It was April 2019, precisely a year back that I went on a holiday to Kurseong. People were surprised at my choice for Kurseong,for it has often been neglected as the less beautiful sibling of the Queen of the Hills -Darjeeling. Kurseong is at best a stop over for a hot plate of momo en route Darjeeling or a one day sightseeing trip squeezed in. I wanted leisure and I wanted a respite from schedules, itineraries and time lines. Just a couple of days before the trip I realized that my trip had clashed with the dates of the Lok Sabha elections there. I remained undettered and looked forward to soak in the election fever of the sleepy town.I did not choose any luxurious resorts or tea garden home stays.I planned to put up at the wooden bungalow of Kurseong Tourist Lodge which had lot of memories of a second flush tea and soft chicken sandwiches on way to Darjeeling with my parents.The skylights, the tall pines and firs had remained etched in my thoughts for long and wanted to experience it all in silence and happiness.About 60 km from the airport at Bagdogra, Kurseong nestles among undulating valleys, mountain flowers and the winding DHR railway track. The route to Kurseong is picturesque as the road trudges along the old tracks of the DHR. I was lucky enough to go past a steam engine of the heritage toy train.The whistles,the smoke, the colors of the engine added to the sculptured beauty of the road.

The original inhabitants, named their home “Kurseong”, because every spring it was alive and bright with Kurson-Rip orchids. Kurseong is a Lepcha word (the original inhabitants of this area) and it means the white orchid of the eastern Himalayas. The name was apparently given by a European researcher who was researching on an exotic variety of white orchid that could only be found at the height of Kurseong i.e. 4500 feet from sea level. Kurseong was a part of the Sikkim kingdom, before the British came to India. However around 1780 the Nepalese conquered and annexed Kurseong and its surrounding areas. After loosing the Gurkha War, the Nepalese ceded Kurseong to do of the British. Although a road was built from Kurseong to Darjeeling from Titalia in the 1770s and 1780s, its irregular maintenance soon made the new route, the Military Road, almost useless. The new route Hill Cart Road opened in 1861 and fared better . Kurseong is one of the oldest municipalities in the state of West Bengal. Established as an independent Municipality in 1879, it did not become a Sub-Division until 1890, when the District of Darjeeling was formed. Kurseong was added to the Rajshahi Division by the British Raj . In 1908, it was transferred to the Bhagalpur Division in the same Presidency. In 1939, when Bengal became a province of British India, Kurseong was allowed to elect its own member as the chairman, but the British Raj continued to send ward commissioners until India gained independence.

It was a morning flight that I took from Kolkata and reached the idyllic sleepy town of Kurseong in time for a brunch at the tourist lodge.The tourist lodge at Kurseong has an old world charm,a wooden bungalow with screeching stairs,huge skylights,large windows which open into the undulating valley.My favourite window seat at the dining hall was empty and as I opened the panes and a flash of cold air swept by my cheeks . I opened my eyes and heart to the world,the mist,the green and the blue mountains far far away.The mountains across the valley from Kurseong looks like a distant dream,dreams which can be fulfilled but can also flow away.As I sat with the golden brew-a cup of first flush I wanted to dream wild and as I looked out of the skylight the red spiral of the church and the pines and firs whispered happiness to my ears.

The smiling elderly employee took me to Room 201,and as I entered the room I was happy-wooden walls,a cosy bed ,an ornate mirror, glass windows and a huge balcony.One of the best rooms of the property, it was a room with a view. Wide glass windows, overlooking the peak and the undulating slopes and a balcony which was hanging delicately on the slopes.It was cloudy with a haze, a haze which often overcrowds my vision ,my life goals I thought. Took a quick shower and curled up to the bed with another cup of second flush from Makaibari and waited for my car to arrive.Since it was a day of hectic election campaigning, the young smiling manager of the tourist Lodge took pains to get me a car for some places I wanted to go to.Mountains have always a calming influence on me and as I had dozed off for a nap my phone rang and It was time to get dressed.

A stop at the beautiful Margaret’s Deck tea lounge, a cup of Castleton second flush and a slice of a carrot cake,beautiful views of the valley and I was on an uphill ride towards Downhill.Seeing the wild flowers in myriad colors I wished to be one such nameless flower on a hill slope next life. The mauves,pinks and yellows perching, peeping across walls and across the slopes were at peace with their lives…privileged to watch life and grow as they wished…no deadlines,no expectations, no roles to be emulated to perfection.The road to Dowhill was one of the most splendid roads that I have travelled. It reminded me of poems about wooded forests and the long unwinding roads of life that poets often wrote about.The dark misty road appeared to me just out of the Scottish highlands as dark clouds came down embracing me in its soft cuddles.I could almost feel the moistness of their embrace.As my car stopped at one of the dark woods I looked up the sky and could remember all the geography lessons where I was taught about the types of clouds-the cumulonimbus etc.

Boarding schools had always an illusive charm to me.Whenever I played truant when I was a kid my Ma would often reprimand me by threatening that I would be put in a boarding school.Not that it intimidated me much,infact I pined for it,the Enid Blyton stories of midnight feasts and life at boarding schools drew a very rosy picture of a life of a boarder.Perhaps I never disobeyed my parents to the extent that I was really sent off with my suitcase.The trip to Dowhill made me excited.It was my dream school of childhood.Nestled among the blue sky,overlooking dark woods with pines and firs, the facade of the school itself evokes a liking for the place.The altars,the classrooms,the church,the dining hall wore a deserted look as the school was closed for the summer recess. I left my car at the corner and walked up the winding road till Victoria Boys School.The road had a strange feeling of loneliness…stories about the ghosts crowded my mind. Dowhill and Victoria Boys School keeps on the legacy of a boarding school culture,excellence in sports ,debates.A look back into the history of the school which I wish could be my school in next life.

The general belief is that Dowhill was named after a lovely little bird called “Dow” (in a local tribal dialect) which used to frequent the place. In 1879, Sir Ashley Eden, the then Lieutenant Governor of Bengal, wanted to start a Government School for boys and girls of Government servants belonging to the middle and low income group. A house called ‘Constantia’ was bought and repaired for the purpose of a residential school. In August 1879 the first batch of 16 children arrived at the school. Soon ‘Constantia’ was found to be too small for the growing school. It was shifted to Dow Hill, where the Railway Offices were vacated and the Railway Quarters at Dow Hill were handed over to the Education Department. Dow Hill site was considered more suitable because the air was very pleasant and there was abundance of water. Mr. Edward Pegler was the first Headmaster of the school; he was assisted by his wife. The Peglers worked alone till 1885. The school then had 103 students. However, in 1887, the coeducation system was discontinued in the best interest of the school. The school was run entirely for the boys for a decade. The boys’ school was shifted to its new building in the Jubilee year of Queen Victoria and it was renamed as Victoria Boys’ School. Sir Charles Elliot, who had provided funds for the new building wished to reopen the girls’ school in Dow Hill where it had been before. In 1898 the girls’ school was started again in the old building of the school.. Mr. Edward Pegler, the Headmaster, was transferred to Alipur in 1901. Mrs. E. Pegler became the first Headmistress of Dow Hill Girls’ School in 1898.Till the 1950’s the Headmistresses of Dow Hill School were Europeans or Anglo-Indians. Miss Latika Ray was the first Indian Headmistress of Dow Hill School. The last Anglo-Indian Headmistress was Miss R. E. Ballantine, who retired in 1970.

I moved uphill to visit the Kurseong Deer Park.Quite high in altitude ,the place was damp,there were no deers around,but dense forests around made the cold unbearable.The silence of the place was eerie,the lone Nepali lady selling vegetarian momos,Nepali Alu Dum and Titora was the only person in sight.Sat in the wooded area for a while but as I saw dark clouds descending I decided to warm myself up with the freshly made alur dum. The alur dum was deliciously spicy,as the frail lady garnished it with some alu bhujia. I finished two bowls of it with a slurping sound quite audible to my ears.The frail lady slipped a packet of titora in my hands as she talked about her house,her spouse,her village,the cinchona plantations and her very difficult life.Yet her warm reassuring smile attempted to tell me that there is always a silver lining to all dark clouds.Little did I realise that I would be able to see the silver lining soon enough.

The next stop was the Forest School of the state government, a training institute for freshly recruited forest officials.The museum at the premises is worth your time.The keeper of the museum was hesitant about letting me in as there was a power failure.I reassured that I would be fine with the natural lights.The old wooden building with near dilapidated stairs,the greyish darkness with little streams of sunlight streaming in,the caracas of wild animals,remnants of flora and fauna well preserved.At one time I felt a little eerie too.But the visit to the museum will remain an experience to savor.The Central Academy of Forest Education college was established in 1927, the only Rangers’ College in the country under the direct control of the Government of India.The College Building was said to be constructed during late 19th Century. It along with its landed property was once a property of St Mary’s Seminary . 

As my car took a sharp turn downhill I saw the new campus of Presidency College being built. Kurseong would soon get another institute of higher learning.As we descended downhill across one of the most artistic roads had ever seen,I thought that the best artist had played with his brush at leisure.

