Monsoon Reaches Lucknow

Stepped out for an afternoon walk between rain showers and ended up stopping for chai and mangos near Chota Imambara. It's high mango season here now, and I've been purchasing a kilo every couple days. Along with kebabs and biryani, Lucknow is famous for its abundance of the fruit. The chatty chaiwala at Kashmiri Chai advised that Deshari are the tastiest of the local varietals, so after finishing my second cup I walked across the street and acquired a kilo for fifty rupees. Light rain began to fall as the vendor and I exchanged bills. Mangos in hand, I made for the flat past the bustling shops and food stalls lining Imambara Road.

The Picture Gallery, Husainabad

Kashmiri Chai

Flooded playground near Husainabad Clock Tower

Lucknow street dogs staying dry

Hot Times in Old Lucknow

 

View from the roof of the Labyrinth, Bara Imambara 

(Husainabad Clock Tower in distance, left edge of frame; Aasifi Masjid, foreground left; entrance gate, foreground right; Teele Wali Masjid in distance, right edge of frame)

Sweating profusely inside the Bara Imambara

Entrance to the Labyrinth (Bhul Bhulaiya)

The Dibrugarh Rajdhani Express rolled into Charbagh Railway Station in Lucknow Friday evening around 7 pm. I'd shared an upper berth with a pakhawaj (in a soft case, at least) all the way from Delhi, and by the time we reached I was ready to leave the refrigerated AC car behind and brave the unfamiliar city. Working my way out of the station to meet Allie, the first thing I noticed was the humidity. The air was wetter and heavier than what I had left behind in Delhi that morning. Allie and I found one another without too much trouble and hired an electric rickshaw to the AirBnb I booked for the week in Husainabad, directly across from the Jama Masjid in the heart of Old Lucknow. As we arrived and paid the rickshaw wala, Purvi Devi Mandir heaved with devotional music feet away from our rental property. Quite the welcoming committee.

Inside the Labyrinth

I could tell from the map and our host's descriptions that the AirBnb location positioned us well for exploring the old city, but just how well would not become clear until we set out Saturday morning. The Chota (small) Imambara, Husainabad Clock Tower, Rumi Darwaza, and Bara (large) Imambara--several of the most famous historical sites in the city--are all within a mile of the flat. We are also right next to Chowk, a vast market district in Old Lucknow that remains vital to shopping and culinary life in the city. Walking through Chowk, you'll find literally hundreds of shops selling chikankari clothing (a style of embroidery made famous in these parts) and more Lucknowi kebab and biryani than you could eat in a lifetime.

Making Gulawati Kebab at Tunday Kebabi

We wandered Chowk a bit Friday evening, explored the Bara Imambara and Chota Imambara on Saturday (with four-five necessary hours in the AC between expeditions), then returned to Chowk to seek out the legendary Tunday Kebabi--which traces its culinary roots to feeding the Nawabs of Lucknow. The barrier to any amount of exploration or outdoor indulgence, however, remains the heat. In concrete terms, it is not nearly as hot as it was in Delhi a month ago. But the humidity complicates matters. Any exposure to the elements and you begin sweating instantaneously. This city has reached that pre-Monsoon breaking point where heat and humidity boil to a sweaty crescendo before giving way to cooling rains. Those rains may arrive as early as tomorrow or Wednesday. For now, I'm taking full advantage of the air-conditioned flat to catch up on work while Allie studies Urdu across town.

Entrance gate to Chota Imambara

June 9-10: Burwa

After sleeping for what felt like eternity, I opened my eyes Thursday morning to find myself staring westward through a large picture window at a towering rocky summit with trails of old snow tracing down through the ravines. Morning light from the east frosted the ragged peaks with the green hills below still shrouded in dawn shadows. I looked at my phone: 5:29 am. No street traffic, no drone of air conditioning, just crisp mountain air and bird song drifting in through the open window. Forget sleep, this was all I'd dreamt of through months of debilitating heat and toxic air back in Delhi. I felt like a kid on Christmas. Just let me get out there, and hold my calls.

