Tag Archives: india

ENJOY INDIA WITHOUT LEAVING HOME

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TODAY is the 15th of August, the anniversary of India becoming independent of British rule. What better day to announce the ‘launch’ of my latest book?

My new book invites you to join me on a fascinating 4000-mile, 88-day journey through parts of India including Karnataka, Rajasthan, West Bengal, Telangana, Tamil Nadu, and Pondicherry. My travelogue relates aspects of each place’s past and present; describes interesting encounters with diverse people – from autorickshaw drivers to artists and academics; and savours local foods. Immerse yourself in the pages of my illustrated account of a modern-day Indian odyssey, and discover the wonders of India without leaving home!

My book, “88 DAYS IN INDIA: A JOURNEY OF MEMORY AND DISCOVERY” is available from Amazon websites, such as:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/88-DAYS-INDIA-JOURNEY-DISCOVERY/dp/B0FKTFBFM2/

Trekkers beyond the age of 65 should be discouraged

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WHILE SORTING SOME old papers, we came across a permit issued to us in Kolkata (Calcutta) in November 2019. It is a document that allowed us to visit Sikkim for five days.

Sikkim, which is a mountainous territory is near to China, in northeast India was an independent kingdom until April 1975 when the king was deposed and its people chose by referendum to become part of India. It is now one of the states of India. Foreigners can visit Sikkim but only after they have obtained a permit. We acquired ours without difficulty in central Kolkata. The wording on the permit lists the places which its foreign holder(s) can visit. The rest of Sikkim is out of bounds.

What I only noticed after finding this permit recently (in August 2025) is that it bears some words of advice:

“Trekker(s) beyond the age of 65 should be discouraged”

From what, it does not say.

An artist who loved Gujarat (in western India)

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THERE IS A SUPERB collection of modern art from south Asia, which is being exhibited at Phillips auction house in London’s Berkely Square until 31 July 2025. Amongst the artworks on display are several paintings by the late Maqbool Fida Husain. As you can read in the following excerpt from my book about the first journey I made to Gujarat in western India in 2018, the Husain was keen on the area. We were in Ahmedabad when we stumbled across a restaurant called Lucky.

Now read on …

“We ate lunch at Lucky, an unusual restaurant near our hotel. This vegetarian eatery is divided into two sections: one serving sandwiches and Punjabi-style dishes, the other serving mainly south Indian dishes. In one of them, we noticed a framed painting by the famous Indian painter MF Husain (1915-2011), who was born in a Bohri Muslim family in Maharastra. He often travelled to Gujarat to paint. The picture in Lucky, and the place is truly lucky to have it, is a gift which the artist presented in 2004. This was the second original work by Hussain that we had seen in a restaurant. Earlier, we had seen a sketch by him in Bombay’s Noor Mohammadi Hotel, which serves Bohri dishes. When Hussain’s art works began to offend the extremist nationalist sentiments of some Hindus in India and they threatened his life, he felt forced to exile himself. He lived the last few years of his life in the Gulf States and the UK.

The curious thing about Lucky is not the MF Hussain painting, but its location in a disused Muslim cemetery. Its chairs and tables are placed between unmarked Muslim gravestones, painted green and surrounded by low metal railings painted white. The manager thought that these graves were over 300 years old. In addition to the graves, the thick trunk of a tree grows through the middle of the restaurant. The food and service are both good in this busy but peculiar place.”

You can read about my first trip to Gujarat and the two former Portuguese colonies, Daman and Diu, in my paperback book “Travels through Gujarat, Daman, and Diu” (https://www.amazon.co.uk/TRAVELS-THROUGH-GUJARAT-DAMAN-DIU/dp/0244407983)   and the kindle version “Travelling through Gujarat, Daman, and Diu” (https://www.amazon.co.uk/TRAVELLING-THROUGH-GUJARAT-DAMAN-DIU-ebook/dp/B07GLWZPHD/)

