“I’ve never met a man I didn’t like.”

So said Will Rogers. And that feeling of like is the start to the embodiment of human kindness. Presenting to you my latest “The Kind Roastery and Brewery” that has its ethos much aligned to mine. Subtle and fine, it has in its climes 50 shades of beige or even champagne, my favourite color for the background of life. In sync with my sensibilities, why even the Oscars went taupe this year! As Lady Gaga croons her Oscar-nominated song, hold my hand, here is a little glimpse into a cafe so nice that it could make your coffee blush twice!

Here’s a look:

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Subtle and fine, tucked away in the fast expanding lanes of JP Nagar in Bangalore, The Kind Cafe, a Roastery and Brewery brings forth a fresh vibe teeming in its aroma not just of world-class coffee, but of a world-class space. When the clients, noted restaurateurs came to me with their vision of a cafe unlike any other, one that is steeped in a concept of beguiling kindness, I was hooked, the thoughts they had absolutely matched my ethos and hitting it off with Pallavii instantly, the design simply rolled. With a requirement of three primary zones, one as a coffee lounge, one a family setting and the third a coworking space, the three areas of the Kind are independent but flow seamlessly into each other, complementing and uniting into a cohesive whole. Thus the three basic elements of a swell space, the light, scale and proportion orchestrate the three zones of the cafe into a champagne melody. The front facade, consisting of glass rimmed with aluminium sections is flanked by a long bench, chairs and tables, an outdoor seating that looks onto the bustling street. 

Entering into the double-height coffee lounge zone makes the whole expanse of space discernible right at the start. To the right is the brew bar with its slick coffee machines and fancy delicatessen, its base is shrouded in snug biscoff tiles, backed by working counters and a spirited, embossed branding wall. The Kind logo is stamped on the opposite wall, looking into a relaxed composition of seating on a warm terracotta imbibed floor pattern. The front wall holds a swanky drip coffee apparatus. This casual and content zone is cheered by generous swathes of sunlight and a welcoming visual expanse. The space is topped by a waffle-vault ceiling intensifying the thespianism quotient in the space that is also equally nimble. The paint finish is kept uniform, in the tones of champagne, taupe and beige, while three types of texture are employed synchronising tons of geniality. The mild steel staircase, is the vertical circulation, covered in rubberwood softening and supplanting the acoustic quotient. Foliage here buffers and stands out against a hand-finished textured backdrop. 

The lounge space breaks into upper and lower mezzanines, while the former is a co-working space holding a conference room, and a gallery, the latter is a familial setting allowing for gregarious and boisterous encounters. In the upper mezzanine the clients wanted to do a thing that wasn’t done before. Firing up the neurons came the idea of a Japanese zen garden much like Ryoanji in Kyoto, with gravel, smooth balancing stones and some moss reciped in complementary proportions to picture a dainty setting for witnessing or engaging in for pleasure. Raking tools facilitate drawing patterns, echoing the ripples made in water when a stone strikes or waves or even lines. The generous raking table with its power supply finds its bearings amidst large windows for up-ended freelancers or flurried corporates to apply brakes, rake some and get on with work totally refreshed. The adjacent conference room with its television screen and requisite cables on a swanky 6 seater table also doubles up as a coffee cupping room, topped with red lights for an artisanal coffee connoisseuring experience. The gallery zone with more work desks is ahead and it overlooks the vast double height ground floor lounge zone. 

Warming up the space are the congenial feel of textures, the coziness of terracotta, the grainy beiges wafting memories of biscoffs doing a dainty face off with clear-white Corian, the edginess of concrete, the warm embrace of wood, the strength of mild steel swathed in no nonsense black, or the velvety suede in line with rigid linen, with a play that brings tomes of alacrity. The material palette is supplanted by textured walls that climb high up to the roof to only be crowned by vaults on the ceiling. The feeling of belonging arrives with a curve in the design. God is after all in the curves, as proclaimed Gaudi. From the Zen Garden inspired raking table, to the rose dimmed conference room, to the starkness of steel employed to the plastered diwan seating, there is much happening in the space, but as one arrives all the happenings fall back.

Armed with a sheaf of design intent and working closely with the artisans, carpenters, painters and site workers though a number of computational drawings were engaged, hand drawn sketches and on site renders became a crucial part of the construction process. Apart from the drawings made for site much of the work at site progressed with hand sketches made spontaneously on site! Drawing inspiration from the process of thoughtfulness as a backbone of being kind, the very process of putting together the site drew on the many tenets of sustainability. While we reduced untenable costs through administorial red tape, we even got into miniscule costing to source material from the precincts of the city. In fact as a major first, the site work progressed much to the delight of the carpenters and the umpteen worksmen without major printing of drawings as most of the workers made use of their smart phones in accessing pdfs, thereby minimising the use of paper, a lot like the times when Hadrian built the Hagia Sophia, an experience I am clearly besotted by! 

Materials used were also excessively and exceptionally tied to the “less is more” character. Avoiding teak but making do with neem wood, sheesham wood, birch wood, rubber wood and plywood literally gave all the other woods a time to shine. From visiting the city’s oldest markets for the best possible price to sticking with one shade of paint that not only makes the space look very classy and expensive but also makes sure there is not an ounce put to waste brings sustainability to the fore focussing on ergonomics and user sense. Guiding the space to see the light of day was not so much as forcing it to be something, but tweaking the space to bring in the elements of nature whether it is the sun or air, stone or plants to bring in life. Kindness in thought, word or deed is the drive, the idea, the emotion, the central notion in “The Kind Roastery and Brew Room”, and it is one that I am super proud of!

Today I’d like to introduce you to the protagonist of my book Viara Wodeyar. A feisty, beautiful and congenial royal. Also a figment of my imagination. Here’s an excerpt from the book that captures her beginning. Just like the book, she is a work in progress.

*****

Deft, svelte, and sharp Viara Wodeyar graduated with top honors from Delhi’s prestigious Lady Shri Ram College before she ran into the halls of the North and South Blocks, the nation’s premier c-suite that literally ran the nation’s well-oiled machinery. Working for the government was never her cup of tea or so she surmised, but today 30000 feet above the air on Pushnak she closed her eyes for one last time before she was onto the mission of a lifetime. Tossing her long french-braided hair behind her back she jumped into oblivion. The cool air hit her nose and the impulse to scream had to be muffled, just a couple of seconds more she thought as she pulled the lever to release her parachute. Into enemy territory was never an easy task, Viara knew, yet she braced herself and remembered the reason why she was here.

