Bali: The Island of Gods

As I look forward to another vacation this year, I remember that I haven't written about my last.
Bali was beautiful. If you haven't already been there, here's your guide. 

The aircraft whooshed over the cobalt waters and on to the runway. I knew nothing of this place. As I opened my eyes, I was greeted by her.
Clad in shades of cerulean and pearl, she tried to reach out as though she was trying to speak, her maidens impelling her upward towards the mood, rising and falling in one fluid motion, like a string let go in mid-air. I watched as she settled in rings of foam, arms wide in welcome embrace. We had an understanding, the Sea Goddess and I. I would rest my fears and put my faith in her. I would dive and she would NOT swallow me whole.
So off I went snorkelling in the tranquil reefs around Menjangan Island. If you haven’t tried it before, snorkelling may not be easy, but it sure is great fun.

Bali is also a treasure trove of sophisticates fine-arts and crafts, romantic restaurants, relaxing spas, trendy nightspots, and fancy crowds.

You know you stand out from the crowd when the locals grin amicably while chanting Shah Rukh Khan’s name, singing Tum paas aaye from Karan Johar’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, acknowledging your Indian origin.

Live catch at Jimbaran

Whether you are a foodie or the type who eats to survive, Balinese food is an absolute treat to the palate. Choose from a variety of the day’s live catch, watch it being cooked in the open kitchen, and instead of the sticky rice, select a portion of masked potatoes subtly laced with a hint of coconut and oregano, for your carbohydrate fix.
If you feel like splurging, feast on the crispy lobster, and, if you happen to find yourself at Naughty Nuri’s Warung and Grill, ask for the deep fried duck with lip-smacking sambal sauce on the side or BBQ pork ribs.
To quench your thirst, order the local arrack or a “community drink”: three litres of tender coconut water served in its giant shell, subtly laced with ginger and a hint of lime.
No matter how tempting, steer clear of street food. The corn-cob, though, is an exception: glazed with honey, lime, garlic and melted butter, it’s available in abundance on Kuta Beach.

The Infinity pool at Ayana Resorts

If you want to dress up and dance the night away, the clubs at Bali are a hoot. And if you think the 11:30 PM curfew in Bangalore is a party-pooper, you will be thrilled to know that clubs here stay open all night you can even make your way to the dance floor with your alcohol-filled sippers in hand. The Kuta Beach area with its abundance of watering holes is the place to be. If you have a (lot) of cash to spare, don’t miss out on Rock bar at Ayana Resorts. Traveling in a cable car and sipping on a mojito while the waves crash against the rocks – something you can do only here. Hulu Café, which is reputed to be the only real gay bar in Bali, has drag shows three times a week. And, let me tell you, these shows are no drag.

Like the partying, no matter what the time, the shopping centres are always bustling with activity. The great bargains you strike are largely dependent on your haggling prowess. This is restricted to the street shopping in Kuta Square, Denpasar, and Jimbaran, however. The boutique stores selling exclusive memorabilia are an exception, naturally.

Even if you have everything you need and don’t mean to shop, a few impulsive purchases are inevitable, especially when it comes to handicrafts. The artisans’ village in Ubud is a treat for every artist’s soul. Here, practised hands work effortlessly with their material – be it canvas, stone, simple cane or even metal, Tourists even ship cane furniture back to their homes.

Most Balinese are Hindus. An important part of their tradition is making offerings to deities. So you will find little square baskets, woven with coconut leaves, filled with flowers, rice and incense sticks at every turn and at the entrance to every store.

The Ramayana is obsessed over through many art forms. The Kecak, or monkey, dance is one of the many elements in a full blown performance of Valmiki’s ageless work. The background chorus is usually performed by a topless male choir sitting around a fire and chanting “chak-chak”.  Although Sita is Shinta, Ravana is Rahwana and Laxmana is Lakshmanan, the plot is essentially the same. The appearance of the artists in vibrant costumes against the fierce glow of the fire is truly mind-blowing.

Against the bustle of the city is the calm influence of stately Indonesian stone architecture. The Tanah Lot, a temple nestled in a large offshore rock, and apparently shaped by the ocean waves, is a tribute to the Balinese Sea Gods. Hiking across the mass of wet rocks under the soft glow of the setting sun, as a strip of surf curdles the sea, has a liberating effect. 

As you prepare to leave, you begin to think of Bali as an extraordinary piece of art and you wish you could take a little piece of it back home. At the least, you wush you could stay back…forever.

