The Beginnings

In January 2015 when the three of us started writing the blogs, we had no idea that we would last eight long years and pen over two hundred weekly pieces. Today marks the three hundredth edition of our blog and was wondering what to write. For our two hundredth, all three of us had contributed a small piece. We could not manage it this time so landed up sharing something written much before internet and blogs…..plain simple story writing and telling. With no WhatsApp and FB to support, we banked on good old India Post to deliver the stories.

It was 14^th of October, 1993 and I had boarded Rajdhani Express from Howrah to New Delhi. Apart from the luggage, I bought a good old drawing book and a set of Luxor sketch pens and made my way to my AC Chair Car seat. I had just been transferred from my original posting at Kolkata and was going to my hometown Delhi, leaving behind my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter and wife who would be joining me later. No sooner the train started, I began to pen pictorial stories with simple rhyming at places to make it sound interesting when the mother would read them out to the little one. During this seventeen-hour journey,  I was able to write four stories and some nonsensical rhymes associated with Ike, the mighty Dobermann, at my in-law’s house. Today, I share with you one of the stories with pictures of a few drawings. I call this three hundredth edition a joint effort again with the father writing, mother reading and daughter listening to the stories over and over again.

The Sardarji’s Senses

One night, Papaji, the Sardarji

Was driving his truck

Through a dark dense jungle

When a nail on his tyre got stuck.

Out went the air

And phuss when the tyre

Papaji put his hands on his head

And cursed his luck and the tyre.

 

With no workshop nearby

Papaji decided to stay in the truck

Till next morning when he’d look for help

But for the night

He shut the lock

And put off the light.

A tiger, Sheru, was in the area

Looking for a prey, he saw a strange object

Sheru wondered what it was

For a truck in a jungle was not an everyday sight.

 

Sheru roared aloud

Shivering Papaji woke up

Looked out and saw a tiger

In his seat he began to jump.

No I will not die

I will use my big head

Although a Singh- a Tiger, myself

With my senses I will fend.

Papaji switched on the headlights

Suddenly the whole place lit up

Sheru was taken aback

Cursed what a monster I’ve woken up.

What was this monster capable of

Who could light the forest with his eyes alone

Sheru tried to be brave

He roared aloud but it sounded like a groan.

                                        

Papaji now started the engine

Whrrrr…Whrrrr, it made loud noise

Sheru had never heard such sound

What a monster and what a voice!

Papaji saw the fear in Sheru’s eyes

And began turning the lights on and off

He made the engine sound louder

A frightened Sheru tucked his tail between his legs and ran off.

 

Next morning, Papaji fixed up another tyre

And started his journey again

In another part of the jungle

Sheru was telling other tigers of the monster he had met in the lane.

Just as he finished his horror tale

He saw Papaji’s truck coming that way

Papaji was afraid of the tigers

The tigers were afraid of his monstrous truck in the day.

Papaji again used his head

And began honking loudly

The tigers thought their end was near

So ran away fast cowardly.

Papaji laughed ‘Ha Ha- Mein Sher da Munda

Panch Sher maare’- awestruck his friends heard him and wondered.

MSD

The Terminal

The alarm shrieked ‘Get up…get up, you lazy bum!’ The sleepy bones said it was still two minutes to 4.30am. This has been my story three-four times a week for the past few years. Earlier, I used to always beat the alarm clock - not so now.  I physically moved myself to the bathroom to sleepily brush, shave, bathe and, finally, to get dressed to find a hot cup of tea and biscuits ready on the table for me to gulp and bid a hasty goodbye to my home and my home maker. I usually take the auto-rickshaw to go to the airport for two reasons.  One, they are readily available and do not make you wait or cancel trips like Uber does. Secondly, and more importantly, the drivers make me pray en route as they speed and steer their black and yellow Ferraris on the empty Mumbai roads with one eye on the mobile screen watching the movies while you meekly sit behind clutching your luggage with one hand and the iron rod in front, praying all the while to the good Lord to reach you safely to the airport terminal. Same was the story this morning as I was, incidentally, going to God’s Own Country.

