A Pakhwada for All Good Causes

 

I was visiting a Primary Health Centre in Baisi block of Purnea district in Bihar recently and came across this sign. It says 'Pariwar Kalyan Pakhwara', which means Family Planning Fortnight. The Pakhwada or fortnight, has become the favoured unit of time for many government supported interventions these days. We currently have the Diarrhoea Control Fortnights that‘s an effort to get health workers at all levels, especially in villages, focused on treating diarrhoea among under-five children with simple solutions like ORS and Zinc. Solutions that can save more than 200,000 children's lives every year. Policy makers understand that a two week focus will not rid the country of diarrhoea, but our public systems have become used to working in a “mission mode”. Building a habit for doing some basic things doesn’t come easily, so we try and get people to do things for a fortnight with a hope that some of those activities stick.

 

There’s a wide collection of Pakhwadas. The Measles Fortnights and the Intensified Immunization Fortnights. We even have 'Wajan Pakhwadas' or Weight Fortnights when we try and fatten up kids in 14 days. There are the ubiquitous and much dreaded Hindi Pakhwadas where people will spend much of their time flipping the pages of a Hindi dictionary to make sense of the memo they just got, hopefully adding to their vernacular word power in the process.

 

My favourite is the Janasankhya Sthirita Pakhwara (the Population Stabilization Fortnight) where we try and Stabilize the Population for a fortnight. For some reason I have this image of a billion people trying to stay standing on one foot, with one eye on a two-week calendar, counting down the days till they can go back to being themselves and procreating. And somewhere near AIIMS a digital billboard releases steam as the population clock takes a breather. If only that was true. Then we could just do a fortnight, every fortnight.

In Search of the Perfect Cuppa

Some people do it to get fit, some do it for the thrill of speed, some do it to test their limits of endurance, some do it for the love of gizmos and technology, and some do it to for the love of the outdoors. Everyone's got a reason to ride a cycle. Me? I do it for chai.

We scour the countryside for the perfect chai and chai-wallah. The tea shouldn't be too sweet, too milky, too strong, or too light, and it's best if it's really hot and made with cows milk. The neater the chai-wallah and the quieter the surroundings, the higher are our ratings. Over the years we've been lucky to find quite a few great chai spots, but still nothing that one could say was perfect. There's always a few shortcomings and as all good property dealers will tell you, it's usually all about location.`

Chai-wallahs like to in places they can find some customers, which means they like to be in busy places. So you won't find any of them in those tucked away patches of the Aravallis that are truly spectacular and scenic, or even in small villages or empty country lanes. There was this one chai-wallah on the road that leads to the Golden Green Golf Course that many of us said came close to being perfect, but he eventually shut shop probably because he figured out that running a chai shop in the middle of nowhere was not a viable proposition.

The idea of riding to a remote spot in the hills and making your own chai has been one that we've talked about for a couple of years. The ideal place in my mind was somewhere around the Echo Point we discovered last New Years Day near the New Mangar Mandir. Miles from anywhere, at the edge of a gorge, lots of rocks to serve as a fire place and as stools to sit, plenty of dried shrubs and trees for firewood, complete silence. Tranquil. And it was the destination for the 2014 New Years ride.

Seeing that I was set on trying my hand at campfire tea-making, my wife graciously agreed to sacrifice a pan and some party-ware including paper cups and spoons. I finally found that all those tea bags and sugar and milk sachets that I had scavenged from the complimentary coffee/tea makers in various hotel rooms could be put to good use. And having watched Bear Grylls light many a camp fire using nothing but chest hair, nails and teeth and true grit, I decided to take the easy way and packed lots of news paper for kindling, a box of matches and a Bic lighter for backup. 

The ride up to the Mangar plateau may have been a bit slower than usual, but I was so distracted looking for dry firewood along the way that I just didn't notice it. Amazingly all the wood we found was bone dry and Rajesh managed to get a fire going with one sheet of news paper and a single match stick. 

After that Saurabh played master chef and turned out an amazing concoction of English Breakfast, Early Grey and some regular Tetley tea bags that delivered a unique flavor. 

The accompaniments of Christmas cake, orange cake, digestive biscuits and Tiger glucose ensured that this was a New Years morning that no one was going to forget easily.

My New Year Resolution for 2014 - to create a map of chai spots across the Aravallis around Gurgaon and then go there and make and drink chai.....