The next destination was the museum at Giddapahar housing precious memorablia about Netaji Subhas Chandra Basu. It was a beautiful house with a rush of colors around and as I entered the museum it was like a flight back to history.Handwritten presidential address of the Haripura Session of the Congress,numerous correspondence between Netaji and his wife presented Netaji in his various facets.The family photographs are well treasured.Sarat Chandra Bose purchased the house in 1922 from Rowley Lascelles Ward. Between 1933 and 1935, Sarat Chandra was interned for 2 years in this house. Netaji, who was placed in this house for 7 months under house arrest by the British Government in India. Netaji again visited this house in October 1937. It is said that Netaji wrote his address for the Haripura Congress from this house.The museum also has in its collection several letters written by Netaji to his wife , Emily.A couple of weeks before his death in Darjeeling on 16 June 1925, Deshbandhu Chittaranjan Das  too visited this house.

As I entered the sleepy town which was not so sleepy on the eve of the Lok Sabha Election thought of making a stop at the iconic Kurseong Railway Station.It is not a broad gauge railway station with level crossings, overhead bridges, it is an idyllic station of the heritage Darjeeling Himalayan Railway- the toy train in common parlance.It looks straight out of British countryside, people relaxing with newspapers, senior citizens in groups, the red letter box with a lock that probably has not been opened hor long, a small but tasteful station masters room and a forlorn ticket counter.The station houses a museum of the DHR and as I was keen to see the artifacts and documents of the DHR, I met the stationmaster.An young man from Bihar quite unhappy with his posting at this little station he was quite warm.He asked me to come back the next day, though it was the day of the election.Since it was late afternoon and dusk descends on hill slopes suddenly, it would be ideal if I could visit tomorrow, he said. As I was walking away from the station, I saw a sudden stream of activity and the thrilling whistle of the toy train. It was one of the few steam engines still functioning and with a chain of smoke making circles in the air it entered Kurseong Station.Remembered a toy train ride with a friend a decade back where we had purchased tickets from an agent, at a premium price.Actually we had got the tickets from black market and since we were two women frantically looking around for the queue, a women in her late 40’s approached us with the ticket. It was peak season time and we had no other option but to accept the offer.

Driving past the TV Centre and after a climb of a few steep stairs I reached Eagles Craig.Once you make your way up the spiral staircase to this steel-caged observatory – the viewpoint, you are in for an unparalleled visual treat. Revel in stunning panoramic views of the mighty mountains as well as lush green slopes around the small town of Kurseong with the river Teesta snaking its way through the valley.I witnessed the sky change colours from yellow to orange and then to a bright red, as the sun sets behind the mountains. Breathing in the fresh mountain air, the views took my breath away nearly. The orange dusk with the grey clouds will be remembered for ever.With a memorial for the Gorkha warriors, the place abounds with the white orchids after which Kurseong is named.As the sun was sliding across the horizon ,the little town became ablaze as on fire, not a untamed one but one resembling the dying flames of a barbecue.

Back to the tourist lodge under the comforting blanket and a fragrant cup of the golden liquor,I sat through seeing the photos.As the night got darker and little lights fluttered like a diamond from the mountains across I could not resist sitting in the balcony..The balcony does not have walls in between and form a continuous line with the other balconies. There was an openness about it.Began chatting with this elderly couple who seemed to enjoy their vintage togetherness.With a peg of single Malt down the couple whom I called uncle and aunt now began humming Tagore songs.They chose the most sensitive ones which overflow with emotions of love and longing. I could feel the wetness on my cheeks which I enjoyed to the brim.A dinner of khichuri and fried chicken served in the balcony itself , the night seemed soulful.I popped on two rum filled chocolates and shared some with the elderly couple…a perfect desert with the tum oozing out as if life was oozing out with everything good and beautiful. The night was one of my most memorable ones till date,every little sound of the hills were audible, the distant car passing by occassionally, the snoring sound of the elderly couple from the next room, I lay awake most of the night tucked into the mellow warmth of the soft blanket as I thought that charting new emotions and crossing self laid boundaries is not always bad.It might be laden with possibilities of happiness.Maybe my world changes after that night.With such thoughts and fleeting dreams , woke up late and over several cups of tea made my days plan.

The day should not have plans.The tourist lodge was abuzz with activities with central observers, police personnel and election officials.Most of the staff were away on leave , the dining room was open to the boarders alone.After a rather late breakfast of minced egg and mustard sandwich in soft white bread , a cup of strong Americano I thought of venturing out.The young manager of the tourist lodge was not happy with my intent to walk on empty roads. On my insistence he relented but tucked in a paper with his mobile number written on it in case I needed it.

Walking directionless on unknown streets on an Election Day is novel,never have I done it,or never will I ever get to do it in near future.Walked the winding streets to get to the railway museum of the DHR.The station master had kept the keys ready but could not find the ticket booklet given by UNESCO for heritage museum.After a wait for about half an hour signed in the register and realized the museum was having a visitor after nearly a year.From the earliest road map of the DHR, the naming of the stations,to the first signaling systems,to the couches,to the cutlery, to the medicine box it had all of it nicely preserved.Loved to see the instruction manuals,the appraisal reports of the train drivers, the old tickets,the clocks, the cloak room mirrors.The station was deserted than usual days.Crossed the track to the other side and peeped into the now defunct NF Railway Printing Press,the Priyo Gupta Cottage.A walking distance from there past some crowded hotel area I then visited the Loco Shed.On display was one of the oldest steam engines with chimneys which probably wants to get back to work again.The pains of being static to once mobile life can best be felt in days of the Lockdown now.

As it was nearing afternoon and had to back in time for lunch, I began walking way back past police patrols, an occasional voter going back after casting his vote , a dog lazing in the afternoon sun, wild flowers looking more beautiful in empty roads.I picked up some yak churpi and two packets of Titora from the only shop which had its shutters open. The car of the central observer went past and the officer from Telengana who you was staying at the Toutist Lodge waved back.Lunch with an old style chicken roast served with baby potatoes and carrots was sorted ,the dining room was empty and with the sky clearing up could see the pristine Kanchanjungha looking across.

An afternoon nap and some quick chat with friends followed by a walk uphill to the church opposite. The Good Friday service was in progress ,sat in the church for some time and tried understanding the service conducted in the local language.The church with white orchid offerings, beautiful glass panes, heritage oil paintings, and the last rays of the sinking sun gleaming through made it look holy and peaceful. Taking a sharp turn from the church walked up to see the Elysia Place which was the DHR headquarters location,a beautiful  wooden creaking bungalow, it was sadly closed for the day. On my way down saw a signage of the building Churchgate which was the halt for DHR officials .The Kurseong Station was located here till 1896 before it moved to the present location.

The best moment of the trip was when I stood their at the forlorn tracks strewn with dried leaves of some unnamed trees looking ahead.The track turned in the next bend and could not see much beyond,only imagined the track moving up to the next station at Sonada. This is also life, we try to look beyond the present, predict, plan but everything is destined for it’s own history. Can’t see life beyond the next turn.

Back to the hotel the setting sun from my balcony looked as if it was on fire.Yet it was not that kind of a fire which devastated or ruined,it was those pleasant orange hues which sent the word of hope,of renewal of life and love not lost.The sun even being tired after it’s long journey through the day made efforts to lookthrough the dark clouds over and over again .This again is akin to our daily struggle of life- joys and sorrows and efforts to overcome that sorrow.. a perennial duel with the self.

The waves of a sea cutting across the sands are always heterogenous. Different in size, volume, height, texture waves in many ways are also illusive. They look beautiful from a distance. Once you try to touch them it breaks, it even splashes against you, it may hurt you but it will definitely wrap you around its embrace.Sitting on the beach at Puri a fleeting thought came to my mind that only if the harmony in the heterogeneity of the sea waves could be replicated in human lives. The sea at Puri – tumultuous yet beautiful, does all these to us. A trip to Puri for Bengalis is the quick fix to an extended weekend relaxation. Sometimes you loose count of the number of times you have been to this beach town. For most of us the first experience of the sea is at Puri, for many of us Puri featured in the first few trips after marriage, for many of our parents Puri figured in the list of to go to places before they became too old and infirm. Me and my friend planned a trip to Puri last summer, looking for some relaxation and some fresh sea breeze to rejuvenate our frayed nerves.

Customary visit to the temple, gazing at the waves sitting on the beach at daybreak and dusk and attempting to reorient thoughts and perspectives, walking through the narrow lanes of the old city, experiencing visuals of death and the rituals of last rites at Swargadwar, watching life and the mix of people at the beach, the lazy camels looking for children and their parents for a ride and livelihood,the faux pearl seller, the green coconuts quenching thirst, the sweet sellers with can fulls of Madanmohan,Channa Pora,typical delicacies of the state. We did it all at Puri. Early morning barefoot walk along the beach, the wet sand sticking lovingly on our feet, the tornado stricken dead trees, roofless houses, the occasional sea shells, the sand mounds built only to be washed away, the fishing boats at the mohona (river mouth)….. All that was Puri to us.

It was a lazy morning laced by unending Earl Greys and sharing life stories of both of us and one which was lashed by the combination of the rising sea waves and a torrential downpour, we decided to explore the surroundings. It was too wet for Konark, our choice zeroed on to Raghurajpur, the artists village barely 18 km from Puri. The drive past Puri was agonizing as we saw hundreds of coconut trees destroyed, houses broken… ravages of nature at work. The river Bhargavi was picturesque where the faithful had come for the holy dip for the first Monday of the month of Shravan for paying obeisance to Lord Shiva. I was overwhelmed by the crowd, the colors, the faith and above all the fervour of faith.

