There was a time when maids in India were extensions of the family. They stuck to serving one household for years and were more than happy with their salary and everyday meals. Back then we used to call them ayahs or aimas and there was no embarrassment surrounding the terminology. In fact the meaning of ayah is “a nursemaid who looks after children”. What can be so bad about that? But today we refrain from using such terms and have instead moved to more politically correct ones such as “helper” or “domestic help”. Sadly, the change in terminology has brought about a concurrent change in attitude amongst the bai log. Here is a quick look at what has changed over the years.

One is enough versus No one can serve just one

In the days of yore maids often served one household; at best two. I remember our ayah who used to click the gate open at 6:00 am and left only at 5:00 pm. It doesn’t mean that she was slogging all through the day. Rather, she went about the household chores at a leisurely pace; chit chatted (with us the kids, with mom, with the neighbor’s maid, with the dhobi and basically all and sundry) in between and took tea-breaks as well a lunch break. Compare that with today’s maid who rushes into the house as if there were a hurricane at her heels and rushes out like she has a train to catch. The ‘stick to one house’ mantra has changed into ‘visit as many households as you can’. Before you can even realize it, she has one leg out of the door. I understand that maids are not insular from the woes of inflation, but that doesn’t call for flitting from house to house and hurried name sake cleaning.

No chore is unwelcome versus only few chores are welcome

I remember ayah used to faithfully wash the aangan every morning and draw beautiful kolam designs with rice flour not because it was part of her household duties but because she wanted to. When mum used to occasionally run out of an ingredient or vegetable, ayah would readily agree to walk up to the store and get it for her. When grandma had aching muscles, ayah never cringed from massaging her legs. The plea for extra help when guests were arriving or when festivals were round the corner was never turned down. Try asking the modern day avatar of a maid if she can throw in a helping hand occasionally and you will be met with a taut reply which more often than not is a flat refusal or a vague non-committal response peppered with muttering and accompanied with a change of facial expression. It would make you wonder why you had to belittle yourself by asking in the first place.

Steadfast loyalty versus highly volatile loyalty

Twenty years back, maids were loyal to their employers and hardly would you come across a maid switching loyalties for the greed of a few extra bucks. Our maid found comfort in knowing that we would tide her through moments of difficulty. In fact, ayah used to seek financial advice from my mom. Mom even helped her open a savings bank account so she could safeguard her hard-earned money from her drunkard son and greedy son-in-law. The call from other houses in the neighborhood was usually turned down and what’s more, we were even informed about the attempts made to poach our maid. Note that by letting out these secrets, the intention of our maid was not to suggest that she was in demand or that we should consider raising her salary. But today, maids find the lure of a hundred bucks too irresistible an offer to pass up. There is no telling when a maid will up and leave today. Loyalty is short-lived to merely a few days. Some leave within a few days of joining while some cleverly wait until pay-day. Once the monthly salary is in hand, the other hand goes up to wave goodbye. No question of helping find a replacement, no apologies, no regret for the inconvenience caused; nothing. The equation is simple. If you are willing to match the offer, she may consider sticking around. No guarantee period though. It’s almost like attending an auction where the highest bidder wins the maid for the month, only to be rebutted by a repeat auction in the subsequent month. You can be sure of the disloyalty quotient going up exactly when you have guests arriving or a family function or sick kids or ailing grandparents. It’s understandable that everyone aspires for a higher salary but sometimes maids don’t realize that they are being penny wise, pound foolish.

Negotiable salaries versus fixed rate pay

As an employer, it is natural for you to have the upper hand while deciding things such benefits (free meals, days off, etc.) and compensation. That was the case circa 1980 or 1990 even. Tune in to 2011 and you will find a stark reversal. Maids do the interviewing and fixing of pay while employers flounder under scrutiny. Some commonly asked interview questions that employers need to brace themselves for are:

• How many members in the family?
• Do you a washing machine?
• Have you bought a mop-stick?
• How many rooms in the house?
• How often do you mop?

It is common for the maid to undertake a tour of the house to assess how ridiculously high she can go while quoting her non-negotiable salary. Five hundred to six hundred rupees is the standard norm for each piece of work. Terms and conditions apply. Fine print: No miscellaneous chores will be entertained; timing is subject to change; paid leave will be taken without any notice; no obligation to answer the employer or keep the employer informed of any leave of absence; mood swings to be tolerated; frequent threats of leaving will be made; and last but not the least no questions to be asked. As an employer you can attempt to negotiate (be prepared to lose a little bit of self-respect in the process) or meekly comply or simply let go and wait for another one to come by.