Photos courtesy Abhinay Pochiraju

A Suitable Seasonal Greeting

I walked into our favourite local bakers yesterday evening because Medha and I decided to treat ourselves after having run some successful errands around town. The bakers was packed. Almost everyone was in there buying cakes, and when they were asked if they wanted a message written on it, everyone would say "Happy New Year".

There was this one guy, looking slightly agitated with the whole place being crowded, finally gets the attention of one of the shop girls. He points at a smallish chocolate cake. She says "four hundred rupees". He reluctantly nods. She takes the cake out of the fridge and asks him if he wants a message on top. He fixes her with a stare that says 'are you serious?' and then shrugs his shoulders his and with a dry grin says "see if Happy Basant Panchami fits on...."

Just in case it needs saying again. Happy New Year everyone.

The Holy Indian Land Grab

The great holy Indian land grab goes something like this. Find a desolate bit of land, a spot that no one really notices. It's good if it's close to a road. If not, make sure that's it's on the top of your list of asks from your devotees. Install a few pictures and statues of gods and goddesses. Throw in the accouterments of a place of worship. A few earthen pots, the remains of fire. Some smooth black rocks are a sure bet. 

Gradually build a perimeter. Some walls come up quietly over night. One fine morning there's a roof. A little house for the pundit (yourself) is only a matter of getting someone to donate the materials and labour. Then think of a name. Add the word 'Pracheen' (ancient) at the front, and 'Baba' somewhere in the middle. By now you're sitting on a million dollars of real estate and if you came up with a good name, grew a serious beard, fabricated a believable history - you have a steady income stream through 'offerings' and a band of followers who will give their lives to protect your real estate from anyone who objects to its existence and expansion. 

How does 'Pracheen Baba Blackberry Nath Pedal Yatri Ashram' sound?

Fast Rides and Slow Food

It was Dussehra and while most people were huddled in their blankets they recently took out because of the change in weather, and secure in the knowledge that evil would be defeated later that evening, I snuck out from home with my cycle to meet up with Vivek and Mukesh and do something 'different' on Dussehra. We decided that we'd play it by ear. But first we did something very 'normal' and flew down the slick new Gurgaon Faridabad Expressway, but then quickly decided against a fast road ride in favor of some good chai at Qutab Minar. 

On the way we decided to do a tour of Radhey Mohan Drive just to see how the average Delhi 'farmer' is faring in an area of Delhi that does not look anything like an area of Delhi. Just watching all the folks enjoying their morning walks there, we quickly came to the realization that the people who are really living it up are the caretakers, cooks and gardeners who work for the 'farmers' at their 'farmhouses'. 

When we got to Qutab Minar we voted against JUST chai, and headed into the Mehrauli Market in search of something more substantial and after a little of bit asking we found our way to the locally acclaimed Suresh Halwai.

Suresh Halwai

We arrived there at around 7:30am and left a little after 8:30 as we worked our way through three courses of piping hot Kachoris, Samosa and Puri sabji.

Samosa, Kachori and Puri

After each course we would order a round of chai and then agree that we should be on our way home. At this point Suresh would dejectedly look at us and ask us to wait a few minutes, then shout at a group of young boys and men (all called Chotu) and tell them to bring whatever was coming out of the frying pans (hot puris, samosas etc.) right away. And so the 15 minute stop stretched into a three course breakfast where we watched the hubbub of the Mehruali market on a particularly busy day. This too did not feel anything like Delhi. It felt like the Sadar Bazaar of some small town in Western UP.'

"I don't have a  shop name board - just ask for Suresh Halwai"

There were two small shops just selling Gurdh (Molasses). All types of Gurdh including the Khajur variety. Everyone was selling sugarcane shoots since this was a requirement for the local version of Dussehra puja. The local Mehrauli Theatrical society had posters letting people know that they would be staging a play very soon, and the local politician (I can't remember the name but it was something like - Pappu or Chiku) has put up several posters proclaiming his ever lasting gratitude to Rajesh Khanna for all the great songs and movies. 

We did eventually manage to leave the place, even though Suresh's workers manning the hot tawa were trying to get us to hang around to taste the Jalebi and Imarti. 