It was a rain soaked afternoon, the tress looked coy and green, the sky was azure, maybe it had a sad song on its mind when we reached a sleepy village adorned with coconut trees. It was Raghurajpur, now known as the artist’s village made famous by the tag of Heritage by INTACH. A sleepy village in its outside facade with lines of coconut trees and little ponds, Raghurajpur is a place where creative talent flourishes.With 150 houses,each family nourishes talent,there is one or more artists weaving magic on indigenous bases with organic colors.

Walking around I saw an old man sitting on the front porch of his house bending over a sketch while his kittens lay snuggily besides him. Several artists were eager to take us to their homes and I visited quite a few.Narrow houses located on either side of narrow lanes, a temple on each lane, a sit out area in front of each house, wooden interiors (beams, pillars, doors and the likes) is how Raghurajpur looks at first glance. But once I stepped in one of their homes,I realized there was a deeper and a sadder story behind the creative excellence.I saw pictures of the artist being awarded by the President of India, and a Padma Bhushan award gathering dust on the walls of their home.They were not well off but they looked happy and content.The satisfaction of creativity is so clearly manifest in their faces. Women too are excellent artists and balance their creativity with their daily chores.Their humility struck a chord in me.While I was walking by the lane saw a little boy learning the art from his grandfather.Creative genius honed by experts I thought.

Pata refers to cloth and chitra means painting.As I visited the houses I felt like I had stepped into an art gallery. Every house was a veritable museum and every household member was an artist.The village was quiet and the silence echoed in the air, the rain soaked temples and courtyards had so many untold tales.Identical row houses stood next to each other and I was fascinated by the walls that come alive with murals and paintings.Most of them were tribal art fused with paintings of deities and demons. The folk motif runs as a constant thread in all the walls.Some houses specialize in patachitra-a style of painting on cloth,some engrave folklore on palm leaves,some has expertise on stone carvings,some make paper mache masks and toys.Some draw on bottles and kitchen utensils.

Raghurajpur Patachitra as the craft is known had its origins in the traditional murals of Orissa that dates back to the 4th century. The craft has been passed from generations and every family has its own signature style of designing a patachitra. From drawing on tusser cloth to palm leaf engravings,to stone murals, every piece was distinct in its style and content. To make a patachitra a strip of cotton cloth becomes a canvas as it is soaked in water filled with tamarind seeds. The artist then adds a coat of chalk and gum and then pastes the same with another layer of cotton cloth. He then rubs the canvas with stones so that it has a glossy finish and has a smooth surface. No pencil or charcoal is however.A lacquer coating is added to the painting at the end to give it a lustre.

The colors come from natural products, like rocks from a neighboring hill and kajal from the burnt thread of the lamp. White is prepared from conch shells,yellow from Haritala stone, blue from indigo, green from leaves.red from geru (red oxide stone) and Hingula or black from burning lamp and coconut shell and other natural products for various colors. The natural gum of a fruit called ‘kaitha’ is mixed with the colors along with water in coconut shells to ensure that the colors remain fast.The chitrakaras uses buffalo hair to make brushes for the thick lines while rat or squirrel hair is used for making brushes meant for finer line work. According to the text, ‘Manasaullasa’, the crayon for initial sketches or ‘vartika’ is to be made by mixing lamp black with boiled rice paste and rolled into sticks. According to another text,‘Shilparatna’ ‘kitta lekhani’ or the writing/drawing instrument was a wick made out of the dust of bricks and dried cowdung made into a paste.In the typical style of Pattachitra, the faces of characters have long beak like noses, prominent chins and elongated eyes. They are distinguished from each other by facial features, hairstyles, clothing etc. Central focus of the painting is the expression of the figures and the emotion they portray, the strong colors only reinforce them.

Another important art practiced in Raghurajpur are palm-leaf paintings. Fine line drawings in black, sometimes with daubs of colours, are made on inter-locked strips of palm leaves. Usually each drawing is like a tapestry narrating a story. Ganjifa playing cards or the Dashavatar playing cards of Odisha are also part of the pattachitra genre. These unique paintings, especially the playing cards, are on display in museums across the world.Apart from traditional paintings, the artists also produce souvenirs, such as painted palm leaf bookmarks.

Raghurajpur presented itself as an idyllic village practising a dying craft with love and discipline. The younger generation refuses to be lured away to the cities, they learn the beautiful craft with commitment and love.Most buyers are foreigners, only a few are Indians who visit this village. The village is also the home of Kelucharan Mahapatra, the noted Odissi dancer and the place from where Gotipua dance originated. As I got a few paintings, bookmarks, paintings on bottles as souvenirs for my friends I promised myself to be back again whenever I visit Puri again. Next time I am there made plans to carry a plain silk saree which I would leave to be drawn upon by some woman artist who promised to courier it to me wthin three months. Raghurajpur, it’s beauty, it’s creative talent and above all its humility endeared me to this sleepy hamlet, quite forgotten by mainstream tourism and their marketing blitzkrieg.

Some useful travel tips for Raghurajpur-

1. Take an auto or a car for a half day trip to Raghurajpur. The enire trip would take about four hours .
2. Carry cash if you want to buy the art pieces .
3. Respect the artist families and don’t bargain much.

Raghurajpur awaits us with all its artistic brilliance and simplicity of life.

“I was within and without ,simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”-Scott Fitzerland,The Great Gatsby.

Amritsar has been a city close to my heart, awakening in me my inner most sensibilities and gifting me with a peace which often makes me cry and teaches me to let go.This trip to Amritsar was within a year of my last trip here.Unable to grapple with the close loss of my two pets, I went there last year in search of answers, in search of releasing me from bonds of love towards them, to free them from earthly connections and set them free across the rainbow bridge.Sitting beside the Amrit Sarovar for hours on end in the wee hours of the night and early hours of dawn there were tears which I didn’t want to control.I got my answers about the inevitability of death, about the possibility of coming out strong from loss,about making their loss a part of my being. Just before making the final exit from Harmandir Sahib I had said to myself that I must visit Amritsar every year.

This year for many reasons had been life changing.There were many decisions I took which might help me chart a different course,people I met professionally whom I will draw inspiration for the rest of my life and who later became friends to show me new ways of living meaningfully,people whom I became friends with,who showed me the joys and liberation of crossing boundaries and the importance of knowing oneself.It was few days of nerve racking tension when I was awaiting a news of well being of a friend that took toll on me.During one of my early morning train rides to college those days I was tensed to the extent I did not want to sit through the two hours of travel.Had a hymn of Wahe Guru in my phone and listening to it for 45 minutes gave me a calmness and a strength of mind.Within minutes the hymn got over I got the news that all was well.I knew I had to go back to Harmandir Saheb soon enough. So my second trip to Amritsar was to happen within a year of my first.

Late night flights and nearly after three hours of flying and four hours of transit, I reached Amritsar feeling tired and sleepy.After checking in at the hotel and freshening up with a cup of Earl Grey, hearing the distant hymns of the kirtan from the Golden temple my fatigue vanished and I went straight to the Golden Temple.I had submissions to make,clear my mind and above all offer myself and my service to the Power above who made it possible to keep my promise of revisiting the hallowed place within a year.

As I stepped into Harmandir Sahib there was an instant feeling of serenity,a feeling of belonging and a sense of a Power drawing me irresistibly towards Him.The sense of peace was overwhelming inspite of thousands of devotees as I began walking around the marble pathway or parikrama .The Golden Temple is truly an architectural masterpiece invoking spontaneously a sense of awe and harmony which had its origin only in the Divine. As I descended the steps from the main clock tower the enormity of the temple,the azure waters of the Amrit Sarovar,the stream of devotees,the organized volunteers at work to keep things moving touched my inner nerves.

The history of Harmandir Sahib is enriching, syncretic and above all endearing to the faithful.The Amrit Sarovar which is more ancient than the temple is filled with water drawn from the river Ravi. Guru Amardas discovered the site while he was on a tour of this area.The oral tradition associates this place with the story of Rajni and her husband who was a leper.Wandering in search of food, Rajni left her husband by the pool.The husband saw crows diving into the water and turning white on emerging from it.He thought the pool had magical qualities, he took a dip in the pool and was healed. Bhai Jaitha began digging of the pool in 1574 to be completed in 1589 during Guru Arjan Dev.

Guru Ramdas purchased the land around the tank from the inhabitants of Tung village. The village grew into a town and came to be known as Chak Ramdas. The foundation stone of Harmandir Saheb was laid by a Sufi saint, Mian Mir of Lahore, a friend of Guru Arjan Dev. The entrance to Harmandir Saheb is through an imposing gateway known as Darshan Deorhi. Guru Arjan Dev conceived the shrine to embody the fundamental ethos of the Sikh religion- modesty, humility and God being accessible for all. The Harmandir Sahib has four entrances symbolic of the emphasis laid on equality in Sikhism and it’s rejection of caste hierarchy. The reconstruction of Harmandir Sahib was completed in the later half of 18th century,after it was blown up by Afghan plunderer Ahmad Shah Durani in 1762.The rich marble inlay work was done under the patronage of Maharaja Ranjit Singh.

