Confessions of a Father

I have learned more about automobiles than about anything else after I heard about my wife's pregnancy. The biggest fear that a man has at that critical juncture of life (especially if it's your first time) is - how the hell am I going to drive my whale of a wife through the traffic of this city to the hospital? What if there is a traffic jam? What if there is a political rally? I can tell you that I had personally measured the time I would take to drive from my residence to the hospital at six different times of the day - twice. I knew exactly how many humps and potholes were there on the road, which were the various puncture shops and which are the traffic lights which I could safely jump, if required. While my wife was reading 'What To Expect When You Are Expecting', I was reading 'Know Your Car'.

Selecting a baby name is also a difficult job. First things first, no one likes 'common' names these days. How dare someone call my baby 'Rakesh', or 'Sunita'? I will not pour tar on my baby's destiny by selecting such a boring name. I'll call her 'Anjini'. Why? Because it sounds so cool. And have I spared a thought for her son, who would curse me for naming her mom after the mother of Hanuman? Ok, I'm too old-school. What if it's a boy? How does the name 'Nibodh' sound? I have to say it sounds wonderful. In fact a single-key typo, and it would sound more wonderful.

Those of my readers who have already been through the experience that I am talking about would know about this dreadful phase where your wife has these post-pregnancy mood-swings. Utensils fly. You sleep on the couch. At midnight, you shudder to see your wife standing in front of the open door of the fridge, and you ask yourself - "is that who I think it is?" These mood-swings are a little intriguing. The doctor warned me of these, and said, "Think of it this way. All her young, irresponsible days of having fun and frolic are going to take a back seat. She is going to feel the responsibility of a whole new life from now on. It's natural to feel a little shaken up, don't you think?" I smiled at the doctor genially, saying "Of course, of course", but I thought to myself - my days of Playstationing and hanging out with friends and watching Kung-Fu movies shall happily continue, I presume?

"This is your baby too" is a statement which is widely heard in bedrooms all over the world during this phase. "I can easily tell you think this is only my responsibility" is another. Now, as much as you would like to say something, the doctor has sealed all possible routes of the mildest of protests by recruiting you as your wife's "emotional companion through this very important phase of her life". Yeah, rrrright!

Then comes the baby. It's a wonderful feeling, those little fingers, those closed eyes, bundle of joy and all that - till suddenly you realize that for the first time in your life, you haven't slept for four days and four nights - straight. The emotional shock of that and the inability to do anything about it and most importantly, the prospect of that routine continuing for the next month or so, scares the hell out of you. I rushed to my mom, who used to pester me so much for a grandkid and demanded why she never spoke of this aspect of parenthood. In the cruelest of responses ever heard on real life or reel life, she says, "Would you have walked into it, had I told you?" That's villainous, simply put.

As the baby grows, so do your expenses. Let's talk about the vaccines. Here's a direct quote from the doctor on one visit - "I'd like to speak to you about this new revolutionary vaccine. It is a recommended preventive for blah-blah-blah disease, and has been found highly effective. It's absolutely optional but four out of five babies who have not taken this vaccine have died." Now, when we were in school, we had learnt about this figure of speech called Antithesis and this is one of the finest examples of that. You cannot use 'optional' and 'your baby might die' in the same sentence. When I ask about the price (much to the chagrin of my wife), the doctor tells me "It's a little on the higher side because it comes directly from Australia". When the price is finally quoted to me, I am forced by my knowledge of my financials to tell my wife in a soft consultative whisper - "Honey, you or I didn't take this vaccine, we turned out just fine?" - and she looks at me like I'm a cold hearted butcher, incongruous of being called a father. We take the vaccine....errr....every month.

