De-ionising Pokhara

The one and only C. K. Lal, the inimitable 'calumnist' (as he makes 'pun' of himself) of the great newspaper NT, once wrote, Pokhara is enchanting anytime of the year (even when the Nepali Congress is holding its bi-ennial convention there - which was the subject of that particular article). The Ghoses couldn't agree with him more. They keep running off to this lake city at every conceivable excuse. In the last 3 years they must have made at least a dozen trips to Pokhara - roughly one a quarter. So, they have seen it in all seasons and loved it more each time. Even on this weekend S.. made a quick dash there - ostensibly to attend a Sales conference of his team.

The Shangri-La, of course, is their regular haunt. Though it's not quite a "village", as it is called, nestled amidst paddy fields, the architecture and understated ethnic decor blends naturally with the surroundings giving it a very " Come… touch me" feel, which the Fulbari loses in all its over-bearing grandeur. S.. says that, the Shangri-La is a place one likes to imagine - be it only in parts - of being close to something of one's own. Its row house cottages, with the little piece of lawn or balcony in front, could well have been a part of your weekend house out in the country or the hills. Even the deep-blue swimming pool has a homely character of a pond in the back yard. In contrast, The Fulbari seems so awe-inspiring and, therefore, almost by definition - totally out of reach, in every sense. But, their real favourite is Prem & Poornima's little treasure tucked away above the Begnas Lake - a good 13 kms from the city and another 30 minutes by boat. But, once you are there you are transported to a different world entirely. It's like going back 50 years in time.

Life stands still on the Begnas Taal. There is the sight of the occasional boat ferrying villagers across the lake. Inching its way through the placid green water evoking a feeling of timelessness. Or a little girl sitting still for hours in a tiny "dinghy" waiting for a few fishes to come up on her net to take to the nearby market or home for dinner. A few small houses dot the rain-washed green hill on the other side. That's where our old boatman lives - and at the end of day's work, he would row across all the way and trudge for 2 hours to his home up on the hilltop. "Don't earn enough to stay the weeknights in a hotel", he told us half in jest.

Even if it's not practical to stay at the Begnas their on every trip - due to sheer logistics constraints - the Ghoses try to make it a point to at least go their for a lunch or an afternoon outing. Like S… did with the boys this Saturday. On a clear day one would get a lateral section view of the Macchapuchare, Annapurnas and the Manaslu. But, the clouds threatening to break into a heavy downpour at any moment lent a different character to the scenery. The only regret was that, the guys at the resort can't make honest good Pakoras - which are just right for the weather. Perhaps, the German and Australian tourists have spoilt them. Point of complain for Buchu's Mom.

S… feels his stress level palpably drop the moment he lands in Pokhara. He is convinced that, this is due to the heavy charge of negative ions in the air. Someday, he hopes to write a thesis on this by conducting an emperical research on the 'conception' record of all honey-mooning couples visiting Pokhara. They did something similar at Niagra and it was established that, there is, indeed, a scientific correlation between negative ions, drop in stress-levels, rise of libido and ease of conception. ( It affects peacocks the same way). This led to the invention of the electronic "De-ioniser" that today graces so many American bed-rooms with good effect.

If Begnas eases his stress levels, Mumbai sends a rush of adrenaline up S..'s veins. Once travelling with him from Pune in the Deccan Queen, a colleague had commented that, he noticed a new spring in his otherwise languid gait, the moment he steps out of the train onto the VT station. But now, even he feels tired by the end of the day, especially if he has been to the Backbay. It's not the same place anymore. So, unfailingly each evening he'd return to Udyan Darshan for his mandatory quota of Varan-Bhath to uplift his sagging spirit.

