of Susegad also applies to the eating experience here in the state. Predominantly coastal it is little wonder that seafood is an integral part of the cuisine here majorly, but we also have meats like chicken, pork and beef specialties. Vegetarian food in Goa is largely usal-pav, curry rice, seasonal vegetables and is largely limited to some Hindu Brahmins. Everyone else is non-vegetarian (another reason why we fell in love with this place) and for a long time until very recently the eating out experience was purely non-veg. Today we have of all the atrocities even Gujarati Thali’s available along with Udipi fast food and they jostle for space with the McDonalds and the Pizza Huts. With the homogenisation of food and the grass eating tourist who always insisted on his lentils and rice, the original Goan cuisine restaurants have started ceding ground to the aggressive touristy fare on offer which also includes a Punjabi or a Chinese. Continental breakfasts are default given the sheer number of foreign tourists one sees here. To be fair the local residents need this variety in eating out too and they should not have to go to Punjab to eat a Makkai di Roti or a Tandoori chicken when they can have it at Sher-e-Punjab.

Now with these aggressive intruders stepping on to local toes, authentic and good Goan food has actually become quite rare. Hence when we find it, we believe it is our bounden duty to share this knowledge with the world at large that here is one more place that a true connoisseur of the morsel must make an appearance. Many monsoons ago in Panjim we landed upon a gem of a place called the “Mums Kitchen”. The place still exists with many additions to the menu and we always go there. ( Covered in a previous blog post). But this trip was the discovery of two new places 

• Foxes Fiesta  : Near Saligao Church

• Cafe Bhonsle : Panjim, near the Church of Our Lady of Immaculate Conception.

Foxes Fiesta :  All Day Dining

2/134 A, Pequeno Morod, Saligao, Bardez, On Chogm Calangute Road, Goa

Last year when we were having our breakfast at Ginger, Panjim we encountered a subtle change in the restaurant. The space was sectioned off, it had a name – AULI (As U Like It ) and the food, which we earlier would avoid here, to eat at Kamath’s in Panjim, looked and tasted infinitely superior. The better half studied at the Institute of Hotel Management – Goa and when she nodded on this change for the better, I knew my assessment was accurate. The kitchen door swung open & out stepped a gangly man with a wide friendly smile. It was Briston, a senior from her college, who along with his wife Alka, had taken over the running of this restaurant at the Ginger. No wonder the food was different this time around. It was a typical conversation between two college mates who see each other after a long time. Many names got thrown about and Briston mentioned that being in Goa he could touch base with a lot more of them. One of them was a junior named Savio, who used to work in the kitchens of the Taj. Savio and him were in the process of opening their own independent restaurant at Saligao as partners. They opened in Christmas 2013 to catch the holiday crowd and it was here that Briston invited us.

We rode on our two wheeler from Panjim to Saligao, which is about a half an hour drive across the Mandovi ,passing through Porvorim and then hitting the Calangute road. We passed a few villages in the Bardez district till we saw the magnificent Saligao Church. It stood lit up in the night, in an open field, in preparation for a feast a few days on. Beyond the church, on the main road, in front of a quaint little bungalow, was the glassy two storey facade of “Foxes Fiesta”. We parked in the open courtyard & could immediately see that this was a work in progress, yet a labour of love.

A bare unpretentious dining room with wide open windows that allowed the wind to move about prevented the room from becoming stifling. It was summer in Goa and the room was not air-conditioned. Paper lanterns lit the room and on the whitewashed walls hung paintings reminiscent of the art of the Goan artist Mario. These were by Briston’s brother, who stayed in the bungalow behind the restaurant and offered them for sale. Briston waved us to a table as he circulated through the various guests who were busy chatting and eating. The service boy recommended a Cashew Fenny Mojito. This cocktail was something never tried earlier & we gave it a shot. We called for two starters, one a crumbed fish and the other sliced beef . The fish (Kingfish) came with tartar sauce was so yummy that we forgot the drive and settled in. The bare minimum decor compellingly draws your attention to the food. It can be a very risky strategy if the food is ordinary which this was not. It was delicious. The Fenny Mojito could have been chilled more but was totally refreshing with just the tarty bite that invigorates and cleans your palate. Unwittingly we had landed on the correct drink for the fish and the beef. The beef cut was so beautifully done that biting into it was pure pleasure. The Fenny raised the temperature and we shifted tables to another directly under a ceiling fan. A few more fans would help especially in sultry weather. It won’t take away from the rustic bare appeal of the place that air-conditioning does. 

We were now recommended the dish that Chef Savio has dedicated to his mentor at the Taj, Chef Rego, the coriander prawns. This was truly yum. The fresh coriander crunch in prawns cooked to perfection has a taste that lingers. We had a Goan sausage with bread after that as the main and we were quite full. The portion sizes are sufficient for two and modestly priced. I would have loved another Fenny but had to drive back and decided to err on the side of caution and skip it. Chef Savio stepped outside the kitchen to have a word with Gauri and he looked tired on his feet. It was nearly 11.30 pm about closing time as we wound up. He insisted that we try a dessert and he sent us a mousse that was so delicately done, it just dissolved  The meal was memorable and promised to ourselves to be back with emptier tummies the next time.

