Going bananas: the easiest ever banana bread recipe for the amateur baker

If you, like me, don't particularly relish bananas but buy them anyway because you have been conditioned to consider them as one of those things that taste bad but must be eaten because of the fount of health benefits they offer, you must be familiar with the inevitability of most of them turning into overripe brown mush before you finally get around to eating them. Now, no one—no matter how die-hard a fan you are of the fruit—likes a squishy banana, and disposing one off purely on account of its squashiness is nothing short of sacrilege (Yes, I'm a bit anal about wasting food. I'm the kind of person who eats the same thing for 3 days consecutively). Fortunately, there are many awesome ways—read desserts—to put squishy bananas to use, and none easier and more delicious than the banana bread (except for the banana raspberry frozen yogurt I ate at The Big Chill in Delhi a decade or so ago). 

So, here's presenting my first and very humble attempt at baking something: the delightfully scrumptious banana bread! Now it may seem like a complicated dish considering it takes something despicable like banana and converts in into an amazing dessert you can't have enough of, but, truth be told, this is something you can make with minimal effort and you probably don't even need to make a trip to the market. 

Serves: 3-4

Preparation time: 60 minutes
Cooking time: 45-60 minutes

Ingredients:
2 cups maida/flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 eggs, beaten
3 overripe bananas
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup butter
2 tbsp walnuts, crushed
2-3 pinches of ground cinnamon

Method:

• Preheat the oven to 165°C for 60 minutes.
• Meanwhile, melt the butter slightly and add it to a big mixing bowl along with the sugar. Mix the two well.
• To this, add the bananas and mash them till they become almost completely pulpy. Now add the beaten eggs.
• In a separate bowl, mix the flour and baking soda.
• Add this to the banana/egg/sugar mixture and mix till it acquires a thick paste-like consistency.
• Add the crushed walnuts and cinnamon.
• Now take a loaf tin and grease it lightly from all sides. (I used a round cake tin since I don't have a loaf tin yet and it worked just as well; though I recommend a loaf tin so that it looks like bread and not cake!)
• Transfer the batter into the tin and spread it evenly.
• Put the tin in the oven, setting it to 150-160°C for 60 minutes, and let it bake. Check the progress occasionally to ensure that the bread isn't getting burnt. After about 40-45 minutes, stick a knife in the bread to check how much it has baked. Once the knife comes out dry without any gooey residue, you know that your bread is ready.

Note: The baking time also depends upon the oven. Mine is an old 16-litre one.

Suggested serving: Cut 2 slices, slather on some (or a lot of) Nutella on both. If you really want to go bananas, slip in some chopped banana slices between the two and you have your very own decadent banana-Nutella sandwich!
PS: Since I'm not a big fan of bananas, I don't have the guts to try this, but if you do, let me know how it was :)

Monsoon recipe: Mushroom and leek soup

Since I became a vegetarian, I have developed this ardent affection for mushroom. It's distinct woody aroma and flavour has the same effect on me as butter chicken used to have during my non-veg eating days. The best part about mushroom is the versatility with which it adapts itself to such a wide variety of cuisine and preparations: make an Indian gravy out of it or a pulao, a Chinese main course or fried rice, a pie, pasta or just a sandwich and, one of my favourites, a soup. A bowl of creamy mushroom soup is not only healthy and absolutely delicious but is also filling enough to be a meal in itself, especially if, like me, you like your meals small and filling.

I have a tried and tested cream of mushroom soup recipe that I often make, but this time I decided to mix things up a little by throwing in some leek. Not only did it really transform the soup by infusing it with new flavours, it also countered some of that creamy richness of mushroom and milk combined. This time I also swapped regular milk for coconut milk and I must admit I was quite happy with the results. Try it out and see for yourself.