In a couple of seconds as she descended into the plains of the Indus her whole life flashed before her eyes.

The drums sounded loud as the head of staff at the Mysore Palace ran towards the King, “Its a girl, your Majesty”, Naim said to the King. The King was in his office signing off official documents that the Government of Karnataka needed before the end of the day. His joy knew no bounds as he shuffled the signed papers into a briefcase and dashed past Naim, his most trusted help, and ran towards the royal residences. The titles were only titular but Mahadev Wodeyar the fifth, required no introduction and nor would his daughter he thought. Though the benefactor of the title, Mahadev had a deep inkling that his daughter, born the Princess of Mysore, Viara would shine beyond the precincts of his erstwhile empire. After all she was born into the new India, an India that no one knew was headed where.

*****

Let me know what you think!

A good day to you all, and a very good day to all the women in the house. While I love everyday, I enjoy celebrating women’s day especially because a lot of the invites or wishes that I received today are in pink, and pink is unabashedly my favorite color so at a point I feel like I am looking at the world through the rose-tinted glasses and that suits me just fine. Today I am told women are asked or rather motivated to be empowered and wonder if that can be elicited, phew I even helped arrange and attended a talk to the neighborhood Pournamikas (sweepers) who were encouraged and told their rights. And that brings me to the point I try to make today, are you allowing yourself the right to be yourself? Women sometimes don’t stand up for each other, or sometimes they do, it really depends on how the woman is to herself is what I have found time and again. How one treats oneself is how one treats the world, and that depends quite a bit on one’s worldview. But then how one treats oneself largely depends on how one was treated and that brings round and round in circles which we never seem to break out off! (and thats also why enlightenment is so very rare I suppose, the circles and the karmas never seem to leave us alone)

Talking of circles, I am also at the moment of the world-renowned organization called Ladies Circle India, there are chapters all over the world, and what women do in these circles is empower and be empowered, a motto of another ladies’ organization that I am a part of, read FICCI FLO, and what all these organizations have in common is women getting together to make something of value. Not much unlike the Lijjat pappad women folk bringing out pappads of excellent delicious value. And when women commune there is a lot to be said, and a lot to be heard, which is excellent, but I often wonder whether the women of the pappad brand the ones carrying their 11th Louis Vuitton for the first time are listening to themselves? That one unique voice may well not be supported by the trends of society but could do so well to stand by itself. I myself, feel my voice disappear or unseen when I have louder voices talking with authority around me, but then its not just the talk, it is all the things that we see.

What Christy Harrison of Anti-Diet calls instruments of oppression! Wonder what I am talking about? The wristwatch, the weighing scale, the labels on our clothes, the Small, Medium, Large, the size of our plates, spoons, forks, the whole concept of sizing, of scaling, of timing. The wellness traps of the shoulds, the have-tos, and the musts. Or simply the talk of others telling this and that. Oh the pressure they put is immense but even without criminalizing them, the very sense of telling one to be this or do that is a premise to tell oneself to not be oneself and that is truly the pity, for it may not be one life, we may be cats at the end of the day with 9 or so lives, but even then the atrocity of not being oneself, of not being in line with one’s intuition is the issue I’d like to address. So let’s hear it for our intuition, that one thing that may be run down just as easily as it tries to surface. I listen to music to tap into my intuition whenever I feel spacey and disconnected but even music today has lyrics that can affirm against you! There is really no escape from the world and into yourself unless one shuts the senses and that’s just so unnecessary for the senses are the bedrock of the living.

So this women’s day I am supplanting all the information I have been reading in tomes of self-help books, Anti-Diet By Christy Harrison, The of Creative Thinking by Rod Judkins, The Sleep Solution by Chris Winter, The 4 hour work week by Tim Ferriss, The Conscious Parent by Shefali Tsabery, Where’s my Couch by Sunil Kumar, Be Water my Friend by Shannon Lee, On Nature and the Environment by J Krishnamurthy, Karma by Sadehguru and a lot more, and channeling all that intellectual stimulation into hopefully tuning into myself. I am the mother I want to be, I am the creative I want to be, I am the architect I want to be, I am the person I want to be, and its probably time to be the woman I want to be! How does one eat an apple for what it is, enjoying it without being conditioned into thinking oh the banana is probably more healthy, at least it does not have a coating of wax on it, or probably not looking at the clock and deciding its 2pm and high time I eat my lunch, or look far below into the weighing scale and remember the chart in the Doctor’s office that you need to weigh 60kg, or whatever it is! Sadhguru claims to have been enlightened simply by staring at a tree, the Blessed man did not have to toil like the Buddha meditating for years, or even may be lucky enough to keep his body parts to himself, but he does talk like an enlightened being, no doubt in that.

This women’s day and for all the others to follow, I’d like to be more than the company I keep, more than the books I read, more than the people I meet, more than the food I eat, more than the community, I’d simply like to be me, hear me and feel me. It would be terribly nice to nurture my intuition for what it is rather than what I am told it should be. I’d like to eat that cupcake and twirl on the song of my choice without being looked down on by my choice of consumption or the choice of song, Lady Gaga it is! I only ask myself to let me be my woman. Oh well, wouldn’t that just be lovely. On that note I head to my first women’s day party for the day, I have two more that follow through the day and hope this cherubic spirit doesn’t leave me after subjecting myself to all the other ladies in the house. What can I say after all I am a human, before being a woman! 😉

Wooman wooman woman let me be your woman, and thus the song plays on in my head.

And now thanks to Doja Cat its in yours too! 😀

The last three weeks have been crazy, for me, not so much on an outward journey but on a very inwardly note. There have been many happenings that fill me up but at the turn of their digestion, I have learnt the art of being unbothered. The calm that comes with it is something that I am exquisitely grateful for. As I reflect this morning I understand what it means to have inner peace, enduring sixty seconds of a distance run, or as Kipling says, Be a Man! Well, I am still very much a woman, quite proud of myself this week, and still subject to moonshine and such, but the lines of this poem play softly in my head this morning and I thought that it is worth a listen or a read.

