Blissful Bhutan!

Got some gutkha on you?
Gutkha?
Any.. Baba will do..
Na..
Anything else..
No..
What are you guys doing here?
Checking out the place..
At this hour in the dark.. where you guys from?
Just came in.. from Kolkata, India..
Ahh.. you interested in checking out the night life.. nothing open beyond 11 here.. already half past 11.. but I know of a place.. you wanna join?
Where? What’s the scene like?
Am Jimmy.. Jump in to my car..
Avijit.. Gautam?!

With our faces mirroring something between a question mark and an exclamation, as though the morning spectacle of discovering our 9-hour hitch-hiked way through to the capital city of Thimpu from the border town of Phuntsholing was not adequate to fill our adventurous bellies, our skeptical twosome walked into the purple-coloured Zen of our new-found animated-cum-personalized copy of the Bhutan Lonely Planet – Jimmy.

The previous night had been a joy ride of sorts with our Bengali driver halting across the pandals of Siliguri set-up for the famous Devi Pujos. With the festive spirit swinging into action, our next 4-day trip had just kick started with our official duties behind us.

The all-geared-up-for-a-long-journey adieus to our Siliguri Hotel reception early morning had seen us touch the Indian periphery of Jaigaon at the border. Leaving behind our WB number-plated vehicle for a re-tread, the entry into the highlands of Bhutan (Bhu-Utthan – Sanskrit for highlands) through Phuntsholing had seemed a topographical miracle with the 5-minute drive across the border plains leading in to uncover the slopes of a pseudo hill station rather instantaneously.

As the immigration in-charge went ‘Papers’… ‘Click’… ‘Stamp’ to the earlier in line; she went ‘Papers’… ‘Click’… ‘Xerox’ to us.. making us discover our way to the nearest Xerox center a mile away. By such time we returned, the damsel went ‘Papers’… ‘Click’… ‘Stamp’… ‘Lunch’ – the last part there ensuring the pull of gravity from the earth on our knapsack-loaded hinds multiplied a thousand times over.

With our teeth preying upon the juicy patty of a vegetable burger fumbling between crisp salty fries dipped in sweet tangy ketchup, we finally walked to the immigration window just as the sun had begun its descent from the zenith in the azure above. ‘Papers’… ‘Click’… ‘Stamp’… ‘Yeay, Finally!’

‘A little white chorten, a religious stone monument, protects the tip of one particularly tight curve. It must be a good luck sign, a protector of the wary traveler. Behind it, only some trees and grasses obstruct the near vertical tumble into the valley. Massive monsoon clouds loom before us, barring the path and drowning our sight. The air is a heavy white curtain, dripping with moisture. Thick mist is hanging low in the crooks and crevasses of the mountain ridges, filling the valleys and blanketing the plateaus. Although no rain is falling, the windshield wipers squeak on, busying themselves with the endless task of providing the driver with a small, dirty window into the morning wetness. Everything is cold and dank. At almost 4,000 metres, we are not only driving in the clouds, we are breathing them, feeling them, living within them.’
- Britta Das, Buttertea at Sunrise

The drive from Phuntsholing to Thimpu is perhaps one of the best one would come across… as though the heavens open up uncovering their glory with each passing cloud revealing a new image analogous to the shifting patterns of a kaleidoscope… little chortens or stupas by the wayside interspersed with the waving hands of conscientiously attired Bhutanese people anxious for a ride back home along the way where they would slip into the valley at a 90-degree to slope down their way through bushes and shrubs and finally disappear into their mystical dwellings… the scenery of intricately painted houses that bore the mark of a creative mind blessed with a colourful palette and a delicate hand, pungently coupled with the stark aroma of the red hot chili peppers that sun-bathed on their thatched roofs.

The mind-numbing beauty of the unfolding scenery was interrupted by the screeching halt of the wheels into an open verandah by the wayside across an arched gateway covered in green creepers with mauve flowers. Announcing the short halt for a bite, the driver made headway to the rear of the abode converted into a traveler’s sojourn.

