Pune: The Queen of Deccan Book review

Ever wondered why Pune is called so? Or why the culturally rich peths of the city are named after days of the week? Or why Pune is characterized by narrow roads? The astonishing and fascinating history of Pune has often been ignored and set aside. Pune isn’t limited to the splendid Shaniwar Wada, or even to the story of the majestic Shivaji. The Battle of Khadki, the brave Nana Phadnis, the visionary Jyotiba Phule, and the grand Bund Garden, all have a vast and interesting history. Pune: The Queen of Deccan by Jayamala Diddee and Samita Gupta is your perfect handbook for getting a flavor of Pune’s history. Simple language, interesting illustrations and absorbing facts make it impossible to put the book down once you begin reading it.

Pune: The Queen of the Deccan takes you on the journey to the old roads of Punewadi. You flow in the tiny stream of Nagzhari. You witness the empty kutcha roads of Pune, attend the evening paars with the elderly, fight battles with the Peshwas and also build Government houses in the Cantonment. This voyage through time not only introduces you to many lesser known facts and fables, but also completely changes the way you look at Pune.

Diddee and Gupta’s beautiful writing makes the book a unique and engrossing read. They truly deliver a ‘tribute to the city’ and effectively construct Pune’s urban personality. The contrast of Pune as a cultural capital and booming industrial city has been discussed and explained at length. The book is divided into 7 chapters, which discuss topics including peshwai, cantonment, colonial times, metropolis, etc. The true carriers of Pune’s history and culture, the peths have a chapter dedicated to them, which does complete justice to the traditional wards of the city. All the chapters are presented comprehensively and give an overall outlook of the city during those times.

For a beginner who wishes to know more about the history of the city, this book is a blessing. There is no point when the book gets boring. Santosh Bhandare’s collection of photographs ensures the same. Not just the carefully curated photographs, but also the old maps, illustrations add to the understanding of the reader and overall connect with the book. Any Punekar would know the Town Hall, Fergusson College, Mandai, Aga Khan Palace. This book describes why and how they were built and how they developed throughout the years. A description of such locations makes the book relatable for even a common citizen of the city. The photographs of the locations from different time periods also help the reader connect the dots of the past and present.

The book also teaches us a lot. As we see the city develop, we also see how the greed for more led to exploitation and destruction of the environment. The floods, epidemics, famines across various time periods showcase how exploitation of nature has punished us repeatedly over time. As the book culminates, the authors also describe how they expect their city to be in the future. Its been about ten years since the book released, and we fail to meet most of the parameters mentioned in the book. Pune, over time, has turned from a cradle of culture and heritage to fast-paced industrial city with clogged roads. But is that what we wish to be? The author leaves you to ponder upon such questions.

Pune: Queen of the Deccan brings Pune to life. It makes an extremely successful attempt of tracing the events that have shaped our beautiful city. The culture, architecture, evolution, challenges, accomplishments, administration and history are all elucidated perfectly in this amazing read. If you have been a citizen of Pune for long, or wish to know the hidden secrets of this magnificent city, leave your Netflix or Amazon Prime for a weekend and try reading this masterpiece! I guarantee you won’t be disappointed

A Puneri Monsoon

The sound of pitter patter. Somehow, I am used to it now. The unending raindrops fall on the AC vent, and produce an irritating tap-tap-tap background music. I have no idea how I manage to sleep every night even with this not-so pleasing sound ringing in my ears. Ultimately, it does wake me up in the mornings.

All I have ever associated monsoons with is pakodas, Maggie and soup. The raindrops happen to remind me only of the Chak dhoom dhoom chak or the last scene in Wake Up Sid. Mumbai ka monsoon is so romanticised in movies that one considers it nothing short of a paradise. But the truth is, Maharashtra rains are nothing more than loud horns, unexpected lightning and chikhat. Ofcourse, there used to be a time these monsoons used to bring with them a beautiful green cover. But the virgin green ghats are now so popular that one sees more people than trees, and more butta waste than waterfalls.