Give a little love

All everyone seems to be talking about is love.
Truth be told, it is just another four letter word that puts a smile on our face, go weak in the knees and sometimes crack a heart wide open.  It is good Karma or just, Karma if you will.  

"If you give a little love, you can get a little love of your own" - this quote seems to be the inspiration for a four -minute clip that went viral a couple of months ago.  Titled “A few minutes of perfection”, this video shows what a good deed can do.
You don’t have to be the same age, belong to the same ethnicity, hell, you don’t even have to be related - all it takes is for you to go a little out of your way to show you care.

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Summer in February

All the sunscreens on the shelf had lied through their nozzles. Whether it was a cheap, runny one that was light on my pocket and thin on my skin or a quality product (something that I had to break my piggy bank for), I had tried everything and tanned. My mother was very close to calling me a crow’s offspring, may be she even did, once or twice. Nevertheless it was time. Summer was here again.

I woke up craving for ripe and raw mangoes, holidays, bum shorts and beaches. I can’t be blamed for wanting them. I was born wild and free like the Sun himself. I was a May child. This is probably why I disagree with most people on their favourite seasons. I hear them say monsoons or winters, I tune them out. It’s not worth listening to the load about the sweet smelling rain and hot, oily samosas from a street vendor. In my opinion, monsoons are slush and ugly grey clouds, while winters should exclusively be saved for hibernation.

The problem with summers is that, they are not planned, by nature or by us. Some of us crib about the heat, the way our hair is about 10 times bigger, sweat patches, forced family holidays and planning things. I for one enjoy planning and this unannounced summer, I’m starting out by putting together some outfits for an impending holiday to a tropical land and to feel fun through the season.
For a start, I’m hunting down this chic, summer outfit posted by a fellow Statigram-er. 

If I can't find it to buy it, like a true Indian, I'm going to haunt a tailor till he stitches right.
A girl wants what a girl wants!

 What are you planning for the summer?

La la love

Locally grown flowers paraded as “fresh and imported,” justifying its cost or at least trying, a magical time when even the least romantic and aloof variety of humans want to be struck by the oh-so-sexy-man in diaper, be swept off their feet with a bunch of roses waiting for them at their door (reminiscent of their favourite rom-com), or at least find a miserable piece of chocolate from their secret admirer on their desks. High hopes and that thing called Love, I'd say.

Groggy is the word that describes me best on Valentine’s Day. Even the warm embrace of my bed with who I’ve been in a strong, committed relationship for forever, couldn’t comfort me. Oh the hype. Oh the red. Oh the horror.
I was the Valentine’s Grinch. I’ve nothing against love. It is powerful and it is meant to keep you going, every day. What’s with this? One day of love? Tsk.

Six years and a couple of months later, I remembered the bar of chocolate and a single long-stemmed red rose I had received on my very first Valentine's day. The ones, I had squirrelled into my backpack, red-faced, the whole string quartet going at the back, head dizzy with happiness. I had pushed my stash to the dark corners of my bag where no one would find it, trying to hide the scandalous idea of me being in a relationship at 15. At least, the idea was to save my chocolate.

As the years rolled by, the idea of honouring St. Valentine just felt more and more ridiculous. My Valentine’s Day would be spent with my man, mocking others’ pitiful efforts in having le perfect day.

“Stop being judgemental,” he’d quip and when I narrated a particularly cheesy, mawkishly sentimental incident that made my heart weep, he would giggle at how over dramatic I was. I say, how could one not notice a huge, childhood-fear-evoking teddy bear sitting on the seat, almost like a person, next to the super excited chick who doesn’t know how to get it home, what to tell her parents or how to shred it? It was as funny as watching Indians attempt to play any other sport but cricket. I would speak within the walls of my head, hoping to communicate telepathically to the poor boy who needs advice so bad, “think out of the freaking box, you jackass.”

And then it happened. Six years and a lot of feeling-like-a-married-couple later, he hit me with a neatly, hand-written letter. Oh and oh. With punctuation!
My heart did a little tango while I waited for words to materialise. I didn’t want to cry.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” I said.
He broke into a wide grin, “There’s an extra sheet in there. In case you want to write back, you know?”
He not only writes but makes me want to.

As my good friend, Ms. Chander rightly put it, “Letters are such a poignant medium of communication. At once brings out friendship and differences. No?” Of course, she was right. She always was.

I had to smile at Him and the little freak, Cupid who hissed devilishly in my ear, “Where is all the corn and cheese now, you bitch?”