Welcoming Christmas... In a T-shirt: Part 2

Dear Reader,

This is the second post in the "Welcoming Christmas... In a T-shirt" series. To help you with the continuity, you could refer to Post 1

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That first week was merciless. With work making us travel the length of the city, and brokers making up for the breadth, my head was a cacophonous haven for all the taunts and warnings I’d ever been subjected to: “Jab naukri karne lagoge, tab aate dal ka bhaav maloom hoga.” “Ghar pe rehti hai toh ek ungli bhi nahi hilati. Akele rahegi tab pata lagega.” “Jab khud paise kamaoge, tab uski asli keemat pata lagegi.” I’m sure some of you are smirking as you read this. And why not? Every Indian parent has this book titled “Cutting Remarks That Will Stick: How to Deliver for Maximum Impact”. Maybe I missed out on the book meant for the kids.

Day by day, house by house, building by building, my hopes of ever finding a home in this maze they call Mumbai diminished. What increased was a heart-felt dislike for its roads, buildings, cars, people, noise, air, being. Yet, to be fair, between sessions of cursing the company for not providing us with accommodation and cursing the Gods (who wouldn’t listen) for putting me in this situation, I did see sparks of kindness and genuine concern. They might come in the form of a broker’s contact shared by a colleague, or a half-day leave sanctioned for house-hunting. In those days when brokerage and rent agreements were all that I would dream of, even such random acts held great significance.

What really confounded me however, were the “systems” or “policies” or “guidelines.” The systems forbade the Company from providing us with accommodation, the policies (unwritten/unpublished then) deemed any practical solution to our housing problem as unethical, and the guidelines, I suspect, were guiding the interest of a select few. Even in that chaos, I couldn’t help but wonder how systems completely take logical and humane thought out of the equation. In the system, I am reduced to a number… employee number, candidate number, case number, patient number, registration number, marks you got on a subject. You, dear reader, might be smarter and might have realized this earlier, but it hit me real hard how I’ve always been only a number. It started right from the time the youngest edition of me was just released in the world’s markets: Baby Number.

Moment you open your eyes and let out that blood-curdling wail as newborns do, you’re tagged with a number. The number deems insignificant everything that defines you as an individual. And when that individuality is lost, what motivates the person processing these numbers to give his best? To try and see context? To try and see how each number is unique in its own right? You guessed it right… precisely Nothing. And hence, public apathy is born.

**Personally though, I would want to see how China’s Social Credit System pans out. That, after all, is the ultimate system ruled by numbers and rankings**

Enough ranting about systems though. What’s important is that despite the world’s evil plans to make us sleep on the pavement, we managed to find a place we could call home. It stood proud and tall at the top of a not-so-tall building in the middle of a just-a-little swanky neighborhood. All things said, it was a place we instantly fell in love with. And this is where, with drum-rolls, I introduce my flat mates. Two ladies, each so different from the other, yet beautifully similar. One that loves make-up, the other that believes in natural beauty. One that dances with only very special people, the other that usually leads on the dance floor. One that isn’t interested in gossip, the other that has the scoop on everyone’s lives.

Mind you, this was also my first time living in such close confinement with specimens of my own gender. Things were bound to get interesting!

**The girl, who had been busy typing on the laptop, looks up from it and directly into the camera. She can’t help but wink to the world. Well ok, it might not be as good as Priya Prakash Varrier, but it is good enough to convey the message. Screen turns black, focusing on her and the wink, Bugs Bunny style**

Welcoming Christmas... In a T-shirt

Dear Reader,

I have a request for you before you read the following piece. It is a time-traveler request. Imagine yourself transported to Christmas 2017. Do you remember how all the malls, hotels and restaurants were adorned by giant Christmas trees? Can you recall the warmth of fresh waffles and mulled wine against the harsh winter? You can? Then we're all set:

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I’m a Delhi girl.

Why do I begin with this?

Because I’ve never seen a December that isn’t cold. Christmas has always been a time to sip hot coffee through chattering teeth. But this Christmas is different. I’m in Mumbai.

Why am I here, you ask? Well, this is the City of Dreams. Isn’t it? I came here looking to make a name for myself in that most glamorous of industries. True, I haven’t made much headway yet. But I did manage to meditatively gawk at all of my favorite celebrities’ homes, trying to bribe the guards to let me sneak a peek at what lies beyond those massive doors.