A tailor in Bangalore (India) who knew how to be tactful

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My book, “Coracles and Crocodiles: 101 Tales of India”. is an anthology of some of the things I have experienced during three decades of of travelling in India. Here is a short excerpt from it:

DIPLOMATIC AMNESIA

Almost immediately after I first arrived in India (in late December 1993), and a few days before our Hindu wedding ceremony, my father-in-law recommended that I visit his tailor – Mr Krishnan – to get measured up for some new suits. One of these was to be a white ‘Prince Suit’, and the other two were western style formal suits in greyish materials. The Prince Suit, a traditional Indian design with a high neck collar, was to be worn at our wedding reception after the marriage ceremony. The other garments would be useful for the many formal occasions, which my father-in-law anticipated both in India and England. He loved such occasions.

When he worked in an upmarket tailoring shop in Bangalore’s Brigade Road, Mr Krishnan had made suits for my father-in-law. When I met him, he was semi-retired and worked from his home in a small, old-fashioned house on a short lane in a hollow several feet beneath the nearby busy Queen’s Road. He was a short, elderly gentleman – always very dignified and polite. He measured me up for the suits in his front room, which served as part of his workshop. After a couple of visits to try the suits whilst they were still being worked on, I picked up the finished garments. Each of the suits fitted perfectly – ‘precision-fit’ you could say quite truthfully. Despite being so accurately made, they were not in the least bit uncomfortable. Everybody admired them. I could understand why I had been sent to Mr Krishnan.

Our next trip to India was made 20 months later when our recently born daughter had had sufficient vaccinations to allow her to travel safely. During the interval between these two holidays, my dimensions had changed significantly because of my good appetite and happy marriage. Notably, my girth had increased greatly. Sadly, the suits that Mr Krishnan had so carefully crafted no longer fitted me.

We returned to see Mr Krishnan, who told us that in anticipation of my dimensions changing, he had left extra cloth within the garments for adjusting them. Without comment, he took my new measurements, and noted them down in a book. My wife, who had accompanied me, said to the tailor, mischievously:

“Just out of curiosity, Mr Krishnan, would you be able to look up Adam’s previous measurements to see how much he has changed.”

He put down his pencil, sighed, and said:

“I am very sorry, Madame, but I have unfortunately lost them.”

Mr Krishnan was not only a wonderful tailor, but also a perfect diplomat.

End of excerpt

You can enjoy more tales like this, and experience India without leaving home by buying a copy of the book from Amazon websites, e.g.:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/CORACLES-CROCODILES-101-TALES-INDIA/dp/B0DJZ6DMYB/

Sculptures hidden by the mist in Bangalore

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When we arrived in Bangalore in November 2025, our friend Harsh, an architect and curator who is based in Ahmedabad, sent us a message about his exhibition in Bangalore at a gallery, of whose existence we had been hitherto unaware. The privately owned gallery is called KAASH. It is housed in a beautifully restored old-style bungalow such as were built (mostly) between the 1860s and 1930s. They are a colonial ‘take’ on English country cottages. The gallery’s bungalow at number 2 Berlie Street is complete with perfect examples of ‘monkey tops’ (screens of closely spaced vertical wooden slats placed over porches and windows).  

The exhibition that Harsh had curated at KAASH was a collection of contemporarily designed devotional objects, mainly diyas (oil lamps used on Hindu ceremonies). There were also some almost abstract depictions of Devi created by Jayshree Poddar, and a few items of folk art from various countries in Africa. The artworks were tastefully displayed in rooms within the bungalow.

In the garden surrounding the building, we saw several sculptures. As the sun set, a worker moved around the garden spraying a fumigating smoke that created an eery mist. The sculptures were temporarily partially hidden, becoming rather like peaks partially concealed by low clouds. Gradually, they reappeared as the insecticidal smoke dispersed. Having seen the KAASH gallery, we decided that it would become a place we visit whenever we happen to be in Bangalore.