Sigh. Such are the vagaries of India’s maid culture. We crib about them, we dedicate an entire post on our blogs to them; yet we cannot do without them. Let’s face it, household work is an unappealing and thankless job. Idiosyncrasies aside, the maid is our only saving grace. So put up with the eccentricities or clean up your own mess. Well, looks like most households in India would much rather put up with the bai than deal with her permanent absence.

Note: The situations described above are true and drawn from my real-life experiences. At the same time, I have the utmost respect for helpers and maids. I appreciate their efforts in making our lives easier and I’m sure they have their own stories to tell. I guess it depends on which side of the bridge you are standing on. The intention of this post is not to make any generalizations, put down a service sector, or hurt anyone’s feelings. 

My drawing room certainly doesn’t belong to the league of fashionable New York or Parisian ones; nevertheless, these masks are part of my wall art at home. I personally think that masks are a wonderful style statement and add character to wall space. They are shrouded in mysteriousness and have the uncanny ability to draw your attention towards them. You either like masks or dislike them.

The two brown ones are wooden dot masks from Bali while the one in the center is an aboriginal dot mask from Australia. This photograph was taken during sunset in natural light, which explains the shadow of my floral window curtain on the wall.

Most of us live in far flung corners of the world. Cousins in America, friends in Australia, parents in Asia and I guess you get the drift. I have no doubt in my mind that each of us marvels at how easy it is to communicate with each other. Thoughts traverse distances in a matter of micro milli seconds, all thanks to email. It’s fast, efficient, instantaneous, convenient and inexpensive. Emails are all of this and more. But unfortunately, the rise of the email has led to the demise of an age-old art; the art of letter writing. So now you’re probably thinking what all the hoo haa is about. What I’ve said is after all a known fact and nothing to shout aloud from the rooftops. The email is a practical form of communication and that’s that. Agreed, there is no outweighing the advantages of sending and receiving mail electronically but having said that, I must admit that I miss writing and receiving hand-written letters.

The charm of finding a hand-written letter nestled inside an envelope in the post-box or at the doorstep is something else altogether. Born in the 70s, I fortunately escaped the assault of technology in my early years unlike present day kids. I consider myself lucky to have fond memories of letter-writing. Will my kids be as fortunate? I really don’t know.

There are so many aspects to writing a letter; from choosing letter paper, to thinking about what to write, to articulating those thoughts, to sealing the letter, to dropping it in the right red letter box, to waiting for a reply.

A trip down memory lane tells me that my affair with letter writing began when I was very young. It all began when my aunt who used to live another city dropped me a short letter one day. I was proud to receive an envelope addressed only to me and not as D/O so and so. Although I don’t remember the exact content of those letters, I do remember looking forward to receiving them. I sometimes used to find snippets that aunt used to cut out from the newspaper enclosed along with the letters; a cartoon strip, a puzzle, a word building game or a picture to color. Sometimes there were friendly pieces of advice as well. Of course, the moment I received the letter I was eager to reply. So out came the letter paper. I vividly remember choosing my letter paper and pads from Chennai’s most famous book and stationary store ‘Landmark’. I was particularly drawn to the Chimanlal designs as they were traditional, bright, and attractive. A motif of a mango on pristine white paper, a khadi print against a yellow background, a fiery red paper with golden colored Indian prints, and a spray of purple flowers along the length of the paper were some of the letter sets that I had collected.

Once I had selected the paper, I used to run up to mom and dad and ask them to help me draft the letter. I especially recall dad explaining to me that I should begin the letter with Dear so and so; that I should first enquire about their well-being. “I hope this letter finds you in the pink of health” is a phrase that I will never ever forget. That was my standard opening line for all letters that I wrote. And then of course the rest of the letter would follow. I used to end with conveying my regards to the other members of the recipient’s family and sign off with love.

Once the envelope was sealed, I used to wait until I could post the letter so that it could reach its final destination. Luckily, there was a red post letter box just down my street. An occasional trip to the dark and cool post-office meant I could read the names of the states on the differently colored boxes and drop my envelope into the ones marked Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and so on.

As I grew older, the desire to convey my thoughts on various subjects took precedence over the act of writing and posting a letter. When my grandpa was visiting my uncle in the United States I wrote him a letter expressing my thoughts on life, war, books that I had read and even everyday mundane activities. He remembered the letter for years to come. If I had sent him an email, would he have been as touched? I hardly think so.