While S.. was been busy pumping various fluids into and out of his system, the other members of the Ghose parivar have been honing their artistic talents. Junior Miss Ghose did a Ras-leela dance l - lipstick and 'blush-on' decked Radhika - for Janmastami at her school. On Sunday evening, her Mom joined the 'Anandalok' chorus for 'Baishe-Shravan' (the death anniversary of Tagore - or was it Barsha Mangal?) - to keep the flag of Bongi cultural chauvinism flying high atop the Himalayas. Grandparents and in-laws, who were present on both the occasions, were duly impressed.

Shyama Prasanna Bose (Sejo) was in school with S.. at Don Bosco, Park Circus (Cal). He was the rolly-polly, fun-loving son of an eminent labour lawyer of Calcutta - a scion of a typical "Bonedi" ('Bunyadi') family Padma-pukur, Bhowanipore. In class, he was notorious for polishing off the tiffin of all his friends and laughed at the imagined plight of their mothers - who would be wondering why their sons were not putting on weight, despite their nutrition packed lunch boxes. When Shyama didn't clear his ISC (Plus 2) - his friends were sadder than him. He put on a 'Bindaas' appearance and said something to the effect of - he had to fail to prove that the credibility of the exam system, which otherwise had an almost 100% pass record. Thereafter, we lost track of him for many years until one discovered him travelling the country-side with a Rural Sales Propaganda company. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy his freedom and the care-free, unconventional life-style. Then again, last week - thanks to Batchmates.Com one found him again, now styled as 'Sejo Bose' - this time working as Director Sales & Marketing of an NGO in Patna - called Janani.com, specialising of all things in Women's Reproductive Health. He wrote back: "This was like changing gears. Setarer tarta fine tune korte korte tarta ache kina bhuleyi ghechlum….. Ekhon Shyama theke Shejo hoye gechi!!" Who says that Blogging doesn't have its use ?

Diary of a Trivia Hunter

A web horoscope (strangely called, 'Swoon') which 'S…' subscribes to, has warned him not to get carried away with "trivial pursuits". Not being a member of any high-powered committee of FNCCI or NICCI (the favourite monsoon pastime of the Kats business gentry and corporate elite) he didn't understand the difference between trivial and trivia. Confused, as always, he turned to the wife for enlightenment. With a frown as deep as the gorges of Mustang, that cuts furrows on her supple forehead each time she engages in some heavy-duty thinking, N.. jabbed the buttons of the TV remote in her hand. Shuffling channels from HBO to Cinemax to AXN like a pack of tarots - she seemed to search for the divine intervention. Finally fixing her gaze on a studded navel of a lithely swaying mid-riff (that are 'made-to-order' only for MTV) - she delivered her verdict in a sombre under-tone: What else ? - but your disgusting dissertations on the Blog.

With politics and sex being taboo on a family-site (except for those occasional lateral innuendoes) and the more private passions or personal phobias not being the stuff for public portals either, there are very few subjects left for the Blog to discourse upon. And, ever since he has imposed the self-censorship on party gossip, he is at a loss for material, which is beginning to threaten the very existence of the 'Spot' itself. For, what is life in Kats without those parties? We spend most of our evenings either 'waiting' to welcome new friends or bidding adieu to old ones. But, the threat is in more ways than one - for a few hosts are genuinely peeved at not getting a mention of their dos in the Blog - making us feel that we didn't quite earn our dinners. No wonder the consumption of antacids has gone up in the Ghose household. But, if any of you are prematurely rejoicing at the impending demise of this page - please hold your breath. So, from gloating visages to bloating bellies - here we go.

Last night, at the Wanchoos, he was heard holding forth on the virtues of a mildly bulging avoirdupois in middle-aged males. Apparently it improves their marketability. A bulbous middle, apart from sending re-assuring signals of prosperity, also indicates a lack of self-consciousness and ability to give-in unabashedly to the pleasures of the senses, which prospective females find absolutely irresistible. Men with trim figures and tucked in bellies usually suffer from an obnoxious obsession about their own desirability, which is as insufferable as the synthetic fragility of the 'come-hither but touch-me-not' hour-glass bimbettes.