We were shown around the place. Briston and Savio have definite plans for the future and the place provides for expanded action. They like prudent businessmen are taking it a step at a time which is wise. The cuisine is simple Goan & Continental fare with a line of starters, mains and deserts plus a line of baked products for starters and mains. Their quiches and pies have had rave reviews, only if our stomachs had permitted. What shall stay with us is a simple unassuming place that had great people at its helm. Good Food and Superb Hospitality. 

Definitely worth a visit because the Chef is very talented & creative while the hospitality is genuine.  

Cafe Bhonsle  (Non Ac ) 

Casa Bhonsle  (AC) :  Lumch & Dinner

Altinho, Panjim, Goa...near Casa Moderna

It is impossible not to pass the Our Lady of Immaculate Conception Church which is the signature image of the city of Panaji or Panjim if one is staying there. We too passed by it many a times while zipping about our local spots and shopping for cashews and fenny on 18^th June Road. Going through the by-lanes of Altinho my route often goes by the simple Casa Moderna which was my mainstay eating joint during my work sojourns in this city. This time around we saw a new Restaurant plate right next to that building with a name as jarring as Cafe Bhonsle. The first thought that hit my mind was what is a Bhonsle doing in Goa? It is such a strong Maratha name that had the purist in me cringing. Then the wife mentioned in my ear that this place comes recommended from friends who had visited earlier. Even then we passed it by the next day and went about our business. After two totally awesome meals at Mums Kitchen, one at Briston & Savio's Foxes Fiesta and one in a shack perched on top of a hillock overlooking the Arambol beach it was our last day in Goa. We had only one meal left which was a lunch. Our natural instinct was to go back to Mums Kitchen again but something prompted us to give this strange sounding restaurant a try. And this was a revelation.

We landed there at about 11.40 am and the restaurant had barely opened up and was going through the motions of setting up for the day’s business. There was just one customer there and the air-conditioned section was empty. The waiters guided us to the glass lined veranda that overlooks the back of the old High Court square and secretariat along with a few ramshackle buildings. In the bright sun the view is nothing to write home about and we came back to a table inside. In the mellow evenings the buildings of Goa assume a life and then it is worthwhile sitting out but the bright sun exposes the wear caused by the elements. And when in a restaurant in Goa one only needs to look outside if the view on the plate is not good enough is a mischievous thought that came to mind. Not true because every city joint cannot boast of a view does not mean they are not good. We had a similar experience at the kooky Cafe Venite’ a few roads off where we had the most remarkable meal. 

A friendly waiter saw us to our new table. The decor is very comfortable, not very well lit but sufficient to soothe ones nerves from the hot sun. We sat and ordered our cool drinks. Iced lemon sodas sweet set us in the correct frame to order. They serve liquor but we were in no mood for it just then. The menu is extensive and one can order ones choice of seafood, meat and chicken, a la carte or in a Thali form. The wife ordered prawns curry rice and I ordered a Fish Thali. Chapati breads are conspicuous by their absence in a typical Goan restaurant and this was no exception. After a wait of 15 minutes the waiter returned smilingly with a huge laden tray of the order. The Prawn curry rice portion is large, seriously large and not for one person. That’s what my wife was eating by herself. It was deliciously steaming in red golden gravy casting an aroma that tantalized the nostrils. 

The Thali that I looked upon was a foodies delight. A Thali is a combination full plate meal by definition. Like in a Buffet when one picks up all the food laid out in one plate and then retires to eat in a corner the Thali comes pre-laid out and in limited quantity. But this Thali costing Rs.169/- was gargantuan. It had a medium sized bowl of white steam rice and in big sized steel vaatis ( bowls ) had one vegetable . One held Kismur ( a salad that is made up of finely chopped onions, grated fresh coconut, laced with a souring agent which could be lemon/sol/vinegar , chopped chillies for the heat and sugar to douse it mixed with dry shrimps) , another held sol kadi ( sol/kokum is a sour fruit and this is a curry made from its liquor spiced with salt chopped coriander whole garlic pods and water. Across the border in Maharashtra the sol kadi substitutes water for coconut milk both first and second extracts )The Goan version is spicier yet cooler. Sol Kadi is important to balance the heat in the spices of the meal and one can sip it straight or mix it with rice. Either way works well. Another vaati held mussels in a green masala. Delicately flavoured the mussels were very fresh and sweetly fleshy. Yet another shallow long bowl held Prawns curry, more curry than prawns for the rice accompaniment. Then there were two large pieces of fried pomfret. This in Mumbai would have set us back in the setting we were in by Rs.750- Rs.1000 without a doubt and may not even have been half as good. Each of the items was beautifully prepared and the waiter hovered over looking after us nquiring over the meal and we were thoroughly impressed. We stopped talking and simply dug in. While Foxes Fiesta was a work in progress as far as the restaurant decor goes this one was the finished article. Cafe Bhonsle as a baby was born fully grown and ready to face the world in its glory. After a leisurely half an hour when both of us had polished off every single morsel and were stuffed the waiter comes over and smilingly persuades us to try their tender coconut souffle. Against our better wishes we found ourselves nodding and straight transported to dessert heaven in just one spoon. Outstanding. That portion too finished and a bill value that was well under a red K note we compliment the owner and walk out. 

Cafe Bhonsle will certainly have us there again the next time. It has superb food and is an outstanding value for money. We recommend it in spades.

Both the places we liked turned out to be near Churches, it is little wonder that eating at both Foxes Fiesta and Cafe Bhonsle turned out to be nothing short of a divinely religious experience, one that we can come out of only by repeating it.