Posted by Uma

It was the first time at the Jaipur Literature Festival for this reading enthusiast, who made the trip with her book club.

I have never attended an event with as much energy as Jaipur Lit. The atmosphere was electric, the excitement palpable. It was heartening to see that people could still get enthusiastic about books in an age of laptops and Google. Also, the shopper in me was thankful for little jewelry curio stores dotting the landscape of Diggi Palace, as well as a huge bookstore and a nice man in grand turban who doled out tiny cups (kulhads) of tea in between sessions.

I came back from Jaipur with excess baggage, a huge reading list, and experiences I will remember for ever. These are some of the highlights:

Chitra Banerjee Devakaruni: I really loved The Palace of Illusions, so Chitra Banerjee's talk was one that I was looking forward to. As an added bonus, I bumped into her outside the hall as well, and was struck by her simplicity and loveliness. I've just picked up her newest book, One Amazing Thing, about nine people trapped at an Indian Embassy in the States, and so far, am enjoying it!

Orhan Pahmuk and Kiran Desai: My daughter would say that this couple was the "Brangelina" at Jaipur Lit, and their joint appearance generated a huge amount of interest. I found Orhan's views on the West to be unfortunately a bit bitter, and loved the innocence and confidence with which Vietnamese author Nam Le spoke. He looked like he should still be in university!

Rasa: If like me, you don't have much time to shop while in Jaipur, I would suggest you head to Rasa. Centrally located and not too over-cluttered, this store stocks the yummiest fabrics, drenched in colour and prints. I love their contemporary cuts, and bought my daughter a silk coat that I had spotted at Bombay Electric at a significantly lower price (Rs 7,400 as opposed to Rs 15,600). Worth the trip!

J.M Coetzee: This Nobel Prize winner’s reading was possibly the most crowded session, located in the front lawns of Diggi Palace. Coetzee read “The Old Women and the Cats”, a short story about... well, an old woman and her cats, but what I found most amazing was that for the almost hour long reading, the crowd was completely silent, and no cell phones went off. I can’t remember the last time that happened!

Fab India Cafe: Set amidst leafy trees and walls of mirrors placed randomly, this pretty cafe, with its communal seating and warm service, was the best place to - literally - rub shoulders with the beautiful people at the Festival. I shared a table with Devika Bhojwani and her sister! The celebrity sightings included Gulzar, Javed Akhtar, Om Puri, Kapil Sibal and the very handsome Kabir Bedi.

Visit http://jaipurliteraturefestival.org for more.

Posted by Kanika

The New Way to Fight  Age: Live in a Fort

It’s easy to forget you’re a year older when you’re high up in a solitary fort, reality kept out by a moat and canons ready to fire at anyone younger who tries to gloat.

Birthday Bastion

This is how I spent my 28th birthday last week, behind the high stone walls of Fort Jadhavgadh, a 300 year-old bastion (an hour’s drive from Pune) that’s been converted into a luxury hotel. Travelling with fun companions who had strict instructions not make the day a big deal, we drove up a ghat, found the final entry road that Google maps couldn’t plot and surrendered our car at the tall gates. Judging from the bureaucratic management who don’t go out of their way to welcome you, it was clear that the whole don’t-make-my-birthday-a-big-deal thing wasn’t going to be a problem.

It’s hard to leave the pretty suites here at Fort Jdhavgadh – they retain the ancient stone walls, come with sky showers for star gazing – but you must, to explore the 25 acre property which is a work out in itself. There’s mini golf and an antique museum, azure pool (too shallow for our liking) and a temple, water-side spa and Sahyadri-view bar, akhada (gym) and rolling lawns where you can read under trees or just run wild. I started the day with a massage, working off the fun-turned-into-fatigue of the previous night, where my birthday was brought in with the moon, mojitos as tall as sky scrapers with sugar cane sticks for dripping and mountain chilli prawns at one of my favourite Pune places: resto-bar Trikaya’s zen terrace.

Forgetting Bs at Fort J

Hangover coaxed out of us at Fort J’s spa, we attempted a round of golf, napped, read, ate, drank, ate some more, napped again, and forgot all about Bombay, Bags and birthdays. Bliss! The stay ended with a super yum meal at Payatha, the fort's open air Maharashtrian restaurant where we ate bhakri and peethla with fiery thecha. Definitely a better pick than the coffee shop that serves multi-cuisine.

The next day, anti-age troops called in, defences put to rest and protection withdrawn, we left for Mumbai, glimpsing one last look at the resolved grey stone walls that for Rs 8,000 a night, didn’t let the fine (enemy) lines in. Only laugh lines. 