If— 

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BY RUDYARD KIPLING

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

And here I am again visiting the first capital of the British India empire, twelve years later. A lot seemed to have happened to me and then of course to Calcutta. The city that remained the capital till 1911 when the British shifted the Capital to Delhi and roughly 100 years later changed its name from Calcutta to Kolkata. While Park Street retains its glory, the older parts of Kolkata seem almost fraught with neglect and closer to decay while the newer parts of New Town and Salt Lake are nothing short of magnificent. Teeming with history or historical context at every turn Cal, as it is still fondly referred to is beautiful in its own way. While I tired of the almost crumbling past architecture sometimes dotted and punctuated by some stellarly conserved pieces of architecture, I was smitten by the newer parts of the city all equipped with its swanky condominiums and staggeringly gorgeous buildings of the future. Landing into the Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose airport we were welcomed into a new Calcutta that was plying its age old yellow ambassador taxis with the new age Uber in line. Says a lot about a city that lets its past be just as it moves into a glitzy future. Jumping into the yellow ambassador that looks oh so cute and possibly putting the joy of the city on the street we battled the streets to finally get to the most famous street of the city, Park Street. Passing the Victoria memorial gardens made the drive very pretty, but passing the Indian Museum and the Oberoi I was quite shocked! Chowringhee lane so popular in old history books and movies is today so boisterous and literally hidden in a cacophony of a marketplace, a busy road and lots and lots of people. The Park Street I remembered was very changed, renovated rather to every bit that I could only recognise the branding of Flurry’s and the Park Hotel, but the rest of the street, very swanky, with LMNOQ and Burma Burma, Park Street is super cosmopolitan today. Kusum Rolls, Rollick ice creams, Haldirams and the fuchkas at nearby Russell Street, the Vardhman Bazaar retain some of the old world charm. This world famous street directs traffic one way in the morning hours and totally the other way in the remaining hours. That was quite something.

On another day when we tried to find a yellow taxi, the driver asked us where we needed to go. Tagore mansion was our destination, which he didn’t seem to know or care about, Raja Katta I said indicating the area, even that he didn’t seem to register, then he exclaimed, “Calcutta kya number hain?” I had no clue what we was talking about, phone dialling code I thought, but it wasn’t, he said, “Calcutta aath ya kya hain?” it took me a while to realize that he meant the pin code. Never did I ever hear anyone ask me for a pin code to detect a place save for the postman. That I thought was pretty incredible, unless the chap was an ex-postman! And then when we finally got to Tagore mansion getting through the Rabindra Sarani and all the mess of the city’s older streets, the mansion gates were firmly shut with absolutely no explanation. If we hadn’t seen another group of tourists waiting I would’ve been really confused as google did not account for the closure. The neighbours also didn’t seem to know. They simply guessed that it must be closed for Saraswati Puja is tomorrow, maybe they are cleaning and they simply shrugged their shoulders. Well all seems to be okay in love and the city of joy! Having had enough of the old world charm and it’s notoriously decaying streets we ventured into the Salt Lake City and were charmed by its swanky condominiums and luxury hotels, a little ahead and into New Town we were shocked by the planned vistas and a city metro that ventured into yet unbuilt areas. Ofcourse here we were treated to scaled replicas of almost all the wonders in the world.

Calcutta is a wonder of the world in itself, while many call it a city with a soul, I find it as a city with a lot of history, layered history. And the stalwarts that the city has produced only just make one exceedingly proud. As a capital of the British India till 1911, Calcutta boasts of a bunch of colonial buildings that are being restored by the dozen and painted a gleaming white, so beautiful. On the other hand dotting the landscape is the Howrah Station (the number of platforms it boasts of is insane) and the mighty Hooghly River that forms a part of the Ganges Delta. Beautiful clothes, think Sabyasachi and Anamika Khanna have their bearings in Cal, gorgeous sweets, rosogulla is a given and a couple of Nobel Prize winners makes Calcutta such an indelible part of India. While I always felt so jarred by the feel of the city the merits of this city of joy is out there for all to see. With city walks and bungalows all done up with a brush of history, Kolkata is a shining jewel in the crown of India. Mamta Banerjee the present leader of the city lives humbly, on literally the other side of town the Tollygunge Club boasts of a spectacular history quite like none other laced with a colonial legacy. When Calcutta was capital the British laid siege through economy as the East India Company. Later the atrocities were started and also largely felt. While Christmas on Park Street is one of the beautiful remnants of the colonial past, the interpolation of the old and the new is keenly felt. The apartment 42 and the Victoria memorial areas were my favourite parts of Calcutta, Park Street seems too modernised from what remained in my memory, this time.

A city like no other, it jarrs as much as it endears, it’s decay just as much it’s joy, and it’s new just as much as it’s old!

Being vegan or rather turning vegan occurred to me when I watched a documentary film titled, “Forks over Knives”, who’s basic premise was eating plants and plant-based and hence using a fork wins over eating meat which primarily requires knives. The film was so darn engrossing and informative that being vegan made total sense to me. There could not be another way and just like that I began to politely refuse eggs, milk and its products, cheese, sugar and anything that was derived from animals, including leather, fur. Out went my mink coat, that found another loving owner, my leather bags and everything that was a product of cruelty to animals. My make-up brands changed and it effect it was a totally new lifestyle. The merit in the thought of being vegan was so very strong in my mind, it turned into one of my core beliefs and since I believed in it, it was not hard to take a stand. My friends began to tease me, thats what friends do, and my best friends did not pay heed as they layed fried eggs on my plate. My brother enticed me with hot chocolate in milk, I did still have hot chocolate with coconut sugar and cocoa, but broke-up with white sugar who’s processing requires an animal cruelty component.

It felt incredible to be vegan, I dropped kilos effortlessly, munched on french fries a bit now and then, but even pizzas I ate without cheese. Truth be told pizzas are delicious without cheese too, if the toppings and the sauce are made to taste. But even then as I filled myself up with all the yummy food, I looked and felt super light. No heaviness ever, in the heart or in the soul. And thus I drifted, levitated and began feeling a lot more kind. Ofcourse, nothing felt hard or difficult. Watching videos on fitness, there are so many people in the world who reversed their diseases, over threw diseases that ran in families to be the only healthy sibling, without so much as making a hue and cry about it. It is true and it is scientific that a plant-based diet is hugely beneficial to one. Ditching sugar would have done a whole deal of good to my brain and I must say I rather enjoyed eating my broccoli all those times, like I do even today. Treats were vegan chocolates or vegan cheese which are extremely delicious. The Indian diet, mainly the South-Indian diet is great for vegans, except the dependence on curd. But I increasingly found, Chinese food with all its vegetables is very good for vegans too. But honestly, any cuisine could be modified to fit the vegan diet. Nuts, nut-butters, seeds, leaves, vegetables, fruits take centrestage and offer a myriad of flavors that do not need to be disguised by cheese and sugar. The making of these foods is not so much of a hassle too.