All in all it's been a busy week. The FNCCI elections over - the celebrations have started to roll. We are missing the big 'sarkari' bash at the Soaltee on Monday - but are looking forward to the "Cheroot' company's felicitation of 'Humro' Ravi (the other one) and not to mention that of the Insurance (among many other things) tycoon. And, the arrival of the high-level Indian government delegation last week has only added to the merry atmosphere. The newspapers have also shifted focus, from the monotonous accounts of rising insurgency or the 'already-lost-interst' stories of in-fighting within the ruling party (in less than 2 weeks of its selection of a new leader), to the country's best loved sport after Football and Teakwondo - bashing the 'high-handedness' of the southerly neighbour. Notwithstanding what our saffron-chaddi clad, thirsty-pie from Bishalnagar / Lainchaur may have to say - a lot of water will flow above (or through) the Raisuwal or Rassiyal (?) barrage before we meet at the next cocktails . We only hope yesterday's effigy burning does not take yet another Roshanic hue.

The syndrome of successors taking their own time to come is - perhaps - also symptomatic of the poor tourist turn-out. The hotels and restaurants continue to run empty. Though, last month one saw - a slight pick-up in the arrivals of western tour groups - the 'desis' are nowhere to be seen. Places like Pokhara - a haven of Indian tourists wear a forlorn desrerted look. One only hopes that, the situation will improve before Dassain. But, if the Home Minister's prognosis at the HMA's 2 days ago is anything to go by - then we are in for tough times ahead. With industry already in a bad shape, if tourism too comes a cropper, then what'll be left of the economy - barring Lord P's blessings ?

'S..' is suffering from a little touch of jealousy at discovering N's hitherto untapped media-savvy instincts. Her unique choice of swim-wear has attracted the maximum number of comments from vistors of the Ghosespot. To chill-out, he is taking off again for magical 'Mumbs' tomorrow (sadly, no chance of a dinner at Trishna on this trip). But, this time around he's made sure to leave only on a Sunday - just to keep the wagging tongues at bay.

A Blogger Full of Thanks

Dearest Blogsters, how could you ever fall for this one - even if it was just plain old curiosity? Over a 100 hits in one day (it's another matter that, more than half of them could well have been contributed by the 'blog' himself - tho' he would never admit to such narcissistic frailties) and the guest-page overflowing with the kindest jottings he has ever in his life (never mind the one about the bare unshaven armpits). Can you imagine what a tremendous high all of you set him up to? Gloating like an old 'ghasu' (that's a Ghose's answer to Bose stylised as Basu) and grinning from ear to ear, this 'not-so-hot-male' could almost hear the cash registers resonate from the sale of the world's first 'e-salon' boutique web-site (seriously thinking of changing his surname to Bhatia, Premji or Murthy - if that helps in improving the valuation). But, thanks a million times over - the Ghoses are truly touched. To tell you the truth, a man beset by premature menopausal syndrome (that's what the true meaning of a 'blog' is - as many of you have asked time and again) does require such artificial aphrodisiac boosts every once in a little while to prop up the ego - made fragile with the onslaught of mid-life and mid-career crises.

Sure, we have had our share of hate-mails too, as you would have no doubt guessed. But the writers have been kind enough not too post them on the site. While most people have been intrigued by the huge disparity of the STC Ratio ('Skin to Cloth') within the Ghose family and their strange choice of swim-wear, others have expressed relief at their turning to the relatively harmless pursuit of 'blog spotting' rather than, say - trying their hand at cutting a Bong-Rap CD and prancing on the screen with similarly weird costumes or writing a sex-thriller, which all of you would have black-mailed into buying to meet the minimum sales commitment to the publisher. Another has accused him of shameless "spamming" to gain forced readership. But, overall - it has been a rewarding experience.

