Hubris

There was a time in my childhood when we would rush out of the house and squint our eyes at the sky to spot a passing aeroplane. We've reached that stage again _ with flights and airspace closed, the occasional aircraft or drone is reason enough to gaze at the sky and fathom what's happening.

Sharjah has been relatively safe and we've had our usual life so far. One emergency bag is packed and a few essential items have been stocked. 

May this madness end soon.

Kenya again

 A first cousin's 50th birthday was a good reason to visit Nairobi again from Feb 13_22. It was a week of endless partying _ the scheduled dinners at  Capital Club, an outdoor venue and at home _ as well as lunch or dinner at other restaurants and clubs or at home.

I had not attended anything of this scale before. The crowd was intimate and fun - they included apart from a few of us relatives - mother, sister, first cousins and relatives from the wife's side -- his friends from his student days in Belgaum, US, France and his work life in Germany and Kenya. Ash got a special invite too since he has been in regular touch with the ammacha (uncle). 

Just after I had booked on Kenya Airways, the cousin told us that he would like us to carry some 15 kg fish food for his koi fish; soon after, he asked Ash if he could bring his DJ set to play at the party. After some dillydallying, we decided to take in its original packing material -- discarding the box I got from Amazon. The fish food and set filled one passenger's luggage allowance, so the two of us managed to fit in our wardrobe for the week in the second suitcase. 

We were not prepared for the long-winding, slow-moving queue at the check-in counter in T1 of DXB on 12th midnight; some carried bulky shapeless sacks probably filled with consumer durables and other goodies that would have a good retail market in Kenya. Our DJ set was specially marked fragile and sent separately for loading in the aircraft after we had paid a fee of AED 45.. The journey was thoroughly uncomfortable and sleep was difficult in the 5 hours we were in the flight. Food was overcooked and nothing we would remotely fancy. 

We were accommodated at Novotel in Nairobi Westlands for the 7 days we were in the capital and Temple Point Resort for the 4 days we were in Watamu, a beach town that had the humid weather of Kerala and the development level of a North Indian small town. Apart from the complimentary hotel breakfast, we could troop to cousin's house near the embassies (the isrl one being the only ominous one with gun-toting security men and no photography signboards) which was an Uber ride away for lunch and a few dinners (the dinner parties on 14th, 15th and 16th were formal, casual and semi-casual respectively and grand affairs in their own way).  Ash played his DJ on the third night -- an informal garden party at home that was half ruined by an unexpected summer rain. 

On 15th, I joined a motley team for a city tour that included viewing the capital from a helipad. A hippie draped in a keffiyeh and a couple of African man sporting t-shirts displaying the Palestinian flag made a half-Palestinian guest among us happy and emotional. On 19th, my brother took us and his family for an early-morning safari in the Nairobi National Park where we saw three of Africa's Big Five -- lion, rhino and African buffalo. A huge baboon peeped in through the roof of our vehicle and went off with the breakfast that the hotel had packed for me -- that was fine; my only worry was the plastic caps and cases polluting the park.

The foodie that my cousin is, we feasted and drank like the gods on Olympus. As with the Australia vacation, it seemed unreal once I set foot back here. The only real and tangible parts were the goodies I brought home - tea and coffee packets, Masai-beaded mirrors and sandals, and other knick-knacks. 

Photo captions (clockwise from left): Barbeque party in the garden; the big formal party in Capital Club; the outdoor party in Langata; atop the helipad with the hippie couple in front; cousin's multi-level home near the Karura Forest; my cousin Rose feeding a Rothschild giraffe at the Giraffe Centre in Nairobi. 

Forced vegetarianism

 The New Year has started with travel. After returning from Kerala on January 14 - spending one night at the iconic Mascot Hotel by KTDC in the capital -- we played host to a Jain couple for 10 days beginning  end Jan.

Though it was difficult for us to abstain from non-vegetarian fare except during Lent, we took it in our stride and decided to learn some pure vegetarian, non-onion, non-tubers cooking. We bent backwards to accommodate the elderly couple we knew from our Chennai days. I provided them the Ganesha figurines to make their morning prayers. The man was not interested in the Sivakami figurine I treasured in my collection, and placed the  Ganeshas alone on a paper tissue in Mira's room. He also made it a point to turn the Masai family sculpture away to ward off evil energy in the room. 

V took physical and financial pains to take them around - Miracle Garden, Dubai Mall, the new Hindu temple in Abu Dhabi etc - while I escaped the first half because of a gig. My birthday also was marked by an eggless pista cake and some dinner at a veg restaurant nearby.

They left happy and content about a comfortable trip, blessing me before they made their way to immigration in Terminal 3. But would I have them again. God forbid. 

Much as we call it cultural exchange and tolerance, I dont like the air of superiority of vegetarians. Come on, humans are meant to be carnivores. 

Instead of meat and fish, we gulped down litres of oil and ghee under the lady's specialty cooking. 

The maid and me mopped up the water they splashed on the bathroom floor outside the tub. I sent the pillows stained with coconut oil to the laundry  -- some Indians like to apply oil on their hair after a hairwash. 

Two days after they left, me and Ash packed our bags to leave for Kenya to attend a first cousin's 50th birthday celebration.

Three weddings

... and a memorial service

In Kerala, a vacation well-spent.