When your baby cries in the night, the acting of deep slumber that ensues between both parents is a performance worthy of any number of Oscars. It is a waiting game - who would move first? You lie still, and take deep breaths, just as you would when you're sleeping like a log. The crying gets louder, the neighbour's dog starts barking and one of the two parents (usually the mother) finally relents. She picks up the baby, and in an unnecessarily loud voice, tries soothing the baby, thus taking her revenge on the sleeping partner. You woke me up, I'm not gonna let you sleep either. On other nights, when she is particularly tired, she would simply poke you on the rib, with full knowledge of the difference between voluntary and involuntary reflexes. A strategically placed pillow or heavy quilt typically helps, but even God can't save you from the wrath or innovation of a woman who is hell bent on waking you up.

Sometimes, the baby sleeps with you in the same bed. On one such night, I woke up, and switched the bed lamp on to see that my son had woken up, and had managed to sit upright, and was staring at me. I don't know how to explain it - the beauty of the sight was such that I couldn't move for a minute or two. During this time, he just kept staring at me. And then he smiled. One of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. I smiled back, and patted him lightly on his back, and he promptly lay down by my side, put his tiny hand on my chest and went to sleep. I switched off the bed lamp, still smiling in the dark, feeling proud to be a father.

Five Rare Pancham Gems

Many people have many opinions about RD Burman. I'm of the opinion that he is a fantastic example of how one can be good at both classical as well as western music, and how one does not need to choose. It is the same person who has created "Beeti Naa Bitayi Raina" and "Doston Se Pyaar Kiya - Shaan Se". In fact he was so adept at both, that he could use both classical and western music in the same song - giving two distinct flavors to the song. A wonderful example of this is the song "Meri Nazar Hai Tujh Pe" from the movie 'The Burning Train'. Anyways, today, my intention is to share with you five rare songs of RD Burman - such songs as you may have heard, but may have forgotten. If I am able to rekindle the love that you have always had for this great composer by making you remember (and perhaps hum) these songs, I shall consider my article successful.

1.   O Mehki Mehki Thandi Hawa (Bombay To Goa)

   I am sorry to have begun with a composition which was not really his own [Listen to "Help Me Rhonda" by The Beach Boys to know what I mean]. But hey, we all liked this song when we first heard it, didn't we? Who cares about The Beach Boys? Long live RD!

2.   Shikwa Koi Tumse (Dhan Daulat)

   This song is a recreation from one of RD's own Bengali compositions. The original one was used in a Bengali movie titled "Troyee" [meaning - The Trio]. I like the use of the accordion, saxophone and violins in this song.

3.   Dil Kya Hai, Ek Sheesha Hai (Lava)

   Music lovers, particularly serious Bollywood music lovers, are able to name the music director of a song, even if they have never heard that song before. Music directors have certain - how shall I say - 'signatures'. RD had his own. One of his several signatures has been used in this song, starting at 0:20.

4.   Nadiya Kinare Pe (Barsaat Ki Ek Raat)

   Shakti Samanta made a Bengali movie named 'Anusandhan' with Amitabh Bacchan (perhaps his only Bengali movie), Rakhee and Amjad Khan. The movie became such a big hit, that he decided to make it in Hindi as well, shot-for-shot. The result was 'Barsaat Ki Ek Raat'. Somehow, this one didn't click. The songs of the original one are beautiful and all superhits. When these songs were translated into Hindi, they lost their charm. For instance, this song was translated from a Bengali one 'Otho Otho Surjai Re', meaning 'Rise, oh sparkling sun'. All said and done, the music is vintage RD.

5.   Kaun Kisiko Baandh Saka? (Kaalia)

   This jailbreak song, which captures the essence of Bollywood so well, is rarely heard, but has such an enchanting theme, that you feel like you are right there in the scene. A great number by Mohd. Rafi and hats off to RD.

   RD - the versatile genius could create music of all kinds, and what he has left us with is a treasure trove of wonderful melodies. It is said that music can dissolve all your sorrows. While that is true, I sometimes feel sad when I hear an RD song, thinking what a great loss his absence is to the world of entertainment. But I think you'll agree with me when I say this - as long as there is a Pancham, we will always remember Pancham.