That’s what’s special about hand-written letters. Letter writing offers pleasure not only to the sender but also to the recipient. In other words, the act of receiving a letter is as enjoyable as writing one. As I write this blog, a letter that was written to me by my parents five years back when I got married and moved out of country lies carefully folded in the  top draw of my writing desk. It is the only letter they have written to me so far and every time I read it, I find myself connected to them in an inexplicable sort of way. When I read the letter it feels like I can almost hear their voices. The cursive crawl of dad’s beautiful handwriting and mom’s miniscule writing brings a smile to my face. The letter is more precious than any material gift they have given me. The advice it carries is invaluable. The words are soothing and comforting. The letter is my panacea in those moments of darkness. An email or a phone call simply does not replicate the experience.

I have never seen my dad’s father but he has left his legacy behind in a letter written by him in 1959 to my father who was on a school trip when he was 15 years old.

Twenty years down the lane, will I ever pull out or even remember an email that I have archived? Will an email become a legacy? Will an old time email evoke the same emotions as a hand written letter would? Will we hang on to an email as a keepsake? I think we know the answers.

The advent of the communications revolution has sounded the death knell of the art of letter writing. – My dad.

Indians have long been insulated from the concept of a healthy lifestyle, which usually encompasses a well-balanced diet and a regular exercise regime. Most of us Indians have grown up on a diet rich in fat, spices, and carbohydrates. We may be spared of the ‘fries and ice-cream’ culture but our samosas, mithai, doasas, puris and murukkus are packed with enough calories to last us a lifetime.

My grandmother often used to lament that she grew up healthy and strong thanks to the ghee she was generously fed upon as a child. Needless to say she used to click her tongue disapprovingly and tut tut at my mother’s frugalness in using oil in her day-to-day cooking. I tried explaining to her that she could afford to follow Lord Krishna’s footsteps in slurping a cup full of ghee or feasting upon a pot full of butter and malai simply because she managed to burn all those calories. What with drawing water from the well every day to beating the life out of a cartload of clothes to sweeping the aangan to getting down on all fours and mopping the floors clean. Hell, where was one supposed to get all the energy from for all these chores if not from ghee, butter and malai? Unfortunately, this formula cannot be applied to today’s generation that is trapped in desk-bound jobs and a sedentary lifestyle.

Times are changing. Indians are waking up and smelling the coffee. They are conscious of what they eat, how they eat, and when they eat. Healthy diets and exercise seem to have turned into a national obsession and the health and wellness industry that is more than robust is raking in the moolah.

Rujuta Diwekar’s book ‘Don’t Lose Your Mind, Lose Your Weight’ flew off the shelves like it were a limited edition print. Following suit is wellness expert Namita Jain with her latest offering ‘The Four Week Countdown Diet’. Actress Kareena Kapoor is busy launching fitness books while Bispasha Basu decided to have her share of the pie by launching her fitness video, ‘The Fit And The Fabulous’. Weight and health obsessed youth are avidly surfing health and wellness blogs. Nutritionists have turned into celebrities and there is a hot demand for personal dietitians who can dish out customized diets for each body type. A few years ago, “gymming” was the in thing for staying in shape. It was all about weights and cardio and what not. But now, fitness chasers find comfort in hipper workouts such as aerobics, pilates, belly dancing, tai chi, yoga, and power yoga! Ayurvedic centers that hold the promise of a “truly authentic experience” are mushrooming across the country. Tranquil spas with a zen like atmosphere are seeing more visitors seeking a rejuvenation package walk through their doors and a monthly spa appointment has become as basic as visiting the salon for a facial. Supermarkets are stocking up on organic products and namkeen shops are advertising oil-free snacks in a bid to reach out to the every discerning consumer. Meenaksi Ammal’s ‘Samithu Paru’ that was once considered the gospel for young brides is now replaced by a pack of Sanjeev Kapoor’s zero-oil cookbooks. The city edition of any newspaper is filled with front page advertisements of slimming centers that promise to transform you from fat to thin within weeks. Dinner table conversations center on calories and diets and all that relatives and friends seem notice is your weight, the increase of decrease of it. Now, if these aren’t warning signs of a health-obsessed nation, then what is?

While all this preoccupation about healthy diets, fat busting exercises and weight loss is good for the “healthy” Indian, the change for some reason just doesn’t seem real. Perhaps I should use the term genuine. The point is that switching to a healthier lifestyle seems to have become a fad in modern-day India. The motivation behind the sweeping change that appears to have gripped most Indian households seems to stem from social pressures rather than a physical need to do so. There is nothing wrong in wanting to shed those extra kilos; but obsessing about it because you want to fit into that black party dress or because you want to shut off unwelcome comments from insensitive people simply doesn’t make sense.