It's on days like this that, 'the blog' develops a particularly generous disposition towards the world at large. He stops blaming the old 'kompany' ( that's how a good Bong would always pronounce it ) for all his travails - the good things that could have happened to him but didn't. He feels secretly grateful that he was exiled to the land-locked country of the Sher Bahadurs ( Nepal ) and not the 'sea-locked' land of the real Tigers ( Lanka ) or to Iran, Iraq or Bosnia - (notwithstanding what friends at the Embassy have to say about the night-life at Colombo and Tehran, the dropping manteus and rising hem-lines or their UN indexed salaries ). He is willing to forgive Atal's (Vi)Agra performance and discovers a new radiance in Sonia's steely smile. He seriously believes that Deuba will make a better PM than Dubya would fare as President and wonders about the post-retirement plans of old man GPK ( may be he would suggest writing his memoirs on the blog ). In short, in his current mood he would do anything short of opening the purse-strings for the wife to buy jewellery or go for one more round of trinket shopping to Patan. Each one is entitled to his own kicks you would say, perhaps. But, please do keep writing in.

The Tiger roared again in Nepal with Sher Bahadur Deuba taking over as our new PM last week - the 4th in 3 years since we came here and the 10th after the inception of multi-party democracy in as many years (counting 2 terms of Deuba himself ). But, as with all changes, there is a new mood of optimism in which even we are partaking. The NT in its latest issue was at their helpful best providing the new premier a check-list for action. Dubby-dear also did a superb plug-in for him (and the new monarch in the same-breath - quoting zen parables ) in the 'ToI' op-edit page last week - of which we got a preview over a lovely dinner of 'gayeko-momo-kothay-suimai' at the Everest Roof-top the night before. We all live on hope and good food, when there is little else on offer.

Phoolan Devi's death brought back the memory of our chance encounter with her on the train from Jodhpur - when we were all returning from a Branch Sales Conference and the inimitable OP ( Raheja ) ran after her through the corridor of the compartment to pay his 'customary respect' to the 'leader of the people', which she graciously acknowledged. Her looks didn't quite live upto the image of a "Bandit Queen", - mellowing effect of parliamentary politics one would think, or was it 'FAL' ? - but, one couldn't say the same about the goons ( bodyguards ? ) who were accompanying her . One eye contact with them was enough to send the chill down our spine and even OP beat a quick and wise retreat back the alley - being afraid that, next they might ask us to vacate some of our seats, as they obviously didn't have any reservations of their own. But luckily, much to our relief, they were accommodated in the next coach.

As usual, oblivious of politics, war and the weather, Jaya has disowned her parents (temporarily we hope and high-time some of you would say) with the arrival of her of Amma and Dadai on the scene. But the elder Ghoses are terribly hassled at the packed routine of the grand-daughter ( swimming, tennis, art-class, dancing - not to mention her mother's computer classes) and almost threw a fit when the she non-chalantly informed them that the next on the list of her extra-curricular activities would be horse-riding.

And now here is some 'KBC' trivia for our general interest readers. Though Nepal and India have not fared very well on the Human Development Index ( ranking in the low 100s - a significant improvement over the past - however), they have done far better on the SSI ( Sexual Satisfaction Index - got it ? ) factor as compared to many of their more developed Asian neighbours and Western brethrens. According to the latest Roper Starch Worldwide survey of sexual happiness, 46 percent of Venezuelans are "very happy" with their sex lives, the highest percentage of any nation. Brazil was the second most-satisfied (32 percent), followed by the United States (27 percent), India and Mexico (26 percent) and Australia and France (25 percent). However, if you're looking for good lovin' on the road, you might want to avoid Germany, Italy and Malaysia (tied at 14 percent), China (9 percent), Russia (6 percent) and Hong Kong, where only 5 percent of the population are happy with their sex lives. Perhaps there is a reverse correlation between economic growth and 'happiness' or there may be a case for factoring in the SSI into the HDI in future. So, asks our spirited neighbour, Ko Ko Bancho Sex-pati ? Crore-pati Banne Me Ki Faida, unless the fundamentals are right ? Point to ponder for our good friends in Moscova, HK & Shanghai ( you know who we are talking about - don't you ? )