Valentine's Day & Me

This morning, I woke up and said in a soft whisper to my wife - "Happy Valentine's Day!" and immediately my 9-month old son decided to empty his bladder on me. That is when I decided to reminisce about a few memorable Valentine Days of my life, because clearly, I wasn't going to have a memorable one this year.

The small town, where I grew up, had two famous schools - Don Bosco School for boys, and Little Flower School for girls. While some of the guys and girls with a more liberal outlook (and parents) could meet from time to time, we baboons could hardly get a date. And when we did manage to get one, oh what a date that would be! The first point of preparation would be to find a suitable gift. Now, I don't know about the rest of the folks, but my mother used to manage my pocket money with the strictness of the Gestapo, leaving me hardly anything to fend for myself, let alone get a gift for a girl. Also, much to my misfortune, both the demand side (the girls had expensive choices) and the supply side (Archies Gallery was more expensive than the Louvre Gallery) were not in my favour. I would, more often than not, be compelled to choose a 4" X 6" greetings card, saying 'Will you be my Valentyne?'

After getting the greetings card, I had to summon all my creativity to write something on it. I had asked one of my friends for some ideas, and he had told me that he usually writes the lyrics of some famous song. So, on my first date, I wrote the first two lines of 'Chup Chaap Baithi Ho Zaroor Koi Baat Hai' on the card, only to be abandoned by my date midway between our rendezvous. I was later told by the same advisor friend that he meant 'English' songs, and that the particular song that I had written was being used as a melody in an advertisement for sanitary napkins.

The next item on the agenda was the perfume. After being educated about the difference between a gentleman's perfume and a lady's perfume on the first one or two dates, I realized that stealing my mother's perfume wasn't such a great idea. I switched to the neighbour's son, whose family had a garments shop in the town market, and who never cared to study because he knew where he was headed, and who had an impressive collection of perfumes (and everything else).

After all the preparations, when the auspicious time did come, I could hardly speak. I have stage fright even today, but this was something different. I remember I always used to choose a restaurant for my dates, because having a toilet nearby used to be my primary necessity. The girl would often start the conversation. In those days, "what is you favourite movie?" used to be an often-asked question. I don't know why my dates would get so pissed off with my choice of favourite movies. I ask you, dear reader -  can "Baiju Bawra", "Udan Khatola", "Patal Bhairavi", "Shaheed Bhagat Singh" and similar classics be branded as bad movies, by any definition?

Anyways, those were my Valentines Days. Coming to think of it, I'm quite happy with this Valentine's Day, which I'm gonna spend with my lovely wife and lovelier kid. The day is about love, after all :-)

Back To Basics

There used to be a time when things used to run smoothly in this country, and people used to have values which our former rulers had instilled within us. The rulers departed, and gradually but surely, even the values they had taught us to respect faded away. Nobody talks about punctuality these days, for instance. The younger brother of the Maharaja of Cooch Behar once arrived at the railway station to catch a train. In those days, the Imperial Railways used to ply long distance trains between Kolkata and what is now known as Assam. The Maharaja's brother looked at his watch when the train pulled into the station, and saw that the train was late by 10 minutes. He immediately took his watch off his wrist and threw it onto the tracks. Such was the confidence that people had in the Imperial Railways. Today, when almost everything is in a downward spiral, punctuality isn't the first thing on people's mind. I have a feeling it hardly features on people's minds anymore.

Take quality of service for example. When I was a kid, my father used to take me to a certain tailor shop, where we used to get our clothes stitched. The tailor, you will be surprised to know, never used to take my measurements (or those of my father). He used to look at me with a quick glance, and used to give my father a delivery date. In my 14 years of taking services from the tailor, his clothes have never been a misfit. The other day, my wife took me shopping and I had to wait in a long queue outside the trial room in a well-known retail store. I didn't mind, and waited patiently, and tried the trousers which I had asked to be altered in length. Unfortunately, after around 20 minutes of waiting, I found that the trouser was too short. To cut a long story short, after three more such alterations, almost two and half hours of waiting and 350 bucks spent on an unnecessary pizza, I finally gave up. I still wear those trousers to work, and am extremely displeased when people look at my exposed socks.