With their warm smiles welcoming the guests boarding off the supersize vehicle, two little children led the way into their idyllic house - the entry-hall strewn with tables and chairs spread across in the midst of the overlooking colorful faces of framed Thangka wall paintings and real-life portraits of the throne King and Prince. With the stone walls protecting our tropical bodies from the queer chill that had begun to envelope the evening air outside, it seemed perfect to whet our appetites with the famous butter-tea of Bhutan whilst enjoying the novel Bhutanese musical fanfare that blared through the speakers of the World-Space Radio tuned in.

‘Emma Datschi’ came the instant response to our enquiry of an authentic dish representative of the Bhutanese cuisine; only to discover the rightful place of the red hot chilies was ideally limited to the rooftop else their capacity to create havoc was unleashed in full power once into an Indian stomach, though the Bhutanese are crazy about chili and it forms an integral part of their cuisine. A heady combination of dried chilies laced with molten creamy Yak cheese, ‘Emma Datschi’ literally means ‘chili-cheese’; by such time we could enquire further into the ingredients of our welcome dish, the damage had been done. Dousing the rising flames with sips of water, the imminent emergency on the tongue was salvaged by the mixture of vegetables and spaghetti in the soupy Thukpa.

Thanking our gracious hosts and tipping off their services, we moved back to our vehicle for the last long lap of our journey as the dusk had begun to kiss the darkness of the starry night.
As fate would have it, a half hour journey en-route to our destination, the super-size vehicle tilted on one of its fours with the speedy travel having resulted in an inception of a steely stub in its rubberized innards going beyond the radials. As our naïve driver tried his best to fit an inappropriately sized radial onto the wheel base, our star-gazing capabilities came to the fore with the clear dark sky in the midst of nothingness proving a blackboard-like canvas to our astronomical instincts, satiated through peering eyes supported by a head that had the tarmac as its pillow.

A couple of hurdles being jumped over by the minute-hand of our watches, with no progress on getting mobile again, our eyes began scanning the highway for an approaching set of blazing headlights piercing through the inertia of the pitch dark.

Random hand-swings in the air with the thumb sticking out seemed to be in vain until finally we were back atop wheels; our hitch-hiked hosts were a group of 3 friends who had come in from Guwahati in the North-East of India wanting to enjoy their share of the Devi-Puja holidays as well. Sharing pleasantries en-route, we enquired our way to the prime hotels destination of Thimpu well past dinner-time. A quick meal followed an instant check-in – the stage was set for an exploratory stroll until the highlight of that night happened – Jimmy!

Hurriedly behind the wheel, Jimmy zipped his way through the curved paths as the wind blowing in from the driver-seat window carried a stench of alcohol laced with a generous mix of deodorant sprayed to mask its unglamorous might. Quickly onto the brakes with doors slammed behind us; he led us down a couple of stairs into an alley in the midst of a lonely marketplace.

The heavy knocking on the wood encrusted door led to a head popping out in an ambiguous demeanor; the immediate glimpse of Jimmy serving as a visa-on-arrival with the door swinging back to welcome its unassuming guests.

As a narrow passage opened into a large verandah, our google-ing eyes searched for what lay ahead… the night certainly seemed to have been wrapped up with the chairs stacked in a corner of the acoustics-enabled nightclub.

Drums beaten to the hilt, the saxophone perched atop its wall-stand and guitar strings loosened for the evening, the rock night had just concluded as the 5-member band un-winded with beer mugs frothing to the brim. With side-locks that could put Elvis to shame and curly hair tied in a pony behind their heads, we were in the company of one of Bhutan’s upcoming bands that played in the heart of Thimpu’s nocturnal watering hole.

Handed over our share of malted barley & hops, Jimmy & his band-pals played host to a 3-hour round of nonchalant gibberish interspersed with thoughtful discussion – the topic ranging from the rock scene in Bhutan to student life in Delhi University. Our keenly attentive counterparts listened with a congratulatory enthusiasm, appreciative of the influential role India played in their country’s socio-cultural & economic milieu; as we gave them a glimpse of the life back home, they delved into finer details of how Bhutan was slowly evolving out of its royal past to fulfill the newly-kindled aspirations of its populace.

Back at our Hotel well past 2 am, it took a few random calls to the reception and some stone pelting at the shuttered down gates to awaken our paid-for hosts from their slumber.