 

After passing the scrutiny of the watchful CISF man at the gate, I found myself in a long serpentine queue for the security check. I overtook an old man before we reached the tail of the queue to find myself standing behind a young lass. Since it would take me and my luggage long to reach the security belt, I started the conversation with the safer option standing behind me and said smilingly, yet with some sense of bitterness, “Oh the line is so long!” The old man smiled and said, “This happens sometimes. We will get through in some time. I have seen in the early days of flying when the queues were much longer and would take very long to reach the security counter but the good part is, once in queue, you never miss your flights.”

 

“You are right. The airports have improved over the years and, today, most Indian airports are far better than international airports.”

 

The old man said, “Things could have been even better for this country but for corruption. Even if the corruption had been lower by fifty percent, India would have transformed much earlier. And you know the reason for corruption? Greed and need…. You want this and that and are never satisfied with anything you have. When I started working in 1963 as an engineer for a prestigious engineering firm, I used to get a salary of three hundred rupees and I have never gone hungry or felt that I am missing out on anything.”

 

“1963 is when you started working and I was born in the same year, which means you’re now…”

 

“I am eighty-three years old," said the old gentleman

 

“You look so good and fit even now.”

 

“That’s because I keep myself busy. I got up at 3.15am, got ready, did my puja and made my own tea before coming here. I have a flight at 6.30am to Coimbatore and then I will go to Chennai at 4pm and return to Mumbai at 11pm. I have three flights to take today and two important meetings to attend.”

 

“You’re an inspiration. I have a month to sign off and was looking forward to taking a break from work after close to thirty-six years of service and here you are standing before me on the go, never to stop."

 

“Never stop working. This is my sixtieth year of working and never plan to retire. If you stay at home, your wife will ask you to go here, do that, cut the vegetables and you will get completely wasted and rusted. Keep working and if you do not want to work, do something for the society. Go to a nearby government hospital and talk to relatives of patients there or help people with filling up forms and giving them directions. You will stay engaged and lead a purposeful life.”

 

“Doesn’t your wife ever complain that you don’t give her time?” I asked.

 

“She died twenty-six years ago. The children live on their own and I live my life, my way.” 

 

By now we had reached the end of the queue and we proceeded to two separate lines where we put our personal belongings on trays for the final security check. Bidding a final goodbye to this young man of eighty-three, I stood on the escalator to go down to the boarding gates, wondering whether my meeting with this man was a sign, a signal from somewhere to think about life after another thirty-two days?

 

As I stepped off the escalator, my attention was diverted to the crew belonging to another airline with the two captains leading the way and the beautiful ladies in their smart attire following with their heels gong clip-clop, clip-clop…..I was reminded of Catherine Zeta Jones and that made me wonder whether I was the Tom Hanks of Terminal? Having traversed the country multiple times and parts of the globe as well, in these thirty plus years of work life, I must have stayed at the airport terminals, possibly, more than Mr. Victor of Krakozhia. I went straight to the washroom but a look in the mirror destroyed my dreams as by no standards did I look even remotely close to Mr. Hanks, not even a poor Indian cousin.

 

After waiting at the gate for over an hour and a half, I finally boarded the flight to Kochi. I had three options…sleep or watch the in-house entertainment on Vistara World or read the newspaper and the inflight magazine. Chose the third option and after reading the newspaper cover to cover, I started going through the magazine. There was an article on Seven Amazing Family Vacations and was delighted to find that, as a family, we had done four out of seven. There was a place in New Zealand and one in the Maldives which we might not want to travel to even in future, but Ranthambhore was one of the final frontiers for us to explore. The next article however got me engrossed… Savouring the Sublime in Varanasi.

 

This is one place I definitely want to see and experience. The author speaks about the breath-taking canvas, meditative chants of Subah-e-Benaras, a divine overture orchestrated by the Ganges, as the city welcomes her to its shores. The city at first glance appears to be completely chaotic and she switches off the GPS and decides to follow her nostrils to enjoy the variety of food it has to offer at every nook and corner. Walking through these labyrinth lanes, eating jalebis and kachoris while passing the famous Kashi Vishwanath Temple and the Sankat Mochan Temple. Eating hing ki kachori at Shree Ram Bhandar, enjoying the malai gilouri (a sweet delicacy folded like a paan) and the Tiranga mithai (tri-coloured sweet). The malai peda of Shree Rajbandhu Sweets cannot be given a miss as would be the Benarasi paan at Deepak Tambul Bhandar.

