Uff! Uzbekistan

"Indiski! Indiski!"

Walking down the streets of Tashkent or Andijon, I would suddenly find ladies rushing up to me, catching me by the arms and wanting to be photographed. My salwar-kurtas seemed to fascinate them and, sometimes, they would playfully cover my head with my dupatta.

Nowhere in the world have I been made to feel so special by absolute strangers.

It was 2001, and I was part of a CII delegation on a three-city visit to Uzbekistan. Quite a few of us were from the automotive industry and we immediately formed a little group, exploring the open markets and restaurants whenever we had the opportunity.

Our first stop was Tashkent. We arrived late on Sunday afternoon, just in time to enjoy the city's many fountains at sunset.

 

Roadside artists were doing brisk business sketching tourists, while innumerable open stalls displayed ceramic and woodwork souvenirs. A common motif was Humo, the mythical bird whose outstretched wings symbolize peace, good fortune and the aspiration for freedom and prosperity. It was often paired with a fish, representing their two great rivers - Amu darya and Syr Darya.

Food, however, gave us some cause for concern. We had heard that horse meat was commonly eaten in Uzbekistan. At our first restaurant, we drew what we thought was a reasonably convincing horse and marked it with a bold cross. The waiter nodded emphatically, and we chose to believe that he had understood us.

The matter took a hilarious turn at the Mayor's banquet in Samarkand. Being the only lady in the group, I was seated next to the host. We were having a pleasant conversation about a shared culture and common words such as murabba.

Enjoying a particularly tender piece of cold meat, I asked our host whether it was horse meat. Much to my chagrin, he suddenly became flustered and red-faced and brought both fists crashing down on the table. The cutlery rattled and the glasses shook. I was ready to disappear under the table.

"Horse meat?" he asked, clearly aghast. "Horse meat on my table? Never! It is always colt!"

A popular staple is their local bread, non - baked rather like naan against the walls of a clay tandoor, but more like a round, substantial loaf. Eaten with almost every meal, it holds a special place in Uzbek culinary tradition. In Samarkand, we were given the bread as a gift. Many of us travelled onward the next day carrying our precious packets, only to arrive in the Delhi heat to find the bread green and wilting.

What struck me most was the dramatic difference in the skylines of the three cities. From the modern buildings and well laid-out streets of Tashkent, to the dreary industrial quarters of Andijon - relieved only by the sprawling gardens around Babur's memorial - and finally to the magnificent structures of Registan Square in Samarkand, it felt like taking a walk backwards through time.

The delegation had its share of long meetings and deliberations, and CII duly recorded the visit's success in its quarterly journal.

What stayed with me, though, was images of simple, smiling people. The hugs from complete strangers. Their delight in Hindi movies. And the sheer architectural splendor of Uzbekistan.

And, of course, whenever I think of Uzbekistan, I can still hear it:

"Indiski! Indiski!"





 

 

 

 



  



 

Happy Laphing

It was quite by accident that we found our homestay in Happy Valley, Mussoorie, just a stone’s throw from Dalai Hills and the Shedup Choephelling Buddhist Temple. This is where the Dalai Lama consecrated his first Tibetan temple in India, and on the way up you pass the first Tibetan school in the country. The complex even has a room reserved for His Holiness the Dalai Lama. The entire place feels serene and peaceful. In Dehradun, we visited the more modern Mindrolling Monastery, which carried the same quiet aura and dignified ambience.

The Shedup Choephelling Monastery

The Stupa at Mindrolling Monastery

Our monastery visits were inextricably linked with an equally immersive experience of Tibetan food. Until then, our association with Tibetan cuisine had been limited to thukpa and momos. This trip opened up our taste buds to other delicate new flavors and dishes.

The first to catch our eye were the many 'Laphing' street food stalls. These soft yellow rolls of happiness looked like open laughing mouths. “Laphing”, though, means cold noodles. The cool, mildly sweet flat noodle rolls give way to a fiery center of minced meat tossed in a spicy sauce.

Laphing

Thereafter, the tongue craves something more nourishing: thentuk. Unlike the more ubiquitous thukpa, thentuk is prepared with flat, uneven squares—or “pulls”—of dough, torn by hand directly into the boiling broth. Both dishes share a similar comforting base of hearty meat or vegetable broth, richly seasoned with garlic, ginger, and warming spices, and loaded with seasonal hill vegetables. But the similarity ends there. The freshly torn noodles and the use of a single type of meat gives thentuk a rustic charm all its own. Thukpa, by comparison, is usually made with more regular ramen-style noodles, often with mixed meats and sometimes topped with an egg.