Unfortunately or fortunately, the modern day Indian is heavily shaped by societal pressure. The trend is to wear dresses, skirts, blouses, or trousers that are more flattering to one’s figure. The salwar kameez or sari that does a wonderful job of hiding those extra layers of fat is not the preferred choice of clothing for most young women. Men too are sweating it out to fit into slim tees and slacks that show off their well-toned bodies. I suppose Kareena Kapoor’s size zero story is also doing its fair share in inspiring youngsters into acquiring an hour-glass figure. The end result is a fixation that is centered on losing weight, following a healthy diet and joining some form of group physical activity.

Another reason as to why some people are choosing the healthier path to life is that they want to feel good about it. That’s perfectly fine too. But most often than not, it is a half-baked attempt and they fool themselves into thinking that they are followers of a healthy lifestyle. Here’s a simple example that never fails to amuse me. Walk into any Saravan Bhavan or Sangeeta Restaurant outlet in Chennai for an early morning breakfast. You will find uncles, aunties, and even young men and women in their jogging attire cackling around a table laden with anything but healthy food. They walk along Marina Beach and huff and puff in their neighborhood streets or parks, and once they are satisfied that they have completed their ‘morning walk’ they head to the nearest idly/dosa joint and unabashedly order deep fried crispy medhu vadas, ghee infused sambar, and oil laden dosas. A glass of “fresh” mosambi juice with two spoonfuls of sugar seals the deal. Of course they then go back to picking and choosing what they eat during the rest of the day; all in the name of adopting a healthy lifestyle. And then we have our Gen X and Gen Y who booze all night, smoke like chimneys and help themselves to unhealthy pub food, only to hit the gym or embrace a detox diet the next day.

Until now India was grappling with the fair skin obsession. Well, I guess people have had enough of the ‘Fair and Lovely’ fixation and are now busying themselves with the new-age health revolution. It isn’t for nothing that Rujuta Diwekar titled her second book as ‘Women and the Weight Loss Tamasha’. Don’t get me wrong; I’m all out for a healthier life. There is no denying that a healthier life is a better life. But a health obsessed life is absolutely no life! There is a thin line that differentiates a healthy lifestyle and a health obsessed lifestyle. The question is: Do we know the difference?

There’s lots of people in this world who spend so much time watching their health that they haven’t the time to enjoy it. - Josh Billings

One of my first experiences of Saigon as I left the airport was the city’s traffic. For me, it was almost like a homecoming. Akin to India’s chaotic road traffic, Saigon’s roads are a sight to behold. Long winding lanes of motorbikes, bumper-to-bumper traffic, cyclos and cyclists meandering through the maze, cars honking, drivers screaming, sudden jolts and brakes and that’s Saigon’s infamous traffic for you. The good thing about Ho Chi Minh’s chock-a-block traffic is that it gave me ample time to connect with the city’s character and its varied sights and sounds. It was interesting to watch the motorcyclists cleverly navigate through the sea of vehicles and how footpaths turned into motorbike lanes. I saw nondescript little wooden shops selling textiles seated right next to a glitzy mall with flashing neon signboards and glass facades; gourmet restaurants just a few yards away from the street-side pho shops; and government buildings in peaceful coexistence with commercial complexes. Having lived in India for over 25 years these images weren’t out of the ordinary for me, but it was certainly a stark contrast from the traffic free, super clean, and highly organized city of Singapore, which is where I currently live.

There are several things to see in Saigon. You can embark on the War Trail and visit the war museum, cu chi tunnels, and the reunification palace or you can head out of city and take a canal boat ride on the legendary Mekong River. If you have a penchant for pagodas, there are several temples you could visit in the city or you could hop over to Notre Dame Cathedral. You can shop for local handicrafts, textiles, and gourmet food products or you could sit back and enjoy a water puppetry show.  So here’s what was on my itinerary.

Based on research and hearsay, the Reunification Palace seemed to be a “must-see” destination and that was where I was headed on the first day of my Vietnam vacation. Apparently, the Palace is the most important historic landmark in Saigon as it marked the reunification of North and South Vietnam.  After the French left Vietnam, the country was split into North Vietnam, controlled by the communists, and South Vietnam controlled by US-backed Vietnamese leaders. In 1975 the North Vietnamese army tanks crashed through the gates of the palace, marking the fall of the South Vietnamese government and well in a sense, the fall of Saigon; hence the term reunification palace. Given that the palace was the South Vietnam President’s residence and workplace during the American-Vietnam war you will find conference rooms, meeting rooms, entertainment lounges, a library, the palace kitchen, and of course war command rooms. It was like being in a time machine where time stood still. The furniture and artifacts were of a bygone era and you could almost picture the scenes of that period. The best part of the palace tour was the tunnels in the basement, which had previously served as the President’s war command station. Telecommunication equipment, maps, and projectors have all been preserved and it’s almost eerie to walk through those dark corridors.