Replete with domes, balconied windows, chatris, the structure is a harmonious blend of Mughal and Rajput architecture. In a departure from building mosques and templed at a higher plinth, Guru Arjan Dev built the temple at a depression, that required the faithful to walk down steps to enter the parikrama. The floral designs of the inlay incorpoated birds and animals in rich pietra dura style. The wall, the cornicex, the roof columns are covered with gold leaf. Omega watches adorn passages and the entrance. Maharaja Ranji Singh gave a Rs 5 lakh grant in 1803 and an inscription at the entrance testifies his contribution. Marbles were inlaid with floral arabesques in precious stones like lapis lazuli and mother of pearl. Muslim artisans contributed with jaratkari work. The interiors in red, blue and ochre used fresco, gach and tukri methods.

One divine nature of the Temple is that inspite of thousands at the premises, one never feels the rush. The first thing I always do on reaching Amritsar is take a shower and reach out to the Temple, which is 100 m from my hotel. Washing the feet and my sins before entering, the first glimpse from the stairs, the parikrama and the wait at the Darshan Deorhi before entering the holy sanctum, the hymns of the Kirtan, I waited for the line to move on. One of the most disciplined self managed temple line I have ever been a part of. After paying respects to the Guru Granth Sahib I went up the stairs to the first floor. It is actually a gallery overlooking the sanctum and the sarovar. I sat for an hour beside a balcony there and all I could feel were my wet cheeks. I did not want to cry but there were tears all over. Did not want to stop them too, with it may be flowed my negative thoughts.This time I was in Amritsar to reaffirm my belief, to offer my humble gratitude. As I was restless and praying for a loved one one morning, Harmandir Saheb had wrapped me in peace. Within minutes of that divine connection I got the news all was well. At that first floor balcony my mind was lost for some time, could feel my senses in the closest sensations ever. My confusions were cleared, my decision was strengthened and my love reaffirmed. I felt someone was at it. Above the gallery on the first floor is an old manuscript of Guru Granth Sahib. The terrace has the most ethereal views of the entire temple premises. The sky reaches out to you.

Just opposite to the Darshan Deorhi, the Akal Takht stands in faith.Literally meaning the Almighty’s throne,it is the site of temporal authority.It is said that Guru Hargobind laid the foundation stone of the Akal Takht in 1606.It was constructed by Baba Budha – the first head priest and Bhai Gurdas who inscribed the first copy of Guru Granth Sahib. During Operation Blue Star, a lot of damage occured to the 18th century art work.The present white marble structure was rebuily in consonance with the Sikh concept of Kar Seva. The Guru Granth Sahib every night is brought in procession in a ceremony in the Palki Saheb to rest at Akal Takht. Each morning before daybreak the Guru Granth Sahib is again brought back to Harmandir Sahib in a flower adorned golden palanquin.Nagaras announce the beginning of the ceremony. The head priest carries the Holy Book covered with brocade sheets on his head and places it on the palki. I was lucky enough to watch both . While at the temple, the two Nishan Sahibs linked by the shield and crossed swords evoke the temporal and spiritual aspects of the religion, the militaristic phase of Sikhism from 1606.

Harmandir Saheb never ceases to amaze you. There is history and faith at every corner. There is celebration of syncretism, brotherhood, military spirit, selfless service, discipline at every bend. Harmandir Saheb today is an assertion of Sikh faith, it’s power and the indestructibility of the faith. Sikhism continues to offer an abiding sense of spiritual reassurance and an entrenched belief in the Gospel about God’s accessibility to all. The days I am at Amritsar I spend hours at the temple sometimes just sitting beside the sarovar, sometimes near the Darshan Deorhi soaking in the spiritual and mental liberation Harmandir Sahib offers to one and all.

This trip was a bit extended as I wanted to visit Tarn Taran and Dera Baba Nanak.Books are indeed the window to the world. For a non sikh by religious faith I did not know about Nanak Der Baba. Reading a book by Bishwanath Ghosh, Gazing at Neighbors, Nanak Der Baba became a must visit in my itenary.

Since Tarn Taran was a shorter drive from Amritsar and I wanted to be at Tarn Taran Sahib during sunset I drove across the highway in the afternoon and once I reached the Gurudwara I was enthralled. The huge Sarovar with its gleaming water, the mughal style architecture, the gold inlay work was worth the drive. Tarn Taran Sahib has s tranquility that is unique to it.

One of the largest of the Sikh holy tanks, it is an approximate rectangle in shape. The sarovar was originally fed by rain water that flowed in from the surrounding lands. The sarovar was completed in 1778 and Maharaja Ranjit Singh visited the shrine in 1802.In 1833, Maharaja Raghubir Singh of Jmd had a water channel dug, connecting the tank with the Lower Kasur Branch of the Upper Ban Doab Canal at Rasulpur watermills, The name Tarn Taran, since appropriated by the town itself, originally belonged to the sarovar, so called by Guru Arjan. Literally it means, “the boat that takes one across (the ocean of existence)”. (Tarana in Sanskrit is a raft or a boat). According to Sikh tradition, the water of the old pond was found to possess medicinal properties, especially efficacious for curing leprosy. The sarovar was known as Dukh Nivaran, the eradicator of affliction. Akal Bunga, a four storeyed building near the Nishan Sahib was constructed in 1841 by Kanvar Nau Nihal Singh. The only completed column of the four planned by Kanvar Nau Nihal Singh for the beautification of the sarovar at Tarn Taran, stands at the northeastern corner. The three storeyed tower was erected during Kanvar’s lifetime. The dome on top of it was added later.

I spent that evening sitting beside the sarovar at Tan Taran Sahib and time just flew. I no longer longed for appreciation, acceptance and away from worldly acquisitions I realized the biggest joy is perhaps in giving, giving your mind to your loved ones, sharing the worst times of your loved ones and just being alien to the entire gamut of the term expectations. Tan Taran Sahib remains a cornerstone in the journey of my becoming. I do not know the end of my journey or wish to know the path of it, prayed that my journey becomes a healer in itself.

Inspired by the book Gazing at Neighbors by Bishwanath Ghosh,a trip to Dera Baba Nanak was in the offing. Drove past the most beautiful fields which describes Punjab in all its grandeur into Gurudaspur district to reach Dera Baba Nanak and the Kartarpur corridor work which is in progress. 49km from Amritsar on the left bank of the Ravi river and within a few kilometers from the border with Pakistan, Dera Baba Nanak is one of the most important places of pilgrimage. Guru Nanak’s son rescued the urns bearing his fathers ashes from the river and reburied it next to a well where Guru Nanak had once preached in 1515.This place came to be known as Dera or mausoleum of Guru Nanak. Guru’s grandson, Baba Dharam Dad founded a settlement around the Dera and named it Dera Baba Nanak. The Chola Sahib established by a descendant of Guru Nanak was named after a robe or chola with Koranic verses and Arabic numerals imprinted on it which was gifted by a Muslim during Guru Nanak’s visit to Baghdad. A tussle ensued with the SGPC and the descendants of Guru Nanak and later the chola and the handerkerchief embroidered by Guru Nanak’s sister, Bebe Nanaki gifted on the occasion of his marriage are preserved in a newly built shrine managed by the descendants of Guru Nanak.

The best part of the trip was to the border area from where Kartarpur Sahib is visible and where stands alone in silence and agony the barbed wires on Radcliffe Line. Manned by BSF I went to the last steps. From a telescope placed there I could see the Kartarpur Sahib barely a distance from the border. The gurdwara was built to commemorate the site where Guru Nanak settled after his missionary work. He assembled a Sikh community there, and lived for 18 years until his death in 1539. The gurdwara is built where Guru Nanak is said to have died.The present building was built in 1925 at a cost of Rs.1,35,600, donated by Sardar Bhupindar Singh, the Maharaja of Patiala. It was repaired by the Pakistan Government in 1995, and fully restored in 2004.According to Lahore-based art historian Fakr Syed Aijazuddin, the shrine houses the last copies of the original Guru Granth Sahib.

As I saw the border in the setting sun and the work of the construction of the Kartarpur corridor which would connect the two countries for pilgrims to access the gurudwara without a visa, I was filled both with sadness and hope. Looked back from the car and within the dust I could see the barbed wires fading in oblivion. I was happy that may be Guru Nanak one who preached selfless humanitarianism would reconnect the nations cutting across those lines. I was sad seeing how the sun could easily cross borders and set on the Pakistan side while we as mute spectators of history were victims of carnages and hurried decisions which left gaping wounds.Two nations born out of one umbilical cord but divided, bruised and angered.

This trip to Amritsar was not a religious one in its essence.My abiding faith in the Power, my dependence on it to bail me out from moments of despair and anxiety were personal reasons which made go back to the city twice within a year..”Let Compassion be the cotton, Contentment be the threat, Continence the knot, Truth the twist… “. Harmandir Saheb to me expresses the omnipresence of the One Almighty, the Oneness beyond division and the equality of humanity. To me it is peace, a journey in the process of the search of the self .

Enterpreneurship with a goal of social good is often areas of research and theoretical dialogues. To see and hear about #Rimpochatea spearheaded by none other than the king of Darjeeling brew #RajahBanerjee , once of the iconic Makaibari Tea was a pleasure at #cupebong .Amit Halder you deserve accolades for brewing tea with a cause. Using exclusively flavours curated by Rimpocha Tea and venturing into showcasing and retailing the delicate flavours from your outlet, only one in the tea loving city of Kolkata, #Cupebong has endeavoured for yet another partnership with a cause.