A sumptuous breakfast next morning followed a visit to an alfresco stadium in the midst of the city to explore the national sport of Bhutan – Archery; we observed in awe as men dressed in their traditional ‘gho’ robes aimed their arrows from miles away at their puny targets competing in a friendly spirit.

Treading our path through well-tarred roads, our next stop was ‘Dochu La Pass’. Providing a glimpse of the spectacular view of the Himalayas, the 108 symmetrically intricate chortens each dedicated to a specific deity stood atop a mound in the midst of prayer flags fluttering across the vicinity; apparently the blowing winds carry the messages and spiritual power of the coloured flags in all directions bringing multi-fold merit to all beings.

The next on our to-do list – Thimpu monastery was warm and welcoming with its tall, inscribed prayer wheels at the entrance whilst the quietude of the environs provided adequate space to sink in the feeling of being in the silence of nothingness. With large, elaborate paintings of The Buddha stretching across the breadth of the walls, the sanctum sanctorum housed a statue of the Lord on the acme of various levels of decorated metallic shafts each satiated by numerous offerings made by devotees as butter-lamps flickered in the backdrop. Offering our salutations at the monastery and seeking blessings from the rosary-churning, silent-prayer uttering Lamas, we descended out.

Impressed by the aroma of the mellow, soul-soothing incense charred in the monastery premises, we made a beeline for the en-route incense workshop to learn more about the natural, hand-rolled sticks and carry some back home on the return.

The evening came alive with blowing up some ngultrums shopping the Bhutan curio shops for articles & artifacts coupled with discount outlets for Bangladeshi winter wear. A late evening entry into an adjacent club filled with college crowd helped douse the weariness from the exhaustive travel of the past couple of days – Avijit jokingly assuring that he would not return solo to the room for the night; he did end up keeping his word though, his one-off inebriated habits taking shape that evening ensuring my requisite accompaniment on the way back to our room.

Back-strapping our knapsacks and checking out of our Thimpu hotel early morning, we were on wheels again headed for the erstwhile capital of Bhutan - Paro, a 5 hour road trip. Halting mid-way for a dip in the icy-cold Paro Chu (river), the free-flowing unbanked waters provided adequate opportunity to enjoy her abundance whilst lying on the rotund pebbles by her banks.

Checking into our hotel at Paro, the taxi was released for the day after a 10-km drop at the base of our next uphill destination – ‘Taktsang Dzong’ or literally the ‘Tiger’s Lair’. Legend has it that the master, Guru Rinpoche flew to this location from Tibet on the back of a tigress and the place came to be consecrated as ‘Tiger’s Nest’ monastery.

The attraction of the imminent trek lay in the fact that hikes up the steep rocky slopes lead to the monastery buildings which are built into the rock face about 3000 feet above the Paro valley. Commencing our ascend post-lunch, the 3-hour trek lay before us as though an opportunistic challenge to be accomplished in a manner so as to plan our timely descend and return to our night-halt back in the valley before the close of the penultimate day of our Bhutan escapade, the last day being reserved for our journey back to Kolkata.

Along the trek route, blue pine trees colorfully festooned with moss and prayer flags welcomed trekkers whilst providing a shaded canopy from the warmly gazing rays of the sun above. Scattered with numerous temples and meditation sites of Buddhist masters, the sound of waterfall broke the silence as it dropped into a sacred pool forded over by a bridge along the pathway.

Halting at a mid-way café, we were pleasantly surprised to find a large team of westerners - photographers and naturalists cum adventurers from The National Geographic channel headed up as well to capture a glimpse of the precipitous cliff-hanging monastery.

Crossing over some rickety wooden bridges and stairways, the path conclusively opened up onto a rocky plateau with a precipitous projection of several hundred feet over the valley - the monastery is so precariously perched that it is said it clings to the side of the mountain like a gecko. Drinking in the view from a ledge on the opposite ravine, thoughts catapulted to put to shame modern-day architecture in the backdrop of the super-natural unfolding of the formidable fortress.