Somewhere snooty in Ooty (Ootacamund in south India)

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ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE years ago, we spent a short holiday in the southern hill station at Ootacamund (Udhagamandalam) in India’s Tamil Nadu state. Often called ‘Ooty’, the town is the home of one of India’s most prestigious colonial-style clubs, the Ootacamund Club, which was founded in 1841. It was there that my in-laws arranged for us to stay for a few nights. Our bedroom with a working wood fireplace was comfortable enough. It reminded me of rooms in old-fashioned hotels in which I had stayed in with my parents in the English countryside in the late 1950s.

When we stayed at the club in 2000, it seemed to be quite a ‘snobby’ or ‘snooty’ place. We were travelling with our then five-year old daughter. Apart from our bedroom, there were only two parts of the club that she was permitted to enter. One was a lobby, and the other was a children’s dining room. The latter was depressing to say the least. Because we did not want to abandon our daughter, we saw little else of the inside of the club.  The rest of the club house could only be entered by adults wearing appropriate clothing. For men in 2000, this included a jacket, shirt, proper shoes (not trainers or sandals) and tie. It seemed crazy to enforce such rules as we were the only people staying in, or using, the club  during the off-season. I wonder if these rules have been relaxed at least a little since our visit.

It was not my first visit to Ooty. My wife and I had spent part of our honeymoon there after our marriage in Bangalore in January 1994. That time, my father-in-law had arranged for us to stay in the St Margarets guest house that belonged to the company in which he had worked, ITC. Our stay at St Margarets was not without small problems, but the place suited me much more than the hallowed Ooty Club.

Footpaths in the Painted City: a journey of discovery

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HERE IS A BOOK which I have found fascinating. It is “Footpaths in the Painted City” by Sadia Shephard. It was published in 2008. The American born author’s father was an American Protestant, and her mother a Muslim from Pakistan. Her mother’s mother, Nana, converted to Islam when she married in Pakistan. However, early in the book, Sadia reveals how she discovered that Nana was born Jewish in pre-independence India.

What made the book especially interesting is that Nana was born into a Beni Israel family. Nobody is sure of the origins of the Beni Israel Jews, who reside mainly in the western Indian state of Maharashtra. It is commonly said that they are the descendants of Jewish people who left Israel after the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, and made their way by land and sea to the western coast of the Indian Subcontinent. They have adhered to all the rituals followed by members of other Jewish communities for many centuries. Until some European traveller in India recognised their adherence to Jewish religious ways of life during the nineteenth century, it is said that the Beni Israel community were unaware that they were Jews.

In her book, Sadia tries to discover more about Nana’s life story and the Beni Israel community into which she was born. To do this, the author travelled to both Pakistan and India. Her account of her time in India, investigating what remains of the country’s Beni Israel communities is fascinating and gives the reader a good idea of what a young lady experienced while living on her own for several months in India.

I have greatly enjoyed reading this engaging and moving book, and can recommend it to anyone interested in Judaism in India, the Beni Israel community, family history, travel, and any combination of these.

A coffee house in the Indian city of Bangalore (Bengaluru)

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GOING THROUGH SOME old photographs today, I came across a few taken in the India Coffee House that used to be on Bangalore’s MG Road. Here is what I wrote about the place in my book “Coracles and Crocodiles: 101 Tales of India”:

“When I first visited Bangalore in 1994, there was a coffee house on Mahatma Gandhi (‘MG’) Road close to the now derelict Srungar Shopping Complex. This venerable, popular ‘hole in the wall’ was a branch of the Indian Coffee House (‘ICH’) chain. In both appearance and atmosphere, it reminded me of some of the older coffee houses I had seen Belgrade and Sarajevo in Yugoslavia (when it still existed).

At the ICH, customers sat at old wooden tables on wooden benches with hard, upright backrests. Old Coffee Board (‘ICB’) posters hung on the walls. The waiters were dressed in white jackets and trousers held up by extremely wide red and gold belts – like cummerbunds – with huge metal buckles that bore the logo of the ICB. These gentlemen wore white turbans with red and gold ribbons on their heads. In addition to (in my humble opinion) rather average quality, but low-priced South Indian filter coffee, a variety of snacks and cold drinks were also on the menu.