The story of Rajah Banerjee, the king of tea gardens is an inspiration in itself. Born with a silver spoon and a heritage of tea making Rajah Banerjee infused social responsibility in the archaic colonial system of exploitation in the tea gardens. Starting with building toilets for women labourers within the garden to keep them safe and hygenic to inaugarating the entire concept of tea tourism by opening his bungalows for the tourists to engaging and training community members to run the show Rajah Banerjee did it all. Rajah is not his original name, he was named so by the people of the area.
The image if the king on a horse back along the undulating green slopes is always fresh in the minds of those who have stayed at Makaibari homestay.
To take up challenges and to be reborn within one life is not a fairytale story. One devastating fire at Makaibari razed to the ground the heritage bungalow. Rajah Banerjee heard the calling, decided to exit his known domain and venture into new pastures with a cause. Rimpocha Tea was born with the tagline of partnership not ownership. An inclusive management style, with the aim of empowering women towards self sufficiency and a sustainable reality and above all growing tea in accordance with the principles of biodynamics is Rajah Banerjee’s philosophy of tea growing.
Recycling tea waste, retention of top soil, broker free fair trading Rimpocha began establishing and partening farming communities.

@Amit Halder and Cup e Bong has partnered with Rimpocha. A sip down the Second Flush Musk, a mid day brew at Cup e Bong was bliss. The delicate flavour of the cup that was brewed for three minutes kept lingering for hours.
Available in smartly packaged little cartons the First Spring Flush, Sen-Cha, orange peel infusef Araby Attar, lemon grass infused green tea blend Usha Kiran, the cup for your cold Fortify with ginger and cinnamon, the Sundowner will give you a kick no less than a peg of a fine Scotch.
Take your picks among these and many other like Sanjivani -with unoxidized low in caffeine brew to the most delicate Silver Tips for the connoisseur from Cup e Bong.

My favourite remains the Second Flush Musk.
Going beyond tea towards organic cultivation and hand processing of various varieties of rice Rimpocha will be soon making its forray into handmilled raw rice with minimum processing.Your favourite pork or chicken rice bowl at Cup e Bong will soon use the organic hand milled rice.
Sticky red rice or brown rice permeated with the flavours of your favourite chiili pork at Cup e Bong will soon be a reality.
It was a pleasure as well as a life lesson meeting and hearing the icon of Darjeeling Tea Swaraj Banerjee aka Rajah Banerjee.
Hope to be part of many more tea tasting sessions by Amit Halder at Cup e Bong soon.
Came back happy with my pick of Second Flush Musk for a friend who enjoys the evening cup.

Chocolates are like the closest of friends -be it during a mid morning laziness, a necessary dose of adrenaline at work or a late night bout of sadness,chocolates give me a succor and a love 24×7 round the year.On this International Chocolate Day, I thought of looking back to the evolution of modern day gooey chocolate and its varied use from a very modest beginning of a simple cacao bean. Chocolates have become synonymous with so many emotions of life-love,friendship,making up after a tiff, in a sense chocolates build relationships.They create and seldom destroy.

Made from the astringent ,bitter seeds of a tropical tree,chocolates has an unique consistency-hard and dry at room temperature ,melting and creamy in the warmth of the mouth.Sculpted into almost any shape, with a flavor which is versatile and unique, chocolate which we know and love existed only fora tiny fraction of chocolate’s full history.The story of chocolate begins in the New World,with the cacao tree, which evolved in the river valleys of equatorial South America.The first people to cultivate the trees were the Olmecs of the southern coast of Mexico.Introduced in Maya in 600 BC, it was traded to the Aztecs in the cool and arid north.The Aztecs roasted and ground cacao seeds and made them into a drink served in religious ceremonies.The first Europeans who saw the cacao beans were the crew of Columbus’s brought some beans back to Spain.One of the first detailed accounts of the original chocolate comes from the History of the New World (1564) by the Milanese Girolamo Benzoni who travelled to Central America.He wrote that the region had made two unique contributions to the world-Indian fowls and cavacate or the cacao bean.

Etymologically the word chocolate has a complicated lineage.The Aztec word for cocoa water was cacahuatl but the early Spanish coined chocolate for themselves.The Europeans added their own flavorings like sugar, cinnamon, cloves,anise,almonds,vanilla,orange water.According to English Jesuit Thomas Gae, the cocoa beans were dried and ground with spices,heated to melt the cocoa butter and form a paste.Then they scrapped the paste onto a large leaf, allowed it to solidify and then peeled it off as a large tablet. The first European factories for making the spiced chocolate paste were built in Spain around 1580 and within 70 years chocolate found its way into Italy, France and England.By the late 17th century chocolate houses were thriving in London as a kind of specialty coffeehouse.

Henry Stubbe in his treatise on chocolate, The Indian Nectar(1662) wrote about chocolate lozenges in Spain. Cookbooks of the 18th century include a handful of recipes that needed chocolate like marzipan and biscuits,ices and mousses. French Encyclopedie wrote about half cocoa, half-sugar cake flavored with some vanilla and cinnamon -eaten with a cup of water.Even in the middle of the 19th century Gunter’s Modern confectioner devoted only 4 pages out of 220 to chocolate recipes.

For a couple of centuries ,Europe knew chocolate almost exclusively as a beverage.Chocolate was ‘the’ drink of the European aristocracies – no upper-class home was complete without chocolate making and drinking. But things started to change in 1828 when Coenraad van Houten from Amsterdam changed the game. He invented the ‘cocoa press’, which could separate the fat from a cacao bean, leaving behind a fine powder.This powder was much more tasty to enjoy as a drink, and people started adding milk to it instead of water, making it more like the hot chocolate we’d drink today. This method also meant chocolate could be mass-produced, which made it cheaper and so the wider public could buy and enjoy it. Some called this the democratization of chocolate.

In 1847 British chocolatier J.S. Fry and Sons had the novel idea of recombining the fat and liquor, and adding sugar. He set this in moulds and chocolate bar was born.The next big episode in the chocolate saga came when Swiss chocolatier Daniel Peter put powdered milk in the mix, creating the world’s first milk chocolate bar. In America, chocolate was so valued during the Revolutionary War that it was included in soldiers’ rations and used in lieu of wages. While most of us probably wouldn’t settle for a chocolate paycheck these days, statistics show that the humble cacao bean is still a powerful economic force.
By 1917 Alice Bradley’s Candy Cook Book devoted an entire chapter to assorted chocolates pointing to the fact that the South american bean had come of age asa major ingredient in confectionery. In 1876 a Swiss confectioner Daniel Peter used the new dried milk powder to make the first solid milk chocolate.In 1878,Rudolph Lindt invented the Conche, a machine which ground cacao beans,sugar and milk powder slowly for hours to develop a fine consistency.Till date Switzerland’s per capita consumption of chocolate is about double that of United States.

Some Facts-

The inventor of the chocolate chip cookie, Ruth Wakefield, reportedly sold the recipe to Nestlé for $1 only.

White chocolate isn’t actually chocolate, because it doesn’t contain cocoa solids. Sorry.

The largest chocolate bar in the world weighed in at 5792.5 kg. Thornton’s made it for their 100th birthday.

The largest chocolate bar in the world weighed in at 5792.5 kg. Thornton’s made it for their 100th birthday.

The phrase ‘death by chocolate’ could have applied to Winston Churchill- during World War 2, the Nazis plotted to assassinate him using an exploding bar of chocolate.

The range of chocolates is wide and varied now-from the simple milk chocolate to various artisanal chocolates to handmade ones, one is spoiled for a choice.Magical,perfect,endearing, forever chocolates are for one and all.To me chocolate saves me from my late night hunger pangs after a day of dieting. My refrigerator is never short of a mildly flavoured orange dark chocolate.One piece and you know sleep is not far way.Chocolate stocks are always replenished in my house-it may be a luxurious Toblerone or a out of the budget Lindt Chocolate for extra grey days or even a humble bar of Amul Fruit and Nut or at least the colorful sugar coated childhood favourite Gems.Even at work when hours of looking at the screen with statistics of students and results one is dead tired there are instant saviors.Friend and colleague Anupama is always their with a bar of happiness and energy.

Let chocolates remain evergreen,let it take the place of sleeping pills and life coaches.Ring in happiness and shun out clouds from life.Have a chocolate with a smile.

It was during a walk in the busy Dalhousie area with a friend amidst the din and cacophony of tired people returning home I heard my friend inquiring about Phalsa with a fruit seller.The name Phalsa reminded me of the sing song tunes of Kaale Kaale phalse,sharbat wale phalse,thande meethe phalse,raseele phalse …..the words reverberate fresh from memories of years ago when I used to visit my Pishi (paternal aunt) in Bihar during summer vacations. Seeing the Phalsa lovingly displayed in a hypermarket here in Kolkata after a few days, I decided to pick it up for my friend who yearned for the taste of his favorite childhood fruit which was so much part of growing up. Associated with such food memories are not just the taste but also the nostalgia about places and people no longer around. Food evokes a very strong emotive sense as we often try to search for a long forgotten food or attempt to recreate the taste which still lingers on in our taste buds. I wanted to write an ode to Phalsa -a food icon of our childhood summer vacations and our loved ones who are no longer there to garnish the bowlful of Phalsa.