The second hop over was the War Remnants Museum. Now this is certainly not a place for the faint hearted. The museum has exhibited proof of the Vietnam War and its horrific consequences. There are not only remnants of artillery, tanks, arms and ammunition but also gruesome pictures of war crimes meted out by American soldiers against Vietnamese civilians. The most profound exhibits were a series of photographs depicting the horrid consequences of Agent Orange. Agent Orange was a toxic dioxin used by the US military forces to wipe out forest cover that helped the enemy to hide.  However, the herbicide did more damage than that. It caused birth deformities amongst the Vietnamese civilians and the photographs in the War Remnants museum are testimony to the terrible consequences of the war.

After the War Remnants Museum I didn’t have an appetite left for visiting the Cu Chi Tunnels, which is usually popular amongst the tourists. Instead, I opted for a more pleasant, cultural, and entertaining experience – the Vietnamese water puppet show. Water puppetry is more widespread in Hanoi than in Saigon, but there are a few places that stage the water puppetry show to cater to the Ho Chi Minh tourists. Having read mixed reviews about the water puppetry show I wasn’t sure as to what to expect. But I was delighted beyond belief! The water puppetry show is one of the most unique cultural shows that I have ever seen. Puppeteers stand behind a screen in a waist deep pool of water and control the wooden lacquered puppets with bamboo rods. None of this is visible to the audience and it appears like the puppets are floating on water. The performance is accompanied by music rendered by a traditional Vietnamese orchestra. Although the performance is delivered in Vietnamese, it is easy to understand the story. The most common themes center on day-to-day rural living including fishing, reaping a harvest, attending a royal procession, watching dragons fight, etc. This is a must-see if you are visiting Vietnam.

No trip is complete for me if it does not include shopping.  I’m not a chronic shopaholic but I just love picking out souvenirs and artifacts for my home from every place I visit. The Ben Thanh Market in downtown Saigon is the one-stop place for souvenirs and knick-knacks. The market sells local handicrafts such as figurines of Vietnamese women in the traditional “au dai” costume and conical hat, metal and cane representations of the famous cyclo (a cross between a bicycle and a trishaw), lacquered boxes and vases in the most vibrant hues, paintings of rural Vietnamese life in muted tones, silk handbags with colorfully embroidered motifs, and eclectic hand-made jewelry. You will also find a section dedicated to flowers, fruits, ceramic ware, and food.  Walking through the narrow aisles of the cool market one can’t help but take in the aroma of coffee beans that wafts through the air. A coffee kit makes the perfect take-home gift and you can ask coffee sellers in the market for any quantity of coffee that you wish to take home with you. Coconut candy, preserved fruits, and tangy tamarind sweets are also one-of-a-kind and worth a try.

If you are looking for high fashion and off-beat stores then a stroll down Dhong Khoi is worth your time. Dhong Khoi is a shopping strip in Downtown Ho Chi Minh and houses some of the top Vietnamese fashion labels. Tastefully done up stores sport very classy silk scarves, blouses and au dais while some stores stock the most unusual and  captivating works of art.

I wouldn’t be doing justice to Saigon if I didn’t mention the wonderful Vietnamese cuisine that I had the pleasure of sampling while I was there. If you love beef and pork then you will love Vietnam. Beef is almost found in every dish from noodles (also known as pho) to rice. There are various types of restaurants, eateries, and cafes in Ho Chi Minh and there is no dearth of choice for foodies. Quirky cafes are aplenty and street side pho stalls are highly popular with the locals. During lunch hour, it is a common sight to see Ho Chi Minh’s corporate executives with rolled up sleeves, squatting on a small stool in front of a low table on the pavement, slurping up piping hot bowls of pho. Alternatively, they head to the nearest Pho 24 outlet for their steamy bowl of noodles. Pho 24 is a popular local fast food chain that serves nothing but noodles of various types. As for me, I headed to Lemon Grass and Vietnam House. Both the restaurants serve excellent Vietnamese fare and don’t cause a dent in your wallet. The ambiance is wonderful and the food is sumptuous. Vietnamese fried rice is light and tasty and pairs well with silky tofu in soy sauce. The vegetarian noodles were quite novel and the banana fritters and coconut ice cream whets your appetite for more. The perfect end to a hearty meal is a cup of Vietnamese coffee, which consists of a dollop of condensed milk topped with freshly brewed coffee.