You buy a Digital TV subscription, and the sales team will speak to you like the entire planet has suddenly been deprived of oxygen due to some apocalyptic catastrophe and you are the biggest hoarder of the precious gas. Once you make the payment and they have said "Have a nice day", the fun starts. I sometimes take notes on the difference of behavior between the sales team and the service team of a provider, and refer to them during my lonely moments, for entertainment.

I'm not saying things haven't improved in certain areas. Of course they have - I'm not blind, or bitter. But I wouldn't care less for people who came and told me that we live in wonderful times. It's time they opened their eyes and confronted reality, and better still, tried and changed it.

Baba

I had once asked my father, with a lot of grief and angst in my heart and tone, "Why don't you ever talk to me like a friend, like Sunny's father does?" I was 14 then. Sunny was a friend of mine in school. His father seemed to us boys like the best "dad" in the world. Sunny's dad was always so nice to us, throwing us parties, taking us out to picnics, giving us chocolates and comics. We used to wonder, if this man was so nice to us, what a lucky guy Sunny must be! Whereas my Baba used to be strict with not only me but with my pals as well. He once scolded a good friend of mine for an extremely trivial reason. I used to suffer in silence at some times and rebel on some occasions. On one such occasion, I posted the aforementioned question to my father. I remember he didn't answer. I remember he spent a long time, a very long time indeed, sitting in his favourite chair in silence.

It was not that Baba couldn't be cool. He liked movies and himself came from a background of Theatre and Music. He was the son of a teacher and he was very close to his father, despite being one of ten children. Baba had a strange way of doing even the most ordinary things. He had, what I can best describe as, "ideas". For instance, if a light bulb would burst, he could, instantaneously and on-the-spot, create a short poem about it and make Maa and me laugh. He would always take me along when he used to go to the market. He used to tell me, "Look around you, so many people, accumulated at one place, to trade. People from different classes, with different budgets, with different problems and satisfactions, all gathered together at one place, all gathered as equals." Most of the times, I wouldn't pay attention, and would be peeping into the nearby kite-shop. On other times, I would actually listen, and be amazed. Baba used to go to work everyday, without fail. I have never seen him take a sick leave, EVER. When the Mahabharat was being telecast, Baba used to watch it closely, and used to tell me, "Imagine how powerful the story is, it's thousands of years old, but even today, it beats every movie and becomes a traffic-stopper."

We didn't live in an abundance of wealth, but were reasonably satisfied with whatever we had. My upbringing was soaked in literature, mythology, sports and music, and Baba, with his background, had a big part to play in it. We used to watch the movies of Satyajit Ray together, and we used to discuss and comment on a movie after having watched it. His favourite movie was "Bancharamer Bagan" by Tapan Sinha, and he could discuss the movie for hours. On Sundays, I used to watch He-Man. Baba used to look at it in disgust, but he never prohibited me from watching (I think Maa had something to do with that). He did, however, throw me out of the house when a book titled "The World's Most Notorious Women" was discovered from my possessions.

When I reached my teens, Baba suddenly changed. He became grumpy, unnecessarily strict and wasn't cool anymore. At first, I was clueless as to why that would happen. Later, I attributed it to problems at his work. He was so bitter, that I honestly didn't want to talk to him anymore. He had a scooter, which he used to park inside the house. Since there were two steps leading to the house, he had got a wooden plank made, which would act as an "inclined plane". When he used to return from office, I used to help him push the scooter up the plank and onto the veranda. When I reached 15, I stopped doing it. I found the job too lowly and embarrassing. A friend of mine had given me an amazing cassette of Rock music, and I used to listen to it day in and day out. And pausing the heightened crescendo of the music to come and push my father's bulky old scooter didn't seem like an attractive proposition to me. So, Baba used to do it alone.