Imarti on its way

Ride stats and stuff here -

Taking Notes in Patna

From where I was standing it looked like the Sabji wallah’s one eye was examining the note and the other was locked on me. This had happened more than once in the last week. It was only now while I was paying the 80 rupee vegetable bill with a 500 rupee note did I realize that he he wasn’t inspecting the note. He was inspecting my reaction to his inspecting the note.

Last week the local ATM decided that since the economy is heading down the drain it would only spew out 500 rupee notes, and that the humble hundred rupee note was beneath its dignity. In Patna, where the use of a credit card is like a minor road accident in that everyone drops whatever they are doing for a spot of drama and ‘edutainment’, cash is clearly king. However this respect is only given to those who dole out appropriately sized bills, and and not if you attempt to intimidate the shop keeper with high value currency notes that, in his opinion, have a bloody good chance of being fake.



It’s likely that he may have read some public service advert about identifying fake notes. It’s more likely that he heard a story from his fellow shopkeepers about how Pakistan is flooding the Indian markets with fake 500 and 1000 rupees notes that have the Indian flag missing on them, that have signatures of Osama Bin Laden in place of the RBI governor, or that if you look closely at Gandhiji’s picture you’ll see a FCUK label on the side of his specs.

His knowledge about fake currencies may not be great, but what he does know is how to read his customer. So once you hand him your 500 rupee bill, he’ll let you know that he doubts you, and especially your money. He’ll face you, hold up the bill in front of your face, attempt to examine the note, but really keep his eyes on you for any signs that most polygraphs would fail to pick up. He will hold it like that for what seems like a long time (but is really just about 2 seconds) and then when he sees that you haven’t cracked under the pressure and made a run for it, and that you are instead quite insulted by this behaviour, he will give you your change and wish you a good day.

Is Seattle a Hilly City?

It’s not entirely clear how the whole debate started but it took place over noodles and ghar ka khana (home made food) in the lunch room of our India office. In the way that lunch time conversations meander, this one started from Chelsea’s  impressions of Delhi (she was visiting from Seattle), tips on good tourist shopping places in Delhi, and then somehow arrived at the topic of hilly cities. Basically Chelsea said Seattle was hilly, and James chuckled “Hilly? Seattle is not Hilly.”, while Ankur, Narendar and I looked on. The conversation was summarized in an email as follows:

------------------------------------------------------------
From: Anand
Sent: Wednesday, February 08, 2012
To: James Chelsea, Ankur; Narender
Subject: Queen Anne Challenge


Recording the terms of the wager between James Moore (hereafter referred to as the contestant) and Chelsea Minkler (hereafter referred to as Wagee(??))


The challenge is for the contestant  to climb the Queen Anne road as indicated in the attached map (http://www.gpsies.com/map.do?fileId=zyktdkkczybudqmx) in a manner that may henceforth exemplify Seattle as a “not very hilly city”


Route of 2.7km to be done on two wheeled human powered bicycle


Stops allowed only for compliance with local road traffic laws and customs


Ride to be done on or about May 15^th 2012


If Mr. Moore completes the above mentioned ride without excessive perspiration – Ms. Minkler to provide bottle of drinking water and 25 cents to contestant, and box of doughnuts from Crispy Crème or other superior doughnut producer for contestant and third party arbitration committee – namely Narender, Ankur and Anand.


In the eternal fight between man and gravity – may the best party win.
-----------------------------------------------------

As the date of the ride got closer, it got clearer that neither side would climb down from the wager. James said he felt bad about taking the doughnuts and Chelsea’s hard earned quarter – “nolo contendere…” but that he would do the ride. Chelsea complained that we had concealed the fact that James was a professional cyclist who’d climbed the Andes, Himalayas and Rockies and was not likely to find a hill in Seattle much of a challenge. But she was going to stick to her point - Seattle was hilly. The three judges meanwhile made preparations to eat doughnuts.

Eventually at the end of Home Week in Seattle the wager was staged. James showed up in his cycling shorts and complained about the cycle that Chelsea had organized - it was cheap, was small and meant for a short rider, badly maintained etc, but James apologized later on when he learnt that it had been borrowed from her boyfriend.




The duellers shook hands in the presence of judges and security.



And the ride sort of started, with James stopping along the way to ask directions and/or chat with friends.



Chelsea and I went ahead in the car and indeed the route was steep and hilly.



But James made light work of it. As he emerged at the top of the climb he had a puzzled look – “Is that it??”