Saigon is a wonderful, bustling, and pulsating city. It brings to mind evocative images whether it is svelte Vietnamese women in au dais’, elderly ladies in conical hats peddling wares, street side pho shops, or a cyclo trudging along a cramped and crowded alley. You just can’t get enough of the Saigon kick.

I’m not sure if it’s got to do with the way in which the shows are presented but it’s quite motivating and inspiring to watch Kylie stir fry finely shredded carrots, shallots and crisp cabbage in a rich and (seemingly) flavorful sauce or drool over Nigella’s desserts or feel refreshed by simply watching Jamie toss salad leaves, and cherry tomatoes with an olive oil dressing. I can’t help but pick up certain pointers on the techniques of chopping, grinding, frying while watching these chefs at work. And this is how I was drawn to the mortar and pestle – that simplistic looking primitive device. When I saw Kylie grind her Schezwan peppercorns or Bobby furiously pound garlic and shallots in the mortar and pestle I just wondered if it was a cook show gimmick or if there was any truth to their claim that it actually released the flavors of the ingredients.

Given that I’m a Gujarati the mortar and pestle was not alien to me. You will find it in every gujju home. The only difference is that it’s not made of granite or marble but is instead set in brass or steel – not too impressive looking for my liking. So when I had to run my own household I didn’t think much of owning it. I just used to pull out the mixie and get done with my grinding. However, the more I watched these chefs use the mortar and pestle, the more I was drawn to it. It reached a point where I simply HAD to own one. And so my hunt began. I searched online forums for hints on where I would find it in Singapore. I looked in neighborhood ‘all purpose’ stores. I walked down the aisles of hypermarts. I even trudged up to Mustafa thinking that my search would end there. But I was out of luck. The mortar and pestles were lone pieces and quite non-impressive. My mind was set on a black, smoothly polished granite one. One weekend I just happened to drop by a cramped store in Little India that seemed to stock utensils and pots and pans and voila! There it was! My prized possession. I was as excited as a little girl who has been given a doll.

Today, the mortar pestle proudly sits on my kitchen top and I never lose an opportunity to pound fresh garlic or grind cardamom powder in it. Is the experience gratifying? Yes! Does it make cooking more enjoyable? Oh yes! Do the flavors of the ingredients seem enhanced? Yes! Yes! Oh yes!

At the risk of sounding crazy, I’m going to say this: If you have ever doubted the usefulness of this tool, do yourself a favor – go get one and put an end to all those questions and apprehensions.

Say what you want about “Indian shining” and the rapid ascendancy of the sub-continent, but unfortunately the country still grapples with a water scarcity crisis. A crisis that every Indian has lived with at some point in his life. Unfortunately, the problem still hangs around and is more acute in rural India than the bustling metros.  I tagged this picture as ‘one-of-a-kind’ as it triggered off my memories about how we used to tackle the problem of water shortage. It all boils down to how far one would go for that much coveted bucketful.

It begins with lining up plastic buckets, cylindrical drums, and steel vessels under every tap of the house where water is expected to spurt or trickle, even if it’s only for a few minutes. Then you resort to drilling a bore well in your premises. When that doesn’t work, you start buying water every alternate day by the truckload. You also drop everything your doing as soon as you hear the rumble of the water lorry in your lane and scoot up and down with bucketfuls of water in each hand trying to get as much as you can. Finally, in times of desperation you start clutching at straws, abandon all apprehensions and do what we did. Smuggle. There, I said it. Yes smuggle…water.

It was a harsh summer. The city was called Madras then. We used to live in a house in  Abhiramapuram.  Our neighbor who also happened to be our tightfisted landlady had a well in her backyard. There was a gate in the common wall between her house and ours. It was a warm sultry night. At around 11 pm when the lights went out in the neighborhood, we (Mum, Aunt, sis and me) tip toed out of the back door of our house and silently made our way to Mrs. Sampath’s well next door. I used to playfully draw water from the well and help the maids with their washing during the day. But this time it was serious. I was shushed and told to remain as quiet as a mouse. I obeyed and watched as Mum, Aunt and sis tried to noiselessly lower the brass kodam into the inner depths of the receding water levels of the well and smuggle those precious bucketfuls of water. My heart was beating furiously and we were gripped with the fear of being caught. But this was something we simply had to do. Luckily for us, either Mrs. Sampath was so sound asleep that night that she didn’t hear us or she just believed that she was imagining noises in her sleep. Which one it was I would never know.