Serves: 2

Cooking time: 45 minutes approx

Ingredients:
5-6 medium-sized mushrooms, chopped
half a leek
1-2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1/2 cup coconut milk
2 cups vegetable broth
1/2 tbsp oil
1 tsp butter
salt and pepper to taste

Method:

• Heat oil and butter in a pan and add the garlic. Saute till it turns golden brown.
• Now add the leek and allow it to cook while stirring occasionally, till it starts turning white.
• Once the leek is cooked, add the mushrooms and mix well.
• Now turn the flame low and allow the mushroom and leek to cook for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
• Once the veggies are cooked, take them off the flame and let them cool for a while.
• Now run the mixture through a blender till it reaches a fine consistency.
• Transfer this mixture back into the pan and add the broth. Mix well and allow it to come to boil on a medium flame. Remember to stir the soup occasionally so that it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan.
• Once the soup starts to boil, add the coconut milk and mix well.
• Simmer the soup on a low flame for about 10 minutes or till it has reached the desired consistency.
• Season with salt and pepper.
• Add a dollop of butter if you aren't too health-conscious!

Monsoon recipe: Low fat pumpkin soup

I have always found the monsoon to be extremely mood-uplifting and inspiring. It makes me want to take long walks, go on random train rides, eat fried foods from all the stalls I encounter, sing, even cook. It's a different matter that I spend most of it sitting by the window, mindlessly gazing outside, because in the battle between procrastination and motivation, the former always wins. However, having noticed of late that I waste too much time letting procrastination get the better of me (and finding a lot of expensive ingredients in my refrigerator that need to be cooked post haste), I decided to get off my behind and indulge in some monsoon cooking ...

The first in the series (I hope the rainspiration sustains for this to be an actual series) is the hearty and delicious pumpkin soup. I recently had the opportunity to try some and was absolutely blown away by its delicate flavour and rich texture. So when I found a stray slice of pumpkin hanging around in my vegetable basket, I decided to put it to use and make my own version of the dish. I was pleasantly surprised that it took hardly any time to make (I assumed pumpkin takes ages to cook considering chopping it was nothing short of a workout) and that it tasted more or less the same as the one I had at the restaurant. The best part, however, was that I managed to make it without any cream. With just a teaspoon of oil and a little bit of milk, the soup is healthy, flavourful and wholesome: just the way soups should be ...

Request you to acknowledge my humble attempt at garnishing to make the soup look good

Serves: 1

Cooking time: 45 minutes approx

Ingredients:

250g pumpkin, peeled and roughly chopped

1/2 an onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, finely chopped

1 tsp oil

1.5 cup vegetable broth (I made my own broth by adding an onion, a carrot, half a leek and a pinch of salt to a deep-bottomed pan filled with water, bringing it to a boil and then simmering it for about half an hour.)

1/2 cup milk

Method:

• Heat the oil in a kadhai or pan and add the chopped onions and garlic. Saute till the onions become translucent.
• Now add the chopped pumpkin and mix well.
• Add 2 tbsp of the vegetable broth. Mix well, cover the pan and turn the flame to medium. Stir occasionally.
• Let the pumpkin cook till you're able to mash it with a spoon. If you think it's too dry, stir in some more broth. Now add the salt and pepper.
• Once cooked, allow the pumpkin to cool down and then put it in a blender, bringing it to a smooth consistency.
• Now put the mixture back in the pan along with the rest of the broth. On a medium flame, stir the pumpkin paste till it mixes in well with the broth.
• Once the mixture starts to boil, add the milk and stir well.
• Turn down the flame and allow the soup to cook, stirring occasionally, till it comes to your desired consistency.
• Serve hot!

Rock Garden Chandigarh: the stuff of childhood fantasies

Back in my childhood when my hometown Chandigarh used to be a quiet, laid-back city offering little by way of entertainment (except for leisurely strolls by Sukhna Lake or in one of its innumerable gardens or in the Sector 17 market complex), Rock Garden used to be the object of every local's pride and affection. As a kid especially, you couldn't help but be extremely fond of this oddity, considering the recurring appearances it made in your life—during every other school picnic, whenever a relative or friend was visiting the family and on weekends when you pressurized your folks to take you out but they were too lazy to drive up to Kasauli or Morni.

An assembly of amoebic rocks greets you as soon as you enter the garden

Without a doubt there was something about this place, something eerie, exciting and mysterious about its narrow winding cave-like trails, surreal human sculptures and fantasy creatures made from broken tiles, crockery, sanitaryware, pottery, furniture, bricks, stones, pipes and everything else you can imagine. It was like getting lost in a house of freaks, a local Narnia if I may slightly exaggerate.