Now I’m 28 and back in Mumbai, but at least I got age to surrender for a day.

Check out Fort Jadhavgadh here, but remember the website doesn't  do justice to the place.

Posted by Kanika

Who knew Vikhroli could be this much fun! bpb spent the entire Saturday at the Godrej Clulture Lab listening to musicians, mentors and Mumbaikars Re(Imagine) the city. The stellar line-up included authors Gyan Prakash and Namita Devidayal, actress Tannishtha Chatterjee, songstress Alisha Batth, Assamese rocker Joi Barua and the very awesome Dr Homi Bhabha. Yes, we were rolling with Homi! Here’s a recap of Urban (Re)Imagination in Tweets.

How can we re-imagine bombay as a city of magical possibilities? #indiaculturelab

Namita devidayal sings and speaks about how bombay is a series of new moments and old, preserved spaces. Lovely. #indiaculturelab

Gyaan prakash on mumbai as myth, perpetuated for a young patna boy by bollywood images of marine drive &mario's drawings #indiaculturelab.

Chor bazaar as a physical manifestation of mumbai's multiple and conflicting histories: gyaan prakash #indiaculturelab

Liberty theater, with the giant piano carved into its facade, is mumbai's best jazz monument: Naresh Fernandes #indiaculturelab

A yum lunch of sandwiches and jalebis. Now for session two of urban reimagination. #indiaculturelab

1 song book and a smuggled keyboard from bhutan taught joie baruah how to play music in assam. Super to hear him sing. #culturelabindia

Architect rohan shivkumar points to 1-way signs on lawns, make out spots& multiplex ads in his fun talk on suburban bliss. #indiaculturelab

Architect rohan shivkumar ends with a picture story on when the centipede met a knife at juhu market. Best speaker yet! #indiaculturelab

You can tell from your address which year u moved to mumbai, javed akhtar told actress tanishta chatterji & she told us at #indiaculturelab

Post tea & vadas, we've heard about flash mobs, transformational teaching, new markets & more...reimagining communities at #indiaculturelab

Not to mention Alisha Batth's soulfoul, angsty interlude #indiaculturelab

Homi Bhabha closes: the variety of contributers allows us to begin to think, converse, act. A microcosm of civil society #indiaculturelab

Counterfactual thinking as the idea uniting all the speakers at #indiaculturelab today: Always ask 'What if..

Bhabha quoting yeats: fair and fowl are near of kin.

bombay is the city that taught me how to dream, & dreams are not just escape, but also show us how to survive: homi bhabha #indiaculturelab

Gyaan prakash:name change to "mumbai" was initiated by the congress, but implemented under the sena, who claimed credit. #indiaculturelab    

Posted by Mansi

2011, I've decided, will be the year I learn how to ride a motorcycle. This resolution came late but loud, asserting itself while I was riding down a winding coastal road in the Andamans with a friend, the wind ribboning around me, sunlight warming my face.

I'm a big fan of bikes, and really, should have learned how to ride one years ago. But there are some great hurtles in the way, a couple of which are unique to me. Here's the big one: I don't know how to ride a bicycle. Go on, gasp, laugh, shake your head in pity at what you consider my deprived childhood. I've seen all these reactions before, and none of them have ever compelled me to learn.

Well, I better learn now.

Another obstacle is my low threshold for pain, which I am sure I will cross during my first fall. Plus, the prospect of skinned knees and bruised arms is enough to turn me off the most promising tasks. My regrettably small frame and a family who thinks that I have a death wish are also issues that must be addressed before I hop on.

But hop on I will, propelled by the undiluted freedom, the exhilarating speed, the sheer velocity that you experience only on a motorcycle. I may have to start by balancing a bicycle on a wilted patch of grass at Oval Maidan, but I'll find my way on to the open road sooner or later.

Wish me luck!

Posted by Kanika

It’s hard to leave some sons of beaches. I want to say we’ve all been there, but you haven’t. I have. To that private stretch of Kihim beach where looking up at the endless supply of stars, you quite suddenly run out of words. The only reason you snap out of it, is to open a picket fence gate lined with pine trees to walk into Kinara: a stone cottage with a tree house, a swing and an al fresco picnic table on the sand.  

I suppose you could say it’s just a home. And these, just silly words. Endless supply of stars and what not. Maybe. But there’s definitely something about Kinara, a friend’s home where I brought in 2011. Perhaps it’s taken on the traits of the super chilled, pretty and artsy family that built it out of air, and run off to it every chance they get. “Then the house started growing, like the people, like the trees”.