Our adventurous thirst quenched, with the ball of fire having begun its final descent in the heavens above, our jaded bodies undauntedly traversed downhill. Whilst relieved to have reached the foot of the hillock punctually, we were out of our wits to find no public taxi available to get us through to our night-base in the valley. After a half-hour jaunt, as thoughts hovered around the eventual necessity to spend a night in the wild pine-forests of a foreign land, discussions with the unrelenting driver of the National Geographic team’s Land Rover paved way for our exit from the predicament.

With the channel’s team somewhere out there in the altitudes happily clicking the nocturnal settings of the monastery, their handsomely-tipped driver sped us through the 10-km stretch as we heaved a sigh of relief on rediscovering civilization. Tipped, thanked and re-thanked for responding to our SOS, the driver rushed to receive his original guests.

After an eventful day, the infant-like slumber of the night was broken by the urgency to return to India for a pre-booked train from Siliguri to our final home-base of Kolkata.

Out on a dilapidated Maruti Omni, with its addicted driver chewing rounds of areca nut and betel leaf or ‘doma pani’ as its traditionally called, as our vehicle cruised through the BRO-maintained roads of Bhutan, my thoughts ran amok – the virgin beauty of the land, the simplicity of its people, the archaic but royal past running subtly in the present, the implicit closeness to nature, the spiritual quest for the beyond… Bhutan is a land special in its own mystic ways…

To experience Bliss, one need not enter silence;
Simply quiet-en the mental violence…
But, in a place where even the mental noise within,
Is that of innocence & quietude from across the deep valleys & hills arisen;
It can only be infinitely perfect & serene…
The Earth below blessed and the clouds above pristine!
~ That’s Blissful Bhutan!!

A New Beginning...

As we all awaited with glee,
The final moments of our to-be born's delivery...
The Almighty finally said "Let there be light",
Putting an end to the 9-month night!
The umblical cords have been split,
Only to ensure lamps of new family bonds be lit...
As the hungry eyes perpetually scan fresh faces,
The words pour out in giggles n cries in between spaces.
The angelic face in hues of red - shiny n shady;
If God be, His pure glory reflects in every baby.
Yes, its a baby boy!!!
... & we'd love to share this moment of the coming to life of our bundle of joy!
May his journey be smooth & sturdy,
Your blessings & wishes seem to be working already...

On the 1st of October 2010, Vandana & Sharan were blessed with a son and my little nephew rings in a new generation into the family.

KUMBH CHURNEY

“Throughout the ages it has been the simple piety of faithful people who have not had the chance to be educated, or the leisure to reflect deeply, which has been the bedrock of all religions. The theologians with their logic chopping, their attempts to define the indefinable have all too often caused chaos & confusion. The Kumbh is an awe-inspiring demonstration of simple piety.”- Mark Tully, The Kumbh Mela
Originating from the Gomukh glacier, the Ganga flows down to the plains offering Her manna to the pilgrims who tread the path for a worship at Her banks and a dip in Her holy waters – the zenith of this worship culminating in the 3 month long ‘Kumbh Mela’ held once every 12 years.

Whilst the ‘shahi-snan’ days of astrological significance see crowds turning up in full throttle putting pressure on the organizing authorities, the days of lesser significance are marked by the orderly arrangement of crowds almost contrary to the average person’s concept of ‘Kumbh Mela’ built through the mental pre-conditioning of Bollywood’s famous ‘Kumbh mein bichde do bhai…’

Whilst a lot has been written and said about the glory of the Kumbh – my journey twice to the Mela this year bore the mark of the mythological significance of the Kumbh; on both occasions, rewarded with polarizing experiences.

With my parents joining in, our threesome cruised the highways on my initial trip in the early afternoon to catch a glimpse of the evening spectacle called the ‘Ganga Aarti’. Welcomed into Haridwar by the billboards of numerous spiritual organizations and political parties alike, we alighted at a large structure of Lord Shiva standing tall with the Ganges flowing in the backdrop in full splendor. Walking through a commercial gate that read ‘Aaj to Kumbh ka snan, baaki 364 din Dettol’, we made a beeline to the sacred ghat – Har ki Pauri (literally ‘Footsteps of the Lord’).