The Whitewalkers

Two kids on a see-saw? In a tub? Conjoint twins? 

Kids who once visited Rock Garden on a school picnic but got left behind

Like most places, however, the fascinating charm of Rock Garden gradually began to wear off. Part of this lost charm has to do with the maintenance of the place, which seems to have deteriorated a little more every time I visit, especially since its creator Nek Chand passed away a couple of years ago. And a lot of the lost charm has to do with the people who visit Rock Garden: walking around with selfie sticks sticking out in front of them like they're expecting to detect some hidden treasure, contributing to the garden's ornamentation with excessive litter and making proclamations of eternal love and lust on every wall and sculpture.

Disgruntled old resident of Rock Garden

However, as any Chandigarhian would tell you, your visit to the city is incomplete without visiting the Rock Garden. So last month, when I found myself in Chandigarh along with a friend of mine due to some last-minute change of plans, I absolutely had to and did drag her off to experience the fading enigma of the place. To alleviate her anticipated disappointment, I first took her for lunch to Pal Dhaba, an iconic Chandigarh establishment that dishes out the best butter chicken in the world; not the sweet, unnervingly bright orange one you get at most places but just the right balance of creamy and spicy, with a layer of butter so thick, you can't even see the actual dish! Fortunately, it hit the spot, as did the saag chicken, the rich dal makhani and the crisp butter garlic naan and the coma-inducing feast made taking a stroll in the Rock Garden the need of the hour.

Rock Garden FTW!

As I write this, I think about the history of the garden and it reminds me a bit of the movie Tamasha, a story about a man's continual search for the fantasy world that he created from stories he heard in his childhood. Like Ranbir Kapoor in the movie, our protagonist, creator Nek Chand, too dreamt of creating the world of his childhood—the years spent in a village that became part of Pakistan after Partition—in the heart of the meticulously planned Chandigarh which at the time was a prototype of sorts for Nehru's vision of a modern urban India, designed by French architect Le Corbusier.

A village scene depicted at the Rock Garden with figures made from clay, broken crockery and what not

So everyday after work, Nek Chand, a government employee, cycled to a clandestine forest gorge near Sukhna Lake to create his rural Utopia, painstakingly molding and blending industrial and household waste to create turbaned men, ghagra-choli-clad women, waterfalls, wells, huts, animals like elephants, cows, dogs and what could only have been the bunny from Donnie Darko and lot more.

Happy stoned canines

Freakishly skinny elephants

Bearwolves

... some more ...

... and finally, my favourite, the peacockasaurus

His mini fantasy village initially covered an area of 12 sqm and, as most things illegal, remained hidden from the public and administrative eyes for almost 18 years. Once detected, the garden got embroiled in several legal battles, facing innumerable demolition threats.

Oops! Busted!

With public support and the creator's perseverance, however, the garden survived and how! Not only was it in the clear legally but the Chandigarh administration also made Nek Chand the sub-divisional engineer of the garden, assigning him 50 laborers to complete his work. The result is a 40-acre space that also includes an amphitheatre, an aquarium and—my favourite—an area dedicated to at least 50 towering swings.

Guess who's still having the last laugh?

Happy high on a swing

Strolling about the garden on my bazillionth visit, it suddenly strikes me how this place is an antithesis of the city that houses it. While Chandigarh is among the country's most well-planned cities with block-like sectors neatly stacked in a numerical order, the Rock Garden can at best be described as random. While one instant you will find yourself marvelling at an aesthetically-planned village scene, on the next turn you'll find yourself face-to-face with an oddly shaped solitary stone.

... Like this guy here, who I think is meant to be a prehistoric man head ...

Or this bunch right here, which I'm assuming is meant to add textural depth and versatility to the garden. 

Some structures, however, are beyond the power of human interpretation ...

Such as these fake concrete trees with convoluted over-the-surface roots

Or whatever this is supposed to be

Or these guys for that matter

Even then, you can't dismiss how in some aspects to do with typical Indian rural life, the Rock Garden gets it spot on.

For instance, these menfolk who set out to work but instead spent the day lounging around, getting drunk and then acting silly by placing their empty cups on their heads ...