Chelsea accepted defeat graciously, and James was forgiving



But a wager is a wager, and the quarter was duly handed to the victor



Followed by doughnuts,



And everyone agreed that Top Pot was indeed superior to Crispy Creme



A big thanks to James and Chelsea for being good sports and seeing the wager to the end.

And in the end Chelsea – it doesn’t matter how easy James may make it look, we all know that Seattle IS a hilly city.

Researchers and Managers

One of my favorite stories that captures perfectly the relationship between researchers and managers. I know. I’ve been in both places. 

A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She reduced altitude and spotted a man below. She descended a bit more and shouted:

'Excuse me, can you help me? I needed to get home an hour ago but I don't know where I am..'

The man below replied, 'You're in a hot air balloon hovering approximately 30 feet above the ground. You're between 40 and 41 degrees north latitude and between 59 and 60 degrees west longitude.'

'You must be an Researcher,' said the balloonist.

'I am,' replied the man, 'how did you know?'

'Well,' answered the balloonist, 'everything you have told me is probably technically correct, but I've no idea what to make of your information and the fact is, I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help at all. If anything, you've delayed my trip by your talk.'

The man below responded, 'You must be in Management.'

'I am,' replied the balloonist, 'but how did you know?'

'Well,' said the man, 'you don't know where you are or where you're going. You have risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise, which you've no idea how to keep, and you expect people beneath you to solve your problems. The fact is you are in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but now you blame it all on Research.'

Aspirations and Inventiveness: Bettiah’s Getting Better

 
When Nehru visited Bettiah in West Champaran, North Bihar to inaugurate one of India’s first hydropower plants, he envisioned that Bettiah would become the fifth metro of India. According to him the list should have read Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta, Madras and Bettiah. Unfortunately Bettiah didn’t realize that dream, but it has some other things going for it.

Valmiki Nagar - Bihar’s only Project Tiger Reserve and probably one of the most pristine forests in north India is located towards the north of the district. Although there’s only one old inspection bungalow where you can stay near the park, the government of Bihar has announced recent plans to provide some tourist infrastructure and they even want to have a celebrity brand ambassador to promote the park (like Mr.B is doing for Gir and Gujarat I guess).

On the outskirts of town on the smooth new road connecting Bettiah to Patna is a Korean / Japanese restaurant. The thing is, it's not one of those Punjabi-Chinese or Bihar-Chinese places. It’s an authentic Japanese restaurant, serving things like Sushi, Tempura, Domburi and other things you wouldn’t expect in the corner of the universe. And to ensure that things are done just so, it’s run by a Korean chef. With better roads and connectivity and the growing influx of Buddhist circuit tourists, seeing places like this dotted across the state is not a surprise.

Another pleasant surprise is the Ramnagar Primary Health Center (PHC) that I recently visited. In my mind it offers a shining example how the public sector is getting its act together.  The place is run by Dr. Kiran Jha. He’s very proud and involved in this new posting, and he should be given that this place was once run by his father who was also a doctor here, and given that he was born in its wards. But somewhere down the line, much like the history of the entire state, the place went to the dogs.  Over time, more and more of the PHC buildings fell apart and were abandoned, fewer staff were working there, and the center was essentially used as a venue to channel patients to the private clinics of various health providers in the town. Eventually the PHC became more commonly referred to as the bus stand, since local bus and taxi operators had taken over the large compound.

Over the last year or so, however things have changed, and what’s been notable is the resourcefulness of the PHC staff, and the simple fact that unlike many other PHCs that I’ve recently  visited, no one here was complaining that they didn’t have the funds or resources to improve the place. Dr. Kiran Jha and his team have realized that they can make huge changes with what they already have, it’s just a matter of being inventive.

After cajoling the bus operators to move out, the first thing they did wasn’t improve ward hygiene or something important like that. No, instead they hired a gardener and got many of the buildings painted – so that people would know that they PHC was operational and would start walking in again. They found an old metal stretcher, welded two poles to it and used it as a new sign board at the main entrance. They emptied out the rubble from one of the condemned buildings, put in some wooden planks found in the old pharmacy building and turned it into a patient’s waiting area. With some help from our colleagues at CARE they have made dramatic improvements to the actual functioning of the wards, the labor room and operations theatre. Dr Jha pulled out his iPad and started showing us ‘before and after’ photos of the place and records of how the client footfalls had dramatically increased, as had doctors and nurse attendance, and talked about a twitter campaign to draw attention to their success and their needs. This is my little plug for Dr Jha and team.