 

In addition to the culinary delicacies of this oldest living city in the world, there are many more things to die for. The mandirs and ghats, the boat ride and bath in the holy Ganga, and the famous Ganga Arti which now is getting copied at all ghats in the country but then you can never beat the original.  This is also the land famous for its renowned musicians like Ustad Bismillah Khan and UNESCO has recognised it as the ‘City of Music’. Then there are the famed Benarasi Silk sarees to pick from the weavers directly. What more can you ask for…. simply nothing. This is where the heart wants to go, get lost and become incognito.

 

Once again, I find myself at the crossroads of my upcoming new innings of life. Should I follow the wise man I met in the morning and keep myself busy at work, never to tire and never to retire or should I buy myself a one-way train ticket to Varanasi to happily get lost from the hum-drum of the city and work life, breathe, laugh and live? Airport Terminals are surely dangerous places, for you always get confused which gate to take and which flight to catch or wonder whether it would it be better to miss the flights and stay grounded as a kupamanduka, the frog in a well.

 

SS 

Pictures: Courtesy internet

News from the Valley

An unplanned, short and sudden visit to the Valley was probably the best thing that happened to us in the year of 2023. To be fair, it started off on a precarious note with SpiceJet delaying our early morning flight by eight hours, reducing our number of days by almost one. When the messages from SpiceJet started coming about ‘delay due to operational reasons’ I was reminded of a similar incident on another impromptu trip to the Himalayas from AIIMS, Delhi, after our MD final exam in 2018. Of course, that was by a train called All Jatt Pooja Express which was delayed  over ten hours and we were six young bloods who had already cleared their residency and were hell bent on bunking an extra day to complete the hike. On that note, another similarity was the unbridled skepticism and ominous premonitions in my mother’s voice about our actually reaching the final destinations. However, unlike the trip five years ago, we had our hotel rooms and return flight tickets booked and there was also the urgent need to get back to our respective work places on time which, unfortunately, we could no longer bunk.

 

I do not think it is possible to describe the beauty of Kashmir in mere words. It is undoubtedly Paradise. The Mughal Gardens (Chashme Shahi, Nishat and Shalimar) were truly magnificent, and they do not build gardens like these anymore; the shikara ride on a rainy day on a lonely Dal Lake, abandoned by the tourists for a while because of the weather, was enchanting; and the surprise snowfall in Gulmarg was the ‘icing’ on the cake. But for today, I just want to focus on the food and the flora that completely and most overwhelmingly consumed us. A small note - the descriptions that follow are purely from what we learnt from the locals and may not be wholly accurate or complete. 

 

We were welcomed in our hotel by a warm cup of kahwa. In the course of the next three days we consumed innumerable cups of this traditional Kashmiri drink that warmed us to the very core. The name comes from ‘kah’ which means eleven in Kashmiri. The drink is made from eleven spices, mixed with generous dollops of sugar/honey and adorned lovingly with crushed almonds or walnuts. The flavour is enhanced by keeping it warm in a copper vessel known as a samovar with burning coal inside. It is said to be curative for all sorts of maladies. At a small but one of the oldest roadside stalls called Noor Mohammad Batt, they served us kahwawith a Kashmiri sweet bread called shirmal to dip into it. Every shop that we went to, the owners would enthusiastically offer us kahwa and most of the time, I confess, we did not refuse. On our visit to Gulmarg, while we got snowfall in phase two, we also got rains once we got back. Old Dana Pani, a very small shop at the parking area in Gulmarg, served us, possibly, the warmest kahwa and a small personal heater on our table to dry ourselves. The warmth had never been so welcoming. 

Waah Kahwa

Samovar

Crossing the Pulwama district, on our way to Pahalgam, we came across about 10-12kms of fields of saffron. The world’s best saffron are cultivated here. Did you know that saffron flowers are a beautiful colour of purple? I did not, and I was mesmerized seeing open fields of purple. These must be picked within 2-3 days or they get spoilt. From here, saffron is exported all across the globe. They say a gram of saffron of the purest quality is more expensive than a gram of pure gold.