Wait. I hope you didn’t buy that! Because I am none of that.

I’m just a regular girl, whose job, like thousands others, has brought her to the city. I work for a company that proclaims itself to be the entertainment provider for our country. And that’s about as close as I can ever get to Bollywood. No, I didn’t want to be here. No, I didn’t ask to be here. No, I don’t yet hate or love the city. But yes, I am here nonetheless.

Coming back to Christmas. It is the Twenty Fourth day of December, the last month in the Two Thousand and Seventeenth year after Christ (24.12.2017). Christmas evening. And I’m sitting here, with the fan speed turned to maximum, with no plans of going out anywhere, turning all my attention to this white sheet of paper that I can’t even touch.

Seems like the perfect time to go into a flashback, right? Don’t worry, it’s only about three weeks. After all, I just arrived!

Caution: It might get a little too depressing for some, but remember, it gets worse before it gets better… the night is darkest before dawn… or some such wise words.

Week 1:

I came with a heavy heart and even heavier suitcases. I’ve never been unhappier about landing in a city. The one-way ticket from Delhi felt like I was going away on a cruise, but didn’t know how long it will be before I see land again. To make matters worse, sea-sickness is a close friend.

That first evening here, my friends made sure I had no time to be homesick. The terrors of house-hunting were still a dim possibility. The possibility of not finding a decent place to stay non-existent. Yet from the way I’m trying to build this up, I’m sure you’ve guessed what’s going to happen yet.

Cut to the next evening, and we’re stranded in the rain. Cyclone Ockhi welcomed us with its arms wide open. Walking in the rain, trying and failing to hail a cab even as I felt the rain slowly drenching me through…the panic I felt rising in my throat…the helplessness and frustration at having spoiled my best office shoes right on day 1… the anger at the entire Ola/ Uber infrastructure just collapsing… I think I’ll remember that evening for a long time to come.

In bed later that night, I couldn’t help but wonder about what has life come to. I questioned myself as to why I was even doing this. What good could this job possibly do if it kept me away from my family? True, in hindsight it sounds a little extreme. But those few hours alone were enough to turn my world upside down and shake it all over.

That week I was staying on the 19^th floor of a building that touched the sky. That’s about sixteen floors higher than any floor I’ve ever stayed on. While this effectively laid out the city below my feet (barring a few proud buildings, who just wouldn’t bend no matter how much I willed them to), it also isolated me (lonely at the top?). I could see the rain fall, but not hear it pitter-patter. I could see the cars crawling around in the streets below, but only hear the loudest of horns. I could see the people, tiny and insignificant as ants. By the way, have you ever seen ants? They are always so busy. Working so hard. But to what end? You don’t know. Neither do you care. That is what I felt for those people. I felt nothing. Now as I write this, I’m left wondering if our politicians see us the same way. Ants?

**Zoom out cinema style; from the girl typing on her laptop, to a view of her from the window, to a shot of the neighborhood she stays in, to a picture of the city all lit up at night, and further...**

(To be continued)

Ilhaam

Honestly, I have never watched any stage plays. Well, just a couple maybe. Never had the luxury, never had the time. But in the past few months, I’ve been witness to two productions by IIMACTS… and trust me, I’m hooked for life. No brownie points for guessing that they are the theatrical society at IIM A. Their latest production, Ilhaam, which roughly translates to 'Inspiration', got me thinking…

The story of a middle-aged man, known to the world as Bhagwan, the play beautifully portrays the constant tussle between myth and reality, order and chaos, the said and the unsaid. The play must’ve meant different things to different people. For me, it symbolises the travails of being different, of not confirming to society, of finally achieving the enlightenment one only hopes and prays and begs for. It symbolises the greatest irony of our life, when even though we profess uniqueness, we are infinitely scared of everything that is different.

Simply put, the play depicts the constant struggle of the mind to be free of all bounds, yet its fear of letting go… The play had it all, it made me cry, it made me fret, made me fear contentment… I sank to the ground with Bhagwan, I danced in step with him.

Ilhaam also gave me food for thought. I could identify with the protagonist at so many levels. Have we never taken decisions that would help us fit in with the crowd? Are we not afraid of looking at things anew? Afraid of challenging what is established? From deciding on what to wear, right up till what profession to choose… all our decisions are dictated by the societal norms. I’d be lying if I claim that these choices have never been thrust upon me. Though choices make us feel like masters of our own destiny, but are we really free to choose?

