Every weather pattern has a name. And used to have a timeframe as well. The recent rains – which we all very clinically called ‘pre monsoon showers’ – used to be ‘mango showers’ earlier, helping in the ripening of mangoes. An outcome of thunderstorms over the Bay of Bengal, they fell in April and were also called ‘April showers’. Very crucial for the farmers of Kerala, Karnataka and Goa with large mango plantations, these showers prevented the mangoes from falling prematurely. However this year ‘mango showers’ have arrived as we

With so many factors at play, it was best not to try and analyse what caused the slight drizzle that cooled off a sweltering Delhi on an early June afternoon. Instead I, along with hundreds of other Delhi-ites, focussed on enjoying it in its most famous landmark, the India Gate, well into midnight. The manicured lawns surrounding the arched monument was choc-a-bloc with picnicking parties – each armed with plastic mats to cover the wet grass and gleefully no umbrellas. Hit numbers strained over the shuddering little mobile phone speakers.

The wheeling months go round And back I come again To the baked and blistered ground And the dust-encumbered plain And the bare hot-weather trees And the Trunk Road’s aching white; Oh, land of little ease! Oh, land of strange delight! From the diary of a member of the British Army Engineers, walking from Calcutta to Delhi, conducting the Grand Trunk Route Survey, 1830 Monsoon traditionally sets foot in India towards the second half of May sending fleeting sprinklers over southerly Kerala. The sheeting downpour takes another fortnight; almost unerringly

Did god create the beautiful land first and then peopled it with a tribe to match? Or did He do it the other way around? A niggling question when you are in Nagaland. My initiation to the charm took place outside Kohima – with yummy-ripe pineapples and a sleepy smile by the roadside. I was miles away from the capital city where I was headed to for the Hornbill Festival. We stopped by one of the numerous wayside stalls mounted with seasonal pineapples and began checking out the yellow-golden fruits

A Father’s Day Special – for that great guy who first put my hand to wheels, who made travel grow on me. And who still drives with two chairs so that he and mom can sit and take in the scenery wherever. After my studies, after I got my first job, after my first marriage, my dad told me a secret. “Your mom and me, we had a love marriage.” It was also a full 15 years after I first knew about it. In fact, I had known it all

On Ugadi day if you are in Andhra Pradesh you won’t be able to spot a single mango tree without somebody on it. This day of Telugu New Year – March 23rd this year – is also the harbinger of the mango season. The Hyderabadis love their mangoes. When I say love, they really dig it. The way the grandma loved pancakes. My brother-in-law, a Reddy, when he sits down to eat mangoes, he sits down with a bucket full. No kidding. Quite appropriately their New Year is all about

Maheshwor Shrestha, like several thousand other youngsters like him, came back from the Gulf when prospects there dimmed. He returned to hometown, Gungapur in Kathmandu, Nepal, to pursue his dreams of starting a restaurant. And to marry his childhood sweetheart – a courtship that lasted for 13 years and ‘quite a lot of convincing’ as Maheshwor says. Maheshwor is one of the growing breed of aware youngsters of Nepal – those who believe in their motherland and her capabilities. They take immense pride in their cultural and traditional heritage. Despite

The winding road set in the midst of a coniferous forest was a continuing reminder of the place I was leaving behind. Definitely, Nagarkot was cleaner and greener, above all, quieter. If you are looking for quality time introspecting or bonding, then you have to be away from the hubbub of Kathmandu. And the quickest getaway is Nagarkot. From the cooler climes of the verdant heights, I reached the warmer and definitely shriller plains of Kathmandu. The capital of Nepal was overflowing with life, the energy is contagious and the

Most of us urbanites find forests irresistible. For my part, I just couldn’t bring myself to leave Chitwan. So I asked at the Unique Resorts, where I was staying, to arrange for me one last ride through the forest. Niranjan, the mahout, came with his black beauty, Champakali, an intelligent, frisky hulk with twinkling, naughty eyes. With the dawn just breaking across an argent-blue sky, I sucked in the dewy freshness that lay like a halo over the forest. I trampled through the swampy marshlands, with the moist-laden tall grass

A clear dawn descended, typical of a tropical zone like the Terai where the Chitwan National Park was located. On Mahendra’s recommendation, I decided to go for a canoe ride around the forest to try my luck at spotting some of the famed wildlife. Spotting wildlife, rather trying to, seemed to be the buzzword here. It was only seven in the morning and Mahendra was waiting at the boat jetty; I never doubted his energy and enthusiasm. One sinewy heave-ho from our boatman and we were off. The ride gave