A Farewell and a Birthday

P. K. Hormis Tharakan is a gentleman among the diplomats and, for those who knew him, also an 'officer' at large. Some cheeky tongues say in jest - it was the pressure of these well earned epithets that compelled him to leave exactly on their scheduled date of departure - not staying on for even a day longer after the 'farewells' ended - breaking all previously set traditions of "the valley", diplomatic or otherwise. Soft spoken, mild-mannered and polite to the hilt, always impeccably dressed ( possibly a carry over of his Italian stint ) Hormis is an epitome of refinement. The salt & pepper moustache and understated smile gave him an old world charm - an instant hit with the women ("they find me - Oh, so safe !" he would say with an impish grin), which 'S…' considered unfair competition. Molly - as sweet as one would expect anyone of that lovely name to be - is the most fantastic cook and her dinners were the talk of the Embassy circuit. She made the most divine Appam and Stew, which 'N & S' would not miss for any other party in town. So much so, before leaving she gifted to 'N..' her 30 year old heir-loom "Chatti" (sauce pan for cooking appams) alongwith the "foolproof" non-stick family receipe (it's quite another matter that N..'s 'hopper' experiments so far have turned out more like Scrambled Rice-pudding than anything resembling those fluffy-base delights).

Appu and Mathu their 2 boys are the most unbelievably well mannered youngsters one can find today (which makes S.. feel guilty remembering what a terrible chap he was at their age, and he has only gone downhill since then). Mathu the younger one was shy and very much a Mama's boy - whom Molly (is that what "Molly-coddling" means ?) would try to force-feed back to health for all the imagined starvation of hostel life (indeed, he was having a problem adjusting to Singapore food). Appu in contrast had taken more after the father growing up like a typical Stephenian, which he is. By the end of their tenure, however, Mathu became quite apologetic about all the calamities that struck the kingdom, every time he returned to Kats for his vacations ( the first December, it was the hijack drama, next Christmas it was the 'Hrithik' fiasco and finally the "Love Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega" episode). Appu on the other hand became an expert at manning the telephone control room at home - somethingt he claims he had picked-up, when he was much younger, during their Sri Lanka stay, where such incidents were routine occurrences of every other night.

We had the privilege of having the Hormises over at home for a quiet meal - the evening before their departure, with D-Babu, Pb-Di and Amit-da for company. Rainbow Trouts from the Trishuli cooked in Chillies and Basil provided the perfect material for dissecting the reminiscences of past 3 years - separating the flesh from the bones, leaving only the bare skeletons on the plate. Washing it all down with a fine Barbera, even the 'ever-so-proper' Tharakkan-saar couldn't hide his sense of relief at handing over charge of - what he admits was, in many ways - the most eventful assignment of his long and chequered career. Now, we have to remain ever so "Pyasi" for such accounts.

Kids, they say, grow up much faster these days and certainly a lot smarter. And, above anything else they have a far better dress sense - sometimes even before they learn to crawl. That's certainly the case of the 1 year old, whose Birthday bash we went for last evening. Yeah, we are talking of Kunda's baby - the Nepali Times, which came of age from its very first issue and is already 52 weeks old. It's arguably the best product of Nepal (after, perhaps, only Fair & Lovely ). While everyone praises its contents (Kunda believes that most people start reading it from the back - and sometimes get no further, absolutely no prizes for guessing why), we love its layout and design. On that count alone it can take on any newspaper in the world - not just another tabloid. But, what really distinguishes it is its editorial quality. NT has one of the finest copy-desk - tho' from the first to the last word it bears the signature Kunda stamp (no wonder he needs a hat to store so much under his silver lined pate). It's unmistakably a labour of love - therefore, sometimes one worries whether he may be inadvertently setting a far-too-high standard for his off-spring, which he might find difficult to keep up, as it grows up to be a big 'daily'. Until then, we have no doubt, it would remain both "fair" and "lovely".