In retrospect, I find the whole water maaroing episode quite funny but the reason I recounted it is to underscore the problem, which still exists. Had Mrs. Sampath been kind enough to let us borrow some water from her well when we pleaded with her, that eventful night might never have happened. Better still, if we had better water management solutions in place, I probably wouldn’t be recounting this to you. But I guess when all else fails, necessity becomes the mother of invention.

When the well is dry, they know the worth of water – Benjamin Franklin

You must be familiar with the adage ‘never judge a book by its cover’. Well, add this one as well ‘never judge a restaurant by its décor/ambiance’ – and my review of Malgudi will tell you why. 

The ambiance: One would expect a restaurant with a name like “Malgudi” to have some semblance to south Indian décor. Except for the few Tanjore paintings on the walls the décor was everything but south Indian. You may argue saying that Malgudi is after all a figment of R K Narayan’s imagination, but you mustn’t forget that he himself proclaimed that the town, albeit a fictional one, is located in South India. Let us suppose I overlook the fact that the décor is not south Indian (I mean it really isn’t a big deal. There is no hard and fast rule that a south Indian named restaurant must have a similar décor.); I would still expect a sense of warmth and a certain “feel good factor” when I enter a restaurant. However, it felt strangely cold and devoid of any personality. This was further accentuated by the cold blast of air that was hitting me from the air-con vent just above our table. A quick look around and I could see that all the tables had the vent placed just above them. Unable to bear the cold, I had to request the restaurant staff to turn down the air-con temperature. I quickly told myself not to be critical and that perhaps the food would be good. After all that’s what matters in the end anyways. With my stomach rumbling, I was looking forward to having a luscious lunch. 

The menu: Quite an impressive list of dishes ranging from biryanis, Indian breads, tandoori fare, chettinad meals, chindian (Chinese food Indian style), etc. 

The food: Inspired by my Friday evening hindi serial, where the protagonists drive to a Delhi Dhabba which served the best butter chicken and shammi kebabs that melt in the mouth, I was determined to have paneer butter masala (I’m vegetarian and butter chicken wasn’t an option) with some Indian breads. There weren’t any shammi kebabs on the menu and so it was Gobi 65’ that I ordered instead. 

Ten minutes after we were seated, our complimentary paapads arrived. They were quite dismal and that’s putting it mildly. I was horrified at the amount of oil that was glistening and dripping off them. I politely pushed the plate aside and waited for the Gobi 65 with trepid anticipation. 15 minutes passed and there was no sign of our food arriving. 15 minutes is an agonizingly long time if you’re hungry. I cannot fathom what took them so long as the restaurant only had a few patrons (of course I now understand why!). When I thought that I would almost faint out of hunger the Gobi 65 arrived. It was daylight robbery – approx. S$7.00 for a few measly florets of deep fried cauliflower. By now, I had given up on the rest of the meal. Anyways, the main course arrived after another 15 minute wait. Surprisingly the naan and tandoori roti were good; the paneer butter masala was palatable. I’m sorry I don’t have pictures of the main course. You see I was so starved that as soon as the food arrived I pounced on it. 

The service: Oh dear! It’s poor! The waiting time is far too long and that is simply unacceptable. 

The damage: It depends on what you order. S$7.00 for the Gobi 65 starter is unreasonable considering the portion that was served. The breads (approx. S$3.00) and vegetables (approx. S$6.00-S$8.00) were priced at the standard norm. 

The verdict: Malgudi has lost me as a patron for sure. 

“If Broadway shows charge preview prices while the cast is in dress rehearsal, why should restaurants charge full price when their dining room and kitchen staffs are still practicing?” – Marian Burros 

The program revealed how Japanese housewives or even office-going women wake up early and carefully prepare the well-crafted and visually appealing bentos for the entire family. This youtube video will give you a clear picture of what I’m talking about. I was quite intrigued by the concept as I always held the notion that the lunch-box culture was peculiar only to India. The Indian tiffin box culture is akin to the Japanese bentos. Indian homemakers and working women still wake up earlier than the rest of the family just so that they can prepare the tiffin boxes for their children, husbands and themselves. I have fond memories of my mum’s tiffin box snacks and lunches that she used to faithfully pack for me every single day for 25 odd years.