Offering salutations after a dip in the holy waters, we returned to our night sojourn through the scenes of the tents of varied structures and sizes built to accommodate the large congregation of Saints of various Orders, the famous ash-smeared Naga Sadhus & commoners alike.

Making our way through narrow, bustling lanes lined with vendors of various paraphernalia & sweetmeats, the next morning had begun with attempts to track down a certain ‘Panda’ who would help complete the final customary rites of my great-grand parents (after years of their demise), one of the prime objectives of our trip.

As the tradition goes, detailed family genealogies are maintained by these ‘Pandas’ (Hindu Pandits), in hand-written registers passed down to them over generations by their respective ancestors. Classified according to the original district of one’s ancestors, with special designated ‘Panda’ families being in charge of designated district registers, I was curious & excited to tread the unexplored and discover furthermore about my ancestral past.

Whilst initially locating the concerned ‘Panda’ seemed an arduous task with anyone enquired from claiming authority to complete the final rites (after all there are no free lunches and this lunch has perks attached), the undercurrent of rules governing the invisible network of the generations-long tradition soon swung in sidelining the charlatans. Guided to a certain ‘Om Hotel’ (apparently, our man now owned the hotel); we enquired our way into an alley amongst the back-roads of the marketplace.

With a stream of slippers cluttered outside the entrance, a door opened into a rectangular hall with three men in simple attire sitting cross-legged on a thick carpet. Enquiring into the family details and period of previous visit, one of them soon rose to emerge with a bunch of scrolls covered in a threaded-red cloth pulled out of a cupboard. Flipping his way through the thick paper scrolls with hand-written scribes running across the breadth, he soon rolled over to the pertinent scroll reading out my grand-parents names who had last visited during my father’s childhood. The records earlier on came as a revelation…

Lo & behold – images of a few life-spans flashed across my mind-space as I heard the names of a few of my ancestors whom I’d never seen or met but whose genes I carry on me and in that very instant, the until then arcane association with them stood revealed to me. With the oldest record dating back to pre-independence India, ancestral visits from Sindh, now in Pakistan had been recorded with personal signatures at every visit authenticating the updated entries. It seemed like real life time-lapse cinematography – in a few flashing seconds the family tree had originated from seed to stem, maturing into a bark with strong roots and off-shooting into further branches. With amazement & awe peaked to its hilt, my eyes scanned the vicinity for an ‘Intel Inside’ logo in disbelief of the hand-written records being maintained in such detail and dug out with such alacrity.

Having completed the ceremonial rites with reverence, we recorded the details of our visit with the assent of our signatures - the Panda had secured the future of his off-spring … few phenomena that have stood the test of time and will continue to do so probably for generations to come (view to know more about this concept of "Teertha Purohit") . Enquired of the next time a visit to Haridwar being planned seemed likely, it was ambiguous that the opportunity would present itself within a couple of weeks…

My second trip with a group of friends chanced within the 3-month auspicious Kumbh again. A late evening departure in an Innova had seen us stuck in traffic at various bends in the path. Time spent waiting for the ambers to change to greens had been interspersed with breaks en-route for attending nature’s calls – both of the stomach and otherwise.

It was almost closing in on mid-night when dawned by the realization of low fuel coupled with the instant attraction of the flashing lights of a fuel station, our naïve driver signaled for a short notice left turn on the high-speeding highway – the inevitable occured, another Innova speeding up at the rear end barged in from the left spoiling the until then unhindered privacy of our car’s posterior.

Shaken out of our stupor by the sound of the flirting Innova’s, we came into ourselves. Fortunately, not much damage had been done except for a dent at the back exposing the underbelly of the signal lamps. The relative calm in our car as regards the unfortunate incident had seen a rather eruptive reaction in the other.

With swear words oozing out of his gutkha-filled mouth, the driver of the other car came charging out towards ours – with his lean structure gathering a shaky momentum at every step, he pulled up our driver from his seat; what followed thereafter can best be put as a few *beep*, *beep* and some more *beeps*. Intoxicated and inebriated by breath, he was only close to getting physical when a few of us stepped in to salvage the situation. Inconsiderate of his role in the accident, he immediately stepped up to the car window switching off the coughing car engine and taking charge of the keys attempting to ensure a way out to make-good of the dent caused on his vehicle.