It’s true, what Pablo Neruda says (above) about homes being alive, breathing and stuff. He would know. The Chilean poet built many whimsical cottages that looked like giant boats and jutted out of cinema halls, each resembling him, his muses and odes. To me, Kinara is what I imagine Neruda’s ship-shaped home, Isla Negra – complete with creaking floor boards and moss - would be like. A place where guests come and go but the sea never leaves; or where there’s always a place at the beach table for a last minute traveller; “a fable of cement, iron and glass”.

So Kinara isn’t owned by a poet, nor is it shaped like a ship, but rest assured that son of a beach is in ship shape. Add to that a newly-acquired local masseur’s number, bottle of single malt, a pool and brownie with mulberries recipe. Yes, the first days of 2011 by the sea were swell.

I’m past arrogance now, of having been to Kinara and lived there. And knowing that you almost never will. Because I realise that it’s hard to leave any beach, especially when there’s a house on it. Any house. Part of me still wants to say you don’t know where I’m coming from, but I know you do.

Stones, nails, planks, tiles, all

came together: Here I put up

the tousled house with a running stream

that scribled in its own language.

- Neruda, maker of many words and homes

The Sea Inside is a great title; so is A Wrinkle In Time, The Way We Were and The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

I don't know why i suddenly thought of them, or why they all make me vaguely sad. None of these works are connected in any way, and I haven't even watched The Sea Inside. The Way We Were and The Unbearable Lightness of Being are inherently depressing, so it might make sense, but A Wrinkle In Time? I loved that book when I when I was a kid - it was imaginative and wonderful and gorgeously written. Maybe it's because of latent desire to go back to a younger, simpler time (though i rarely want to revisit my childhood - i was a terrible kid).

Yes, I realize this is completely pointless, and I should get back to doing something productive, but, I mean, why these? Why not Fake Plastic Trees or Leaving Las Vegas or End of The Affair?

Okay, Okay, I'm gone.

Posted by Deepika

10 point review of why not to watch a film about wedding planners and 100 things to do before you die.

A Saturday evening was wasted on Band Baaja Baraat so writing this felt like the only redemption possible.

-Meet Shruti Kakkar and Bittu Sharma. One good for nothing and the other an aspiring wedding planner. We can already foresee how the two will fall in love. Opposites attract remember?

-Shruti wants to set-up her own wedding planning company, and Bittu who says "bisness" instead of business doesn’t want to go back to his village and decides to join hands with Shruti to start Shaadi Mubarak!

-So after planning a few shaadis in their mauhala, the two finally land a high-profile wedding. No more down market “functions”. And we too are spared from any more tacky decorations and loud songs.

-As the budget for the weddings increase, looks like so did the budget for their costumes. Shruti is seen in other colours besides neon green and bright pink. For Bittu, nothing much changes, he still says "bisness".

-So after going from s**t to “it” wedding planners, the two of them celebrate their success one night by getting sloshed.  Hero and heroine in a state of inebriation get too close for comfort and spend the night together. Haawww!

-Then comes the most original turning point -girl wakes up in boy’s bedroom, completely in love and happy. Boy wakes up, scared and prays that the girl hasn’t fallen for him. But their “special night” is nothing more than a mistake for Bittu.

-The sweet kudi turns into a mean, scowling and angry young woman who would even put a vamp from a daily soap to shame. She throws Bittu out of the company at the first chance she gets.

-Bittu starts his own bisness called Happy Wedding (wow...English) but fails miserably. Meanwhile Shruti’s number of clients also plummet and debts increase. Enter rich business tycoon, who wants the original Shaadi Mubarak team to plan his daughter’s wedding because apparently individually they suck. Egos are swallowed and work begins.

- Breaking News: Shruti is engaged to an NRI from Dubai who calls her once every five minutes. When Bittu hears about this, it doesn’t take him too long to figure out that he is in love with Shruti. * yawn*

-One phone call to Shruti’s fiancé and the problem is solved. Followed by the worst on-screen kiss ever. And of course the two tie the knot. Shaadi (and exit) Mubarak!

Since I have saved you an awful lot of time and some money, here’s something you should watch. Do you have a list of 100 things to do before you die? And if your life span was of 1 minute how many are you going to be able to check off your list?

Watch and Learn: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoaOf5u8-FU

Neville Wadia is a born and bred Bombayite who will be riding his bicycle from Bangalore to Bombay to raise awareness and funds for the Health Awareness Center, which treats terminally ill cancer patients with diet and exercise. He will be contributing to the bpb blog while on his journey.