... and then returned home to face the wrath of their pupil-less wives

All said and done, one can't deny that the Rock Garden, in spite of its oddities, lack of maintenance and unruly visitors, strikes a rather pretty picture.

Thanks to things like this lovely waterfall

And these neat as hell sculptures of village women made from broken glass bangles (finally, someone in this village has pupils!)

So, would I recommend people visiting Chandigarh to visit the Rock Garden? Absolutely. In case you plan to visit me while I'm in the city, there is no chance of you escaping this customary tour, as all my friends who have so far been to Chandigarh with me would tell you. As for others, visit not because you've run out of things to do in the city but because, maintenance and annoying tourists aside, the Rock Garden is definitely an artistic masterpiece; in a surreal, oddball kinda way, no doubt, but a masterpiece nonetheless. Also, did I mention those swings?

This is the end, beautiful friend

Weekend diaries: Post I

On the steps on Banganga; taken on another beautiful morning many years ago

Ever since I've been living alone, I've come to develop a little ritual of sorts for the weekends. Being a habitual early riser saves me from the practice of sleeping in till late in the morning, which is great as that's the time of the day I feel my productive best. Also, there is something about weekend mornings that start early. You end up having all this time to do anything you want: read, enjoy a breakfast more elaborate than usual, go for a leisurely stroll or just continue lying in bed procrastinating—simple pleasures that often evade us thanks to our busy work lives. For me, such mornings usually translate into a movie show—because morning shows are a lot cheaper—or a wholesome breakfast, the meal of the day I most look forward to, at one of my favourite eating places or a new place I’ve been meaning to try.

Of late, however, with all my time occupied by work or looking for an apartment, my little ritual, to which I had so warmed up that I couldn't imagine my weekends any other way, had taken a backseat. So this Saturday morning when I found myself with nothing to do, I decided it was time for its revival. Excited, I went online to search for movie tickets, only to find that there was not even a half-decent movie I could watch. I bitterly thought about the last few weeks when a string of good movies had released all at once, and I missed them all because I had no time. But resilient that I was to not let my precious Saturday morning go waste, I turned to the other half of my ritual—breakfast. Matunga East, brimming with South Indian restaurants, was in close proximity, and suddenly the thought of a crisp dosa accompanied by tangy sambhar, spicy podi and buttermilk, followed by a steaming-hot cup of potent filter coffee, seemed irresistible. Feeling all experimental, I decided to forego my usual choice of the tried-and-tested Cafe Madras and try out Hotel Ram Ashray, which had great ratings and reviews online.

It is only late in the night or weekend mornings (because during weekdays you are too worried about getting through traffic as dense as the Amazon forest to reach work on time) that you realise how mesmerising the streets of Bombay can be. The hauntingly beautiful silence of the night, stirred by occasional (sometimes questionable) activity, the blanketing darkness iridescent with neon signs and glinting high-rise buildings, and the mornings infused with the colourful vivacity of people preparing for the day ahead are both equally enchanting. And when you have no sense of urgency, they can even be poetic! The novelty of the sights on these yet undiscovered roads—as this was one of my first outings since I moved into my new place—added to the charm of this fine Saturday morning.

One of the many reasons I am in love with Bombay is because of its old-city charm, especially in the southern parts of the city with their cobblestone roads and colonial-style buildings. Luckily for me, the area around my new house in Parel is brimming with such specimens like the Wadia Hospital and Haffkine Institute, with the periphery dotted by Parsi villa-style residences that boast a unique blend of architectural styles, making them exquisite and imposing and beautiful all at once.

As I went about my way admiring these beautiful buildings, I came across what could possibly be the oldest, most dilapidated one I have ever seen. Considering it looked like it would crumble to dust any second, I assumed it was unoccupied, before I spotted some people heads leaning out of its windows. Now I am not one to be easily taken aback by such sights considering that decrepit residential buildings are not as much of a novelty as they are a menace any more in the city. But this was too much! I wondered what these houses were like on the inside, and all I could picture were dungeons; worse than the kind I used to live in not too long ago. Few metres ahead and I was bang in front of a swanky-looking high-rise luxury apartment. The stark contrasts of this city never fail to amaze you.