One March morning a few years ago, when I had just come out of a lovely warm shower in a hotel in New York, I got a call from my wife that my father has passed away. I won't lie - I didn't weep. I even watched a movie (Aladdin) on the flight back home. Three hours after landing, I went to the hospital to claim Baba, and then took him to the cremation. After the cremation, my father-in-law and I drove to Srirangapatnam to immerse the remains, because there's no river in Bangalore. Then I came back, and sat down with Maa. Not once during those days did I weep. Months later, when I was sitting in silence during one of my "do-nothing" phases, I remembered the question I had asked my father. It was then that I wept. For I realized I was wrong. My father had always been nothing but a friend to me - checking me and stopping me and my pals when we were about to do something wrong, correcting me when I would swear, teaching me the amazing power which a simple market holds in equating people, educating me about the principles of our ancient culture, showing me the value of punctuality, educating me about the sincerity with which one should approach one's occupation. I may not have learnt half of what he taught me, but he tried. Last night, I dreamt of my father sitting in his favourite chair in silence, perhaps thinking about the piercing question I had put to him. I realize now the gravity of those moments of silence. I have nothing but awe and respect for those precious moments of silence. I realize now that it wasn't he who had changed when I reached my teens. The change had happened in me, and it had scared him. He could have answered that question that day, but perhaps he knew that I wouldn't understand. Perhaps he had left me with the question so that I can find an answer to it myself someday.

I think I'm gonna go now. I can hear my son crying in the other room. I think he needs me :-)

An Embarrassing Experience

Like many men of my age, I was pretty scared at the prospect of becoming a "daddy". I believe this fear had its roots in the post-adolescent self-realization of what immense trouble I had been to my father. But, as luck would have it, I am a daddy too, now. But that's not the central crux of this story - it's just the pillar on which the premise of this story is based. Now, not very long ago, two events happened in my life, at the same time, which set in motion, among other things, one of the strangest and most embarrassing events that I have encountered. I got promoted at work, and my wife Sweta got pregnant. The fact that I was scared of the huge responsibilities that come with parenthood must have prohibited my wife from sharing the news with me immediately. I, on the other hand, came home and broke the good news from work to her. We celebrated, with me completely ignorant of the fact that there was something else I needed to think about.

Enter, my mother-in-law. Even today, I cannot imagine why my wife had broken the baby news to her, and not the promotion one. So here was I, who knew about the promotion but not about the baby. And there was my mother-in-law, who knew about the baby, but not about the promotion. Under such circumstances, she called me to congratulate me (on the baby, of course), and the most remarkable conversation happened. I have tried to be true to my memory:

MIL:  Hello Bhaskar, congratulations!

ME:   Thank you, thank you, maa :-)

MIL:  Such a wonderful piece of news! I'm so happy for you.

ME:   Yes :-) Indeed, I'm happy too.

MIL:  Of course you are happy. We are all so, so happy. So when did you get to know?

ME:   Well, I had an idea it was coming, but the final confirmation came yesterday.

MIL:  Really?!! Very good, very good. Finally, I'll have some reason to come to Bangalore and celebrate.

ME:    Why, of course, maa! Please come down, we'll celebrate.

MIL:   Sure, sure. I have been praying for this day for such a long time.

ME:    Yes, this was long due.

MIL:   Ah, NOW you are admitting that this should have happened long time back? I don't understand your generation. Why do you have to take so much time for such things?

ME:   Well, these things are never easy, maa. There's a lot of hard work required. It takes time.

MIL:  Yeah, I know THAT!

ME:   Plus, only hard work isn't sufficient. To some extent, you need luck as well.