One of the most poignant moments of the play was when Bhagwan loses his ability to communicate with the outside world. He is happy as long as he inhabits his own utopia… he lovingly chides a bird, has heart-to-heart conversations with a speech-impaired beggar. However, his sheer frustration and fear at not being able to talk to his family, at not being able to get his message across, at seeing his own kids run away from him with terrified shrieks… it is enough to make even the strong-hearted cry. His agony is beyond words. Have we never felt the same helplessness? Have we never felt as if we’re being pulled down under… a leaden weight tied to our ankle… pulling us in the murky depths of the plain and the ordinary? Has our soul never thirsted for the novel? Mine has… and it has felt the same anguish as the protagonist did.

The scene where he takes his “medicine” tugged at my heart. He knows that it hurts him, knows that it numbs his true senses… but he still bears the agony. His love for his family is his sole guiding light. It is his motivation, his destination. The way he reasons with himself over why he needs to take that medicine is akin to how we pacify ourselves when we let go of something that we truly desire. It is how we fool our mind into believing that All is Well (Yes, 3 Idiots).  

However, the one thing that I’ll forever remember the play for is the protagonist’s dance. The slow foot movements, with the sudden jerks up towards the sky, as if the soul wants to break free from all shackles of society… it made my heart melt. It was in that one moment that I truly understood what my struggle is all about.

As I close this post, I find myself humming it…yet again.

I now pronounce you, Corrupt!

I spent this weekend playing the typical tourist in Agra. Armed with my aviators and my hat, I was all set to yet again explore the city I’ve been to a zillion times before. Even though I know all facts about the Taj Mahal by heart (I could take you around all the different monuments and heritage sites like that perfect guide), Agra never ceases to amaze me. Little did I know that I’ll be left with my mouth open, for all the wrong reasons, this time round…

For all pilgrims of the Taj Mahal, a visit to Agra is virtually incomplete without a little side trip to Fatehpur Sikri. To quote Wikipedia “Here he (Akbar The Great) commenced the construction of a planned walled city which took the next fifteen years in planning and construction of a series of royal palaces, harem, courts, a mosque, private quarters and other utility buildings. He named the city, Fatehabad, with Fateh, a word of Arabic origin in Persian, meaning "victorious." It was later called Fatehpur Sikri. It is at Fatehpur Sikri that the legends of Akbar and his famed courtiers, the nine jewels or Navaratnas, were born. Fatehpur Sikri is one of the best preserved collections of Indian Mughal architecture in India.”

After an eventful journey, which involved losing our way and getting stuck in a village, we finally reached the famed ghost city. It was here that I was shocked out of my Mughal dreams. Standing there, on the road, were a few self-proclaimed enforcers of the law, blocking the road to our destination, which was still a couple of kilometers away. “Yaha government parking hai sir. Gaadi iske aage nahi jaegi” , they said. Even as they were saying this, a few cars with smiling tourists made their way through. “Wo local gaadi hai”, they said. As luck would have it, a non-local Rajasthan registered car coasted through just then. Something was definitely wrong with us then. I wondered what.

A heated argument followed involving the usual, raised voices, expletives, angry gesturing, people gathering, shouting, pacifying and still more shouting. We ended up turning back home, without a backward glance. It was only the driver who had the wonderful idea of hiring a guide to take us through.

As I learnt that day, guides not only show you around, they can apparently take you through barricades as well. Heard of VIP access? It can be bought for around INR 300. More if you can’t negotiate, less if you can. And so, with the money promised, our car was suddenly ushered through the same barricade we were earlier stopped at. Forget the non-police thugs even the police is complicit in this appallingly blatant corrupt practice. There, at the next barrier, stood our protectors in Khakhi. From what the guide said, INR 100 was all they took, and we zoomed through.

I’d heard a lot about corruption. I’d read about all the scandals. All the Who’s who of the News arena made sure I was aware of the corrupt practices followed in government offices. But nothing had prepared me for this. For the first time in all my life, I felt helpless. I felt violated. That day, corruption stared me in the face and brought me down to my knees. I gave in. I haven’t been able to digest that defeat.

Everyone talks about corruption that I will probably never deal with in real life. What are the odds that someone like me will actually step into a government office? Pretty slim, to be honest… But no one talks about the corruption that is infinitely more likely to affect my day to day functioning. You can persecute all the government employees you want, but who punishes the milkman who gives me more water than milk for my money. Who punishes the shopkeeper who always weighs me less than the wheat I’m paying for? Who punishes the telecom operator who charges me for services I’ve never even used?