I have never been a monsoon person. Except the mitti ki Khushboo, there’s literally nothing I cherish much about the season. I still remember back in school how we had to cancel our games periods or assemblies for the sake of monsoons. All sulky faces. Then that continuous rainfall. There was laziness and lethargy all around. Sometimes I was even too lazy to even remove the umbrella from my bag, so didn’t mind getting wet.

Those lovely childhood days are long gone when we used to dance in the rain, get our hair wet and then shake our heads to sprinkle that water on our friends. In this era of acid rains, we hardly see any kids creating those memories. Guess they’ll never know the pleasure of dancing on Barso re megha megha in full Aishwarya-Rai style with the incessant rains.

And now these college days. Walking 500m to the rickshaw stands with thick raindrops falling on my head. Just to find out that all the rickshwalas are either tucked away in their rajais at home or taking some other passenger. So I just wave my hand in the air like a dancer to catch a rickshaw. After some 5 minutes of the continuous action of staring at my watch and then staring again at the road, I get a rick. Then with that jhatak  scarf of mine wrapped around my tiny head, I venture on this hawadar  journey to college. I used to shiver or even try to wipe the water droplets around me earlier. But with time, I learnt to be so engrossed in my music that I’m not bothered by either the wind or the rain.

Then after reaching college, you are quite likely to see a girl squeezing her t-shirt or even her hair to drain out the water. Thank you two-wheelers, get your raincovers asap. Once this nichodna process is done, they just cover themselves up in a scarf or a jacket and somehow survive in the kadakti thand of the college hawa all day. We all somehow hibernate (with our eyes open) throughout the lectures, and then just wake up during the break to stuff our mouths with a huge variety of dishes. Most of the last lectures are bunked, to avoid the evening traffic.

And the return journey is the most entertaining part ever. After bargaining on the atrocious prices stated by the rickshwalas, I finally get one and go back. For a few minutes, the roads are all jolly and empty even despite all the rains. But after a bit, they get inspired by the Mutha river nearby and begin their water-clogging antics. So my rickshaw goes like some superb Fast and Furious car, splashing water on the faces of all the nearby 2-wheeler walas. Then I reach this signal which is infamous for the tremendous traffic. For the next 15 minutes or so, I just enjoy the symphony of raindrops, horns and beggars saying please didi. Mixing these with the miscellaneous songs played by the truck-walas, and Kuhad’s cold/mess, trust me the overall outcome is highly interesting.

At last, I reach home, wash my face and start thoosna. Then all the tensions of the whole wide day are all forgotten.

Honestly, this tension, these irritating drops aren’t that annoying anymore. I am quite used to them now, and am starting to like them really. I guess we are all plants at the end, taking in the different sized raindrops of situations and blooming with flowers at the end.

Light of the soul

The orange sky had captivated me,

And was ready to gulp my yellow light.

The rays of my light grew dimmer,

And the glow of the sky grew stronger.

My light wasn’t ready to be overcast yet.

But the sky was stronger.

It did gulp me,

Slowly and steadily.

It did take my yellow radiance away,

But couldn’t extract my glow.

I came back when the orange sky turned an inky black.

This time I was white,

Unpigmented, colourless, drained,

But natural.

 My glow was mine,

Not the sky’s.

I was more me than I could ever be.

For I didn’t care what the colour of the sky was.

I only cared about what the colour of my soul was.

बूंदों के धागे

ज़री रुपी बूँदें इन बादलों की गठरी से उतरती है.

स्वर्णीय घास के साथ वह एक पवित्र हरी रजाई पिरोती हैं.

कैंची रूपी सूरज ग्रीष्म में प्रवेश कर इस पावन धागे की डोर काट देता है.

और सर्दी की वह शीतल हवाएं इन कोमल धागों को तोड़ देती है.

आखिर ये हरा कम्बल भी कितने रंग बदलता है,

कुदरत माँ के पिरोये धागों की दिव्यता भी इन रंगों के साथ ही बदलती सी नज़र आती है.

Want to have a true Goan experience? Try this!

Palm trees, two wheelers, waves, seafood and yellow buildings. That is Goa for me. Though I visit it every year, it just never seems to grow old for me. Honestly, I’ve always been captivated by beaches. Those calm, serene yet fierce waves take with them. That wet sand on the shore fills my dry heart with a feeling that cannot be put into words.