MIL:  Yes, ahem......luck does play a big role.

ME:    But I'm not saying that I don't deserve it. After all, there're no shortcuts to these kinds of success. But there are other factors as well.

MIL:   I'm sure there are.

ME:    For instance, motivation. Why do you think we're seeing this success today? It's because I just love doing what I do every day. I do it with a feverish passion. The excitement is something which I really enjoy and look forward to.

MIL:   By the way....

ME:    And then, there are other things which play important parts.

MIL:   Really, like what?

ME:   Visibility, for instance. It's not enough that I am good at what I do. It's important to SHOW others that I am good at it. Only then will I be recognized as a true performer. Only then will I be in demand.

MIL:   Bhaskar.....ok then.....I have to go to the kitchen......

ME:    And finally,of course, without encouragement from my boss, this would not have been possible at all. She is the one who motivated me to do this.

MIL:   Accha?!!

ME:    Absolutely! If she would not have recognized my talents over the years, you and I would not have been having this conversation. Not only did I make her recognize my talents, I actually went to the extent of ensuring that she benefits from them. And I can tell you, she is VERY happy with my performance.

MIL:   .........

ME:    Hello, maa? Hello? Hello??

A Trip To Coorg

My wife and I have been thinking of visiting Coorg for quite a few years. Truth be told, we were hesitating to make this trip because we had heard conflicting reviews. After about five years of deliberating, we said to ourselves "there's only one way to find out", and set out for Coorg for a four-day trip. Thursday Jan 26 being a holiday, I took leave on Friday, and had four full days to relax. My wife, Sweta, did all the planning and bookings. She was very clear that she wanted to stay in a homestay, because we had heard about Coorgi hospitality and cuisine. The crux of the plan was this - Day 1: start for Coorg from Bangalore, reach there and relax in the estate where we had our booking. Day 2: visit one or two local attractions. Day 3: Pure unadulterated relaxation. Day 4: Drive back to Bangalore through the famous Nagarhole National Park. On Jan 26, my son Limu, Sweta, my driver and I started off.

The distance to Coorg (door-to-door) is 245 kms. From my residence in Sarjapur Road we took the Electronics City flyover and then the Nice Road to hit Mysore Road. Driving through Ramnagaram (where the famous "Sholay" was shot), Mandya, Maddur and the historic town of Srirangapatna, we bypassed Mysore city and hit the Hunsur highway. This by-pass is easy to miss. Look for the huge signboard that says "Thank You for Visiting Srirangapatnam". The by-pass is the first right turn after this signboard. After leaving Hunsur behind, we reached a Y-junction where we took a left towards a place called Gonikoppal. Gonikoppal, I was later told, is an important commercial town for South Coorg. We looked for the 'More' department store in Gonikoppal, and took the first right turn after the store to hit the Pollibetta Road. After about 3 kms, we saw a sign saying "Victory Homes - Brigadier Ponnappa", and we followed the signs through a huge coffee estate, till, just like the curtains get drawn out from over a cinema screen, a beautiful bungalow appeared before us, nested on a hillock. We had reached our homestay, and the ever smiling Kaveri Ponnappa, the Brigadier's wife, was waiting for us.