Are we honestly so block-headed that we fail to prioritize between corruption of different kinds? Or are we so stupid to not know what harms us more? So what if people made away with crores during the Common Wealth Games. It affected the public purse to which I had contributed a bit. I didn’t really feel the pinch. So shouldn’t I be more worried about people who directly rob me of my money? I don’t know about you dear reader, but it makes a lot of sense to me.

That is exactly why this incident affected me the way it did. It struck deep and hurt my pride. For a staunch opponent of all things corrupt, this was a big blow. It crippled me in a manner I can’t describe. I know I’m being all emotional about it. But this was my reaction… rage, utter helplessness, despair and disgust, in that same order.

Knowing full well that corruption flourishes only with the connivance of the politicians and the police, there is no one I can complain to. There is no one I can ask for help. What I can do is, get my opinion out to as many people as I can, so that, there is never again a Maanya Gupta, stuck on that road, banging her head against the car window. As for Fatehpur Sikri, we are now like estranged lovers who shall never meet again…  

Tonight...

As I start decorating this beautiful white piece of paper with these beautiful black marks, I have no outline, no points to refer to, no notes I’ve taken… just a little mountain of memories I’ve accumulated in the past eight weeks during my stay in Hyderabad. Please pardon the apparent lack of structure.

Tonight is perhaps THE most important night in the lives of nineteen young college-goers. It is so critical that most of them have given up hope of stealing a few winks. While some have chosen to sing and dance through the hours, others have withdrawn into silent contemplation. People are alternating between strained smiles and bouts of tears. Why is the night so harsh tonight? Because tomorrow we’ll get THE news: whether we’ve proven ourselves worthy of a Pre-Placement Offer from Microsoft.

Never before have had I felt our emotions to be so tangible. Never before have had I felt their presence with such force. I did not ever imagine, even in my wildest dreams that tonight is going to be so charged with nervousness, excitement and stark, naked fear. Every face you turn to has a strange shadow cast upon it… a shadow of doubt, of uncertainty, of anxiety.

In these few last moments before the final decision is announced, I wish to write about my journey and share my experience with everyone who has cared to read this far.

Ever since our selection for the internship, we had been accorded the status of demi-Gods in our college. Microsoft (MS) is a really big deal for students from IGDTUW. It is one of the best companies that offer campus placements to us. Each year, its arrival is awaited with bated breath. You get the picture…

I came here with certain ideas, certain assumptions and certain expectations. All of these were soon turned on their head and here I was, bang in the middle of GD Sparks (as the interns are called). Within no time, even before we realized it, our project was in deep red. We were facing severe team issues. We had a difficult customer. We could find no one to guide us with the technologies we were using. In short, we were dead meat.

However, I learnt the importance of optimism. This single trait of my otherwise not-so-interesting personality helped me handle all situations. Being stubbornly hopeful about the future helps you in times when all else fails. It is like a self-fulfilling prophecy, you believe in it and it becomes true. At times when no one else could see even a single ray of hope for our project, I saw the bright and brilliant Sun.

I learnt the importance of disconnecting from work and maintaining the quintessential work-life balance. With the kind of schedule the interns had, it was easier said than done. It took every ounce of self-discipline that my darling mother had drilled into me in the past two decades. Mastering your mind is key for maintaining your focus.

I learnt the art of accepting feedback and then working towards my development areas (not weaknesses, as Sreekanth Sir would always point out). If any of my juniors happen to be reading this, please underline this point. It isn’t always easy to accept feedback without clouding it with your own perception. But honestly, it is one of the best acts someone can do for you. If someone gives you feedback, it means they care enough about you to think for you. I was fortunate to have Sunil Sir as my mentor. If you read this sir, thank you!

Not only is getting the feedback important, working towards improving upon the identified areas is equally important. I did that with every fiber of my being. It was like I had a single point agenda: Improve. And improve, I did.

The corporate sector demands you to continuously learn and apply. That is how you work. You get placed in a project about which you have zero knowledge. You do not have the time for a ramp-up. So you simply learn and apply. Learn some more and do some more. You don’t need to be Einstein.  You just need to learn.