Having been a vegan for roughly about two years, my Dad urged me to get my B12 levels tested and in all my kindness towards animals, I was aghast to note that I was not too kind to myself as I was severely short of vitamin 12 that is crucial in the functioning of the brain and nerves. It was not one to be taken lightly. The doctor promptly prescribed 12 shots which I was to take over two months, one per week. It was horrendous, unlike the usual injections, the B12 shots work with a much thicker needle and need to be administered by a nurse or a medical professional. That was painful, all the lightness I felt dissappeared as I was brought down to the earth with adequate B12 coursing through my veins. That lightness could have well been nerve damage, or so I surmise. That episode shocked me enough to have me eating my curds, eggs quite dextrously. Now I have decent levels of all vitamins in my body. Eggs are nature’s multivitamin. There are many vegans out there who survive on supplements that they intake daily or weekly to keep optimum levels of vitamins in their bodies. But I could never be them, after what I experienced for most supplements are derived from animals, and it did not make sense to me. Natural foods win, always. While curds consumption would probably be enough for the vitamin, I keep myself above the baseline levels with eggs.

That said I definitely do believe in the Kind diet, that is kinder to the planet and kinder to oneself. If one can go the extra mile and be a complete vegan, then it is an experience I must say that one will treasure for a lifetime. It is so much fun to embark on that journey. Recently I found out that sometimes people are deficient in B12 even when they are solid meat eaters, so veganism is not the only cause for a deficiency. There are so many permutations and combinations as to why things happen the way they do. Negative thoughts or thoughts of fear can be consumed from the food we eat. Just as a cow or chicken is slaughtered fear fills its body and that body is what a meat-eater eats thereby consuming all that animal’s wretchedness. When it is said that the thoughts and feelings of a cook are transferred into the food that is cooked and the person who eats it could feel the same, I sure hope all the cooks in the world are filled with happiness. Sadhu Vaswani, a guru, factually points out that the human body is not designed for the consumption of meat, like a lion or tiger or a carnivore, making it make a lot of sense to eat plants. Even if a meat based diet keeps adequate levels of B12, it has a plethora of more ingredients that are major causes of heart diseases if not heart-aches. As I inch towards being better informed and switch to being vegan again, perhaps for good, I would urge everyone, yes I am that person who would stand on Church Street and ask everyone to be vegan, if not for vegetarian. Once the diet is one that keeps your body and soul happy at once, we have a winner. Like they say being kind helps the person one is kind to, but even more it is more beneficial to the person who is that fountain of kindness!

“Veda loves Shillong so much, she’s come here for the third time,” said Ibynta.

“Ibyn I love you not Shillong so much, that I’ve come here for the third time,” said Veda.

And thus even though I abhor going to the same place twice, just like lightening does not strike the same place twice, yeah yeah, one cannot step into the same river twice, for the river is not the same nor is the man, I feel Shillong is always the same in the 3 different decades that I have been there, and so am I. Ibyn noticed that I still couldn’t pack to save my life. Ibyn was my roommate at the School of Planning and Architecture in Delhi for five years where we studied architecture. Needless to say, she has since been a very happy part of my life, she claims to still quiver with my alarm “Tokyo Drift” that I would blast at 5 AM since at that time in my life I prided myself to be a 5 AM person. Clearly, that got me nowhere I wanted to be so I decided to swear off alarms and respect my body clock a bit more! Now that the education is off my back, though Ibyn keeps prodding me to do a PHD, I am for now, floating through life like a leaf or even water dictated primarily by gravity. (read life) My life was totally different each of the times that I went to Shillong, first in 2006, then 2015 and then in 2022, even the people I went with, but then Shillong was just the same, its Golf Course, its Umiam lake, it’s living root bridge, only that the bridge had a few more sign boards and a lot more tourists, but in essence it was just the same.

A couple of hotels have sprung up in Shillong and lot more tourists have bee visiting but the craziest part of having a cloud enter the car when we first drove from Guwahati to Shillong did not happen the other two times. Ibyn too has largely remained the same. Her family is as warm and sweet as ever. Now both of us boy-moms, the boys had enough to bond over as did we. My family made a foray into the North-east for the first time and they were absolutely smitten and I could recollect my first visit there as they marveled at the living root bridge, the Mawlynong village, Cherrapunji, the Elephant falls and the breath-taking valleys that make the long, winding roads so much fun to traverse. On this trip in this season many waterfalls that Shillong is so famous for run dry, and winters are exceptionally cold, just as the monsoons are typically very wet. The one place that was new to me too, was Dawki, where we can boat in a tiny long row boat and watch the incredibly clear waters below that showcase the pebbles. It is increasingly beautiful and still. Dawki river flows as a border between India and Bangladesh, it flows through ravines, has its rapids and accounts for beautiful scenery. The river is also home to various fauna that are fished out by the locals sitting with their fishing rods all day by the rocky banks of the calm and peaceful river. The rock formations under the river cause the pebbled spectacular formation under the steely water surface.

The rocky formations are found in terms of stalactites and stalagmites in caves across the state of Meghalaya. Some are filled with water while others are trekkable from one part opening into another part. In these rocks, one can find fossils embedded of snails and other such crustaceans including fish. One such cave is the Arwah cave in Meghalaya, where water found its way through rocks, dissolving the carbonates in hard rock slowly to gush out and make holes in the terrain of the landscape to finally weave out caves all across the hills of Meghalaya. The Arwah caves are located in the Khasi hills, known for Khasi people who’s love for the betel nut is famous. The nut itself is grown all across the hills, as the locals soak it along the state highways, the smell is unmistakable. The National Highway number 1 courses through the states of Guwahati and Shillong one time we spotted a sign saying we are on Asian Highway no 1. Now that was definitely new! The roads in the state were mostly great except for the one to Dawki that has been under repair for a while and would put anyone using it under serious repair. 😀 But mostly the roads are decent if one is okay with the curves and snaps of the hills. Most of the beautiful nature locales are reached by road from the major cities, but once the wait is over it is all worth it.