There are tipping points in any vacation, and by Thursday our journey teetered on a knife's edge. Wednesday's trials had just about done us all in, and although I had reiterated my desire to do as little as possible upon reaching Burwa--beyond casual hiking and staring at the mountains from the balcony of the hotel room--Rakesh aspired to go sightseeing and touring around Manali and the surrounding area. We wanted none of it. Everyone needed a rest day, and where better to rest than a quiet mountain village along a roaring river tucked away in the foothills of the Himalayas? As fate would have it, the Innova needed serious repairs following the breakdown Wednesday night and remained out of commission until early Friday afternoon. Poor Raju had to deal with all that, but as far as I was concerned, we'd reached the mountaintop.

Once Allie and I had breakfasted at the hotel buffet and returned to the room to drink excessively sweet milk coffee while looking out over the green valley below and south towards Manali, we set off through the village to find the Burwa-Solang trail, which I had scouted on AllTrails earlier that morning. It looked to be an appropriate length and degree of difficulty for our purposes, and most importantly, reaching the trailhead would not require a vehicle. According to the map, one of the village roads narrowed into a foot path less than a kilometer uphill from the Kalista. On the way out the door, the cheerful desk attendant asked where we were headed, no doubt eager to help us find somewhere to throw our money. We told him we just wanted to walk, and he directed us to the nearby "locals" trail.

Hiking out through Burwa Village with Nike sneakers and a North Face day pack, I soon sensed what he meant. The looks that flashed our way suggested the villagers had probably seen foreigners before, but that it probably doesn't happen too often. We passed schools, in session despite the current summer holiday throughout much of India; houses and barns with heavy slate roofs, some with livestock chained out front; endless apple orchards, a staple of the Himachal agrarian economy; men chiseling blocks of white granite by hand, many of which presumably go to build and maintain the rough walls surrounding the orchards; women carrying oversize bushels of brush, sticks, and lord knows what else down the mountainside on their backs; and just as the road narrowed into a cobbled horse trail, we passed several Royal Enfield motorcycles parked in the grass. Indian-built, classy rides. We never encountered their riders.

With the steady gains in elevation, the landscape around us became increasingly pristine. We pulled off the trail once to sit by the stream and let a couple Himachali gentlemen pass on horseback. Drawing closer to the larger mountains now, the weather shifted and we felt a few light rain showers. As we approached Solang Valley, a large industrial-looking complex came into view across the river and we stopped to assess the situation. A few hundred yards uphill, we spotted people ripping past on ziplines and decided we'd hiked far enough. Sitting on a boulder next to rushing water, we rested and watched the zipliners from a safe distance. Later we learned Rakesh and his family had hired a cab to Solang Valley, where he and Divyansh rode the very same ziplines that afternoon. From that rock, Allie and I took a series of our best selfies to date with Patalsu Peak rising up 14k feet behind us in all of it's snow-capped glory. I shared one of them in my first Himachal post, so I'll share the "silly face" version here (I almost never make a silly face, and Allie reliably makes the same silly face almost every time).

From Solang, we descended by the same route and returned to our room at the Kalista. I'm happy to report that practically nothing else happened until Raju arrived with his repaired clutch around 1 pm Friday and we set off for lunch down next to the river in Old Manali. There was a short-lived effort to hire a cab to Manali Thursday night, but after watching the traffic boil over in real-time on Google Maps we decided to bag it. Thank god we did. That stretch of nearly 40 hours in Burwa without setting foot near a vehicle, basking in the stunning views and clean mountain air, and eating tasty meals delivered to our hotel room on demand tipped the the balance of the trip. It was the vacation we'd wanted, and it justified all the grueling hours on the road that came before and after.

The gang's whole vibe had changed by the time we left Kalista Friday afternoon. Tanshu had stopped crying (for the most part) and wanted to be friends--unimaginable just 48 hours prior. By Saturday afternoon he was dancing with us to Rakesh's customary Panjabi soundtrack and sitting on our laps in the middle row of the Innova. No one got sick on the return trip, though the final 14-hr drive from Kullu to Delhi was more than anyone had bargained for--it being closer to 11 hours on paper. The traffic along our route both in and out of Himachal proved worse than we could have imagined, but it was the price we paid for two blissful days of doing close to nothing in the dreamscape of the high Himalayan foothills. The road wore us down, but the mountains reinvigorated each and every one of us. Now a week later, the fatigue has subsided but the rich memories of Burwa Village remain. If we could do it all over again, I'd just want to stay there longer. I guess that's the mark of a memorable vacation.