I learnt the benefits of good company. Good friends are there to pull you out of your chair when you refuse to have lunch. They are there to help you out when you get stuck. They are there to give you sane advice. They are there to have insane fun.

Looking back, I think all of us have grown as individuals. These sixty days can never be forgotten. They’re indelible marks on our character. It does not matter if I get the much-coveted PPO or not. What I’ve gained here goes much beyond that. It can’t be caged in words, nor shaped into expressions…

Breathing Delhi- I

Tragedy brought me to Delhi. Eyes swollen with unshed tears, long dark hours filled with misery at the loss of a loved one and the refusal to believe that he was no more… these were my companions even as our car rolled into the maze and confusion of Delhi. Terrified at the prospect of a new school with new kids, a new society filled with new families, a new city with a new soul, I found solace only in my family’s warm presence. 

I have never been the type to share my sorrows, never been the one to cry openly; so I took it all, bundled it into a box of try-to-forget memories and shoved it in the deepest corner of the never-to-be-opened trunk. Shuddering at the word ‘new’, I took baby steps into my new world.

Little did I know then that these baby steps will transform into confident strides in no time. And this is what I love about Delhi; from someone who was crazy scared of even talking to boys, I’ve been transformed into an independent and fearless individual. From a compulsive detester of anything ‘new’, I’ve grown up to embrace both the new and the different.

First day at school, I had my first brush with the Delhi style of being. Meeting my classmates, I felt a sense of belonging. The smiles came easily, the laughter soon followed. Even the kids of this amazing city know all the tricks of winning over people. The city has an un-describable charm… it makes you feel like you’re home. With its friendly but often misinterpreted people, Delhi welcomed me with open arms, offering me unconditional love.

Ironically, I’m miles away from my city as my fingers fly over the keyboard. Maybe this is why I’m missing her all the more. During lunch-time discussions about Dilli with my new-found Hyderabadi friends, the differences emerge stark and clear. While Delhi has a dude-like chalta hai attitude, I find people elsewhere perpetually worried about one thing or the other. Over the years, Delhi has taught me to take each day as it comes, relishing the candy grains of time. As my school sweatshirt puts it; we have a ‘pause-itive’ attitude.

Each moment, my city pulsates with the energy of a million cricket crazy fans glued in to an India-Pakistan match. As contagious as it is, this energy makes Delhi the city that never sleeps, the city that never sighs, the city that parties each night yet wakes up for office on time. It is this perpetual flow of adrenaline that makes me who I am… When I breathe, I breathe Delhi...

To be continued… :) 

Newton's Laws-Part 3

It has almost been a month now that we have been talking about Newton and his three laws… and we’re almost through. Understanding the Third Law took me a little longer than expected… not because it was difficult but because of the mundane simplicity of this law.

Newton’s Third law states: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

In school your teacher must have given you the typical example of how you experience a kick when you shoot a rifle. It is nothing but the sheer force of propelling the bullet forward that pushes you backward. See Newton’s law working here? The action (sending the bullet whizzing through the barrel) had an equal and opposite reaction (pushing back the shooter with a not-so-negligible force).

How do we apply it to real life?

Let us do some simple Math. If you and me, both of us have 10 apples and I give you one from my stock… how much is the difference between the apples we have now? Two… right? What happened? How did the transfer of one apple magnify the difference two times? The logic is fairly easy to understand. When I gave you one apple, not only was it equivalent to an increment in your stock but also a decrement in my stock. Hence, one action on your stock had an equal and opposite reaction on my stock of apples.

We can apply the same analogy to our habits. Forming one good habit is also equivalent to kicking one bad habit. Say, you used to smoke 2 cigarettes per day. Reducing it by one has a dual effect. You harm yourself a little less by smoking only one and further benefit your health by not smoking the other one (though this doesn’t mean I support smoking… it is a strict No-No).

Take another example… most young people my age find fighting with their parents a rather amusing activity. Let us say that for one day we took a vow not to argue with them. What happens? Not only do we escape a day filled with sarcastic taunts and angry outbursts, we also experience peace and a certain sense of joy. You see the dual benefit here?

How does it help us?

Newton’s third law gives us this simple formula:

One bad thing less, two good things more

(This seems to be a less elegant version of the maxim adopted by the animal of Animal Farm by George Orwell… Anyone read it?)

#1 Identify the good and the bad that you do. Contrary to our expectations and wishes, life rarely has grey areas. Classify your actions in black and white.