Outclassing him in deed, might & number (the order here is critical), we were soon able to gain control of the keys – negating the point of carrying the argument forward any further rationalized by the fact that both cars had been hit in the friction effected by the negligence of both the parties involved, we made our way back into the car moving on further along the highway leaving behind the swearing drunkard as he promised to get back at us.

The next oasis-matic fuel station along the highway pulled like a magnet – filling the parched fuel tank whilst emptying our bladders at the adjacent wash-room seemed routine until we realized that the short-lived inanimate crush (crash) of the Innova’s had developed into an animate relationship with the driver at the wheel – we were being followed. Ignoring the icy look in his eyes popping out of a stern-face, we moved along on our way whilst he seemed stuck to his cell-phone – barking away into the mouth-piece.

Having moved a few kms ahead whilst being followed, the somber mood inside the vehicle only seemed to be settling back to normal when our driver sat up awe-struck on his seat shrieking out loudly “Aage dekho!” – a few miles away a truck stood in the center of the highway curbing the ebb & flow of the speeding traffic; as though jehadis seeking to break out war, a sea of men with batons in their hands stood along the pavement waiting to close in on their unassuming, slow-approaching victim.

What we had not realized was that we were in the heart of one of the crime capitals of Uttar Pradesh – Mazaffarnagar, notorious for numerous cases of highway thefts and apparently made-to-look-for-the-record accidents; more importantly, given adequate time, a solo soul in his immediate neighborhood can gather enough momentum to outclass any stranger crowd at least in might and number. Sitting beside the driver, observing the imminent scene of gory intent unfolding to wrap its ruthless arms around us, the uniqueness of the situation held my thoughts for a moment… with a logical explanation of the facts to a fully-equipped frenzied crowd seeming a far cry, the mind immediately sprung to an appeal for the eternal magician to show His sleight of hand…

Just then the man who had got us in the midst of it all swung into action screeching a sharp U-turn and accelerating into top gear – the very same lackadaisical attitude of the public authorities of the Mayawati-government who were to be blamed for their inability to control local goons leading to the blasphemous confidence of effecting something of the sort about to be witnessed were now to be thanked for the uniformity of their lackluster attitude across departments (at least they exhibited the virtue of ‘equality in action’) – the otherwise well-divided highway seemed to have an unplugged gap in the divider only enough to allow our car to pass through as the make-shift fortification of gravel and sand temporarily strewn across gave way to the extreme thrust of the accelerator…

Retreating to the safe haven of a police-chowki located a couple of kms away, we registered an official complaint against the criminal only to discover that he had apparently already made a hit-&-run complaint against us over the phone to prove his case as one of simple retribution in the event of his being caught after the thrashing imbroglio. In consolation with our version of the incident, a few senior officers joined us in their jeep to enable us to back-track our retreated path and continue our onward journey to our destination.

As banter broke out in our vehicle praising our driver’s presence of mind, varied mental reactions to the situation came to the fore - some spoke of real life replicating reel life with Hollywood scenes of the underdog fighting his way through flooding the mind whilst others spoke of thanking their parents for having pushed them to karate class during childhood. Having satisfied us of the en-route safety by driving along a certain distance, the gentle police officers receded to their base chowki.

With onward plans of rafting in the Rishikesh rapids seeming far-fetched, our lazy and crumpled vertebrae found the solace of siesta on the Haridwar guest house mattresses at 4 in the morning.

Having dipped myself in the Ganges, as I sat by Her ghats, the words of Gibran rang in my ears:“Once I saw the face of a woman, and I beheld all her children not yet born.
And a woman looked upon my face and she knew all my forefathers, dead before she was born.”- Kahlil Gibran, The Voice of Kahlil Gibran
What the inimitable Gibran had in subtle humour expressed of the woman had been so true of my dual antithetical trip to the Kumbh – on the first occasion blessed by the experiential revelation of my ancestral background with the hopeful anticipation of its seamless continuance whilst on the other, cornered by the local mafia plotting to ensure an abrupt prohibition charged by their inglorious intent – only to be rescued by the grace of the divine alchemist.