Ram Ashray, like most simple, VFM and popular eateries in Bombay, is almost always overcrowded. Sharing tables with strangers, thus, is a given. Also, these are not places where you will be encouraged to lounge around, take your time to finish your meal while you probably mull over a newspaper or a book or get so deeply engrossed in conversation that you forget you were here to eat. There are at least 20 people eyeing your table, hurling curses at you for relishing your meal at your own pace in their minds. Fortunately, I was asked to be seated at a table with a family of three just 10 minutes after I arrived at the restaurant.

Now, people who know me well will vouch for the fact that I am the slowest consumer of foodstuff on this planet, and that makes me the worst kind of customer at such restaurants. Today was no different. Families came and went while I just sat there, lazily munching on my delectable Mysore rava masala dosa, stealing occasional sips from the cool and refreshing buttermilk, attracting the wrath of many hungry onlookers.

The second family to share my table comprised two men and a young girl. Their courteous manner took me by pleasant surprise. Not only did they seek my permission to be seated at the same table, they also apologised profusely for invading my privacy! I knew at once that these were not Mumbaikars. Now I don’t mean that people in Bombay are rude and impolite, although one does encounter more than a fair share of bad behaviour in this city, especially when travelling in a second-class ladies coach of a local train, or as I like to imagine them, Indian fight clubs for frustrated wives. But in all of my four years of sharing tables at restaurants, I’ve never come across even an acknowledging smile, let alone a genuine apology.

We got talking (another first) and as I’d rightly assumed, the two men were from Malaysia, visiting Bombay for a business meeting, while the girl, one of the men’s daughter, had come down from Mangalore. Our conversation went from food recommendations to things to do in Bombay to travel to work and life in general till I finally finished my single dosa and delicious drown-worthy filter coffee, and my fellow diners ordered their third round of food. As I prepared to leave, the nice folk offered to pay for my meal, which I politely declined. But I finally gave in to their relentless insistence. Thanking them for their company and the meal, I left.

Though I am mostly quite comfortable—rather too comfortable—and satiated in my solo-ness, I find unusual encounters (the pleasant kind of course) to be one of the perks of hanging out by yourself. While their randomness and unpredictability lends them an air of mystery and excitement, their unassumingness makes you let your guard down and just for a few moments gives you an intimate window into the life of a complete stranger. And if you're lucky, they might even result in a free meal.

Revisiting Mcleodganj

Childhood vacations are etched in our memory like a patchwork quilt of extremes. As you grow up, only the really good and the really bad aspects of your trip stay with you. As a child, I had the fortune of taking many vacations with my family (I guess I inherited the travel bug from them). One of them was to Mcleodganj way back in 1993 or 94, when I was barely five or six years old. Fortunately, what I remember from that trip is mostly the good stuff. It was where I had my first experience of snow. I still remember gaping at snow-covered mountains as we drove up to our destination, repeatedly asking my folks how far we were from them, worried sick that by the time we reach, the snow might have melted away! It was also the first time I saw Buddhist monks and my first thought was that the whole of Mcleodganj is some kind of a boarding school for adults from China (politically incorrect childhood stereotypes). My biggest takeaway from the trip, however, was the discovery of momos--those little steaming-hot meatballs packed with such divine flavour that is infinitely enhanced by the fiery red chilli and tomato chutney--with whom I share an eternal love.

Twenty or so years later, when my friend and I found ourselves waiting at the Jaipur airport, discussing how we can utilise the ongoing 50 per cent off on all domestic flights sale to our benefit, I suggested that we book ourselves on a flight till Chandigarh, my hometown, and then drive up till Mcleodganj. I was undoubtedly psyched at the prospect of revisiting that quaint little hill station I remembered so fondly from my childhood--the land of the best momos in the world, the colourful monastries reverberating with soothing Buddhist chants, the prayer bells. I almost couldn't wait to get away from the muggy Bombay weather and the drab office life to be in the cool hills.

So, after spending a day with my family in Chandigarh, we (two of my friends and I) left for Mcleodganj on the morning of 10 July in our hired car. As is customary while driving on the highways of Punjab, we made our first stop at an authentic Punjabi dhaba for some typical ghee-dripping, coma-inducing breakfast.