Friday night dinner was with the Seths at the Royal Singhi Roof-top Chinese restaurant. The ambience of the place is going to seeds (tattered carpets, stained table cloths and unwashed napkins) but the food is great. Nibbling at timur-spiced fried mutton ribs, we discussed the toilet training of their dog - Caesar and the mild incontinence problem the pup seems to have whenever he gets too excited. By the time, later at night, when we had adjourned to the Rads for desserts and coffee (they now have a lovely gourmet selection of beans from all over the world), the topic had veered onto beach etiquette in nudist colonies. Not that anyone of us have ever been to one or even planning to go in the future, it's simply a part of A & S..'s early Boy Scout training, where they were brought up on the motto: (always) "Be Prepared".

Kats, Rains and The Woods

N… has a tough time explaining to friends and neighbours why S… chooses to take off to Mumbai always over a weekend. Surely it can't be work - they all agree and none is willing to buy the rather wet-excuse that, he loves to watch the rains from his Gulita guest-house window. That's something he could have done as well in Kats, which has a pretty good monsoon of its own - tho' it may not be quite the "real stuff". But, to miss all those farewell lunches and dinners, in the bargain, makes no sense at all - they insist. The inquisitors are further outraged when he goes on to wax lyrical about ultimate ethereal beauty of the mating of the sea and the clouds. As the dark gray clouds ( is that why they are called "rain-bearing" ? ) move over the dusky Arabian waters, nature takes on a lusty hue that's not to be seen anywhere else in the world. Foreplay over, when he finally touches down to kiss her dark tresses and she - in protest and excitement -lashes her waves on the concrete promenades of Worli Sea face, spraying mist all over - it makes for one of the most exquisitely sublime scene of love making that the mind can imagine. Not being given to spurious poetry - the 'Set-nic' mind concludes that this is clearly a case of transposition of experience and demands to know who the real 'woman' is.

It was the 12th of July - another angry monsoon day exactly 6 years ago. 2 identical navy blue Marutis were doing a fast crawl, ant-like, up the Khandala ghats on the way to Pune. S… was leading the way with Abba in the first car, in the back seat was Sharada - the "Nanny-on-Loan" whom Amma had brought along from Calcutta. Behind them, in the second, was little Jaya - then all of 8 months old, perched like a tiny doll on her Amma's comforting lap, the first outing of her life, blissfully clueless about the 'journey' she had embarked upon. Her 'Ranjit-chacha' was on the wheels, with N… sitting next to him as the 'trying-to-be-helpful' navigator making sense of the winding road through the slitting rain. The same morning Amma-Abba (S…'s parents ) had arrived from Kolkata by the Howrah Mail with Sharada in tow. Pradeep-Gauri (Chatterjee ) had taken them home to Bandra, where N & S arrived a little later with their bundle of 'Joy(a)' via the Math in Khar. The previous evening they had attended the 'service' the Sisters had specially kept for their chosen one and in the morning when they went to formally 'receive' her - she had been dressed-up like a bride-to-be, bonnet et all. At the Chat's Jaya shared a meal with their daughter - coincidentally, also named Joyeeta and roughly the same age - and tippled a little on her friend's bottle of Triominic ( a paedeatric antihistamine syrup ) to get ready for the long car-ride, being a little down under the weather.

When the cars reached "The Woods" in Koregaon Park it was already evening. The sky had begun to clear and the full moon of 'Guru Purnima' ( the day Amma had chosen ) peeped through the spanish-windows of the flat to have a look at the treasure she had brought home to the Ghoses - as Ranjit raised a "Royal Salute" to his niece's 'home-coming' with the vintage bottle that Didi (N..'s sister) had gifted many years ago - preserved, unknowingly, just for such an occasion.

There goes the secret of another 'woman' in S..'s life.