Paan, paan!

Not the emergency, but being in London last week I was able to indulge my very great weakness for meetha paan, this time on Drummond Street.  Perfect after a lunch of dosas.

Today’s tiffin

Dal makhani and matar paneer, to bring back memories of dinnertime on the banks of the Ganges in Uttrakhand.  To think I was only there but two months ago!  Sat at my desk at work in front of the computer, I couldn’t resist putting my spoon down and eating a little with my hands; surreptitiously, as my Japanese colleagues would be shocked at the sight of something so barbaric.  Whenever the subject of eating with one’s hands comes up, I always echo the words of Mughal Emperor Shahjehan (or it may have been the old soak Jehangir): “Eating with cutlery is like wooing a woman through an interpreter.”  Whilst it always seems so hedonistic – mostly making me recall Frankie Howerd’s Up Pompeii – the food really does taste different when eaten with one’s fingers.  On the campsite in India, we would obligingly hold out the jug of water for each other to wash our hands before and after each meal, a most civilised yet intimate ritual.  Whilst you probably won’t get that in your local Indian restaurant, an after-dinner fingerbowl with a slice of lime in it – to refresh one’s lips – always brings back memories of eating tandoori chicken by the campfire to a background of nightjars and the rushing waters of the Ganges, and my daily mealtime attempts at learning Hindi, butchering the language to the indulgent smiles of my dining companion.  Here in Japan, sushi is one of the few Japanese foods that traditionally should be eaten with one’s hands, and it always seems so much tastier to me that way, and it seems a shame when the beautifully crafted sushi falls apart in the soy sauce dish after being clumsily handled with chopsticks. 

Another favourite Delhi portrait

Local tough kids at Nizamuddin Dargah, waiting for their iftari.  They asked me to take a photo of them and were in remarkably high spirits, considering they had been fasting all day (I get in a terrible mood, missing even one meal) and most likely had not even had a sip of water for more than ten hours, despite the  heat of the day. 

Sikander Sahib

or the Anglo-Indian James Skinner, has always fascinated me, and my trip to Delhi gave me the chance to visit his final resting place in the church that he had built in the north of the city. There is in fact a story relating to this from his days as a mercenary with the Mahrattas, which he tells with typical sangfroid in his memoirs:

“…as I was going to follow them, a horseman galloped up, matchlock in hand, and shot me through the groin, I fell, and became insensible immediately; and after my fall, the poor remains of my brave but unfortunate fellows met the same fate. I do not believe that fifty men out of the 1,000 escaped from the field untouched.

It was about three in the afternoon when I fell, and I did not regain my senses till sunrise next morning. When I came to myself, I soon remembered what had happened, for several other wounded soldiers were lying near me. My pantaloons were the only rag that had been left me, and I crawled under a bush to shelter myself from the sun. Two more of my battalion crept near me;-the one a subadar, that had his leg shot off below the knee; the other, a jemadar had a spear wound through his body. We were now dying of thirst, but not a soul was to be seen; and in this state we remained the whole day, praying for death. But alas! night came on, but neither death nor assistance. The moon was full and clear, and about midnight it was very cold. So dreadful did this night appear to me, that I swore, if I survived, to have nothing more to do with soldiering,-the wounded on all sides crying out for water-the jackalls tearing the dead, and coming nearer and nearer to see if we were ready for them; we only kept them off by throwing stones, and making noises. Thus passed this long and horrible night.”

Night Stalker

On our way to one of the fishing points, my ghillie stopped me and pointed out this leopard paw print right next to my foot.  It was about 50 yards from where we were camping!

Moti Mahal in Daryaganj, Old Delhi

Well my trip to India coincided with the last few days of Ramzaan and Id-ul-Fitr, which meant I couldn’t eat at the famed Old Delhi restaurant Karim‘s during the day (I made up for it by eating very good Kashmiri and also northern Muslim food  in the restaurant Chor Bizarre, but that is another story).  However, on the same list of must-eats is surely Moti Mahal, nearby in Old Delhi’s Daryaganj. 