With the holiday season under full swing during December, all places in Shillong are utterly sold out and planning a holiday to these places however so enticing is definitely a challenge. With limited options finding accommodations are not a cakewalk. So planning ahead is definitely the holy grail of paying a visit to the North-east. Nature is centre stage here, it is the star, and music plays a close second fiddle. The very many music fests that Shillong is famous for is further enhanced during the cherry blossoms season. When Ibyn was telly me about the play that INTACH did recently I could feel the throb of culture. The memories I have of Shillong are of the clouds getting into our car through the windows, the beautiful party in the wilderness with insanely awesome music of the older times of my visit and now of the Dawki River that is so calm and peaceful that it is almost stunning. The throes of culture and nature make Shillong irresistible, and it’s people absolutely soulful. It is one of a kind, the place and it’s people. Shillong is also called the Scotland of the East with many references to the British presence in the region. They loved it too, after all who wouldn’t!

The Meghalaya State Tourism lists their tourism tagline as “Halfway to Heaven” and I wholeheartedly agree about that. The locales are spectacular and with every season changing, changing themselves with waterfalls unfolding during the monsoons and some staying over through the winter too. Rainbow falls, elephant falls, and the like are all named for the effect they unfold or the thing they would remind one of.

Spread over an area of about 430 square kilometers, the Kaziranga National Park located in the Indian state of Assam a treat to the eyes apart from of course being a World Heritage Site. Home to a majority of the one-horned Rhinoceros, it is also home to the country’s National animal, the Royal Tiger. The Park is sectioned into three zones, the Western zone, the Central zone, and the Eastern Zone, a very popular hotspot for the swamp deer, the one-horned rhinoceros, tigers, water buffaloes and the mighty elephant, apart from the specie of man of course going by how difficult it was for us, a family of six people to find accommodation in this beautiful National part precinct in the north-eastern part of India. Kaziranga was once under extremely harsh criticism when it came under the scanner during a 2017 documentary that revealed a hardliner strategy to conservation where shoot-at-sight orders caused the killing of over 20 people, but being in the ring on land, we were thankfully not shot, but interestingly we also got to get off the jeep and saunter about at a particular point in the jungle, literally by a water pond. The dangers of allowing tourists to get on foot in a national park do not escape me, particularly when we spotted a tiger giving us a catwalk, literally on the path of the jeeps soon after upon coursing through the jungle right about 15 minutes later!

The terrain of Kaziranga is extremely beautiful. There are sections of the park that are filled with a vast expanse of Elephant Grass, then there are marshlands, dense tropical broadleaf forests where the land shrouded by lush ferns at different heights just as the taller trees climb over, waterbodies and ponds filled with lotuses of various sizes and colors. The park is crossed by 4 major rivers including the mighty Brahmaputra which is infamous for its flooding or even changing its course over a period of time. Most of the safari lodges or resorts in the vicinity maintain a very sustainable approach being quite dimly lit and green in its make and planning. The food in India, for an Indian, is definitely not an issue, but being so close to the Himalayan kingdoms some must-have fare would be the Thukpa, or the soupy noodle broth that is infinitely delicious. Onward from Guwahati, the Park is about a 5 to 6 hour ride away, on really decent roads, and once in the taxi, there will be none at all foraying into the National Park. The place of merit, that is always almost sold out is the Diphlu River lodge, but all failing the Kaziranga Eco-village can cut a quite decent deal.

But the star of the day when in Kaziranga is definitely the safari. In the morning getting onto an elephant is quite the challenge. No, I am not talking about mounting the elephant but simply cinching tickets to the safari on the elephant is a big deal, as elephant safaris are sold out really quickly, and rightly so. We managed to get the early morning 5:30 AM elephant safari in the Western Range of the Kaziranga national park. The elephants strut in early in the morning with their mahouts ready to get the tourists on their backs, getting a meal in the process or indulging in their morning routines. My four-year-old was more than happy to feed the elephants bananas and in the feeding his glove too disappeared into the elephant’s mouth which he promptly rejected. Then without an iota of fear he stepped forward to retrieve his glove. Standing right behind him I stepped forward in a flash to prevent him from being squashed whilt the elephant itself took a step back. My heart obviously stopped. Later while being chided for his bravery by his Grandfather, he said, the elephant was being kind to me as it stepped back! That mini-adventure was quite something. But being on the elephant on a 45-minute ride, we witnessed rhinos foraging, lotuses blooming in a small pond, and birds chirping away to indicate the rising of the sun. The moments pass by slowly on an elephant’s back unlike on a zooming safari jeep but the feeling is amazing. Catching the crack of dawn is beautiful anywhere on the planet.

In the afternoon we headed out on a jeep, getting into the park as we passed by the fayrers who were heading back, we were shocked at how dusty they had become. A layer of dust rested on even their eyelashes. That was clearly crazy and wearing my prided lenses I worried in an instant, chiding myself to have left my sunglasses, hat et all the paraphernalia back in the room as the safari began at 3:30 and the sun usually sets in this location by 4:30. However our driver was quite the sensible kind who kept his distance from the other cars, enough for the rising dust on the tracks to not settle on us. The landscape of Kaziranga and it’s terrain is very beautiful. The rhinos we saw were many, who stared at us, and ate their food, but didn’t really seem to mind us. As I write this today perhaps a week after we headed on a safari, I was forwarded a reel where the day before yesterday, a rhino chased a tourist jeep. The tourists were heard screaming. My son said why didn’t the rhino chase us. But I think the rhino was simply trying to hitch a ride, it was possibly so tired of the village, oops jungle life!

The best part of the safari was the tiger spotting for sure. The elusive and shy jungle cat is the pride of our nation. Its glossy coat with a walk to remember is very mesmerizing. Standing atop the jeep we heard all the birds chirping frantically, it was almost the end of our safari and the sun was slowly bidding its adieus, and I assumed the birds were chirping to announce sunset, but then the bird calls got more rapid and quirkier, then we saw the majestic tiger walking along the tracks right in front of the jeep. Once it finished its side catwalk, it gave us a Dekho before turning back on us and walking with so much oomph and glory into the bushes before disappearing without a trace. No crunching sounds on the dry wintery grass or no stripes showing from the gaps in the jungle, it simply walked with a lot of pride. Tiger spotting is exhilarating, it is too much fun, the wait, and the watching. Treading slowly, not making too much noise, and simply watching with empathy, doing absolutely nothing if I may add, except to observe the winning qualities of an explorer who will be treated with wins in a national park, just the same winning qualities that make it in life!

Obviously one goes on a safari at one’s own risk!