June 8: Breakdown

Nothing deflates morale on a road trip quite like vomit or car trouble. And on Wednesday, we had plenty of both. Following a "rest" day in Shimla (i.e. Sam and Allie carve out a quiet morning to hike through the forest up to Jakhu Mandir, Sam convinces Allie--against her better judgment--to ride the ropeway down to Mall Road where they sit outside leisurely sipping cappuccinos before returning to the hotel to be wrangled into an afternoon of horse riding and sightseeing) the long drive north to Manali began with multiple digestive episodes, induced, no doubt, by the relentless mountain roads.

Heading into the trip, I'd been most concerned about Allie. The one time we drove through the Adirondacks together she'd had a rough go of it (admittedly, I'd rented a large pickup truck for the occasion and I'm not shy about driving a powerful vehicle on unfamiliar mountain roads). But that was the Adirondacks--we were heading into the Himalayas. As a cautionary measure, I advised her to bring ample dramamine. She heeded the advice and proceeded to remain dosed up and pretty drowsy for most of the driving, but never get sick once. 

Not so for Rakesh's family, sitting behind us in the back row. It's possible Divyansh and Honey had an adverse reaction to the dramamine tablets Allie gave them before hitting the road Wednesday, or maybe they just didn't take them early enough, or perhaps it was simply the the sight of Divyansh getting sick that induced Honey's subsequent illness. Who knows, and in the end it doesn't really matter. I'll spare you the graphic details, but some 50 km outside of Shimla we'd stopped no fewer than three times, Divaynsh had changed his entire outfit, and our "early morning" departure had slipped into early afternoon. Only 200 kilometers to Manali.

After that, things leveled out somewhat, both literally and figuratively. The mountain passes melted into low valleys, temperatures rose steadily outside the car, and traffic noticeably increased. But stomachs stabilized, the AC in the Innova kept cranking, and that was good enough for me. By the time we started to climb into the cool hills surrounding Kullu and up alongside the Beas River that flows downhill from Manali, we'd lost two or three hours to motion sickness and tourist traffic. Our slated eight-hour drive from Shimla to Burwa Village was starting to look more like eleven or twelve. We bypassed downtown Manali in bumper to bumper traffic, continuing to climb, and as the traffic worsened we saw the culprit of the most recent wave of congestion: a large flock of goats and sheep being herded up the narrow mountain road by local farmers. The start-and-stop traffic continued it's lethargic crawl as vehicles navigated the obstruction, careful not to hit livestock or induce a head-on collision. Now through Manali, and a mere five kilometers from the Kalista Resort in Burwa, our chance to pass the animals finally arrived. In that moment, it hit me that the noxious smoke I'd caught whiffs of for the past fifteen minutes was, in fact, emanating from our vehicle. I alerted Rakesh, who alerted Raju, who pulled over, popped the hood, and confirmed that our clutch was burning. So close, but yet so far. 

The smoke now subsiding, Raju cranked the Innova only to find he couldn't shift into gear. I checked the time: 9:30 pm. We'd pulled out of Jakhu Vibes around nine in the morning. The race was on: would we make it to Burwa with time to check-in before the hotel kitchen closed for the night? Stranded on the side of the road, hungry, and now being passed by the very same goats and sheep we ourselves had managed to pass only moments before, it wasn't looking good. I wanted nothing more than to rid myself of the entire situation, snap my fingers, and be magically transported to a comfortable hotel room with room service, a hot shower, and a soft bed. Thanks to the two Panjabi guys who out of nowhere pulled up behind us, that would be our fate sooner than I could have guessed. 

Having now watched Rakesh in action at length (a Panjabi by descent, though a Delhiwalla all his life), it seems to me Panjabis have a kind of sixth sense for finding and helping other Panjabis. The finding is perhaps not so difficult, as many of them--Sikhs--wear turbans, but the helping never ceases to amaze. And there was no way these guys could have pegged Rakesh--who is not Sikh and does not wear a turban--as Panjabi. Or could they? Maybe Panjabis are just inclined to be outgoing and helpful across the board. Or maybe it's all part of some Panjabi code to which I, an American, remain oblivious. In any case, after chatting briefly with Rakesh, one of the Panjabis disappeared and within 15 minutes had returned with a full-size SUV that could accommodate our motley, demoralized crew and all of our luggage. For five hundred rupees, gladly paid--hell, I would've paid double, he raced us the remaining five kilometers to our hotel, where we checked in and quietly slipped away to our respective rooms. It was dark out, and all the blinds were drawn, but I sensed remarkable sights awaiting us from our corner room on the third floor. I pulled back the blinds, revealing nothing but blackness, opened a window to let in the refreshing mountain air, and we called room service for our much-needed, much-delayed dinner. As we drifted off to sleep with full bellies, the cool breeze and quiet mountains enveloping us, my only wish for the following day was to remain as far away from vehicles as possible.

