“He’s stupid, you don’t take photos of a pregnant camel, it can harm the baby,” she exasperates.

The guide calms the lady explains that he does not know about these things.

“But he’s English,” she says. “He knows everything.”

Not quite.

Strandberg thought nothing could surmount his experience with the Kolyma River exploration in Siberia.

“What kind of new expedition can you go do when you feel like you’ve done the best expedition in the world?” he said.

Then he visited the Sultanate of Oman, and learned a lesson about prenatal camel care.

~~~~~

“What amazes me most is the people, their dignity and generosity, feel just like paradise,” Strandberg said.

Strandberg says his life changes every time he travels and meets people. After all, they make the place that they live in.

After looking at the size of Arabia on the map, Strandberg feels like it’s time to “build a bridge between the East and West to change the way people look at each other.”

Strandberg is inspired by his trip, to come back to travel through Arabia and over to West Africa, discovering and learning along the way.

And where better to start than Oman, “the jewel of Arabia,” he says.

~~~~~

Strandberg knows he’s getting older, and doesn’t learn language as quick as he used you when he started his quest as an explorer.

“I need someone to help me with the language,” he said. “There are things you need to do not to offend people.”

He proposes to take along a few Omanis on his expedition, which he hopes to begin sometime next year.

Strandberg will use only manual techniques and compasses to travel through Arabia.

“Technology can die on you and then you will be lost without backtracking skills.

While former explorers have taken the coastal path, Strandberg is determined cheat his journey and carry through only on foot and camel.

“If you come in a vehicle you build a border between you and the local desert people.”

And this is all about “bridging the gap between cultures,” he reiterates.
~~~~~

I never thought I would meet someone to talk about the deeper truths of life at a house party at 3 a.m.

When I first saw Aman (name changed) I didn’t pay too much attention to him. He looked like the typical model shodel types and didn’t really care to interact with him. Turned out he really was a model and actor. Oh well! I’ve been out of the loop for a while.

He turned out to be someone with whom I had an unknown soul connection.

We started talking over Goodday biscuits and a drink (it’s amazing how hungry you can get at 3 a.m. that you would eat anything). He shared some secrets about a book he’s writing about the simple facts of our existence that never change.

I won’t give you the niceties because I promised that I wouldn’t mention the details of his theory to anyone just yet. But our conversation led to an interesting twist when he suddenly said to me, “Whatever you do, never think of committing suicide…”

I was left gaping at him wondering why he had said that. What did he know about me? Was my life’s reality written on my face?

My soul mate committed suicide, he said…

My sister committed suicide, I interrupted…

We looked at each other in silence for a minute or so. Then I took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Both the women we knew had something in common – they were beautiful, strong, outgoing, yet they had demons in their head which overpowered them eventually.

This was our connection, this hard reality, the simple fact that losing someone can make or break you – and it made both of us much stronger than we ever were.

My life never ceases to amaze me and I wonder how many people I walk by without knowing what my connection with them is. I think next time I will take more time to get to know someone, you never know what may come up.

Whiskey, he says.

What did you say? You’re kidding me right. That’s the one alcohol that just doesn’t agree with me, and here I’m having a whiskey-based cocktail and it’s great and I feel fine. Absolute genius!

Dinesh Kumar, the bartender at Park Hotel’s I-bar, smiles as he watches me gasp in delight. I have found my new favorite drink in Bangalore – for now!

For most of us going out to restaurants and bars and having cocktails has become part of the nightlife, but how many of us think about how these cocktails are created. I spent a few interesting evenings observing and making friends with the bartenders at I-bar and had the opportunity to observe them at work in their prime.

Having lived the in US for almost five years, I’ve seen bartenders in the best bars who work strictly for money. They don’t smile, they don’t talk to their guests much…it’s clear to them it’s just a job. Not in Bangalore, the bartenders work with passion and put their souls into what they do. They cater to the guests and customize each drink they put together. They look for feedback and take it seriously.

As the DJ spins his favorites, and guests chat it up, Dinesh puts on his thinking face. He smiles and rubs his hands gleefully. Oh uh! This one is going to be wicked I’m sure. He whips out some vodka and throws in some cinnamon sticks and cloves. I raise my eyebrows at him.

Spiced apple martini, he says.

Gulp!

He smiles as he pulls out a lighter and blue flames begin to dance in the glass, as I catch my breath.

Throw in some green apple pieces and crush them with some lime juice. Shake it all together I-bar style and you get a cinnamon-hinted, bitter concoction that pleasantly tingles as it goes down.

Perfect, I say to Dinesh and he bows.

When the bar is relatively free and the guests engaged in conversation, the bartenders practice their skills. They juggle bottles and shakers and try to perfect the art of entertaining while serving. While I watch the other bartenders working their shift, Dinesh has disappeared.

He reappears in a few minutes with a coconut in his hand. I don’t even ask anymore. I’m sure I will find out soon enough.

Soon I see pieces of coconut in a blender with water. Coconut milk is the essence of this drink. Throw some Malibu in the shaker. Add coconut milk. Top it up with milkmaid! Ice seals the deal. Shake well. Serve chilled.

Yummy! All I need is my straw hat and a Goa beach in front of me and my evening is set…cheers!

In India, we pride ourselves with saying that women hold an equal place as men, doing everything they do and being treated fairly in the home, workplace and society. As I left the house last night to go celebrate with some friends, cocktails and jazz music my aunt advised me to wear a shawl over my outfit so that I wouldn’t draw attention to myself.

That moment made me recall a recent train experience from Bhopal to Bangalore. Suddenly I found myself questioning whether we are really in a position to can say a woman is treated as equal to a man.

It was early morning when I boarded the train in Bhopal. In the compartment with me were all men, much older – probably in their 50’s and 60’s - around the age of my father. We made some general conversation about where I was going and all. It was all normal till then.

As I was reading, I noticed that my fellow travelers were beginning to get too inquisitive…what are you reading, where are you from, are you alone? Now this was getting uncomfortable. I didn’t want to get rude, at the same time didn’t want to give out too many personal details. So I put on my headphones to let them I know I don’t want to be disturbed. They stop talking, but start gawking at me completely unabashed. Here I was squirming in my seat, trying not to pay attention to it.

When we reach Nagpur, two youngsters get on the train. After I while, I go over and we make general conversation. We ended up sitting together the whole time enjoying each others company. After a while we notice that older men in the compartment are leaning over their seats to look at me. It didn’t stop there; men in other compartments and even railway employees didn’t hesitate to gawk at me without a rest.

After hours of ignoring and shuttling seats and trying to get away from the piercing glares, I finally felt compelled to put my jacket over my conservative long sleeve shirt even though it was really hot. All this in the hopes of not feeling uncomfortable with the looks I was getting.

Now, how is it that we talk about women’s liberation, when I, a young Indian woman cannot travel in a train alone without having the eyes of older men on me watching my every move. I understand that in most parts of the world men look at women, and there’s nothing wrong with it. But shoving and pushing to see, and leaning over each other and staring open-mouthed. That’s enough to make any woman uncomfortable.

So, I ask you the reader… is a woman really considered equal to a man? Or are we pretending that we don’t see the reality as it exists…