Thentuk: Less is More

The loaded Thukpa

The food is flavorful, wholesome, and Comfort with a capital C—the culinary equivalent of a warm hug of a loved one on a cold mountain morning, leaving you loaded with happiness and 'laphing' all the way.

Gharwali Garhwali

 (Homestyle Garhwali Food in Mussoorie)

When you are wandering through Mussoorie, it is easy to assume that the town runs on two things alone: endless cups of chai (in kulhad) and steaming plates of pahadi Maggi. Or perhaps you might conclude that “local food” simply means the familiar North Indian spread of parathas, dal, aloo gobi, and chicken curry. And if you ask your driver for a recommendation, chances are he will enthusiastically point you toward some “badhiya Italian khana” — usually code for creamy red- or white-sauce pasta and paneer / chicken pizzas.

But if you are determined (and just a little food-obsessed), Mussoorie rewards you with something far more memorable: honest, hearty Garhwali home cooking.

We began our search somewhat misguidedly, looking online for non-vegetarian Garhwali dishes. The internet happily listed all sorts of tempting recipes flavoured with local herbs and spices, but was remarkably unhelpful when it came to telling us where to actually eat them.

That is how we stumbled upon Hills-E-Ishq, a charming little restaurant run by Ashu. Perched on a hillside, with barely half a dozen tables and a queue that seems to move at mountain pace, it serves a vegetarian thali that is worth every minute of waiting.

Hemp seed chutney

Ashu suggested we start with crispy stinging nettle fritters paired with bhang-seed chutney and a chilled glass of rhododendron lassi. The drink’s deep pink hue brought back memories of Rooh Afza — not all of them pleasant, thanks to my Delhi school days — but this drink was unique and wonderfully refreshing.

Rhododendron Lassi

Finger Nettle Fritters

Lunch began with phanu, a robust and spicy lentil soup that wakes up the palate. Then came the stars of the meal: earthy mandwe (finger millet) rotis, kandali (stinging nettle) saag, alu thichwani, mixed dal, and red rice, with generous dollops of that addictive bhang-seed chutney.

And for dessert, jhangore ki kheer — a creamy pudding made from barnyard millet — offered just the right touch of sweetness to end the meal on a comforting note.

The Garhwali Thali

As unapologetic non-vegetarians, we were surprised by how thoroughly we enjoyed this simple yet deeply flavorful spread.

While waiting for our table, we struck up a conversation with the restaurant’s usher, whose job seemed equal parts host and culinary evangelist. He proudly told us that Hills-E-Ishq was among the first restaurants in the region to champion local cuisine. He also tipped us off about another place to try: The Tavern, just off Mall Road, where the menu features exactly three Garhwali dishes — a vegetarian thali, Pahadi kukkad (chicken curry), and the much-loved Bhunni (or Bhunyu Bukhtya), a rich, slow-cooked mutton preparation made in a traditional iron wok.

Naturally, we rushed there that very evening.

The chicken curry had sold out, but they were happy to pack us a portion of the Bhunni, albeit with a few cautionary notes. Some diners, we were told, find the mutton a little chewy and are put off by the fact that it is cooked with the skin on. Undeterred, we carried home our parcel, along with cracker-like heart-shaped millet rotis and a helping of spicy mint chutney.

Finger Millet Crackers

Red Rice & Bhunni

By the end of the day, tired but immensely satisfied, we found ourselves licking our fingers and wondering why Garhwali food remains one of the Himalayas’ best-kept secrets. Simple, nourishing, and packed with character, it tastes exactly like what it is meant to be — homestyle food cooked with love, for family, and for anyone lucky enough to find it.

Sometimes the best souvenirs from the mountains are not shawls or photographs, but the lingering taste of a meal that feels like home.

A Taste of Georgia

You may ignore the chashushuli,
Or skip the ojhakhuri,
But when in Georgia,
Don’t be a bourgeois—
Eat with your hands khinkali and khachapuri!

Georgian food invites poetry. Each dish carries a story, and as you eat, you gather memories to take home.