#2 Identify the black habit which can be turned white with the least effort.

#3 What are you waiting for? Turn it white!!!

These three simple steps will guarantee your success in life. And why not… don’t we know that good things come in small packages?

With this we come to the end of the Newton series. I know not if you enjoyed it as much as I did… but even if you didn’t, give these laws a try… they just might help.

Based on the awesome inspirational posts at successify.net

Foodster

Girls love to talk. Talks give expression to experiences. And experiences ought to be shared. What follows is a candid confession of a foodie in their own words (I did not even edit it!). Trust me, there is nothing like listening to a food lover talk about food. They describe it as a writer would describe his characters, like an artist paints his imagination, like a performer expresses himself through his dance. They surround you with the aroma, let your taste buds tingle and make your mouth water… with praises of what they ate and you could not. This one should rather be termed as the one-stop guide for food in the Golden city of Amritsar.

Warning: Do not be stumped by the number of delicacies sampled or the amount of food eaten. After all they say, when in Punjab, do as Punjabis do!

At the impossibly narrow Katra Ahluwalia, adjacent Jalianwalla Bagh, a Jalebi shop of no name sells the best in town. Faint-hearted tourists often get pointed towards Novelty at Lawrence Road for the best Chaat (Aloo Tikkis are made with onions and black gram and with the potatoes shallow fried even before they are made into tikkis and fried again – no don’t watch calories here) and Jalebis. But this is the ‘it’ place.

Outside the temple, there are shops selling Badiyan (made from dried Urad dal seasoned with a variety of things, including guava) and Aloo Papad, another traditional treat. I stop to pick up a bundle, and upon inspection, find the papads to be exactly what you’d buy in Benares. The shopkeeper, one Mr. Aggarwal ji, whose family has been in the city for 200 years, offers a plausible explanation: women from UP traditionally settled in this town have been running this thriving home-business.

The rickshaw puller keeps up a constant chat: The best Milk Barfi is to be found at the Longewala Mata Mandir near the Golden Temple, he tells me, and then takes me to Gyan Halwai, opposite DAV College, for Lassi. When it arrives, the frothy concoction topped with cream, in big steel tumblers, is intimidating. I can barely manage a quarter of a glass.

The walled city around the Golden Temple, the oldest part of Amritsar (look here for flights to Amritsar), is vegetarian. So, are some of the oldest dhabas here. Bharawan Dhaba (thus called because it was set up by two brothers) was established in 1912 by Jagannath Vij, well before the Partition exodus made eating out acceptable. According to Vij’s grandson, who now mans this destination, in the earlier days, people would get their atta (wheat) and ghee and other ingredients and merely have these cooked here. Today, of course, this is a bustling enterprise. House special- Dal Makhani is cooked in a copper vessel for an entire night. This place gives you a whiff of nostalgia even if the setting has pastic-y table tops.

The other such haven for food-freaks is Kesar ka Dhaba but I am still in a stupor before the rick takes me to Hindu College, next to which stands another Amritsari favourite: Ahuja Lassi. In the mornings, you can sample their famous Kesar ki Lassi—flavoured with saffron (saffron “threads” are ground and mixed with milk before the yoghurt is set) but even the usual non-flavored glass is creamy and lip-smacking.

Having finally junked the rick, I head out to Lawrence Road for some non-vegetarian treats. The Tawa Meatwallah near Adarsh Talkies has shut down, Beera’s chicken (for tandori style treats) at Manjithia Road is still the best place for fowl, but Surjeet, mentioned in Lonely Planet and a favourite with Bollywood stars, is clearly thriving. Instead of the small fish shop that he started out with near the railway station, there is now a new “restaurant”, air-conditioned, where you can sample Surjeet Singh’s delicacies. We try the Amritsari fish (the Ista version is better), the totally fabulous mutton tikka (instead of the plain tandoori version, this one comes coated in a secret masala having been fried on a hot iron griddle as well after being over-roasted), first-rate tandoori chicken and soft, fluffy aloo kulchas. We are full and not just with Amritsari pride.

Back at Ista, next day is a relatively simple affair: Simple? Well, that’s not possible in this city. A lunch of Chole Kulche gets transformed to a gourmet meal thanks to what arrives at our table: Chickpeas in a curry that can only be attributed to another world — or to Amritsar’s partiality towards delicacies.

 I hope you loved this food blog. Like I said... experiences should be shared! Happy Eating!