Parineet Wakhru could still hear the stadium cheers long after the match. The joy of winning was one thing but the sounds of cheers absolutely another thing. Football was in his heart long before he became a prodigy. Winning India a place at the FIFA was not on his agenda but it just happened. The money that the winnings over the years brought him, made him one of the richest sportsmen in the world. The mass appeal was fraught with it’s own slights. He could not step out unattended and had to forgo pleasures that he once loved and lived for. He could only ask his assistants to bring him his favorite Khan Chacha rolls that too when he was in Delhi between all the travelling that he did with the team for the various football matches. Parineet missed dearly his college friends, though they were always eager to catch up with him, his days were mostly spent being in close connection to the coaches, his teammates and otherwise with marketing professionals who were hell-bent in having his face on every merchandise available. Parineet was in the peak of his career, single-handedly he managed to not just put together a dream team but even harness every player’s potential to bring them to the world stage finally securing a win. It was impossible till well how they say, it was made possible. Humble to his core he managed to stay aloof from all the trappings of fame. Kindhearted and loyal he remained firmly rooted to the ground with his head fixed on his shoulders.

But then Parineet had an inkling, we just wanted to do something that he felt would make a difference, not to the pockets of the capitalists but to people he could have an actual real connection with. And then an idea began forming in his head, while on a break in Delhi, he wore his sneakers, put on his sweatshirt and marched into the twinkling dawn. Praying that his appearance unguarded would not cause a reason to worry for his security team he tried being nondescript. Once in Khan Market he walked across to a footpath where he would during his younger days see some homeless families sleeping on the footpath. As the sun began to rise he could see some grey mounds of people sleeping on the footpath covering themselves in blankets that were frayed, torn or at times just plain infested. Such was the cold in Delhi that keeping warm was equivalent to keeping alive. He kept looking at a mound that seemed relatively smaller than the others as he stationed himself on a ledge on the footpath. Willing the mound to wake up he kept staring hoping that he could set the creature that was slowly breathing to wake up deftly.

Not a mentalist, he had to wait and the living being slowly stirred and finally came out of the coccoon. “Eh! Kya Chahiye be!”, the child called out when he came out of his temporary blanket dwelling to see a weird man staring at him. Breaking into a grin, Parineet replied, “Tu Chahiye be!” and shook the boy out of his sleep with a quick head bang of the boy with a ball. “Arre said the boy as he sleepily rubbed his eyes and recognized Parineet.” “Bhaiyya kaise hain aap? Aapke photu dekhte rehta hoon woh Coke ke can pe!” Parineet always shying away from recognition said tentatively, “Haan haan, coca cola peeta hain tu?” The camaderie reminded Parineet of those carefree college days when he would stroll into the book shops of Khan market buying books by the dozen and munching on rolls delectably made by Khan Chacha. Guddu as this boy was called then was left at Khan market and made his days by running errands for shops in the market. Delivering a chai there, polishing a car here he simply managed to get by. But the boy had to be smart enough to evade the cops who landed up every now and then to collect their rents for allowing the homeless to sleep on footpaths. The chowkidaars literally felt that they owned the footpaths of the government.

Breaking out of his reverie Parineet said, “Chal Guddu, apne dost ko lekar aa. We are onto something.” And just like that Parineet made his army of homeless boys from central Delhi. They met at Lodhi Gardens first before they got a bit better moving to Talkatora Stadium. The whole exercise was kept under the wraps, even Parineet’s security counsel had no clue. No one knew what Parineet was upto, if at worse they thought we was running away to meet a girl, possibly a love interest, possibly a fling that he wanted to keep under the wraps so even when they saw him ducking out while they were in Delhi, they tried to turn a blind eye. The boys worked their normal shifts but watched what they ate. Parineet gave them an allowance to play but did not spoil them at all. He chose each of his players carefully and spent six months watching them closely and keenly. And then there came a time when he felt the boys were ready. Signing them up for a regional game he bit his fingers while they played. With his game schedules he had to make the most of the time that he had with the boys and he did. The times when he had to travel for tournaments and games were times the boys managed to play by themselves discussing strategy like their loving “Parineet Bhaiyya” would teach them.

Then one-day Parineet watched them play and decided it was time to play it big. The boys showed up in under-16 selections, then they showed up at state events, stunning the selectors and other players alike. With Parineet as their Godfather, albeit under-cover they sidestepped the red tape that usually surrounds any sports in the country. Then the boys made a club team and entered national events, slowly transitioning into the Indian team for football.

And then the boys played internationally. Reaching the finals when the boys reached penalty kicks in a nail-biting final. The country cheered hard. No one knew even till the end who was behind the squad which surprised all. The boys were loyal, they never would divulge. When the boys waited for Guddu to kick the final penalty kick, he cheered the loudest as his blue-eyed boy kicked into the goal. And then the rings of his own cheering set his heart on fire. Never before did Parineet feel the warmth that melted his soul.

charity

/ˈtʃarɪti/

noun

the voluntary giving of help, typically in the form of money, to those in need.

Maria looked at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity. It was the tenth day continuously that sleep evaded her. Life was not what she expected it to be and these days felt more long drawn and unreal. The hopes that she had as a young girl seemed clearly dashed as her internal and external worlds collided. There seemed to be nothing that was in sync. Every door that she tried to open shut itself and every opportunity that she welcomed into her life walked out and shut the door behind itself. There was no way out or in her case no way in for the life of her dreams to venture forth. Every day she thought was a new day. She tried to will herself to sleep sometimes counting sheep to entice sleep or at times tiring herself with workouts and exercises that could put even an Olympian to shame. Again no respite. In the night looking at the ceiling, all she was left with were her thoughts and her expectations that kept mounting on day after day, with no respite. The last she felt she had slept was about 10 days ago. She didnt know why but she could feel the cortisol in her veins. It throbbed so hard that it hurt, slow breathing did not help, being to a massage spa did not help, hot water showers did not help, as a naturopath, she could not bring herself to swallowing pills, eyes gre tired, the body gave up but sleep well it was a guest. One online search as to the hard facts about sleep was enough to send her into another 10 nights of no sleep, for lack of sleep was not only connected to a plethora of health problems and risks it was slowing going to take away her life or even worse check her into the throngs of Dementia or even the dreaded A word, Alzheimers. The problems of this life, the issues that have come into existence in this century. She knew the risks, she could understand, she was educated, yet she could do nothing about it. At the time of slumber, slumber never came.