Seeing things like this make you realize that the changes happening in Bihar are real. Even if they are small and sporadic, they are happening.

Mr Sanghvi - Journo or Socialite

There's something odd going on in the Sunday Hindustan Times. It bothered me a little to start with but it has become a clear and present danger. In case you haven't noticed it, I am talking about the Jekyll and Hyde act that Mr Sanghi does in its pages.

He usually write the lead editorial in the broad sheet. This is consistently a piece that is extremely well researched, presents a unique viewpoint that is easy to understand and support. 

And then you turn to the Brunch magazine and his Rude Food section suddenly turns him into some aspiring socialite, desperately trying to drop names and references to his having lived the high life. Objectivity is thrown to the wind and what we end up with is a almost a personal vendetta or proclamations of ever lasting friendship that should really be restiricted to his personal letters and not for publication. 

If you jumble the letter in his name it becomes "Raving Shiv".

Catching up after a long time

It's been ages since I wrote anything but I guess some people just have a way with words and some not have.

Connecting the Mangar Trail with the Lost Lake

It was advertised as the “no one said it would be easy’ ride and more about exploration than about covering distance. So people who had to get back home or get to work turned back at various points and eventually 10 riders 'went for it' and managed to plot the trail that connects Mangar to Lost Lake.

The route is some of the best off-road cycling territory we've seen. It takes the pace and crunchy surface of the Mangar trail. Mixes it with the rocky and technical sections of the Lost Lake trail and presents you with a private lake right in the middle of the ride to take a break and fix your bikes.

We took the usual route via Behrampur village and climbed up through Bandhwari on to the Mangar trail where we immediately hit the first set of punctures to Ram’s cycle,

And Manpreet’s new cycle started announcing it’s general presence through a noise it discovered it could make from the front disk brakes.

After about 3km on the trail we peeled of to the right towards the Hanuman mandir. There we were greeted by the same friendly Baba from the Mangar mandir. He's now taken up residence at the Hanuman mandir and is in the process of building a new mandir, guest house, man-made lake and all.

From here we back-tracked a little and got onto the trail that would bring us to the Lost Lake. The trail was much more easier than when we had tried it the first and only time about 2 years ago.

 

It may have been that the CRPF use the area for training so it's been cleared of scrub and thorns, or it may just have been that we had a Garmin to guide us. Which ever it was we crossed that area in less than 30 minutes and came out at the Lost Lake. As always the Lake welcomed us with punctures galore and that gave us an excuse to take a break there (and Ram,who had the first puncture, thought about throwing himself into the lake).

On the way back we saw that the CRPF battalion had set up camp on the plateau and were there in full force, hence very few photos since they looked like they may confiscate cameras from intruders in the middle of top secret military reconnaissance exercises.

Overall a very successful ride.

New trail discovered- check

Puncture fest - check
Got dirty - check
Went where no man has gone before - check
Wildlife spotted (wild camels!!!) – check

And in the end it wasn't that hard.

Not the Lake at Winsome Breweries

On our second ride to the Lake we found out that the lake is actually called Indori lake after its major tributary, the Indori river.

The Lake at Winsome Breweries

The Bihari guard at the Manesar McDonalds looked apologetic and told me that they would not open till 7am. It was 6:20am and I was the first one to pull in to our designated meeting point. I explained to him that I was just going to park my car here for a while we rode our bikes and that we would definitely partake of the the excellent McDonalds menu on our return, but only if he would keep an eye on our cars. He couldn't figure out why the heck I was going to leave my car on NH-8 practically in middle of the night, why on earth I was instead going to take a cycle somewhere, and what was I up to waiting for another two cars, but having been tipped a couple of rupees he wasn't going to object, or report us for suspicious activities. 

The other two cars arrived shortly after and four bikes were pulled out from the various SUVs, front wheels assembled, geared up and prepared for the ride. Manish pulled out a shiny new metallic orange/brown Trek 4300. At the rate everyone is flocking to this great bike, I wonder if it isn't destined to overtake Atlas as the most sold bike in India? Rajesh had brought along his colleague, Elsa, who, after having survived Delhi for three months, had decided to throw caution to the wind and squeeze in one bike ride on her last day in India before going back to the US. 

