Many Bangaloreans I know hold vicious views on immigration. Some get vitriolic even when pointed out that they themselves were once émigré. They loathe anyone else coming to their ‘garden city’ to set up home or on the wallaby. Now if they are serious about dissuading others from roosting on perches by their precious fringes they should stop making buildings to accommodate the newcomer, right? But they do this not. Instead they are making buildings in very large numbers – in designs that scale new epitomes in ugliness that has

Nothing stood between the resolute central Indian sun and the grey-brown tarmac that shimmered in all directions. Heat rose in waves in front of my eyes and made mirages in the distance. The whole area, the entire town, was empty. I had driven half a day in the choking heat to be here where the only thing moving was a lone sadhu. Despite the whole wide area that looked like a scaled down Rann of Kutch around me, he chose to stand right in my path. He stood still for

The playlist has become stale and, face it, you can only for so long pretend to be asleep to avoid those ‘thoda adjust karo’ requests. Presenting the ultimate listicle – not those fab five sled dog manoeuvres you ought to master when in Alaska or the six super ‘go anywhere’ unguents you can whip up at home. But an everyday, everyone listicle – to tide over an otherwise lugubrious Metro ride. 1. When the stuffy guy sitting next to you puts his arms around your seat beam at him like

From the ramparts of the fort, a heritage hotel today, Churi Ajitgarh looked like a movie set. A period epic involving wealthy people who loved art and the good life and, just like a lot of wealthy people, given to self-aggrandisement. They were merchants who travelled far and wide and brought back with them architectural and aesthetic flourishes from Europe and the rest of the country. Around me were the grand havelis they built incorporating their newfound sensibilities, each trying to outdo the other with Italian marbles and Belgian mirrors,

Gone are the good ole days when all you had to tackle in hotels, which involved application of astuteness and agility, were the timer switches which lit up corridors for 20 or 30 seconds – you invariably ended making a dash for it. It must have been a good feeling – saving electricity and all – but it left in its wake a lot of guests, including my dad, floundering in the dark, groping their way out through appliances and anatomies of the housekeeping staff. Today the corridors light up

If I told you winter was the best time of the year to be in the desert you’d ask me ‘so what’s new?’ Or ‘how predictable is that?’ Then, think about it, do we really? I mean if not exactly make a beeline, at least make serious plans to hit the desert in winter? From watching the travel patterns of my good friends – compulsive travellers all, and being privy to plans of family – who I believe must be genetically bound to the travel bug, I don’t see many

‘Bridge View’ was the name I gave my writing room – a rented space in a commercial building by the banks of the canal. It had a unique atmosphere marked by a strange colour and odour. Sound even. The stink from the cremation ground towards the west wafted in with the wind along with the stench of coconut husks being retted nearby. From where I sat I could hear the rhythmic thrashing of the pulp with wooden mallets like drumbeats. Sometimes after work I would put out the lamp and

First day of the Hornbill Festival of Nagaland some years ago. Many glasses of zutho, traditional rice beer, later I was winding my way aided by random hands and shoulders out of the Kisama venue to the car park. My crew – we were filming the weeklong spectacle for a travel channel – was supposed to meet me next to a temporary ATM which served more as a landmark than cash dispenser in the ensuing days having run out on the second day itself. We were all drunk or tired

The odd-even formula has struck like boarding school after a jaunty summer vacation. Though we are aware the restrictive regiment is for our own good – Delhi pollution levels are 15 times higher than the WHO standard, capable of claiming up to three years of our lives – as true Delhiites we have to groan and gripe: At the inadequate public transport infrastructure, at the laxity on part of cops to challan offenders who flaunt political connections, at flouters flaunting political connection, at the government non-committal about extending the de-congesting,

Every travel is a quest for Shangri-La – the mystical, mythical land of harmonious coexistence, contentment and fulfilment. With a subtitle like ‘Searching for Shangri-La’ travel, thus, has to go on. But when the last in the collection of (just) six travelogues that make up Asian Absences is called ‘Shangri-La’ it almost seems like the insatiable hunt has come to an end. This ‘hour at the edge of the clearing’ leaves several jolts in its wake which possibly is the intention. For this Shangri-La is the China-made model Tibet awaiting