June 6: Departure

Just before 7:30, Raju pulled up to Z-23A Hauz Khas in a white Toyota Innova with Delhi plates. Allie and I were making our final preparations for the trip when Rakesh pinged me to alert us that the cab was waiting out front. We lugged our bags into the steamy stairwell, down three flights of stairs, and loaded the vehicle that would become our home on wheels for much of the next six days. When Rakesh had arranged the transportation a month prior, he convinced us to splurge on a full-sized SUV for the 1,200 km roundtrip up through the mountains of Himachal Pradesh to Manali and back. While talking prices I had initially resisted the upgrade, but as soon as we started moving I was grateful for the smooth ride and additional legroom. 

The bigger car also meant we had an extra row for Rakesh's family: Divyansh, the son who tagged along to Agra back in March; Honey, his wife (her real name, though possibly the wrong spelling); and Jeevansh, their 18-month-old son. Born at the height of the pandemic, and by no means a seasoned traveler, the youngster remained a question mark throughout the planning process. Honey and Jeevansh--who they call Tanshu--were a package deal. They would either both come along for the ride or both hang back in Delhi. With the larger cab locked in for six days, the whole crew decided to join in the end.

By 8 am, Raju had guided the Innova northeast from South Delhi ahead of rush hour, across the mighty Yamuna, and into Geeta Colony where Rakesh and his family awaited our arrival. The welcoming committee included several additional relatives who wanted to meet us, including Rakesh's elderly mother and nephew Harshit, who is pursuing a PhD in Political Science at a local university. Harshit, in particular, seemed eager to chat with the legendary Hindi-speaking Americans on any number of topics.

Every seat now filled, and the family's large teal suitcase strapped to the roof rack, we set off for points north. The traffic, once mild, caught up with us and we clawed our way out of North Delhi on busy highways, past the smoldering trash mountain, and onto roads that had remained closed for much of 2020 and most of 2021 during the Farmers' Protest. Allie and I sat side by side in the two spacious seats of the middle row with Rakesh up front next to Raju and the rest of his family behind us. This would remain our orientation for roughly 90% of the remaining 40 hours we'd spend in the car together that week.

Despite the traffic, and a bit of understandable trepidation from the infant, spirits ran high as watched the the hot, polluted city of 30 million souls recede in our rearview. It struck me that I hadn't left Delhi since that day trip to Agra on March 10th--three solid months without respite from the madness of India's heaving capital. Come what may, it was time to hit the road. 

In what soon became a recurrent theme, Rakesh blasted loud Panjabi music over the Innova's adequate sound system. He dedicated the bulk of the airtime to Siddhu Moose Wala, a famous Panjabi rapper shot dead in his car in an act of gang-related violence on May 29. The sounds of Moose Wala are now ubiquitous throughout North India. Both inside and outside of the car, his music proved an inescapable soundtrack to the trip wherever we went.

All day we drove and drove, or rather Raju did, north through Haryana farm country and up into the first low foothills of Himachal Pradesh. Apart from two well-timed meal stops, our sights were set firmly on Shimla, the capital of Himachal and former summer capital of the British Raj, where we planned to spend two nights at a funky budget lodge called Jakhu Vibes. Sunset fast approaching, and Shimla now within view, we hit our first wave of truly demoralizing mountain traffic. 

The problem with mountain traffic is that there are no shortcuts--no clever ways to devise alternate routes and bypass all the dupes who don't know better. In most cases, there's only one way in and one way out. Those final ten kilometers took us the better part of 90 minutes, and by the time we finally rolled into Jakhu Vibes it was getting dark, everyone was hungry, and 12 hours had elapsed since our jubilant departure from Delhi that morning. Tanshu's wails made audible the sentiment we all shared: get us out of this damn car already.