Saffron flower

After the fields of saffron, we crossed a village where our driver told us that cricket bats were made from the willow tree. I am sure most of you would be familiar with the willow tree- the weeping willow, the Whomping Willow or just Willow Taylor’s Version. The willow tree has drooping branches with slender pale green leaves. On both sides of the roads were stacks of carved cricket bats being dried on roofs of houses and shops. They reminded me of my own cricket bats while growing up in Delhi. I had never really given a thought to who was making them or where they were being made. 

Stacks of bats made of willow

A willow tree

Kashmiri wazwan is the multicourse cuisine served in traditional Kashmiri weddings, and festivals. We decided to try as many of these dishes in the limited time that we had. It is safe to say that the wazwan is out of this world and the stuff that we get in the name of traditional Kashmiri food in restaurants in metros can only be described as the ‘Chinese’ food that you get in India. We started with Gushtaba and Roganjosh - the two most famous ones- the names that we keep hearing everywhere and we jumped right on to them the very first night. Gushtaba is lamb meat, beaten down on a stone to a paste and then rolled into balls of solid dense meat in a yoghurt based white gravy. Roganjosh is chunks of lamb meat in red gravy. The red colour is not from tomatoes but a flower called mawal. Each bite was a taste of heaven, each morsel was soaked in so much of flavour that we hardly spoke a word while eating, only breaking the silence with sighs and moans of satisfaction!

Goshtaba and Roganjosh

We have all seen pictures of white Kashmir during winters and colourful beds of flowers in summers and spring. The Nehru Garden houses the world’s largest bed of tulips which flowers for a short period of fifteen days in April. But Kashmir during autumn is a different world. In local language, they call the season of autumn ‘harud’. There is a natural filter of light fog sieved by rays of a much mellowed, young, winter Sun. The poplar trees that line the roads look like paint brushes, tall and bare, with a few yellow leaves remaining at their tips. They almost give a moorish, mystical appearance making it very difficult to take one’s eyes off them. Those that still have some of their leaves look as if  they have been dipped in different shades of yellow paint. Poplar trees are used to make plywood here. We visited the Betaab valley, not for seeing the cottage that was filmed in the movie Betaab which also gave this valley its name, but for the yellow trees, embracing the valley in a haunting golden garb before the winter strips them to  their cold, naked and skeletal basics. 

Betaab valley

Poplar trees

It was all Yellow

On our second night, we ordered (read devoured) Tabakmaaz and Rista. Tabakmaaz is tender lamb ribs roasted in ghee and served as an appetizer. You take a bite of the crispy coating of fat+skin and then get completely lost in the juicy soft meat that melts in your mouth. Coming to Rista, I might just have labelled that as my favourite had it not been for the fact that every dish here was equally delicious. It is in the most layman sense, gushtaba in red gravy. We also learnt that the wazwan dishes are best enjoyed with rice. The gravy is light and liquid and the flavours come out best when consumed with rice rather than roti/naan. Despite the rich exterior, none of these dishes are hot or spicy. In this trip we were lucky to meet two people named Fayaz, one our driver and one a staff at our hotel restaurant. They were both soft spoken, extremely knowledgeable, feeding us with both geographic and culinary information. Rice is the staple food of the locals and as our driver spoke with utmost sincerity, ‘We may consume ten rotis, but we are never done till we get bhaat’. 

Tabakmaaz

Yeh Rista kya kehlata hai?

As we reached the higher altitude on our way to Gulmarg, the flora changed. Now we were surrounded by dense lush forests of the majestic deodars and pines. Deodar is used to build the shikaras, so iconic of Kashmir. Pine wood is typically used by the upper strata for window and door frames. The foliage was still green, and the sun shone brightly through the sharp needle-like leaves, making them almost shimmer. We also witnessed these through the glass panes of our cable car at Gulmarg. For those of you who are yet to visit, Gulmarg has a cable car that takes you to two phases. In winters, phase one has enough snow for those who do not wish to travel higher. We went up to phase two to the Apharwat peak of the Kongdoori mountain that is approximately 14000 feet high up into the clouds. Interestingly, this cable car in India is called the Gulmarg Gondola and built by the French! The ride is romantic like in a Venetian gondola if you edit out the portions where it stops without a warning and remains suspended in mid-air swinging like a pendulum! On our way down of course we could not see any of the trees because we were surrounded on all sides by fluffy clouds, mist and snow fall. 