Let’s start by quite literally getting a handle on our food. Khinkali, believed to have arrived with the Mongols in the 13th century, originated in Georgia’s mountains. These taste like meat dumplings or momos and the filling is held together with a topknot. Eaten by hand, gripping the twisted topknot to sip the hot, savoury broth inside before finishing the dumpling. The handle is always discarded.

Khinkalis - The dumpling with a handle

The Adjaruli Khachapuri tells another tale. This boat-shaped cheese bread arrives piping hot, crowned with a raw egg and butter. You tear off the crust and swiftly mix it all together. Its form is said to mirror a boat on the Black Sea, with the filling symbolising the sea, sun, and the coastal region of Adjara—lovingly served by mothers and wives to bring luck to fishermen heading out to sea.

Adjaruli Khachapuri - bringing luck to fishermen at sea

Pork Mtsvadi (kebabs)

Our driver lights up the BBQ

In Georgia, eating is far more than sustenance; it lies at the heart of hospitality and social life. If you hesitate over a menu or enjoy a dish too visibly, expect help from a smiling stranger. They genuinely look happy to see you enjoy their cuisine. After exploring the Uplistsikhe caves, we found a nearby eatery closed, yet the owners lit a barbeque and, with help from our cab driver, treated us to fresh pork mtsvadi (kebabs).

The joy of travel continues at home. We recreated Badrijani Nigvzit—eggplant with walnut paste—an effortless cocktail snack. Roast or fry eggplant slices, spread with garlicky walnut paste, garnish with pomegranate seeds, and serve. Simple, and deeply Georgian.

  

A twist to the Eggplant

A to Z Work Travelogue : Yerevan, Yah!

He stood at the airport holding his wife’s favorite jacket. We had agreed that late February would be a good time to visit—spring just setting in, the chill fading. But the day before I landed, a snow alert was issued and temperatures plunged. From the airport, we drove straight to the market for fur-lined boots.

To set the stage, let me rewind a few years. One afternoon, I received a call from my colleague who headed international business. "Hey, Madhu, come over. I want you to meet a very interesting person. Let’s have lunch together."

That’s how I first met M—magnetic in presence, with a disarming energy. He had tracked down our company through old Soviet-era connections—back when lead-acid battery manufacturers in the USSR signed large annual contracts. M was especially keen on our brand. On his first visit, he brought an interpreter, but there was a certain dissonance. The meeting still went well, and it was the start of a long association. On subsequent trips, M came alone, armed only with a dictionary. The interpreter, he confessed, could not convey the spirit of his remarks— the empathy he felt was essential to negotiation.

Years later, once his business with us was firmly established, he insisted I visit Armenia to see what he had built for our brand. I spent just under a week there. Days were devoted to visiting stores; evenings were spent with his family. His mother sat at the head of the table, a gentle smile on her face, her keen eyes making sure my plate was never empty. M’s sister—an English teacher, interpreter, and gifted storyteller—spoke with pride about Armenian history, culture and heritage.

One evening, she told me the story of the salt cellar—an essential in every Armenian home. Handmade in the shape of a pregnant woman, it symbolized both life and fortune. Landlocked and often war-ravaged, Armenia depended on imported salt, which was precious and entrusted to the matriarch. She held it symbolically “in her womb” and dispensed it sparingly, preserving not just the family’s food but its fortune. Linked to Anahit, the Armenian goddess of fertility, these cellars are still proudly displayed as cultural heirlooms.

I also learned of Armenia’s deep historical ties with India, particularly Kolkata and Chennai. At the Etchmiadzin Church, I was surprised to hear of the 18th-century Armenian Church in Chennai—and felt a tad shy as the priest obviously expected to learn more from me.

Driving through Yerevan was like leafing through a living history book. Every heritage building had a story to tell. In open-air markets, stalls brimmed with hand-crafted pottery, wood carvings, jewelry, and woven textiles in a riot of colors. And no matter the hour, every home welcomed guests with bread, fresh salads, sweets, and dried fruits.

Some images stay forever in the mind; others are lost when photographs fade or disappear. M visited our plants many more times, eventually leaving his dictionary behind entirely. I moved to another industry, but our friendship endured—woven into the fabric of shared meals, exchanged stories, and the crisp spring air of Yerevan.

Bavaria Beyond Bratwurst

Food is more than sustenance — it is an expression of culture, heritage, and
creativity. Experience it firsthand or stay with beliefs, “German food is all about
frankfurters and bratwurst”, like we did before our Munich trip.