Goa is the ultimate beach and party destination in the country. From lively pubs to calm cafes, from comfortable shacks to heritage hotels, Goa has it all. Most people prefer to stay in a luxurious five-star hotel and enjoy the pool and beach. They spend most of their time in the hotel itself, and often end up spending a lot. This may be a good idea if you wish to have a ‘chill’ vacation. However, if you wish to truly discover Goa, I suggest you stay in a boutique hotel or a heritage resort. Even Home stays are a great option. Not only do they have traditional Goan architecture and rooms, but they also serve local breakfasts and meals. I’ve stayed at one home stay (Quinta Da Graca) and two boutique hotels- Shanti Morada and Andores Resort and Spa. I’ve been to Goa numerous times, but it was in these trips that I actually ventured into the heritage of Goa and tasted some of the best local flavours.

Beaches and pools are just a part of Goa. Food, Churches and Forts are also very important in Goa, and one understands the true essence of Goa when you visit these. I’ve mostly visited North Goa, and stayed in Saligao, which is near all the major beaches- Calangute, Baga and Candolim. Zomato and Tripadvisor are great help while looking for eating options, but asking the locals is the best way. Baba Au Rhum, Black Sheep Bistro, Arthur’s Theme, Soro,Mum’s Kitchen, Artjuna, OCoquerio, Fisherman’s Wharf, Pousada, Fisherman’s cove are some great dining options. Some places like Antares, Co Co Mo, Purple Martini, Eva’s Café, Olive, Thalassa offer a great view of the beach and are ideal for sunsets. Most of them are heavy on the pocket but the views are breathtaking. There are of course classics like Ritz, Anand, Martins, and Brittos. Beach shacks serve decent food too, and are a good option if you want to have lunch after the beach. Some heritage houses and old resorts also have typical Portugese lunches. These need to be booked prior.

The Churches in Old Goa are a must-visit. Reading a bit about them before the visit helps to understand the architecture and history of the place. The Chapora or Dil Chahta Hai fort, is pretty famous due to the movie. It isn’t really a fort, and more of ruins. However, it has an amazing view! A visit to the Chapora fort for sunset or sunrise should definitely be on the cards. The Reis Margos fort and church have been restored beautifully and deserve a visit. Also, try and visit lesser known beaches as they are less crowded and cleaner. Morjim, Arambol, Ashvem are really good beaches to visit. Cycling in Goa is a great way to discover the place.

So, hopefully you have a true Goan experience next time you visit Goa!

The cursed tree

The noose of society was tight on her neck.

She hung on the tree of caste,

With scratches of discrimination on her palms.

The blood of her jaati still flowed in her veins.

The stamp of domination and authority was vibrant on her forehead,

And the mist of fear around her was still not clear.

The fasal of submission was harvested every year in her village,

And the hall of self-respect was used.

She didn’t even know what the tree stood for,

When she was hung on it.

The tree that shook when a new body was hung,

But it never fell.

खिड़कियाँ

ख्वाबों की खिड़कियाँ कुछ बंद सी है,

दिल की सोती उमंग सी है.

ख्वाबों के रंग ज़रा फीके पड़ गए हैं.

दिलों की बेताबियाँ अब धीमी सी हो गयी हैं.

ख्यालों के दरवाज़े पर कोई पहरा सा जमा है,

खुल कर सोचना भी गुनाह सा बन गया है.

मेरे प्रिय मनोबल,

अब सिर्फ तुझसे ही उम्मीद है.

इन दुश्मनों से लड़,

और डटकर सामना कर.

मुझे ख्वाबों के रंग फिर दिखा,

मुझे खुशी का अनुभव फिर करा.

मन में छुपी इस धुन पर इख़्तियार न रहने दे तू,

दिल के सभी अरमान अब पूरे कर ले तू.

मेरे सपनो को मार्ग दिखा,

मेरी आत्मा को निर्वाण दिला.

मेरे सपनो पर पहरा न आने दे तू,

बस जैसा मेरा दिल कहे,

वैसा कर तू.