and cornered an outdoor table
with the clearest view of the
famous mountain range.
I had just pulled out my Kindle
when I heard someone call out
my name. A young Indian had
earlier spotted me leaving an
auditorium and followed me
across a meadow. Sitting across
me and blocking most of my
view, he asked me to repeat
everything I had said on the
panel because he was “so sorry”
to have missed it. “Now?” I
asked him, chewing a mouthful
of roast beef. “Now,” he said.
So, that was that.
After talking books for a
whole day, a literature festival
in Shillong transformed
into a song and dance party
of extraordinary quality,
since nearly everyone in thethe table. The prince broke
his monologue to say a single
word: Drink.
One of the most
memorable things I did as
part of attending a journalism
festival in Jaipur was to go sari
shopping with two friends.
Then we walked into a local
café for pizza, and realised
that we had interrupted a very
irreverent stand-up comedy
performance. We spent the
rest of the evening falling into
our pizzas laughing.
Between the cross-
continental trials and errors,
I saw some beautiful places
and did some amazing things.
In Bournemouth, myoicialaudience had once been a part
of a boy or a girl band. Elvis
and ABBA ruled the scene
until midnight when we were
blessed by the entry of a local
prince whose family’s summer
palace was graciously lent to
the festival. A generous man,
he ordered several rounds of
vodka shots for a small group
of people still after-partying,
and began to speak about the
sad state of the nation. I didn’t
mind his durbar except for
its central rule: no one was
allowed to put their glass down
while he ranted and raved
about holy cows and needless
taxes. Wasted by 2 am, I tried
cheating when he wasn’t
looking, but he turned sharply
in my direction at exactly the
moment when my glass metschedule fixed by the university,
which was hosting me for two
weeks, included day trips to
the Jurassic Coast in Dorset,
known for its steep cliff s
and sprawling beaches. One
of these fieldtrips was titled
‘Cream Tea & Countryside.’
We spent the day trekking
to Durdle Door and roaming
Thomas Hardy’s woods, but by
the time we reached the nearest
city, Dorchester, for what was
supposed to be my initiation
into cream tea, the afternoon
was over and the tea shops had
shuttered down. So we settled
for beer. In Bournemouth,
I was ordered to “brunch at
the literary hideout of J.R.R.
Tolkien” (Hotel Miramar),
“write by the sea”, and carve
dead animals for dinner.
In Boulder, a six-hour
bus ride from Aspen, I played
the silliest tourist. I hung out
with goats at the Mountain
Flower Goat Dairy (they have
a world-famous flock with
elaborate nomenclature
including Capricorn Cowgirl,
Lady Dahlia, and Little Richard
Henry), bought and smoked
my first legal marijuana, and
stared at hippies wearing only
dreadlocks and underwear as
they decried consumerism in
the middle of the shopping
district. Then I went to a Nepali
restaurant and ordered a thali.
That night, I dreamt of Meerut.Poonam was one of the speakers
atthe Mountain Echoes Literary
Festival, Thimphu, Bhutan. Her
last book wasDreamers.Right:Hotel
Miramar in
Bournemouth was
J.R.R. Tolkien’s
hideout.Below:A
visit to the Mountain
Flower Goat Dairy
comes highly
recommended for
animal-lovers.FEMINISTS, UNITEAt er a feminist festival in London,
I discovered a twerking workshop
that screamed sisterhood louder
than some #metoo panels.FROM TOP: COURTESY OF HOTEL MIRAMAR; COURTESY OF MOUNTAIN FLOWER GOAT DAI
RY; DON MAMMOSER/ALAMY
The Durdle Door limestone
arch in Dorset is privately
owned, yet open to public.Colourful saris are the
biggest draw among
shoppers visiting Jaipur.travelandleisureindia.in