The destination was an interesting looking water body I had spotted on Google Earth near Tauru (about 32 km from Manesar). The route would pass by a couple of golf courses, cut through Tauru town, and then head into Mewat disrict (right next to the Nation's Capital and the Millennium City but still one of India's most under-developed districts).  

Cycling on what looked like a quiet country road at 6:30am I was surprised by the number of fancy cars that overtook us in the dark, but soon learnt from Rajesh that the Classic Golf Course was hosting a major golf tournament sponsored by the Economic Times. Having survived the rush of corporate honchos in their Mercs, Beamers, and Porsches as well the poorer cousins in their Skodas and Hondas, the next stretch comprised the occasional truck. 

"Why do trucks have those air horns?" someone asked. A reasonable question considering that you can hear them grunting and rattling from miles away and the only purpose their horns serve is to mortify the cyclist and pedestrian into completely abandoning the road. 

The last stretch of the road till Tauru was patchy and bumpy so as we passed through the town we were hoping the road out of town would be better. 

It wasn't till we approached the lake (about 7km from Taura) that we got a smooth patch of road and everyone agreed that it felt like we were sailing on ice.

The Lake was magnificent! 

A gem hidden away right next to a planned industrial area.

It was a bit worrying to think that this lake could become very polluted with all these industries around it. But the sight of the Winsome Brewery plant, abandoned, shuttered and probably bankcrupt was reassuring.

This did however also mean that although the threat of the lake becoming polluted seemed remote, so did our chances of finding a place to get some chai and samosas. After much questioning we located the only chai shop within a 10km radius a little further up the road. As we arrived there was just one customer at the chai shop. By the time we had ordered our tea and samosas the entire village had surrounded us. News had spread quickly that there was a bunch of strangely attired city folks on cycles. Very Quickly the entire village came out to see. "Look there's a foreigner". "A woman". " On a bike!!". The Elsa fan club congregated in full force wide eyed and mouths agape.

 The young men struck poses and strained to be noticed.

The old men looked dumbstruck.

And the kids were more interested in the cycles. We had to eventually shoo them away mortified that as they peered closer and closer they would leave samples of nose guck on the saddles or handle bars!

The return journey was by the same route. As always, it was more tiring to get back, but felt much shorter. And when we did finally get back we put back some of the calories we had lost on the ride. Just so that we kept our word to the Chowkidaar

French Toast á la Badshahpur

If you're tired of Spanish omelets, bacon and sausages - we have a treat for you today.

Celebrity Chef Joseph (fondly call Bobby by those who have tasted his cooking) will today do an outdoor demonstration of how to cook a tasty, healthy farm fresh egg and bread breakfast. 

As a great believer in the philosophy "Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man how to fish and he'll eat for a lifetime", Chef Bobby does this demonstration by revealing the closely held secret recipe to the local Sous chef. The master chef also demonstrates his ability to adapt cooking styles and be innovative in using the limited utensils and ingredients available in this rustic setting. Let’s now listen to the great chef instruct his pupil and the on-looking bikers.

Step 1. “Now if we are going to feed ten hungry bikers and keep them healthy we need to separate the egg white and yolk. We will give the yellow stuff to the slim and trim bikers, and the white stuff to the tubby ones who have already gorged on samosas. And this way we only need 10 eggs to make 20 two egg omelets (wah kya idea sirji!)”.

Step 2. “Then we whisk to make it fluffy. No no no, don’t bother cleaning the spoon – it’s part of the secret recipe.”

Step 3. “Then some freshly crushed black pepper, chopped green coriander, finely diced tomatoes, chopped onion shallots and add sea salt to taste. It’s best to use a sharp but rusty knife for this since we do want to get some iron into our bikers blood stream, and do sprinkle in some egg shells for strong bones”.

Step 4. “And so finally we are ready to fry the mix. If you have an oil sprayer and non-stick then use that, but here I will just shout at the buffoon to use as little oil as possible. I picked this tantrum thingy from my friend Ramsay and it usually works well, but here it seems that young Chef de Partie insists on doling out the oil – oh well c’est la vie. Throw the bread on the eggs and fry well till everything sticks together and there we have French Toast á la Badshahpur!”

Of course if you throw in a 50km bike ride, a changed flat tire, some great scenery, a visit to a deserted dargah, a conversation about “Saat Ajubey” with the locals and lots of wind in your hair (or helmet), you can make it taste like no other omelet you ever tasted.