Origins

Phalsa an indigenous summer fruit-blackish purple berry with the scientific name Grewia Asiatica resembles blueberries to an extent. It is cultivated mainly in the northern regions of the country between April to June. Indigenous to India, they are also grown in Nepal,Pakistan, SriLanka and Bangladesh.Introduced in Indonesia and Philippines in the early half of 20th century, Phalsa now is very popular in Thailand,Cambodia and Vietnam. A thirst quencher, Phalsa is intrinsically linked to hot summer afternoons of our childhood days. Phalsa defined summer for many. Vendors calling out on cycles with wicker baskets where Phalsas were delicately wrapped in a wet jute cloth, cousins rushing out to buy the cherished fruit, a little sprinkling of black salt on them and you have the whole afternoon to turn it within your mouth, close your eyes in happiness as the sweet tangy juice envelops the senses.The taste of the berry depends on its ripeness. Hand plucked and very delicate in texture it turns reddish from a freshly plucked green one to a ripe purplish one which is the most tasty.

The health benefits of Phalsa are multifarious. Astringent and a cooling agent they are excellent for heart and blood disorders ,fevers and diarrhoea. With a low glycemic index they can well be a super food soon. A strong antioxidant with anti bacterial properties they prevent dehydration during summer months.The benefits of Phalsa are well documented in Ayurveda treatises which highlights its anti inflammatory property and antibiotic usages.

If you salivate at the sight of the purple berries do not wait, have the Phalsa straight out of the shopping bag.Just wash it well, sprinkle some black salt, give it a rub. If it is a Sunday afternoon rush to the balcony or the terrace with a book you always wanted to reread and the bowl of Phalsa and enjoy the time to yourself. You have varied options with the Phalsa depending on your mood and occasion. If it is a very humid afternoon try preparing a Phalsa sherbat to be had in the evening as a mock-tail or add gin to the pulp,some soda, crushed mint leaves,top it with ice and say cheers to your loved ones.If you wish to cool yourself after dinner try making Phalsa Mousse or Phalsa Popsicle for the kids around.

The Making of the Phalsa Mocktail and the Cocktail

• Wash the Phalsa well.
• Soak them in water overnight in a glass bowl.The Phalsa should be submerged in the water.
• Add the required sugar to the water.The water will turn into a mystical purple and the sugar melt in it.
• Refrigerate this mixture.Take this out half an hour before you want to serve it.
• Mash the Phalsa with your hand,the pulp should be separated from the small seeds.
• Mix in more water and run through a sieve.

To serve-

• Pour the phalsa extract to the mixer tumbler.
• Top it up with some black salt,some roasted cumin powder and sprigs of mint leaves.
• Give it a light shake .
• Transfer into glasses.
• Finish off with soda or water and crushed ice.

For those of us who want a heady summer evening add in Vodka or Gin to the mixer tumbler.

For the Phalsa Mousse combine the pulp of the berry with sugar and incorporate it into a light fluffy whipped cream and gelatin mix. Refrigerate for about six hours and serve as a desert on a hot summer evening.Experience temperatures going down ,frayed tempers being soothed and smiles around.

Available only for a few months in northern India and for a week in mid May in Kolkata pick your bagful of happiness. Introduce Phalsa to your kids on a summer afternoon and see their eyes illuminate. The beautiful purplish pink colour of the Phalsa drink will undoubtedly weave magic in your life.

For all those who love the Phalsa beyond words,for those whose eyes glisten with joy when they mix the salt with the Phalsa here’s a toast to their long lost love.Cheers to life and food memories.

The egg is one of kitchen’s marvels and one of nature’s too.Its simple shape houses an everyday miracle,an icon for enigmatic origins of animals,humans and of the entire cosmos.The Egyptian Book of the Dead,the Rig Veda ,Greek Orphic mysteries and creation myths across the world has been inspired by the eruption of life from within a lifeless blank shell.Neither familiarity nor fear should obscure the versatility of a egg.It can be used to generate a variety of structures from a light meringue to a dense rich custard.They give flavor,substance ,put shine and clarify food .On their own they are amenable to being boiled, fried, deep-fried,steamed,baked,roasted,pickled,stuffed and fermented.The most commonplace procedures involving eggs are some of the most astonishing kitchen magics.No other ingredient is as readily and drastically transformed as the egg.

Over the centuries there have been several answers to the conundrum-which came first-the chicken or the egg?The Church Fathers sided with the chicken,pointed out that according to Genesis ,God first created the creatures and not their reproductive apparatus.Samuel Butler awarded the egg priority when he said that a chicken is just an egg’s way of making another egg.However there is a consensus that eggs existed long before chickens did.

Dimer devil has been a favorite evening time snack for Bengalis over the years. Telebhaja shops in Calcutta centered around North and Central Calcutta during the colonial period boasted of Dimer Devil in their menu.A hard boiled egg halved or kept full delicately encased in a spicy potato crust,dipped in a egg batter and then in bread crumbs ,fried golden till perfect was the commonplace Dimer Devil.Some experimented with scooping the egg yolk out and mixing it with the potato mixture and then stuffing it again around the egg.Some added raisins,others added crushed roasted red chill and julienne of fried onion.Well heeled cabins and restaurants added boiled and spiced up minced mutton or chicken and mixed it with the potato for encasing the egg.

Years later Dimer Devil continues to be a favorite but in a way has lost out to the fish fry,fish batter fry and the chicken cutlets.To relish a dimer devil on a rainy evening or to pair it with a glass of your favorite drink in the fleeting Kolkata winters there are less options-either you order it from the select shops selling it or make a golden crusted batch yourself at home.

The name is in itself sort of contradictory.Every time I make some Devils at home I wonder as to why such a delicious item have the name Devil attached to it. Once I started looking up the origins of it I realized that Dimer Devil has a rich history of fusion and adaptation behind its evolution.Dimer Devil owes its name to the popular Deviled Egg of the West where the process of stuffing the egg with a filling was strangely similar.The khansamas engaged in colonial households learnt the art of making deviled eggs from the memsahibs,they improvised and while churning out the item they were influenced by both the art of making the Mughal Nargisi Kofta. Thus was born the Dimer Devil a beautiful creation and a testament to the entire trajectory of fusion and adaptation in food history.

Serving deviled eggs at picnics and cocktail parties are commonplace in post-World War II America, but these classic creamy concoctions did not originate in the United States. The roots of modern-day deviled eggs can be traced back to ancient Rome, where eggs were boiled, seasoned with spicy sauces and then typically served at the beginning of a meal—as a first course known as gustatio—for wealthy patricians. In Petronius’s satirical fiction “Satyricon” written around 61 A.D, the wealthy freedman Trimalchio invited guests to a banquet in which the menu included fig-peckers marinated in peppered egg yolk and stuffed into peahen eggs. According to Apicius , a collection of Roman recipes compiled between the fourth and fifth century A.D., boiled eggs were traditionally seasoned with oil, wine or broth and served with pepper. In the 13th century, stuffed eggs began to appear in Andalusia, in what is now Spain. An anonymous cookbook from this time period instructs the reader to pound boiled egg yolks with cilantro, onion juice, pepper and coriander and then beat them with Murri (a sauce made of fermented barley or fish), oil and salt. After stuffing the mixture into the egg whites, the two halves were then fastened together with a small stick and peppered.By the 15th century, stuffed eggs made their way across much of Europe. Medieval cookbooks contain recipes for boiled eggs that were often filled with raisins, cheese and herbs such as marjoram, parsley and mint and then fried in oil and either topped with a sauce of cinnamon, ginger, cloves and raisins or powdered with sugar and served hot. In the United States, stuffed eggs began making an appearance in cookbooks by the mid-19th century.The first known printed mention of ‘devil’ as a culinary term appeared in Great Britain in 1786, in reference to dishes including hot ingredients or those that were highly seasoned and broiled or fried. The OED claims, “the term was presumably adopted because of the connection between the devil and the excessive heat in Hell”. By 1800, deviling became a verb to describe the process of making food spicy. Deviled egg traveled across seas with the East India Company officers to India where the khansamas of the colonial households began to learn the art of stuffing eggs with a spicy mixture.

One afternoon when I was cutting my boiled eggs in halves for the Dimer Devil and had toiled hard to make the mutton mince filling perfect with some raisins and fried onions a fleeting thought came to my mind that I was doing something very similar to the Scotch Eggs which I had seen being made in a cookery show. A nagging question occupied my mind space about the origins of the Dimer Devil.Was it indebted to the Scotch Eggs or vice versa?

According to Oxford Dictionary a Scotch Egg is a hard boiled egg enclosed in sausage meat ,rolled in breadcrumbs and fried.The history of the origins of a Scotch Egg is shrouded in controversy but it is a general consensus that it did not originate in Scotland.The upscale London department store Fortnum & Mason claims to have created the savory snack as a potable snack in the mid 18th century catering to the well-to-do travelers passing through Piccadilly Square.Some argue that it began as a poor man’s lunch and was akin to the Cornish pastry consumed by Scottish farmers.There are views that the traditional Scotch egg has roots in the coastal town of Whitby in Yorkshire Believed to be invented by William J Scott & Sons the eggs were covered first in a thick, creamy fish paste (instead of the sausage meat), and then with breadcrumbs. Some evidence also points towards a North African recipe that was transported to England through France. The dish was enjoyed during the Elizabethan times, where it was infused with various spices and cloves for a more palatable taste.