But, then again, the mythological origin of the Kumbh itself bears testimony to the opposing forces of the positive & negative always at loggerheads with each other in all wordly phenomena. With the Gods (Devas) & demons (Asuras) competing in a tug-of-war whilst churning the Ocean of Milk (Samudra Manthan), the Kumbh is the celestial celebration of the discovery of the nectar of immortality (Amrit) – figuratively, the positive and negative energies in one’s personality play out continuously on the oceanic flow of mental emotions – it is only the value-conscious, intellectually charged few who achieve the ultimate goal of self-realization. Staying true to its nature, the Kumbh had revealed its full glory to me…

The Kumbh has concluded, but the churning is on and the journey has just begun… that’s the ‘Kumbh Churney!’

Tasty Bytes!

My taste buds apart, thanks to my profession as a culinary marketer, ‘Foods’ has been a recent area of interest. To put things into perspective, ‘Foods’ is among the largest industries worldwide and one of the fastest growing categories in India thanks to the favorable demographics & emergence of organized retail formats.

Trends evolve as patterns emerging in the macro-fabric of a society – reflective on the one-hand of its intuitive background whilst serving as a harbinger of the future on the other.

Certainly representative of the changing scenario, the Indian food trends culminate into a patch-worked dynamic mosaic originating from varied blocks bubbling, swelling and finally bursting into smaller homogeneous blocks; each with a colour of its own. Here’s my reading of the current scenario…

Capitalising on Home Entertainment

*‘Food cocooning’- Resurgence of family dinners and parties. Consumers re-create pleasurable and even sensual culinary experiences in their own dining rooms.

*‘Staycation’- Vacations in which people stay at home and take advantage of cheaper entertainment options like watching DVDs or sports matches.

Digital Dining

Rise of food-based phone applications viz. social networking, food by mail, online reservations

Eat Global, Buy Local
International single-cuisine restaurants are mostly out. Over a decade, the only restaurant format that really seems to have survived is multi-cuisine.

The irony is that the Indian lack of interest in finished foods is inverted when the food is in a can or bottle, and comes with a foreign label. International food in the form of the ingredients & packaged foods are flooding shops.

Eat Indian, Western Format

*Indian market at a critical mass for investment justification in new customized product solutions.

*Rise of ‘Made for India’ label.

Traditional Inside,Exotic Outside

New product launches in the snack segment – Exotic style flavours as preferred differentiators in line with consumer preference.

Comfort Foods
The food we think of when we hear the word homemade, and the food that reminds us of simpler times- Soup / Pasta sauces- Pizza- Fruit pies & cup cakes- Chocolate chip cookies.

Health & Nutrition Trend
Health - a priority issue for consumers: Calorie-reduced & fat-free as important consumer benefits.

Natural Drive
Flagging the absence of artificial colours, preservatives and flavours goes some way to dispelling consumers' concerns regarding ingredients like MSG (linked to increased rates of cancer).

Multipurpose makes inroads

*Consumers must make do with less, so products that serve several needs growing in popularity.

*More beverages labeled as snacks and snacks positioned as meals.

Exploring the ‘On the Go’ space
*Time spent out of home increasing.

*Rise in product formats to satisfy hunger ”on-the go”.

Sense Appeal & Local Motions

*After fresh, crunch is the new menu marketing claim on fine-dining menus.

*A new & diverse list of descriptors—local, artisan, seasonal, house-made, handmade, natural & organic—are increasingly being used to signal freshness, high quality, authenticity, and better flavor.

Custom Foods
Companies will need to interact with their customers so closely that they actually "co-create" value with them on an individual basis.— C K Prahalad in his book 'The New Age of Innovation', 2008.

Meet you at the supermarket

Restaurant chains are getting their brands onto those tables with supermarket products. Look for even more chains to move into the world of retail food as they seek new channels of distribution.

As the trends further emerge & re-merge... catch a bite of those 'Tasty Bytes'!

References drawn:

1. Mintel Group publications

2. India Knowledge@Wharton

3. nutritionunpugged.com

4. Tetrapak publications

5. Media publications