Only in Punjab       

Mix veg tandoori paranthas with copious amounts of butter and curd

Shady lady

After stuffing our faces with buttery paranthas and using the conveniences with questionable signage, we were once again on our way. And as expected, within the next two hours, we were surrounded by pine tree laden mountains, serpentine valley rivers and--my childhood favourites--snow peaks in the distance.

That's the stuff!

Finally, after six hours of marvelling at beautiful sights, making pit stops for clicking pictures and drinking heavenly tea at this really cute looking dhaba, we finally arrived at our destination. Hungry as always and in need of some chilled beer (as always), our first stop was McLlo, located right at the junction of roads leading up to Dharamkot, Bhagsunag and the shopping area. As we refuelled for the day ahead, we made bookings at one Kalsang Guest House, located a short walk away from the junction and uncountable, shortness-of-breath-inducing steps up the Dharamkot road. The rooms were kinda spartan, but clean and dirt cheap (like unimaginably cheap), so we were happy. The best part, however, was the balcony in front of our room that offered a great view of the entire town.

At around 3 pm, checked-in and freshened up, we set out to explore the town. Our first stop was the Bhagsunag temple, a 5,000-odd-year-old temple dedicated to Shiva. There is an interesting anecdote about how the name Bhagsunag came to be, that you can read here: http://www.kangrapilgrimage.org/bhagsu.html

Around Bhagsu

Rasta dreadlocks anyone?

The very cute and compact Bhagsunag post office

After visiting the temple and exploring the surrounding area, we commenced our slightly strenuous but absolutely beautiful climb up to the Bhagsu Falls.

A high-rise bee colony

Word!

We decided to make a stop at the Venus Cafe, a beautiful spot located next to the waterfall, where we rejuvenated ourselves with a cup of hot steaming tea. There is something about hot tea in the mountains; hot tea and Maggi. And also bread omelette. Maybe aloo parantha even, but those are awesome no matter where you eat them. Anyway, I salivate and digress. We spent about an hour just relaxing and looking around, dipping our feet into the icy cold waters of the fall till they were numb. The only drawback was the litter. Packets of chips, plastic cups and cold drink cans, though not too many, were strewn around in the water, in spite of the very conspicuously located dustbin. I don't understand why we would think it's okay to trash such a beautiful place. Also, I don't know when Indian men will learn not to be creepy. While we were sitting by the fall, two random guys approached us, asking us if we could get a picture clicked with them. WHY!?!?!

Climbing up and down the falls had made us significantly ravenous and we decided that this was a good time to begin our hunt for the legendary momos. On our way, we quickly enquired about the Triund trek, which I remember from my childhood as very tiring but extremely snowy, thus completely worth it. One of the locals told us that there is still snow at Triund, which is about 12-14 km from Mcleodganj. We were super excited to hear that and decided to wake up early next morning and begin our trek.

After a quick stop at our guest house, we walked down the Dharamkot Road towards the marketplace and chanced upon the cutest little cafe I'd seen so far in the town. The name, 'Momo Cafe', was enough for us to decide that this is where we shall sample our first of the many rounds of momos. The moment we stepped in, we knew we were at the right place. The cafe was pretty much the size of a small kitchen, dimly lit and crammed with four sets of tables and chairs, with tourists and locals happily mingling over tea and momos. The place seemed to really hit the spot with tourists especially. The table tops had glass slabs covering a display of currencies from all over the world, with little notes of appreciation scribbled across them.

Hungry, excited faces

Our table at the Momo Cafe

Doubly excited by Momo Cafe's ambience, we pored (and drooled) over the menu, completely baffled by the tongue-twisting names of dishes we'd never heard before. We decided to seek the assistance of the owner, a Tibetan lady who was happily chatting away with two foreigner guys sitting on the table next to ours. When we asked her to help us decide what to order, she had this completely zapped look on her face that we thought meant she didn't understand Hindi. We tried English as we had seen her converse comfortably in the language with our neighbours. Sadly we got the same response from her, only this time she looked more irritated than zapped. Finally, the guys sitting next to us answered our question and we placed our order with the smug owner lady. It ticked us off a bit as it felt like she was being rude to us on purpose, even though we were extremely polite and patient with her and had even profusely complimented how lovely we thought her cafe looked. Observing her behaviour towards the local Tibetans and foreign tourists, which was pretty warm and hospitable, the only reason we could come up with was our being Indian tourists (I know it sounds ridiculous, but more on that later). What really pissed us off however was that she almost shouted at my friend when she asked her if they had anything in chicken, as all we saw on the menu was mutton and pork. Anyway, we finished our meal (which was awesome) and got out of there. Several other instances of rude behaviour made us decide never to come back.