BFIW 3

The reception the next night was equally grand. The couple entered through a cloudy, smoky path created by dry ice. Food flowed while dancing, gifting and photo ops went on in the background. Even by the most stringent belt tightening standards, the expenses would've crossed 25 lakh.

I departed the next day with a return gift and a box of sweets stuffed into my suitcase. After a quick trip to Gurgaon to meet a school friend I hadn't seen in 40 years, I boarded an Air India Vistara flight to Dubai. It was one helluva trip; I particularly liked the fact that i could go on a solo trip to my favorite Mughal monuments in Delhi  _ Qutb Minar, Humayun's Tomb _ on the morning of the reception! Random tourists obliged me to click photographs of myself. 

Key takeaways from being a part of a big fat wedding: they lack the grace and sophistication of a present-day Kerala Syrian Christian wedding but they are earthy and fun. They don't work with any clockwork precision and lack the organised brevity of xian weddings _ but there's food to keep people entertained, so noone has complaints. It's not the mad rush to the buffet halls we see in Kerala. There's more generosity in the hosting as I experienced in the hotel booking and food; our folks would expect us to fend for ourselves. The family bonhomie on the surface (at least) is endearing.  That people, despite the division and bigotry one sees online, are nicer, kinder and caring. 

I came back feeling happy and much loved.

BFIW 2

For the next 3 days, we had our meals sorted out. Special veg buffets on the terrace of the hotel or the feasts accompanying the sangeet on 26th night, the actual wedding on 27th or the reception on 28th night. I didn't miss my daily non-vegetarian protein intake and feasted on the paneer, chaats and Indian sweets. The sangeet had only the groom's party and i assume the bride's side had their own sangeet in another part of the city. The uncles, aunts,nephews and nieces danced along with the groom  while most of us ladies queued up for the mehndi application. I smudged one hand in no time  but despite the glitch, it brightened my palms for a few days.

On the wedding day, a beautician who came to deck up the groom's mother gave me also a touch-up _ it was no small makeover and had me looking like a kathakali artist who many layers of paint and a hairbun that betrayed my actual age. Seema looked stunning in a bright red sari while the other lady relatives turned out fancy in their best saris. By then, the whole extended family paid special attention to making me feel I was part of their family; either my Hindi was improving or their English was. I got on particularly well with Seemas mother, a retired teacher of English, and her quiet father, a college professor who didn't speak much English.

A bus transported us to the wedding venue inGhaziabad , and for a while we stood outside and danced around the groom perched on a white horse. The dancing went on for half an hour, I guess, on both sides of the road and outside the hall entrance before the bride's family  welcomed us all in great fanfare. Little plates of snacks and bright colored drinks began appearing wherever we were, and the initial excitement of a chat counter son dissipated when I realized I had to leave a lil space for the main course.

And then came the bride, in a lovely red lehenga and shielded under what looked like a flower-decked cot, raining flying kisses at the groom waiting on stage. 

The actual wedding pooja happened in the afternoon after we had our fill. The bride had changed into another outfit by then. Everyone crowded around the puja pandas, and i settled for a second row seat and closed my eyes for a while. By the time i woke up, the wedding ceremony was over. I had expected some loud chanting through a mic but it was a hushed affair and the pujari was probably the most soft spoken guy I had seen. Most embarrassingly, the relatives had all seen me dozing and thought I was bored.

The big fat Indian wedding

I flew straight to jaipur on an air arabia flight on Nov 22nd where I was eagerly and affectionately received by my brother's in laws, a retired naval officer living in an officer's campus, one of the few decent localities I found in the Pink City. The city had none of the charm that beckoned us from tourism brochures but was dusty, dirty and disorganized. But my host's bungalow had the most charming and beautiful interiors. I was meeting them for the first time in their home ground. They organized a taxi and one-day tour for me that covered Hawa mahal, Amer Fort, and a drive up Najafgarh fort from where we could observe Jal Mahal basking in the winter sun. The Palace was closed for renovation. Food was great at the restaurant we had lunch and at my host'sfor breakfast and dinner. I left the next day afternoon for Delhi in an Air India vistara flight, despite trepidations about traveling AI after the Ahmed -abad crash. A green yet polluted city welcomed me and took me in an airport taxi to RK PURAM where my friend lived. She welcomed me with aarati and sindoor, and I walked in to a house teeming with her relatives who had come from Indore and Neemach mostly. By night, many of them dispersed to other relatives' homes and it was just me and the groom's parents in the 50 year old government flat. Bro's friend Des and Farah took me out for dinner to an Assamese restaurant that served pork but no beef, so i settled for a chicken meal. 

The next day morning, there was a spillover puja from the previous day's haldi ceremony. The pandit gathered the groom and his parents near him while the rest of us sat behind and most chattered away loudly defying the loud chants from the poojari who would occasionally hand out various things for the groom or his ps to hold or put into the fire. He had a sense of humor and cracked some jokes in Hindi which I didn't understand by everyone else laughed. He kindly let me do an aarati or circling a plate of consecrated stuff around the fire in the end like every other relative.

Soon after the ceremony, we shifted to a hotel in a Punjabi colony. The reception sported paper clippings of Modi wishing Sikhs on their auspicious day.