Deodar and pine

Gulmarg Gondola

Gulmarg

One night we went to a very nice restaurant on Dal Lake, not a touristy but mainly filled with the locals with their families. Here we had the Waza Sheekh, a million times better version of what we call the sheekh kabab, and Daniwal korma. Made with youghurt, spices, dhaniya and butter, Daniwal korma is obnoxiously delightful. We let go of all our table manners and furiously lapped it up with our fingers. 

Waza sheekh and daniwal korma

Walnut, the brainy superfood is again something that we have all received as gifts from anybody who has visited Kashmir. Walnut wood carved jewellery boxes, shikara show pieces, chessboards, and furnitures are sold in shops in all the tourist attractions. We visited some of these stores and it takes every ounce of effort to give into temptation especially when the shopkeepers are delicately persuasive. In one of the shops, there were several carved wooden animals, some small, some very big but all made with utmost finesse and skill. The shopkeeper informed us that earlier there were many people doing the carvings on walnut wood, but now his uncle was the only one carving animal figures and furnitures from walnut wood in his village. “Yeh shikara aur boxes toh aapko har jagah mil jayenge, par yeh carvings aur kahin nahi milegi.” At the end of our trip, once we had visited multiple shops, we realized he was right. I am glad for the magic, walnut jewellery box I picked up there had a very interesting and secret locking system. Though back home, much to my chagrin, my father managed to open it at one go thereby proving the old Hindi adage ‘rishtey mein toh hum tumhare baap lagte hain’ to be true!’

Walnut wood carved box

Tujj is the traditional kabab here. With FOMO of the unchecked wazwan looming large, on our last day, we managed to sneak in some tujj. Our driver took us to a very traditional place in Srinagar. “The roads get chock-a-blocked at night with so many people coming here,” he said. We selected lamb tujj, zafrani chicken and malai chicken tikka while the young chef took the skewers and set up the charcoal barbeque. Soon we were sitting inside a tiny eating joint on stools scooping out chunks of soft juicy kababs straight off the skewer with paper thin roti and six different types of dips! *Yummy with a satiated sigh*

Kabab-e-Kashmir

The Art and the Artist

In October the apple orchards are at their liveliest, but they remain till mid-November and we were fortunate to visit these orchards. Bright red orbs dangled teasingly from the branches as we walked through the orchard with leaves crunching under our trespassing soles. The fresh apple juice there was crisp and refreshing, much like the autumn air. They also make apple pickles, golden apple, and apple and walnut jams and I dare you to not end up with at least one of those jars after tasting them!

Newton-ish feels

Continuing with our wazwan quest, we finished our trip with the last dinner of Waza Kokur and Bhuna Gosht. The waza kokur was a chicken gravy that was probably the least fancy of the dishes we tried but turned out to be an 11/10 in taste. Bhuna Gosht lived up to its fame. The gravy is thicker with more onions and cinnamon than the rest of the dishes. I have decided, on principle, not to try any Kashmiri cuisine outside of Kashmir and will therefore have to return to the Valley to complete the remaining dishes of the wazwan.

Waza Kokur and Bhuna Gosht

What do you think I left for the last? Chinar, chinar, chinar. The majestic, the magical and the magnificent. You have heard about it in songs, confused it with maple, read about it in stories but nothing comes close to actually seeing a Chinar in Harud. Chinar was brought to India from Persia by the Mughals. Its name has its origin in Persian which literally translates to ‘what a fire’ and that is what the Chinar is in all its glory in the season of autumn. The ornate leaves are anywhere between glimmering gold, alarming amber to burning red. They line the roads, crown the Mughal Gardens, and illuminate the Dal Lake. The Char Chinar was planted by Jahangir to ensure that at any time of the day or any day of the year, there was always shade under the four chinar trees. It takes hundreds of years for the chinars to reach their full height. At Nishat Bagh we saw the sky on fire as the rows of chinars lifted their mighty arms and heads proudly above all the other flowers and trees there. Chinar trees provide shade during the summers but during winters, the leaves that have fallen on the ground are collected and burnt in kangris to provide warmth. No matter how many photographs I took, with iPhone or with DSLR, normal, portrait, increased exposure, reduced ISO, videos, panorama, wide lens, zoom lens, ‘Instagram hacks you did not know about’, I still could not capture its beauty  to take back with me. I picked up a large leaf that had fallen and lay peacefully in the rain at Chashme Shahi but when I was packing my bags, I realized that there was no way that I could carry it back preserved like how I had found it. It already looked old, sad and crumpled, like its time had come. But that was not how I had found it, even though it had fallen off a branch, it was red with blotches of yellow and orange, alive, marching towards death with a straight back and chin up. 