During the British occupation of India, admission to most coffee houses was restricted to European clients. In the late 1890s, the idea of establishing an ICH chain of coffee houses for Indian customers began to be considered. In 1936, the ICB opened the first ICH in Bombay’s Churchgate area. By the 1940s, there were at least 50 branches all over what was then British India. In the mid-1950s, the ICHs were closed by the Coffee Board. The Communist leader AK Gopalan (1904-1977) and the Coffee Board workers managed to get the Board to hand over the ICH outlets to them, and they formed a series of Indian Coffee Workers’ Co-operatives. The cooperative in Bangalore was formed in August 1957. There are now several branches in the city. The MG Road branch, which opened in 1959, closed in 2009 … “

DISCOVER more about this and many other things I have experienced in India by reading my book, which is available from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/CORACLES…/dp/B0DJZ6DMYB

Your comments about this introduction to a new book about India would be very welcome

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I am at present writing a book about my recent travels in India. I would be most grateful if you would read through this draft of my opening paragraph, and send me your observations about it. Would you want to read further? The paragraph is beneath this photograph taken in Jaipur.

Early one morning in February 2025, our British Airways Boeing 777 jet began moving away from the oddly designed, apparently ‘eco-friendly’, Terminal Two at Bangalore’s International Airport. As the aeroplane taxied smoothly towards the runway, I watched the parched airport terrain and its assortment of buildings, some painted with red and white checkerboard patterns, slipping past. Then with a certain suddenness heralded by an increase in the noise of our jet engines, we accelerated along the runway. Soon, we became detached from the soil of India. As the aircraft rose higher and higher, random memories flashed through my mind. These included eating laal maas on a rooftop in Jaisalmer; a distraught restaurant owner in Jodhpur; a Dutch cemetery on the Coromandel Coast; hawkers wandering up and down a railway carriage in West Bengal; riding through Bangalore in a Jesus autorickshaw; blessing a newly married couple in Pondicherry; tasting homemade nolen gur in Murshidabad; attending an aarti on the Ganges; eating ravioli in Auroville; the ghost of Tipu Sultan; and much more. After flying over the west coast of India, all these experiences and a whole host of others that we had enjoyed during our 88 day stay in India (between November 2024 and February 2025) became, like the Indian coastline over which we flew, distant memories which I hope will remain etched permanently in my mind. In the pages of this book, I will revive these and a whole host of other reminiscences and explore them in detail. I want my readers to enjoy and understand what we experienced during our almost three month long stay in India.

A book about the Gujaratis by Salil Tripathi

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WITH ABOUT SIX hundred and forty pages of text, this book published in 2024 covers a lot of ground. Much of what Tripathi writes about Gujarat and the Gujaratis is fascinating. However, the author’s definition of who is a Gujarati may differ from that of many others. His definition of a Gujarati is anyone whose mother tongue is Gujarati. Thus, he includes groups such as the Parsis, the Bohras, and the Khojas. None of those groups, all of whom have Gujarati as their mother tongue, would usually describe themselves as Gujaratis, even if they reside in Gujarat. Although Kachchhis generally speak Kachchhi amongst themselves, most speak Gujarati as well, but most of them would disagree with Tripathi’s calling them ‘Gujaratis’. By using his definition of a Gujarati, the author was able to include many people, who would not have described themselves as Gujarati, in his book.

 

The book is a mine of information about people that the author describes as being Gujaratis. Much of this information is fascinating, but there were occasional passages that I  felt should have been shortened or omitted. Although Tripathi deals a lot with some of the sadder aspects of life in Gujarat, he also injects humour into his text. However,  he notes that Gujaratis are proud of Mahatma Gandhi, a Gujarati, but in recent years, they seem to be forgetting what he stood for.

 

I am glad that I read this book, but would advise those planning to read it that it is more of an encyclopaedia than a portrait of the Gujaratis. Tripathi covers a great deal, but I felt that at the end of it, my understanding of the soul of Gujarat and its people had only increased by a small amount.