I still have a photograph where I am all ready to go to kindergarten and I’m striking a pose with my orange plastic lunch basket that held my tiffin box and water bottle. I also vividly remember my first few tiffin boxes which were made of aluminum. I had a flat peacock blue colored aluminum tiffin box, with two compartments inside to separate the food items. It slowly progressed to an oval steel “dabba” which held my tuck. The steel dabba soon gave way to a plastic snack box shaped as “Hello Kitty” with a matching plastic spoon and fork. As I grew older, the Hello Kitty box gave way to more ordinary looking plastic boxes of various shapes, sizes and colors. Finally, when Tupperware invaded Indian homes, my lunch box was the round flat Tupperware box. I have however never carried the traditional tiffin box which has stacked containers with a carry handle and a unique locking system with a spoon (wish I had a picture of this!).

It is only now that I realize the value of those lunch box meals and the labor that went behind packing them every single day. In retrospect, those homemade lunches were a reminder of home in an otherwise busy day at school, college or work. I actually used to look forward to opening the box to find one of mom’s treats inside. I remember the extra effort that mom used to put into packing the meals so that they were convenient to eat. The theplas had a generous layer of butter and were neatly rolled and placed lengthwise in my box. The oothapams were smeared with the mollagai podi and were cut into quarters to facilitate eating. Idllys were similarly dipped in mollagai podi so that I didn’t have to get my fingers messy. The soft chapattis that were rolled with curried vegetables were delicious despite being cold. The sandwiches were cut to bite size pieces and arranged neatly with no gaps in the box. Aloo parathas with tomamto sauce, masala puris with mum’s sweet mango pickle, pooris and potato sag…yum scrum. I also remember that when I was younger, mum used to cut my sandwiches in various shapes – I used to love the round shape the most. Lemon rice, coconut rice and tamarind rice were always accompanied with applams that were packed separately in a plastic bag to retain their crispness. My lunch box was always accompanied by a neatly folded cotton napkin and a steel spoon. During the summer season mum used to tuck in a plastic glass of buttermilk that was seasoned with salt, garlic, coriander, ginger, and cumin. Despite grumbling about how bulky my lunch bag used to get I can’t deny how much I enjoyed gulping the buttermilk during those sweltering afternoons. It gave the meal a sense of completeness and cooled my system.

The advantage of the tiffin box culture that is widely prevalent in India is that you get to sample various Indian cuisines from the lunch boxes of friends and colleagues. So while my friends were busy polishing off my theplas, I was busy licking tangy onion-tomato chutney off my fingers and gobbling mini oothapams from my tam-brahm friends’ tiffin box. The well-mashed thaiyr saadam with a piece of spicy mango avakaai tasted the best from tiffin boxes that came from south Indian households.

While one would expect the lunch box culture to fade away with modern day India, it is heartening to know that the tiffin box culture still exists. It is a tradition and a mind set that is hard to break. It is after all our passion for home cooked food that created the ingenious 125 year old dabbawallah system as exemplified by this youtube video.

The bentos of Japan and the tiffin boxes of India are not just homemade lunches packed in a box; rather, they are a symbol of tradition.

Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch. – Orson Welles

Set against the backdrop of IIMA, Ananya and Krish meet, become friends and move onto becoming a couple. They have their share of fights, laughs, tears, funny moments and even sex. That storyline would seem enough for an entire book but this is what Bhagat covers in the first few chapters. The real action begins when Krish’s mom – a stout, plump, loud and ostentatious Punjabi lady who lives in Delhi meets Ananya’s parents – soft spoken, traditional South Indians who are content with their sambar rice, Hindu paper, carnatic music and simple Chennai life. It’s a clash of the titans from the word go and the rest of the book takes us through the events that transpire between both the families – the “boys side” and the “girls side” which eventually takes a toll on Krish and Ananya themselves. So does their love blossom into marriage? Do they manage to convince each other’s parents?  To what extent are they willing to go to make it work? Well, you’ll have to read the book to find out. The book provides an insight on the Punjabi and Tamilian mindset, for those of you who aren’t familiar with either of these communities. Parts of the story are set in the cities of Chennai and Delhi and you can expect numerous references to iconic buildings and a splattering of local slang. The storyline is predictable; yet Bhagat’s ability to draw you into the lives of the characters makes this book an absolute page-turner.

Born into a North Indian family but having been brought up in Chennai I could very well identify with the book. There is no doubt that 2 States will appeal to the sensibilities of its readers – almost every Indian will identify with Bhagat’s theme and message. ’2 States’ is absolute value for money. Critics may not find Bhagat’s latest offering to be “Booker” material; but who cares, it’s appealing, engaging and…kick-ass!!!

This is a must-read. Go get your copy.