But that is Kashmir, beautiful and at peace with itself. 

On fire

Chinar ka patta

Harud

Chinar trees in Nishat Bagh

MS

Skyfall

Kathe Kollwitz: War

Ammi, is the sky falling?

No, why do you ask?

The ceiling is shaking, flakes are falling

It must be a quake outside

It must be many quakes, Ammi

For the earth is shaking every now and then

Close your eyes and go back to sleep

Ammi, they told us in school to run outside in quakes

No one is going outside, it is raining

What rain, Ammi?

We live in a desert and we have no rain

Son, this rain outside is like no other

Can you not hear the rat-a-tat-a-tat..?

Yes, Ammi but what about it?

Rashid, it is raining metal outside

These rain drops pierce the body and the bones

Ammi, the metal rain drops must be like bullets

Bullets that are fired from guns

I also have a gun to fight

Abba bought for me on my third birthday

It also makes the same noise

Just that nothing comes out of it ever

But it scares others for sure

No Rashid, let us not talk of guns

Not even toy guns

Pablo Picasso: Guernica

Ammi, the sky is now surely falling

Take Zooni to one side

I too am shifting for the roof is falling

Thud…craaash…

We are saved Ammi

Yes Rashid, thanks to your quick thinking

The roof would have surely buried us

Now what do we do Ammi?

Try shutting up and sleeping for a change

What is happening, Ammi?

Just lie down and look up

The good lord wanted you to see the sky

So, he opened up the roof for you

See the hundreds of stars up there twinkling

You would not have otherwise seen this

This is God’s way of teaching you

Of stars, sky and the moon

But what are those flares that keep zooming across the sky?

Those are comets and meteors, Rashid

Peter Paul Rubens: Consequences of War

Why is Abba not home?

He has gone to fetch water and food for us

But, Ammi, he went two days ago…

God is testing our faith Rashid

The more he tests and the more we gain his love

Ammi, Hashmat’s father too went out

And he did not come home for five days

His mother told Hashmat, his father has now gone

To meet God and will not be back home ever

Has Abba also gone to God?

No Rashid, I do not know

He will come back home for sure

It must be difficult for him to get water and food

He must be standing in a line

That must be very long

With the entire city there waiting for the same

Why is little Zooni crying so much, Ammi?

Oh, she wants milk

And I have not a drop to give her

Abba will come home soon

Bring her some milk

Ammi, I want to go and look for Abba

Ask him to come home soon

He has to complete the story he started

I want to know the end

Who finally wins the war

Is it the big and powerful king?

Or the rebel prince?

No Rashid, you will not step out

It is not safe

In war, which side wins is not certain

But what is always certain, is the people who always lose

Stay indoors, Rashid

For the sky is surely falling.

Salvador Dali: Soft Construction

Here are the lyrics from the 007 Bond movie Skyfall… see how appropriate…

The sky is falling.
This is the end
Hold your breath and count ten
Feel the Earth move and then
Hear my heart burst again
For this is the end.
Let the sky fall
When it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
Let the sky fall

SS 

NB. War paintings courtesy internet

Crazy Seventy Two

When you have only seventy-two hours to see London, you better pick the best of the best. I completely agree with Samuel Johnson who once said, “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; there is in London all that life can afford.”

We picked the map, marked the places and timed our visits.

London in nursery rhymes was all about the Pussy Cat going to meet the Queen but now the times had changed and the rhyme must also change with the postage stamps…

Teddy Bear, Teddy bear,
Where are you going,
I am going to London,
To see the new King.

Our first stop was to see the royal residence and, fortunately, it was also the day of ceremonial changing of the guards. The crowd had started gathering since early morning and we got pushed around from one peeping point to another. When the ceremony started, the crowds lunged forward and the foul mouthed Bobbies could do little other than utter racial and usual cuss words.

