Clouds in the valley...

Thunder rumbled across the skies. There was that distinct smell in the winds – that of trampled vegetation picked up by the winds, aided with a dip in temperature - which hits you just moments before the heavens open up. I couldn’t help stopping all that I did – in this case, packing up, to leave the beach – and stare at the contrasts that was flooding my senses: Turquoise blue, shallow playful waters of the white sandy lagoon below as against, the dark indigo blues of a moody, tempestuous sky above; The lull of the lapping waters of the sea, devoid of crashing waves as against the sparkling crackle of the lightning bolts; The taste of warm brine from my dip in the lagoon as against the taste of the cool moisture laden breeze; And then to cap it all, the sweaty, moisty warmth of a tropical island being washed anew with a coat of cool windward rains. Life loves contrasts indeed, the distinctions all the more perceptible when the contrasts are extremely disparate, thereby stret...

I cannot believe my eyes - in a city where it is rare to get that great rich taste of biryani that simultaneously blazes your tongue, yet soothes your nerves and appetite - I was staring at a plate of galouti kebabs.  Aficionados of Awadhi appetizers, or maniacs of Mughlai meals would be frantically shaking their heads in disbelief as what I had come upon serendipitously is often considered the holy grail of kebabs. And if every dish had a story, the Galouti’s would be a thumping Booker prize winner. Legends have it that the last nawabs of Awadh - Asaf-ud-daula and Wajid Ali had spoilt teeth, thanks to a continuous consumption of tobacco. Their appetite for meat though, thankfully, could not be spoiled. They would therefore invite khansamas or cooks from all over Lucknow to churn out the softest kebabs possible. The result was the galouti kebab - ‘that which melts in the mouth’ - made from pounded and finely minced meat, suffused with aromatic spices and fried delectably in ghee. E...

  I look again at the cute little turtle hatchling, its flippers flapping energetically, as if a sixth sense informing itself that it would soon get to merge with the salty waters, its natural home . On a white plastic tub, its black colour seems even more contrasting while I wonder in which sense is it an ‘olive’ ridley turtle. I guess growth dulls away the darkness of its complexion. It strangely faces the sea on the west though the waters are not visible given we are inside an enclosure on Kuta Beach. To check if it is a coincidence, I turn the tub and lo, it turns around again to face the sea! Instincts be like this, little one, I murmur between ourselves while an old Balinese conservationist comes forth and asks us all to move on to the sea to witness a grand spectacle. We form a chain of people - all tourists - more than a hundred of us, just a few metres away from the tumbling waves of the Indian Ocean. On the blow of a sharp whistle, we simultaneously release the hatchlings...