Another powerful view argues that the Scotch Eggs originated from the Nargisi Kofta of Mughal India, which was a hard-boiled egg encased in minced meat, fried and served in a brown gravy. The Nargisi Kofta or “narcissus kofta” was named after the flower’s white-and-yellow petals . According to The Oxford Companion to Food the Kofta came to India from Persia with the Mughal emperors. The Nargisi Kofta later hitched a ride way back to England with the East India Company memsahibs and became known as Scotch Eggs in England in the 19th century. Scotch Eggs were to be platted alongside hot gravy, according to the printed recipes in the domestic bibles by Margaret Dods , Maria Rundell and Mrs Beeton. Annette Hope, in her book A Caledonian Feast, too suggests the dish may like kedgeree or mulligatawny soup be an export from the British Raj.

There are a number of countries who have dishes similar to the scotch egg. The Polish Jaskółcze Gniazda (swallow’s nest), the Dutch-Flemish Vogelnestje (bird’s nest), as well as the Indonesian Bakso Telur (meatball eggs) are few examples. Our very own Dimer Devil is also a close cousin to the Scotch Egg.

If on a leisurely afternoon during a weekend you are preparing for a party and wish to surprise friends with a dish carrying the heritage of the West and the flavor of Central Asia choose Dimer Devil….golden crumb fried eggs delicately encased with a mutton mince …. a lot of nostalgia and pages of history. A Vodka cocktail with Gandhoraj Lebu and crushed mint leaves or a mocktail with tamarind pulp ,Gondhoraj Lebu pata soaked overnight and sugar will work wonders with a plate of freshly fried Dimer Devil.

Never estimate the number you need to make…Dimer Devil will always fall short when served as a starter.

In case you are tempted to try your hands in making Dimer Devil do give this a read

Things you need –

• Hard boiled Eggs cut into Halves-4
• Mutton Mince/Chicken Mince-500 gms
• Potato Boiled -4
• Onions sliced-2
• Garlic chopped-8 cloves
• Green Chilli chopped-6
• Red Chilli Powder-1tsp.
• Whole Garam Masala
• Roasted and powdered Garam Masala-1 tsp.
• Corriander leaves chopped-2 tsp
• Raisins-Handful
• Fried Onions-1
• Egg for coating
• Bread crumbs
• Salt to taste
• Oil for frying

Assembling the Devil-

• Heat 2 tbsp of oil.Put whole Garam Masala in the oil. When it is spluttering add the chopped garlic and fry till light brown and the oil soaks in the flavor of the garlic.Add the chopped onions and fry till translucent.Add the washed mutton or chicken mince.Mix well with the onion and garlic.Add the Red Chilli powder and continue sauteing till oil separates.This may take some time.Add the powdered Garam Masala, salt and coriander leaves.To this mix add the boiled and mashed potatoes .Add salt as needed.The potato and the mince should mix well and soak in the flavors.
• Take off fire and add raisins and fried onions to the mix.Bring it to room temperature.
• The boiled eggs should be seasoned with salt.The potato and mince mixture should be delicately used to coat the egg fully using the fingers and the palm of the hand.
• Dip the eggs with the whisked egg and coat in breadcrumbs.
• Keep in the refrigerator for sometime ,this will give a golden hue when fried.
• Heat oil and fry the eggs in batches till golden in hue.
• Serve with your favorite Dip .
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Amritsar is a city which is at one go mesmerizing.Be it the first sight of the Golden Temple,the serene waters of the Sarovar ,the soulful ardaas and kirtans Amritsar is not however a pilgrimage city only.Historically rich ,it is a city which carries the ravages of Partition yet it breathes life ,it unifies ,embraces and above all reiterates the intrinsic connection between food and religiosity.Amritsar is a foodies paradise with an array of specialities -be it the Karha Prasad of the Golden Temple ,the early morning tea and the Kheer at Ramdas Langar,the crunchy roadside Kulchas served with tempting choley (chickpea curry),the simmering Maa ki Dals with Tandoori Rotis laced with desi ghee,the irresistible Aam papads and papads,the refreshing lassi and the kulfas and the little warm jalebis dipped in the sugar syrup.

My trip to Amritsar some months back will be one of my treasured memories.The feeling one experiences at the Golden temple either at the crack of dawn or at the last hours of night cannot be put in words.Spend hours sitting beside the Sarovar listening to the kirtans and the chants of Wahe Guru ki Fateh ,I felt a peace which no religious place has ever given me.The glistening temple,the faith of the people,the eagerness for self less service,the self imposed discipline ,the environment is in itself fulfilling.At that point I felt desire for nothing ,only an inner peace enveloped my being.

Amritsar is not just about the Golden Temple and its Langar. Being a foodie and eager to explore, the entire afternoons were spent savoring the unending delicacies.The restaurants and stalls in the walled city around the Golden Temple follows a strict vegetarian spread. The tandoori chicken ,the laccha paratha,the baingan bharta can be tried and replicated anywhere in the country ,what remains the specialty of Amritsar is its kulchas .It is said that the holy waters of Ravi contribute to the unique taste of the Kulchas of Amritsar. The popular saying “Jis Lahore nahin vekhiya au jamiya nahin. Jis Amritsar aa ke kulcha nahin khada une kuj khada hi nahin…” (If you haven’t seen Lahore it’s as good as not being born. If you’re visiting Amritsar and haven’t eaten the kulcha, you’ve eaten nothing at all.) is right after all.

One meal no one has to plan for in this city is the Amritsari kulcha. This street food blurs social divides and is available around every corner of the city. The crunch of the kulchas ,the crispy outsides and the soft inside stuffed with aloo ,gobi or paneer turned out to be my favorite at Amritsar.As I went across the city savoring Kulchas in all its forms, the history of the Kulcha- its evolution,adaptation and how it made its home in Amritsar intrigued me. It is believed that about one lakh Kulchas are tossed out of city tandoors every day. . With the Amritsari kulcha, you’ll experience the fifth sense-sound. Once out of the tandoor the kulcha is smeared with a cube of butter and is crushed at the middle. If there’s a crackling sound it is baked to perfection. The crackle ensures it’s got the right texture. Crushing it snaps open the top layer allowing the heat to escape and letting the goodness of melted butter to trickle in…the first bite is close to heaven.

The history of kulchas can be traced back to the Nizams of Deccan. It was in fact the official symbol of the Asaf Jahi dynasty and even appeared on the Hyderabad state flag till it became a part of the Indian subcontinent post-independence. This amazing crispy bread was chosen as the emblem while the rest of the princely states had the lions and/or elephants as the royal insignia. Food, politics, identity… Mir Qamruddin of the Mughal court went to meet his spiritual Guru- Sufi mystic Hazrat Nizamuddin Aurangabadi after he got appointed as the “Subedar-e-Dakhan”. Hazrat Nizamuddin invited him for a meal and offered the subedar kulchas .Mir Qamruddin ate seven kulchas. , Hazrat Nizamuddin in a prophecy said that one day he would be king and that his descendants would rule for seven generations. This prophecy came true. Soon after Mir Qamruddin came to Deccan, Nadir Shah invaded and sacked Delhi. The Nizams, who were simply governors, declared their de facto rule in the Deccan in the context of the waning power of the Mughals. And with that the kulcha, earned its place in the royal cuisine.

Other historical findings assert that the region of undivided Punjab gave birth to the bharwaan (stuffed) kulcha. Invaders from Central Asia brought along their cooking traditions. The techniques which originated in Persia were of making the leavened bread and the tandoor were adapted by the province of Punjab. Punjabis, who hitherto made unleavened wholegrain flatbread on an iron griddle, started using refined flour leavening the dough for fermentation and filling it with a mixture of potatoes and baking it in the tandoor. Later influenced by French chefs engaged in royal household they adopted a puff pastry procedure- smearing the the dough with butter and folding it before letting it rest.-Flaky yet soft bharwan kulchas came to rule Amritsar for time indefinite.

My choice for Kulchas

Amritsar abounds in shops selling Kulchas all through the day though Kulchas are more in demand for breakfast.The tradition of making rotis in community tandoors in villages of Punjab has trickled down to the city and a large number of families prefer having their daily breakfast of Kulcha -Chole in their favorite shop before going for their daily work.Every katra or mohalla of Amritsar particularly in the old walled city has Kulcha shops- overcrowded yet fragrant with the aroma of the fresh butter and the tangy choley.

Pehelwan Kulcha Shop– Very close to Ramgharia Gate and near Shahid Baba Deep Singhji Gurudwara ,the Pehelwan Kulcha Shop is nondescript by appearance.You can easily recognize it by the large crowd outside waiting for a seat at the shop.There is no separate dining area,you sit beside the tandoor and see the kulchas being stuffed,roasted and then that big dollop of butter sliding on to the flaky kulcha..Served on a tissue paper..golden brown crisp,the butter trickles down…the crackling sound of the kulcha and the choley …very delicately spiced with a spluttering of onion and green chilli is a must eat while at Amritsar.