The Bangalore to Bombay route has been done by bicycle by numerous groups escorted by cars and caravans, but to our knowledge no one has attempted this ride on the NH4 solo, with no car back up, caravan or TV crew, etc. I wanted to do something out of the ordinary so it would turn heads, get people's attention and make them take notice of the hardships and suffering that a cancer patient and their family face every day. That’s pretty much why I chose to do this grueling 1000 km. ride along an Indian highway with just me, my bike and a backpack.

The centre in Mumbai caught my attention because they do things differently and they challenge science by treating terminally ill cancer patients only with diet and exercise, no drugs and no surgery and it has been working in the US and in India, with numerous instances of the disease being reversed. This centre needs the funding and the publicity to go ahead and treat the needy.

So, all I am carrying is a small backpack that won't weigh more than 9 kg, as that’s all my carrier can hold. My back pack will hold some toiletries, a towel, a pair of slippers, t shirts, riding jerseys, shorts, and yes the most important accessory - padded cycling shorts. These things look hilarious but they are your savior when you plan to sit on a seat that is little wider than your palm for 6 hours a day. I'll carry 2 water bottles, a hand pump, some extra tubes for the tires and my companion all the way, my ipod.

The cost of my ride from Bangalore to Bombay has been very kindly sponsored by friends and associates. Rest assured that any donations you make will go directly to the TRUTH trust that funds this centre, and I can assure you your contribution is going into good hands, to people committed to making a difference. All cheques can be made out to 'TRUTH' and sent to me or I can get them collected. We are trying to see if they can get a paypal account setup so foreign donations can be made as well. Also their bank account details will be mailed out so direct deposits can be made. All donations will receive an 80g certificate for tax exemptions.

Thank you for supporting this cause, hopefully we can meet when I ride into Bombay on the 23rd of Dec to say hello and celebrate the great work we've done together. Details about location time etc will follow.

Cheers,

Neville

Posted by Kanika

It’s been a weekend fraught with tough choices: mature single malts vs. young singles, a new friend vs. an old book (Catch 22), business vs. boyfriend, sangeet vs. Sancho’s, the (rhyme) scheming minds of Neruda vs. Nash.

These five pairs stood nervously at the edge of a cliff, beads of perspiration running down their spines. Pick one, kill the other. But couldn’t I save both?

I could. With a little help from Mumbai - wth its million hands, multiple modes of transport, many emotional blackmailers, evil machinations, machines and milestones that make you want to run faster. Let’s show Sophie how it’s really done!

Sunday afternoon and none of the above options were hurt. Some a little bruised, a few underused, but no fatalities. Cliff notes to self: Good save!

But then evening creeped up on me with a rather unexpected dilemma: “Sheela or Munni? Choose quickly,” I was told, quite matter of factly. Under normal circumstances, I would pick neither. But my best friend was asking. And she was after all, getting married soon. So I picked Sheela, and quickly found myself in a V-formation, matching steps with five other women to the Katrina Kaif song, being taught hip rolls by a young sangeet choreographer. 

And just like that, Munni was dead. Lying in a pile of rubble at the bottom of a cliff. Neither shagged nor married and for that I am sorry. Or not. I’d killed one, but saved eleven. Not a bad track record.

Now, night has walked in on us. You and me, and a book of odes. Torn between blogging and Byroning, I choose once again not to choose. Cheers to you, verses, me.

Posted by Mansi

Willpower to hit the treadmill thrice a week – it seems responsible to put that on top of my list.

A tree - a real one, one that smells and looks and feels like the holidays.

Sailing lessons

A cappuccino machine and wicked audio speakers for the bpb office.

A snow day – the thing I remember most about snow days is how quiet it gets, the madness of Manhattan suddenly, utterly hushed. It’s like the city that never sleeps is finally resting, burrowed under a big white blanket. The next morning is a nightmare of course, with gross slushy roads and icy subway stairs that I would always slip on. But still.

A nice, big diamond (sans the engagement) - princess cut, first water, 6 to 7 carats, which in the sunlight flashes like my own little piece of sky.

A song sender – I’ve recently lost my best source for new music and need a replacement.

A fun party - I want to get all dressed up, wear a Santa hat and go to a party with lots of people and alcohol and holiday cheer. Eggnog would be nice too.

Purple Mary Janes, a patent leather car coat, the Casablanca DVD, a boy who will bring me flowers, breakfast at Pastis. 

Anyone feel like playing Santa?