Maria did not have a job that she could bury herself into, she was a Mom. Her days surrounded her son, who did bring her joy, but then was she she when she was with him? Or was the role something she landed into with no clue of what it would entail? Ofcourse life changes with every single person one adds to the mix, but when the din loses the individual then what does the individual become? No doubt Maria had a real hard time making peace with the situation. During the day she did best what she could, entertaining the boy and hearing several stories on how he should be raised like. She even spoke fluently and managed to do things like a regular person. Its not like she wanted to not be a Mom, but the role slowly took away her work, and then it took away her hobbies finally it took away everything that she thought she was. Change is inevitable but also unavoidable, but meteoric fast change that spirals down outright scary. While her mind kept abreast with things to be done, that included all roles life fit her into, the body kept score. The role of being a mother gnawed away at her sleep. Yet every night she dutifully climbed into bed said a prayer tried a new trick to lull into sleep, exhausted chasing a 5 year old, telling him a hundred times to do simple things like wash your hands or eat your food to finally reach calm silence and then stare at the ceiling. She hoped sleep would come everyday but then it came by once a week, sometimes once in 10 days. Every night she watched her son, drift into sleep and stay there. The house was quiet. Yet she could not sleep.

Then one day she had enough. After almost 4 years of surviving on an average of less than 2 hours of sleep annually and reading tomes on how the sleep was going to be the death of her she decided enough is enough. Bidding adieu to online research, hearsay, yoga, warm turmeric milk, podcasts, meditation, and music, she said enough of this hoping business. Pulling out of her covers she decided that was it. Instead of burying herself under expectations of what she would not expect she decided to tug at her heart strings and dictate her day, listening to her body instead of hoping to do what the world said would be good for her or threatened that would be the end of her. The body you see does not only keep score, it also guides the way. She decided to stop hoping and start hopping. Every day after a long beautiful day, when sleep did not come she would gather her bed clothes pop on some groovy fun favorite music and simply start hopping. Hopping on one leg and then the other. The purpose of life was to enjoy the moment and so what if the future was Alzheimers dictated by a present that was no sleep. So what if tomorrow was going to be a consequence of scrapped knees and MRIs. Why bother with hope when hope was clearly not worth bothering about. HA! she thought I dont need to sleep, and in the dark of the night she taught herself to gaze at stars, learning the positions of constellations, she learnt how many breaths make a night, she walked till the sun rose on her, she read tomes all through the night to reach the last page of the last chapter just as the sun began to rise. The son grew up as the sun rose on her. In time she grew wispy white hair and wrinkly skin, she wisened with all that reading and all that me time through the years. As she read like crazy she had solutions to everything. She became the go-to person for everybody. The only way to know about things that life doesn’t herself teach you is to read and Maria read, with all the time in the world, she had double of the usual as sleep was not her Achilles heel, she knew. And then when Depression came she knew what to do, when obesity began she simply walked some more and then when Alzheimer’s came she knew the signs, she had read all about it. She opened her list of institutions that she keenly researched on, all through calm and collected. She checked herself into palliative care and as the days rolled by she patiently waited. Then one day she fell asleep, deep, still, calm, beautiful and never woke up. But never did once did she hope to sleep.

hope

/həʊp/

noun

1. 1.a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

Tobias skipped over two stones and splashed his feet in the stream of water hopping on a leg before breaking into a complete sprint. A dashing 5-year old, he had all the energy on his life running through his veins. A very happy-go-lucky affable child, he loved being in the great outdoors as they call it. His home in Lahr was his paradise, but visiting his grandparents in Schuttertal was his favorite thing to do. When at Schuttertal, he spent days in endless wonder. He ran across the streams in the gorgeous Blackforest mountains of Germany, ate pretzels by the dozen, and when his dear Oma baked him his favorite apple strudel he gorged on it with gleeful abandon. Opa, as he lovingly called his Grandpa spent hours in the garage which also doubled up into his inventor hut. Opa loved tinkering with everything which he tried to make different or even better as he went along his day. In between time with Opa in the garage and time with Oma on the dining table or by the fireplace, Tobias ran around freely making friends with the townspeople and making friends with the other boys who lived down the road.

But afternoons were totally his, basking in the warm sunshine if the weather was kind or hopping around streams in the summer was his favorite thing to do. On a good day he would collect soft rounded stones, twigs, dried leaves, and feathers that different exotic birds would have left behind or shed in a hurry which he would dutifully bring home and put it in his treasure chest that his Mom handed down to him on his 5th birthday. He absolutely loved it and cherished it. This beautiful Sunday afternoon he went his usual path but the day seemed very different. The sun seemed to be shining brighter and the trees themselves swishing and swashing guiding the boy, the whole environment looked like there was a surprise in store. Like they weren’t telling him something. “Ah”, said Tobias aloud, “I can tell that something is cooking. I wonder what it is.” After his usual path on the trail he was planning to meet up with his friends Mathias and Sheldon and they decided to go skateboarding at the park. One step, one step Tobias thought as he marched up the hill.

At a short distance from him he say a twinkling of a box. Stepping closer he picked up the box which had vintage trimmings just like his treasure chest back at home. Dropping his latest acquisitions that he held in his hand into his pocket, he picked up the little box and opened it gently. In the box he gaped at a little fairy sleeping in the box breathing deeply. With every breath the fairy lit up and dimmed as the breath came out. The pretty dainty fairy looked so gentle and small. Tobias gently blew out at the fairy who blinked twice and woke up with a start. “Oh hello Tobias”, she said. “I was waiting for you to come along and looks like I fell asleep. How are you today?” Tobias said, “What! Who are you?” “Well I am Faith and Santa planted me here for you. You see when you have faith, you tend to have everything.” Tobias, a well-meaning and believing boy, believed in everything good, and had no doubt that Santa had left him the fairy. Faith few out of the chest and gestured Tobias to follow her. Tobias followed as fast as he could. Faith took him into the forest along a long and winding path. Checking into a tree she tapped thrice and the tree opened up a ladder into the sky. Tobias stepped in and there he saw a different world.

A very busy world, so unlike his slow life on land. A multiple world he thought, in a different plane. Oh My I can hardly believe it. Faith kept flying and though Tobias wanted to stay and look at all these different people he ran to keep up with her. In and in she went into this magical world and in and in Tobias went behind her. Passing by elves working on toys, passing by factories of chocolate being wrapped in candy of different colours he was deeply intrigued. Finally when she reached the centrepoint, Tobias saw the one and only Santa Claus sitting on a drum and twiddling his fingers. He had a mischievous smile and looked like he was up for some splendid adventure. “Ho Ho Ho”, he cried as soon as he sent his eyes on Tobias. “Young man! I was waiting for you. This year I asked Faith to find me a boy who showed faith in the world. Who took the world in his stride, who enjoyed the moment as it was, who spent time in nature and nurturing friendships. She told me about you and I saw with my own eyes what a marvelous little boy you have been. “I am so thrilled to welcome you to La La Land. Today you will see how far a little faith can go, and when you have a lot of faith, then well multiple worlds open up! In you go my boy. Have a ball in La la land. Here there are no rules, you can eat what you want at whatever time you want, play with the toys that catch your fancy and simply enjoy your day.” And with that he whisked Tobias away.