Bhai Kulwant Singh Kulchian Wale- An early morning darshan at the Golden Temple has to be followed by a sumptuous breakfast at this kulcha shop.Located in Bazar Bikaneria in Katra Ahluwalia very near to the temple you can just walk your way.The flaky kulchas are served with choley alonh with several pickles and you can wash them down with a glass of Lassi. The kulchas are available in various variants-aloo, gobi, paneer, pithi.If you are there in the morning you may have to wait for your turn but the service is very fast and the staff very friendly.

Not to miss are piping hot kulchas at All India Famous Kulcha at Maqbool Road , Kulcha Land at Ranjit Avenue, Ashok Kulche Wale at Gobindgarh Fort Road and Amritsari Neutri Kulcha near DAV College,opposite Arya Samaj Mandir.

If you wish to compliment the Kulchas with a glass of refreshing Lassi which in itself is so filling do visit Gian Di Lassi near Regent Cinema.The creamy lassi cooled to perfection will fulfill your senses.And what is an afternoon without a siesta and the perfect trigger to it is a couple of crisp little jalebis fried perfect at Katra Ahluwalia near the Golden Temple at a shop called Gurdas Ram Jalebi Wala.

Amritsar is a city which is loved by its people.The mohallas,katras,the Hall Bazar,the numerous gates in the walled city,the Town Hall are spectators to history .The Golden Temple steeped in devotion and selfless service enthralled me in a calmness and gave me a strength of mind that words can hardly describe.The foodscape of Amritsar cannot be experienced in a single visit-every corner has its delicacies ,its USP beinga dollop of love and warmth of the city and its people.

Amritsar…..a city of colors….a city of life and a city of culinary delights.

Tucked away in a remote corner of Purulia District in West Bengal lies Baranti-a sleepy hamlet where your search for peace might end,where your thirst for seeing the colors of nature may be quenched,where life and nature are in perfect symphony to each other.Far away from the humdrum of life or the excitement of any regular tourist place welcome to Baranti- the sleepy Santhal village abounding in natural beauty of a beautiful dam and a lush green hill in perfect consonant to each other coupled with the orange blossoms of the Palash trees during spring which forms a canopy on the entire stretch giving the landscape a hue which reminds one of the colors of the setting sun.A lake glistening in the sun rays,a quiet mountain standing as a spectator to life,a little road running across the dam,dusty red soil,village children playing around with flowers,elderly grazing the cow and ploughing the field,village women walking distances to collect drinking water…little snippets of everyday life in Baranti….you will definitely fall in love with the rustic silence and simplicity of the village.

An hours drive from Asansol station crossing the Damodar River, passing through quaint raliway stations one can reach Baranti easily.An early morning train on a weekend from Howrah to Asansol and then a hours drive by a car or another ride in a local train to Muradi ,the nearest station one can easily reach the little village.The best time to visit Baranti is during winters if one wants to chill in the low temperatures or during spring if one wants to see the orange blossoms of the Palash trees….roads covered in the orange hue.If you like the rains lashing across lifting your tired spirits Baranti can be sensual as well in the rainy season.Eco resorts abound at Baranti…choose the one with an unhindered view of the lake and the hill.Sight of the early morning reflection of the hill in the waters of the lake , birds flying across one cannot but ponder in silence .

If you are in Baranti and you are stressed due to the humdrum of daily life plan nothing.I planned Baranti in the middle of a week and was amply rewarded.The best way to chill is to sit in the balcony with the perfectly brewed tea or coffee ,a book of your favorite author and your favorite tune.Village boys came to sell little garlands of Palash for a mere Rs 10.Food never tasted so fresh and delicious to me …plain rice, dal with a hint of ghee, a mixed vegetable , fresh fish from the lakes and tomato chutney …an afternoon siesta.Life seemed best that afternoon at Baranti. As the sun was setting the winds became chilly and the best option was a walk across the road up to the end of the dam.

The setting sun transformed the water magically -red,orange hues,glistening rays and ripples of the water…the view was ethereal.I walked across the lonely road up to the gates of the dam and the sat in silence .Back to the resort I was greeted with a spiced up tea,aloor chop and muri makha with bits of coconut,soaked grams,onions and whole green chillies. Simple yet delicious.Night descends fast at Baranti,howling of the wolves,prayers from a faraway mosque,fire flies ….a lovely dinner of a mildly flavored chicken curry made of local chicken or a plate of steaming hot khichuri with fritters .

For those in a big group and wish to travel around an afternoon trip to Susunia and Biharinath hills are an option.The ancient stone inscriptions of King Chandravarman are found at Susunia. Stone carvings and Dokra artifacts can be seen at several adjoining villages.You can walk up to the the Gardeshwari river bank and the holy spring or if you are an amateur mountaineer try trekking and rock climbing.At Biharinath catch the sunset over the hills ,climb up the Shiva temple and visit Joychandi Hills of Hirak Rajar Deshey fame.

When at Baranti you can leave a window of the room open and let the fresh air of the morning and the sun rays wrap you in its magical embrace.The mornings are as beautiful and pristine as the nights.After a cup of my favorite Earl grey and some Rabindra sangeet I ventured to the nearby Santhal village.A stop at the solitary village shop selling essentials I meandered my way to the village.The memory created there will be forever etched in my mind.Neat mud houses,artistic tribal motifs on the walls,village wells,the small primary school,little boys running around,women going about their daily chores,people walking miles ,the village market with only one vendor selling all the essentials,bullock carts,husk thrown around,utter poverty yet smiling faces….long winding roads,palash trees and the distant mountain.Untrained yet artistic skill par excellence of the villagers,environment consciousness that too not taught but acquired,cleanliness amidst scarcity of water….lessons of life one can learn from the villagers.

An early lunch with the typical Bengali chorchori made from vegetables freshly picked from the fields and the fragrant macher jhol with a touch of mustard paste ,I decided to go for a short trip to Garpanchakot and Panchet Dam.

Panchkot was part of an ancient East Indian kingdom known as Rajchakla Panchkot, locally known as Panchet. Damodar Sekhar established Panchkot Raj probably during early 90 AD with the help of Sardars of Jhalda. To give recognition to the main five clans of the locals the kingdom was named Panchkot. The Sing Deo Dynasty ruled Panchkot for 800 years . Panchkot Giri has its references in the Puranas also. The place was then known as Sekhar Bhum from which the founder king of Singh Deo Dynasty Damodar Sekhar derived his name. The kingdom was probably a part of old Tilakampa Kingdom. The ruins of Telkupi, went under water after the construction of Panchet Dam. The ruins of the Garh (Fort) of Singh Deo Dynasty and a group of temples is still standing as mute spectators of the rise & fall of the dynasty. The temples are of different architectural styles, the principal one being a Pancharatna temple accompanied by JorBangla type and more than one Pirha type temples made of stone. The Pancharatna temple still carries some depleted but exquisite piece of presumably pre-muslim period terracotta work on its arches and pillars. Around 1600 AD, Garhpanchkot came under the rule of the famous king Bir Hambir of Bishnupur Malla Dynasty, . The Maratha raiders, locally known as Bargis, ransacked the place in the 18th century.The great poet Michael Madhusudan Dutt visited the place during 1872 for a short period as an estate manager of Singh Deo dynasty. He wrote three poems on Panchkot namely Panchkot giri, Panchkotoshyo Rajosre and Panchkot Giri Biday Sangeet.

The temple has been restored by the Archaeological Survey of India .The terracotta panels are in good shape now.The gate to the temple still stands in lost grandeur,the remains of the palace ,the minars are a mute spectator to history.The overgrown weeds and grasses gives the ruins a feeling of lost in time.Close to the ruins one can stay overnight in a eco resort. If one prefers to spend a night in the jungle a good option would be the property of WBFDC. I decided to catch the sunset from the expanse of the Panchet Dam,one of the engineering marvels of post independent India.The return to Baranti in the full moon night amidst village roads and jungles was filled with a muted excitement of the unknown.The ever smiling manger of the resort served coffee with great chicken pakoras. Dinner was my favorite comfort food – rice,boiled potatoes ,boiled egg and a thin lentil soup charged up with hot green chilies and spoonful of pure mustard oil.

To leave Baranti and its sunshine,its cool breeze,the little boys,the palash flowers,the silent lake was heart breaking.Yet life moves on and as I bade goodbye to the red soil,the orange blooms and the mountains I made a promise to myself….to be back again soon.

LITTLE FACTS

• Take an early morning train from Howrah to Asansol- Shatabdi or Black diamond Express would be best.Ask your resort to send a car.
• If you are keen on driving from Kolkata take the Delhi road up to Asansol then turn towards Purulia. Then finally turn towards Baranti from Muradi which is 8 km from Asansol on the Asansol Purulia road.
• There are a range of resorts at Baranti suiting every pocket-the oldest being Akashmoni. Others are Palashbari,Ankhaibari .The most luxurious being Spanglers Resort.I stayed at Lake Hill Resort which has the best unrestricted views of the lake and the hills.
• Do not expect various cuisines at the resorts but the taste of simple Bengali dishes will leave you satiated and happy.
• Best buy are local dokra handicrafts,stone sculptures and handmade masks.
• Best season to go are the winters,the spring and the rainy season.
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