Himachal

Today we're safely back in Hauz Khas following a whirlwind five-night/six-day tour of Himachal Pradesh. We spent a ton of time in the car and encountered extreme tourist traffic throughout, particularly in and around Shimla and Manali. But in the end, the stretches of respite between drives and the crisp air of the Himalayan foothills justified all the travel. 

Rather than attempt a full recap of the trip, which would take hours, I've decided to try my hand at posting vignettes throughout the coming week. For now, I'll leave you with these photos and get back to spending my last day with Allie before she flies to Lucknow to begin her Urdu course this week.

Stay tuned.

Full House

Monday evening I chatted with Allie as she made the most of her twelve-hour layover in the American Airlines Admirals Club at JFK. Per her report, unlimited cappuccinos and made-to-order guacamole really took the edge off. First thing Tuesday morning, I rolled over and checked the status of American 292--nonstop from New York to New Delhi--to find her still awaiting takeoff. I also noticed that the previous day's flight had been spontaneously diverted to London Heathrow, which I kept to myself until she arrived safely in Delhi that night. Throughout the day, periodically checking the progress of AA 292, there was plenty of time to learn about the controversies stirred up within the airline workers' union by that particular route. It turns out American doesn't have rights to operate in Russian airspace (not that it would right now anyway) and the resulting routing pushes the flight to the brink of the sixteen-hour limit for smaller crews. To save money, the airline claims the route is under sixteen hours and staffs it accordingly, given that longer routes require additional crew and therefore produce additional expenditures. If everything runs smoothly, the flight clocks in at fifteen hours and change. If there are any complications, however, that can push the total shift over sixteen hours, which breaks the union contract and requires a change of personnel. Hence the diversion to London.

Even with the short runway delay, AA 292 reached Delhi the evening of May 31 without any major issues. Upon finishing my evening pakhawaj lesson, which thankfully was at home, I set off for the metro to catch the express line out to the airport. Despite having to travel due north on the yellow line to catch the express train that runs southwest to the airport, the metro makes up for indirect routing by bypassing Delhi traffic. I reached Terminal 3 around 10:30 pm with plenty of time to establish myself at our designated meeting point (Pillar 15) before Allie walked out the door at arrivals. We embraced for the first time in three and a half months and hired a taxi back to Hauz Khas, where a midnight snack and three flavors of Naturals ice cream (Kesar Pista, Lychee, and Chocobite) awaited us.

Miraculously, Allie appears to have sidestepped jetlag almost entirely. I'd say it was the timing of the flight, but I departed from the US and arrived in Delhi at comparable times back in February and got wrecked. She slept through the night right away, and despite a waking hour here and there has handled the transition to Delhi life like a champion. The heat here has gotten unbearable again, and as a result, most of our excursions have been confined to after sunset. We've had three great dinners out--oddly enough all South Indian--and the past two evenings we've gone to see shows. Friday night my friend Anirban sang thumris and ghazals, accompanied by tabla and sarangi, at Depot 48 in Greater Kailash 2 (GK 2). Then last night, following an exceptional dinner at Juggernaut, we went to see Tansen at Trialogue Studios, a small-cast production at an intimate venue in Greater Kailash 1 (GK 1). Accompanied by a drummer (who played both tabla and pakhawaj) and a harmonium player, a total of three actors (all of whom were competent singers) told the story of Akbar's famous court musician, Tansen, through narration, dramatization, and song.

Today, we rest and pack for our upcoming trip to the mountains. Fifteen weeks after arriving in India, it's officially time for a vacation. Though it's been painfully hot here for some time now, we're entering the worst of it. From now til monsoon promises to be virtually unlivable in Delhi. Today will reach 109 here, and the next four to five days are expected to break 110. By contrast, daytime highs in Manali, where we'll spend Wednesday evening to Friday morning, are forecast to be 45 degrees cooler. Tomorrow we'll leave the house to Kyle, who returned from Rajasthan Wednesday afternoon, and his friend Parijat, who arrived from the States Friday night. Having taken a morning stroll to Gulmohar Park, we may not even go outside again until then. Fortunately, we have everything we need right here.

Back in a week with news from Himachal Pradesh.