We took a stroll on the winding roads of Mcleodganj. The little town truly comes alive after sunset and has quite an active nightlife. The streets are lined with numerous eateries, cafes and bars offering a wide variety of Indian and international cuisines, in order to cater to the large number of international tourists that visit Mcleodganj. At night, as you walk along streets lit by flashy neon signs from these places, you can hear a wide variety of music emanating from their confines, from Bhangra pop and Bollywood to rock and hip hop. Surprisingly, you often come across boyband music from the '90s, so if you're in the mood to relive the days when you had a corny taste in music, you would definitely like it here.

We soaked in the various sights, sounds and smells of post sunset Mcleodganj, sampling momos at different stalls (you can never have enough!), and finally decided to rest our tired feet at our earlier hangout McLlo, as it was close to where we were putting up. We took a table on the terrace brightly lit up with disco lights, which offered a beautiful view of the the valley below twinkling with dots of light.

It was freezing cold, but we still could not resist some crisp cold beer to sooth our parched throats. Barely a word was spoken, which indicated how tired we were, having been up since 5 in the morning. So we decided to call it a day, dragging ourselves back to Kalsang and our room up the endless flight of steps.

Nighttime view from our balcony at Kalsang

Early morning view

We woke up at sunrise to a beautiful view from our balcony and lovely weather. We had to cancel our Triund trek because one of my friends pulled a leg muscle, so we decided to spend the day exploring the town's Buddhist monastries. As we stepped out at around 8 am, the town was stirring awake from sleep. Most of the eateries were shut and roadside shops were just about preparing to start their day. There was a faint chill in the air mingling with the gentle warmth of the still sparse sunlight. It was indeed a beautiful morning. We stepped into Snow Lion, the only place open at the time, to grab some coffee.

Prayer wheels at a Buddhist temple on Mall Road

My friend Nirati strikes a pretty pose at Snow Lion

By the time we stepped out, the sun was up and shining brightly and the streets were abuzz with people rushing to work. At this point, momos for breakfast seemed like a great idea and just a few steps ahead, we came across a really sweet Tibetan lady running a momo stall. She was selling potato momos, something we hadn't eaten before, so we decided to try them out. They were wonderful! We must have polished off some three plates, despite having some local bread and milkshakes not even half and hour ago.

Steaming hot crisp potato momos on a chilly morning=total bliss

My friends wanted to check out some shops offering local handicrafts, so I decided to take a solo stroll and click some pictures. I can't stress enough how great a day it was to be taking a walk!

Came across the word 'Amdo' at Momo Cafe, where we tried the Amdo tea, which tastes like salted milk. Quite unusual and nothing like I've ever tasted before. Initially I thought it has something to do with yaks, but it's actually a very significant region in Tibet.  

I caught up with my friends after a while for lunch (mountains and cold weather make you perpetually hungry!) at the Moon Peak Cafe. It was different from other cafes in Mcleodganj that we'd seen, which usually have a minimalist traditional decor. Moon Peak Cafe, we read, was initially established as a photography studio where the owner also took photography classes for kids. Now a cafe, the space has a contemporary feel with stark white walls adorned with framed photographs and paintings, mostly modern and abstract.

Hibiscus iced tea that make a picture-perfect frame with my favourite pair of sunglasses which I sadly lost on a blurry Mumbai weekend.