I'll take a few words to describe Victory Homes, because this is important. The bungalow is in the middle of a huge coffee estate (4 acres). The bungalow itself was constructed about 20 odd years back. It's a two-storey affair, with 2 rooms with attached baths on the top floor, and a drawing room, dining room, pantry, store and 2 bedrooms with attached baths in the ground floor. The Brigadier (retired) and his wife live in one of the bedrooms in the ground floor, and the other three bedrooms are let out for homestay. The entire house has a woman's touch, with simple yet beautiful decorative pieces of brass, wood and glass scattered systematically all throughout the house. My wife liked the Pooja-room so much that she made me promise that we would get replicas of everything that the room contained. The bar was well-maintained. The rooms themselves were simple affairs. No unnecessary zwing-zwangs, and yet they had everything for comfort. No televisions. The house was surrounded on two sides by a garden and an orange orchard. A lilly pond flanked the house on the left, and the backyard had the kitchen, a couple of garages, the water tower, store rooms, workshop and two kennels. The estate itself had woods full of coffee-plants in full bloom, orange orchards, four ponds, several servants' quarters, engine and generator rooms and an area where coffee-beans are dried. I will not mince my words - if I were to be asked to spend a month in that estate without venturing out, I wouldn't complain. There's no sound of traffic, only the chirping of birds in the day and the sound of cricket (errr....you know what I mean) in the night. One day, I even heard a Nepali plucker happily singing "Teri adaaon pe marta hoon, LOVE, tujhe LOVE main karta hoon" with wild abandon, completely ignorant of the fact that I was watching him.

I could understand why I had heard conflicting reviews of Coorg. If you go there with the expectation that you'll do a lot of sight-seeing, you'll be disappointed. The points of interest are (a) pretty far apart from each other, and (b) nothing great. There're the Abbey Falls, the Tibetan monastery near Kushalnagar, the Dubbare Elephant camp and the Thalacauvery temple, which is said to be the origin of the river Cauvery. My driver Prakash went to visit this place all by himself and offered pooja. When I asked why, he described how his elder brother had built a house in the village and the borewell was not giving any water, and how his brother and his wife had offered pooja at Thalacauvery and had gone back to find that the borewell was spewing divinely sweet water. When I asked him if someone was still drilling during the time this pooja was being offered, he answered in the affirmative, but vehemently denied the remotest possibility of hitting water without such pooja being offered. When I asked him to at least explain why he had boarded two wrong buses while returning from Thalacauvery to Victory Homes and ended up missing his dinner and almost getting bitten by the dog, he realized that his employer was a devout disbeliver in organized religion and gave up. Moving on, don't go to Coorg expecting a Darjeeling or Ooty. If you're interested in lazing around, taking a refreshing walk amidst nature, admiring a flower you've never seen before, or hearing ripe fruits falling from trees into a pond, or seeing the wings of a dragonfly shining in the sunlight, chances are, you'll like Coorg. If you get happiness out of simple things that you've not done in a long time, like making a paper boat and sailing it in a brook, or pelting stones into a pond or falling asleep on a verdant lawn, then you'll like Coorg. The cuisine is great, and tastes better when Mrs. Ponnappa holds Limu while my wife and I eat! The hot breakfast in the mornings are particularly mouth-watering. I felt the meals are a tad expensive, but the affection with which she cooked them for us perhaps justified the price. The Brigadier, a thoroughly well-read golf-loving gentleman, gave me company during the evenings. We discussed my love for cinema, his love for golf, we discussed the contributions made by the British to this country and I took tips for my retirement home from him.

We did end up visiting Orange County, an extremely overpriced luxury resort, to savour their famous buffet lunch, and taking a tour of the place. My suggestion to you: please make good use of your hard earned money by buying and reading books and don't blow incongruous amounts of money on 21-grands-per-night rooms that overlook a jackfruit tree. The only thing I liked about Orange County was the loo. The buffet spread was quite good though and was reasonably priced. Don't miss the Coracle ride in the Cauvery 2 mins from Orange County. The boatman took us out on request and we saw the sun set on the Cauvery from the depths of a dangerously unstable Coracle. That, in my opinion, was the highlight of the trip.

While driving back, consider taking the route through Kutta (the condition of the road is quite bad) and driving through the Nagarhole forests. Try and drive through very early in the morning, and you can expect to see elephants, deer, wild boars and langoor. Since I had a langoor sleeping in my lap, I wasn't too interested in seeing one outside the car, but the forests are scary yet beautiful.

Coorg has always eluded us, but in the end, when we did manage to go to her, she did not disappoint. I wouldn't mind going back if she beckons me again.