Bavaria's varied landscape, from mountainous areas to fertile plains and a lake that's large
enough to be called the Bavarian Sea, has influenced what crops and livestock are
raised, leading to regional specialties. Additionally, Bavaria's history as a crossroads
for trade and migration has brought in diverse culinary traditions. 

Our exploration understandably began with sausages. We met the famous Weißwurst – in Marienplatz, which claims right of origin on these delicate white sausages, simmered in hot water to leave a mild, tender and juicy flavor. The ‘little finger-length' sausages of Nurnberg still grilled over beechwood, date back to early 14th century and tell its own story of economic hardship when the locals settled for smaller portions of their favorite food and made it a city tradition.

Delicate White Sausages

Little-finger length Sausages

The Spätzle, an egg pasta topped with crispy brown onions and cheese, is a
deceptively simple but tricky dish to get right. The soft dough is dropped directly into
boiling water to make tiny dough balls affectionately called Spatzles or little
sparrows. Ergo, if the dough sticks or gets lumpy the cook is chided for making
“ravens”.

Our Spatzles that had turned "ravens"

It is amazing how you find in distant lands familiar flavors of home. The
Leberknödel or liver-dumpling soup was like a cross between a Kashmiri Gustaba -
that single large dumpling, and a Rishta, for its brown gravy. The pounded meats in
all three dishes break down in their delicate soups to make a nourishing mouthful.

Gustaba or Leberknodle Souppe?

The knotty pretzels and beers would make for another piece all together. Before
signing off, however, one has to mention the Obatzda, a soft, spiced cheese-spread
topped with chives and onions - so good with the salted pretzels and washed down
with beer.

Pretzels with Obatzda

A to Z Work Travelogue : Significant Singapore

 Last week, I returned to Singapore after 22 years. In those days, I was handling the International Business for Exide batteries and my colleagues at the Singapore office played a significant role in sourcing business in South East Asia. Typically, one covered the Malaysia and Singapore markets in these visits.

Returning after such a long gap and with only one evening to spare, I knew I had to make it to the Marina Bay. Like any other major global city, Singapore keeps rejuvenating and reinventing to stay relevant and the Marina Bay was the spot for feeling the pulse. The redevelopment has included restoring historical landmarks, introducing new landmark buildings and the development of the Marina Bay.  Today, a stock-shot of Singapore is the Marina Sands Skypark and Sands Theatre, a shift from the endearing Merlion. Then, I had an early glimpse of this transformation. The grand old building of The Fullerton (constructed in 1928) turned into a luxurious five-star hotel after housing for many years various government departments. The building's original facade has been retained and refurbished with its interior remodeled. From Marina Bay and all the way up the Singapore River Banks, the renewed Singapore was evident. In buildings and areas like One Fullerton, once the Master Attendant's Pier (and, our conference venue) , the old Waterboat office, Clifford Pier and old favorites like Boat Quay and Clarke Quay. What's more, the city mascot the Merlion had also moved position in these intervening years.

The most personal moment was when my ex-colleague recommended that we take the Marina boat ride. He was responsible for moving the authorities to take a shift from the polluting, noisy, diesel engines to silent battery power, sometime around 2007. As I took videos, he smilingly reminded me that he had made it a noise free possibility!

On the flight back, I couldn't help but reflect on that "me" in Singapore in the earlier days and now. The visits used to be a fascinating whirlwind of bay-side dinners and shopping after a long day's work. There was an awe about the stores, the brands, the social gaiety and mouth watering seafood. While my colleague still suggested that I should check out the Marina Arcade Ralph Lauren and Apple experience centers for the unique customer experience, I demurred. The national-international divide has blurred over the years. The lights, the malls and the food are no longer as fascinating.

This visit, post the river ride, one sat and relaxed with a drink. Of course, there was a lot of catching up we had to do on the personal front. As we talked, I observed life go by in this captivating city. One still  marvels at the vibrant riverfront, the attention to preserving heritage even as the city is continuously modernizing, the concentration of tourists, work-travelers and locals in open-air restaurants along the riverfront exuding collective energy. 

I didn't have the time to check out the green-drive at Changi airport or Gardens by the Bay and also the new generation green-terraced apartments. What remains unchanged and uniquely defines the success of the city is what I term "speed and efficiency at work". The immigration, the hotel, currency exchange, the meetings were the few touchpoints I could test in this 24-hour trip and I felt again that awe of yesteryears.