Favourite Delhi Portrait

Paan-wallah on Daryaganj, Old Delhi.

Mahseer Fishing: Grand Finale

Beautiful landscapes, wild Himalayan Golden Mahseer fishing, amazing food and the warmest, friendliest locals: could my trip get any better?  Well my third day was certainly different fishing; I didn’t get a single bite until the very late afternoon, and then I didn’t get a hookset and the fish was making her salaams and heading off back into the Ganges before I knew it.  It was a little crushing, but after such an amazing day previously I had little to complain about and remained philosophical about the lost fish; it is not like my dinner or my livelihood depended on the catch, and the delicious prospect of Gajju’s heavenly creations and a giant Habano cigar by the fireside was a great comfort. My ghillie Prahlad on the other hand, who held great pride in his work, was very despondent; I must say the previous day fishing on Byas Ghat his knowledge of the river and the spots holding fish was amazing.  He would wave over to an apparently featureless part in the shallows and say, “Here, sir” and often within two or three casts I would get a bite; sadly we were not in luck today and he explained that the colour of the Ganges had changed (it looked the same to a rank amateur like me) and that it had probably rained somewhere upriver. That evening Gajju didn’t disappoint; the paneer makhani and dum aloo he turned out were quite simply, out of this world.  I smoked my consolation cigar and my spirits remained high as Ramesh regaled me with tales of trout fishing in Kashmir, something that has always been a dream for me, and the wildlife safaris the company runs from their permanent camp near the Jim Corbett Tiger Reserve. 

The following day we set out as per our usual schedule but the session was rapidly proving fruitless.  However, at one stage there was a big splash and Prahlad said he saw a large mahseer jump; this is apparently very rare and at least proof that there fish out there.  With such quiet fishing I became distracted and the rod felt heavier and heavier with each cast.  Some of the local village lads who had gathered started an impromptu game of cricket on the shore: this is, after all, India, the most cricket-mad nation on the planet.  Ramesh and Bobby from our camp joined in and I photographed them from the river.

Having had so much success with spoons the previous day, I neglected to use the other lures I had brought with me: J13 jointed Rapala floating minnow.  The morning was looking to be a fruitless one, so I thought I would try anything.  I asked Prahlad for the firetiger pattern minnow, he changed them and I waded back to my position.  The minnows have a good action but do make for more work than the spoons, and the river current was very strong.  With my second cast, I got a half-hearted bite: my hopes were up again.  Then, as I was reeling in after a couple more casts, I saw a big fish jump.  No less than ten yards away from me, a giant 70 – 80cm mahseer suddenly leapt clean out of the river and back in right before my eyes.  It was not the lazy jump of a mullet as they roll over mid-air to flop onto their backs, nor was it the startled escape response of a baitfish; just a leisurely, graceful bound that reminded me of the way dolphins jump alongside ships or dressage horses leap fences, but the mahseer was completely clean out of the water and headed dead straight upstream, no mean feat for a fish that size in that strong a current.  With that size of fish, her eyes looked very small and the scales on her back very big; and in a trip and narrative full of hyperbole this was really one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

Himalayan Golden Mahseer Fishing – Part 2

After the heady euphoria of my first good-sized Himalayan Golden Mahseer, and the small matter of a hearty breakfast of porridge, eggs, toast, potato rissoles and sweet tea, it was time to hit the water again.  It was soon clear the fish were in the mood, and I was not disappointed as they kept biting all morning.  Very often the fish would bite a matter of yards away from where I was wading, fearless and quite brutal in taking the bait.  My second fish was very memorable, as she was a jumper; according to my guide, it is very rare for mahseer to jump, hooked or otherwise, so this was a special moment (more on this later).  When landed, Prahlad posed with the game aeronautic fighter:

Himalayan Golden Mahseer Fishing

Well I experienced many things on my trip to India, but since I was there primarily for the fishing, I will start with the good stuff.   Click through for some photos of the action…