Faith smiled at Tobias and ushered him through the massive wooden doors into what just seemed like a wonderland. Tobias ran into this new world, jumping on the bouncy castles, sliding down the joy ride and playing with pistons. There was a water park, a jelly land and a dancing floor that he could see. But this world seemed endless and he could see no end in sight. Filled with joy and happiness Tobias immersed himself into fun. When it was time to eat he chose pasta with his favorite garlic and broccoli, to the mix he added olives and sundried tomatoes, Faith beamed at the boy. After his first course and after all his play, Tobias missed his Oma’s apple strudel which he remembered seeing her put into the oven. And just like that he thanked Faith for showing so much faith in him and jumped out into the world tumbling into the trail. He remembered that his friends would be waiting for him at the end of the trail and sped to catch up with them. At dinner he regaled to his Oma all that happened on what was a terrific day while licking up the apple strudel with mirth. Oma smiled at the boy whom she simply indulged so much.

faith

/feɪθ/

noun

1. 1.complete trust or confidence in someone or something.

The story of Padmavati, the Queen of Chittor is very popular. Not only because she outwitted the beastly emperor Alauddin Khilji, but also because she committed Sati, an act of self-immolation to protect oneself from imminent brutality from the enemy. While it may seem difficult to end one’s life and it sure takes courage, at times it is even more difficult requiring disparaging levels of fortitude to remain alive.

Zubin and Lilya were childhood sweethearts. They met as kids while cycling on Marine drive and slowly grew into each other to finally wed at the age of 22. Youthful, naive, and impressionable, they didn’t know what life would bring to them in the future. So blissful and much in love, the two of them stepped into their brand-new rented house. The joys of life. New beginnings. The Parsi new year was right around the corner and Lilya could not wait to get everyone in for a housewarming. Finding the house was a challenge, two-bedrooms for a young couple starting out was a luxury in Bombay, the city of dreams. But Lilya’s friend who worked in the construction industry as a real-estate broker managed to highlight one apartment on the block and Zubin agreed in a second. He worked in finance and Mumbai kept him totally busy. Analysing stock by day for clients and investing personal funds by night Zubin had chartered a path and left no stone unturned. Lilya on the other hand worked in fashion and was starting to design the wardrobe of Akaya Kapoor for her new film already touted to be a blockbuster. The two had busy schedules that wrought much a patience and forbearance. The apartment itself was the star of their lives at the moment. Done up by the luxury celebrity interior designer Sunaina Hussein, for a fraction. Zubin, Lilya were close friends with Sunaina’s husband Mustafa and they hung around together with a larger group of friends every now and then.

The days rolled by and between travels, time out with friends and work, Lilya and Zubin were blessed with a cherubic little boy whom they named Arshan. The maternal and paternal grandmothers Amira and Meher were over the moon, while the grandfathers Sarafraz and Rustom took their turns in bouncing little Arshan on their knees. The whole atmosphere was that of joy and the joy with which Zubin and Lilya walked into the apartment after their wedding, carried through all through their lives and surrounded them in an amber light making them feel ever so loved. Arshan soon grew up into a handsome young man. As a child he hung out with his Mum who spent hours in her creative studio or on the sets, and at times with his Dad in steely grey corporate offices. When he began his studies he studied finance like his Dad whom he considered his hero. But towards the time of his graduation and through his college hobby groups he discovered his penchant and inclination towards acting. The city of Bollywood crossed his path several times through his life. He landed an audition and then a role in a mega production house of Garmi Productions. Tarun Mohan who helmed the Garmi Productions put his money on this young man who looked handsome but worked twice as hard.

The first movie was a blockbuster. It opened to full houses all over the country and it was not going to be long before the movie reached the world at large. Arshan Mistry was a sensation, the success he saw was unprecedented. The man was charming and he charmed his way through life, through a movie after another, charming fans easily and effortlessly, he seemed to be born for this and everything came easy. Soon enough he met his sweetheart, another heartthrob of the nation, Sarah Wadia, their picture perfect love story became inspiration for several movies, some in which they starred together. Arshan and Sarah had twins, a girl and a boy, whom they called Alia and Bakhtayar who grew up happy in the hands of every indulgent Grandparents, Lilya and Zubin had their hands and their hearts full. This lovely family were all that dreams were made up of. There was nothing amiss and everything happened right. Fortune favours the bold they say and the whole country looked up to this ever so in love couple who’s every move was papped and who’s kids became India’s sweethearts. The love they received was immense.

Alia and Bakhtayar themselves scripted their own stories, Bakhtayar went forward into business, funding an airline and starting a multi-million dollar FMCG company that was ably marketed by his father and mother who became faces of the brand. Alia on the other hand ventured into politics. She roped in her star parents into becoming the face of her election campaign. The good sense of the family prevailed in every direction that they went. From salt to the cinemas, the Mistrys ruled the roost in a country that gave them so much love. They in return did everything in good faith, whatever they touched seemed to turn gold. The twins in turn fell in love, got married and had kids of their own. Alia’s husband a politician too Ram Nambiar was touted to be the next Prime Minister canditate in the country and he was sure to win. Bakhtayar married a very pretty Sophia Alexander who shimmered in beautiful clothes as she went about carrying out her charity initiatives. Their son became an acclaimed author who caught the nation’s fancy. Alia’s daughter Delnaz became a reputed journalist who was also nicknamed the Nation’s conscious. Lilya, like most Parsis lived a long and beautiful life. As Delnaz came on screen talking about news of the day Lilya thought back to the day of her marriage and when she first stepped into the apartment that made her so happy. As she looked out into the Arabian Sea she had thought, “I am so scared of what this life would bring. How we would live in this fast-paced city? How would we make our ends meet? And as she took in the salty air she thought to herself, “This is it. There will be no negative thoughts entertained, in my head or in the heads of my future generations to come.” And that made all the difference. That morning she set any thought of dismay on fire. Put the fear and scare on the Sati pyre. That was a beginning of the Mistry’s legacy.

Fortitude against fear, of any kind.

fortitude

/ˈfɔːtɪtjuːd/

noun

1. courage in pain or adversity.