We walked out of the ceremony to breathe some fresh air and found ourselves in the beautiful St.James’ Park. This truly is what Charles Dickens said, “The parks be the lungs of London.” This is by far the most scenic spot in London with birds and animals walking freely, posing for pictures and picking food fearlessly from the hands of the tourists.

Next stop was Trafalgar Square via 10 Downing Street and Guards Home.

"Admiral Nelson, also, on a capstan of gun-metal, stands his mast-head in Trafalgar Square; and even when most obscured by that London smoke, token is yet given that a hidden hero is there; for where there is smoke, must be fire."- Herman Melville

Wonder why the national hero of England is perched so high… is it to hide his missing limb or eye or he had climbed up the pole to avoid the four lions sitting below? You often wonder why do these folks have lion in their coat of arms… to embrace the colonial world they once ruled? With the National Gallery in the background, this place is a great place to sit and admire the city going round.

The walk along the Thames seeing the sun go down and then taking a cruise on this lovely river with history lined on both sides is something to be savored for a lifetime. Thames truly is the life and soul of London and sailing under the multiple bridges illuminated differently, the eyes simply pop out. And when the lights illuminate both sides, its beauty truly becomes poetic…., “The Thames was beautiful, dark and swift beneath the billion yellow and white lights of the city.” 

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew -
Wanted to know what the River knew,
Twenty Bridges or twenty-two,
For they were young, and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:- Rudyard Kipling

Yeh dil maange more and we walked to the most beautiful structure, the Tower bridge, which people often mistake for the London Bridge which is much smaller and dull as compared to this majestic structure, that was filled with tourists and desi locals speaking in Punjabi more than in Queen’s English, and all were too busy clicking selfies.

Imagine a world without big Ben...It’s hard to. 

On the one end of Westminster Bridge is the flamboyant statue of the rebel queen Boudicca, in a scythe-wheeled chariot, who had fought Roman legions bravely though in vain. 

The London Eye offers a window into the heart and soul of London.

The Westminster Abbey leaves you completely speechless.

"A collection that embraces the whole world allows you to consider the whole world. That is what an institution such as the British Museum is for."

Above the players’ entrance of the Centre Court at Wimbledon is an inscription that reads, “If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same".

Wembley Stadium is the mecca for the football lovers and I was not one to give it a miss. Standing there is the legendary Bobby Moore welcoming you.

When in London, a visit to the Harrods is a must to give you a reality check to your personal Wealth-o-meter which tells you how little you have in your wallet. Even going to the bathroom here for a leak makes you fearful of the luxury and class that’s glaring down on you. The store’s motto is…Omnia Omnibus Ubique which in Latin is ‘all things for all people, everywhere.’ They better change it to ‘all things for some people…’.

Tower of London, where they used to chop off your head if the king didn't like you. 

“Always there have been six ravens at the Tower. If the ravens fly away, the kingdom will fall.” The way the ravens are cared for, they are truly the royalty in the Tower now.

We had heard of the Sunday Roast and were hoping to have it. We walked into a restaurant at noon at the famed Borough Market when someone asked if we had a reservation. We said no but were willing to wait. The lady politely said that she could book a table for us earliest at 6 pm! A walk around the Borough Market, rich in heritage, history and abundance of good food, makes your gastronomical juices pour out in excess. Even for a simple burger and pastry, there is a long queue to encounter.

Not one to miss the Shakespeare’s Globe on the South Bank of River Thames. While the original theatre got burnt down in early seventeenth century, the modern Globe was founded by American actor and director Sam Wanamaker in 1997.

We had often heard that you enter the temple only when the God invites you to his abode. We had time enough to see the St. Paul’s Cathedral from outside since we had no online booking to enter it. As luck would have it, it was Sunday evening and the Evensong Mass was about to begin to which all were invited. We walked into the majestic cathedral and attended the solemn mass and were blessed to see the beautiful interiors. Despite signs and verbal request to people not to take any pictures inside the cathedral, a mass of tourists simply went about clicking and taking videos.

“To walk alone in London is the greatest rest.” Said Virginia Woolf, but for me, I had my partner in crime and we walked 72000 steps in 72 hours and it was a pure delight....Crazy Seventy Two!

SS