Now, for me, and I can vouch for my friends too, interacting with locals forms a major part of the travel experience, which shouldn't be merely touch-and-go. In order to truly explore a place, one needs to look beyond its 'travel destination' veil, and no one can help you understand this better than the people who reside there, who actually live and breathe what the place has to offer rather than merely looking at it through the rose-tinted glasses (like the ones I lost :p) of tourism. Sadly, we found a dearth of such opportunities in Mcleodganj. And it really is sad because the place boasts such intrigue and beauty, you can't help but want to know about it! From whatever little interaction (or attempts thereof) we had with the local Mcleodganj people, most of who are Tibetans, the only strong conclusion we could derive was that there is a certain animosity among them towards Indians. Usually locals in small towns are pretty enthusiastic about helping tourists, but here it seemed like they didn't want to talk to us at all. I'm sure we're all aware of the Tibetan-Chinese conflict that has plagued the country of Tibet and its people for many years now. Most Tibetans who live in Mcleodganj belong to refugee families who migrated to India to escape Chinese oppression. For us, all our vague notions were dispelled when we visited the Tibet museum, which unfurls a very poignant, highly detailed story of the troubled country and its people. Parts of it are downright disturbing, especially the innumerable cases of self-immolation by Tibetans as a form of protest. I tried to research on what bearings this might have on the general Tibetan sentiment towards India, but was unable to find anything except an interview of a person from a Tibetan youth organisation who said that all India cares about is pleasing China.

Deeply moved by what we saw at the museum, we made our way to the Namgyal Monastry, the most revered sight at Mcleodganj, being the personal monastry of the 14th Dalai Lama. Photography is strictly prohibited at the Tibet Museum and Namgyal Monastry, fyi. The beauty and tranquility of the monastry stirred our minds out of the India-Tibet-China imbroglio. The main attraction here is the Buddha temple that houses a huge, magnificent golden statue of Buddha. The walls are adorned by beautiful paintings, which if I remember correctly, depict scenes from Buddha's life. The best thing about Buddhist places of worship, unlike Hindu temples, is that there are no pundits hounding you to donate money, which is why the offerings you see here constitute things like biscuit packets, chocolates and juice cartons. Stepping out, you can see many people chanting and meditating.

We grabbed a quick lunch and some beer and continued to roam around for a while, before heading to Dharamkot, a small town barely a few minutes' drive from Mcleodganj. The drive was short but absolutely stunning! A bit scary as the road is really narrow with one side opening out to a deep valley. The surrounding area is dense with lush green deodar trees and as it was almost sunset, a slight chill hung about in the breeze. We took a short trek from the car parking and parked ourselves on a nice spot overlooking the valley. As usually happens on treks, we were accompanied by Janu, a scrawny little black dog, who later abandoned us and joined an army of other dogs which seemed to be in combat with an army of monkeys. Funny scene, don't ask.

The little town of Dharamkot framed by Deodar trees

We descended after a while for our last night in lovely Mcleod and ended up joining our guesthouse owner and his friends for dinner. It was, to say the least, interesting to talk to them. I guess we expected to find at least some answers to questions that had been lurking in our minds throughout our trip. We spoke about several inane things, mostly to our guesthouse owner and briefly to a guy who claimed he was in charge of the local beauty pageant 'Miss Tibet'. The phrase 'your government does nothing' was flung about at several occasions. But it sounded more like it was coming from herd mentality rather than a personal opinion.

The next day, we decided to leave around noon and woke up early to make the most of our last few hours in the beautiful town. We revisited our favourite momo joint one last time--the lady selling potato momos--and then headed to the Buddhist temple closest to our guesthouse. Towering over the other smaller establishments in the street, the structure was a melange of all the colours you can possibly imagine. The interiors boasted the same bright colours along with a big Buddha statue similar to the one in Namgyal monastry. We were allowed photography here, so we made the most of it.

Nirati shares a Zen moment with Buddha

Nikita shares a not-so-Zen moment with a mythical creature

Finally, it was time to leave, but not before packing some momos for the road, which we consumed within the first half and hour of our journey. There is lots more to do in this beautiful place that our two-day trip didn't permit. But we sure enjoyed every bit of our time spent here and hope to come back soon. Whenever I leave a place behind, I formulate 10,000 plans in my head on how I can move there permanently, and sweet ol' Mcleod was no different. So, until I find myself a teaching job or have enough money to start my own cafe in Dharamkot, so long Mcleodganj!

Will miss waking up to this beautiful balcony view

* All images shot by Neehar Mishra