Farm Tourism in the Punjab: Living off the Fat of the Land

Of all the things that could be said in praise of the Punjab’s new Farm Tourism Scheme, the most important is also the simplest: You don’t have to lift a finger.

Farm Tourism, you see, can be a two-faced little creature. In its good visage, it welcomes you into rural idylls where R&R comes as naturally as the wind that cools the air. Catch Farm Tourism in its Mr. Hyde incarnation, however, and you’re faced with an entirely different beast – one that adds your hands to the workforce, thrusts them pump-wards, and then, once they’re worn and calloused, tells you to muck out the pigs. Which is all very good in a Puritan sort of way. But where, I ask, is the fun?

So I can be forgiven, I think, for approaching a seven-day tour of farmstays in the Punjab with more than a hint of shuddering trepidation. I simply wasn’t aware what side these farmstays fell on – would I be relaxing contentedly, or toiling as I earned my keep?

Fortunately, any fears were assuaged on the first morning of my trip. I’d arrived at Mickey’s Fish Farm in Rupnagar late the night before. Mickey had greeted me with a firm handshake and a broad smile before showing me around his home. Too tired to inquire what my stay held in store, I’d retired almost immediately for deep, countryside sleep.

The next morning I was woken by rays from a red rising sun that turned golden as they glinted off a carp lake and into my cozy guestroom (one of three on the farm). The sun was strong but the air still carried the night’s mist. Through my window I could just make out the shapes of farmhands starting their day’s work. I watched the scene for a while, allowing the sun to burn away my mind’s sleep.

Outside on the veranda, Mickey was shouting down the errant cormorants that swoop upon his fish with early morning regularity. I stumbled out to join him and mumbled something about whether there was anything I should do. Mickey looked at me blankly.

“You can have a coffee if you want. Or go back to sleep.”

Exuding gratitude, I accepted the coffee and sat down on the veranda to survey the scene. All around, large lakes backed by sprouting rice paddies glittered in the sun, while in between tall sugarcanes and strands of wheat swayed in time. Clearly, I was in some kind of Eden.
Mickey began pointing out crops invisible to my amateur’s eye. “There we have cabbage, carrots, onion, garlic and turmeric. Over there you can see mangoes, papayas, guavas…” Sensing he could go on, I interjected:

“Maybe you should list what you don’t grow?”

Mickey turned to me slowly, beaming. “It wouldn’t take long”, he affirmed.

Farm tourism in the Punjab is certainly built on fecund foundations. Known as the Bread Basket of India, the Punjab accounts for 60 per cent of India’s annual wheat yield. It also produces 40 per cent of the country’s rice, and a fair chunk of her dairy – not bad, for a state that only holds four per cent of the overall population. But then, Punjabis are known for their work ethic, both at home and abroad. Today, a constant stream of cash from the far-reaching Punjabi Diaspora enriches the state’s naturally prosperous land. There’s money here, and it shows.

Mickey is a good example. A fish farmer for 30 years, he works the ancestral land while his kids earn Australian and American dollars overseas. The result is his farmstay, a family home that’s perfectly geared to accommodate weekend-breakers from Delhi (only a few hours drive away). You don’t have to do anything while staying here – just take long, tranquil walks, enjoy the charming company of Mickey and his wife Rimpy, and eat their wonderful, homegrown, organic food.

It was at Mickey’s where I underwent my first Paratha Test. The Paratha Test, I would come to find over the following days as I hopped from farmstay to farmstay, is the Punjab’s version of the Litmus Test. Here’s how it works: For breakfast, your host serves you up a round, plump, not too greasy, sweet smelling, hot-off-the-plate paratha. Then he or she hands you a bowl of farm-fresh butter. Your challenge is to coat enough of the latter onto the former. I failed twice or thrice before Mickey showed me how it was done, selecting a rock of butter the size of my palm and smearing it on my bread. Well, I’m on holiday, I thought, as I rammed the paratha into my mouth, gorgeous dripping butter and all.

Only towards the end of my stay in the Punjab, while spending two days of repose at Citrus County, did I truly pass the Paratha Test.

Run by the ever-affable Harkirat Ahluwalia and his wife Jasveen, Citrus County is a luxury farmstay in Hoshiarpur that features plush, tented rooms, a pool, an on-call masseuse, and other such enjoyably indulgent facilities. The farmstay takes its name from the surrounding 150 acres of kinnow orange groves. During my first day there, I’d spent hours exploring them with the farm’s loyal Labrador, Rufus, in tow. The sun having disappeared, it was now time to warm my day-worn feet by the open fire in the farmstay’s large, green garden. Harkirat and his father Bhagwant joined me, and we all nursed golden glasses of scotch.

For a luxury hotel, Citrus County is remarkably homely and unpretentious – it has all the sumptuous splendour of a top-notch retreat, but none of the annoying, cosseting obsequiousness that often comes part of the parcel. Harkirat and Bhagwant chatted openly by the fire. Noting the hunger in my stomach, I figured there could be no harm in breaking protocol by asking for a paratha well after breakfast time.

The two men looked at me proudly – I don’t think I could have impressed them more had I consumed a full bottle of whiskey and then recited a verse by Ghalib without error. Soon enough one of those platonically perfect pieces of dough was upon me, and it was time I adorned it with butter. Now knowing the game, I chose the biggest clump.

“Ah ha” cried Bhagwant, “there’s a man who knows how to live off the fat of the land!”. Finally, I had passed.

The Paratha Test is emblematic of example of how the Punjab welcomes you with its bounty. Relaxed and bucolic, the land here is as good a site for farm tourism as you’ll find across the vast breadth of India.

The Punjab Tourist Board’s Farm Tourism Scheme lists 23 certified farmstays, of which Mickey’s and Citrus County are two. Each is unique, although they all share a commitment to act as both host and guide to their guests. As the farmstays differ in size, shape, and form, they also cover a wide range of prices. Some farmstays are available for as little as Rs 1,000 a night (two people, all-in), while, at the other end, Citrus County caters for high-flying Delhiites and the like.

However you like your bread buttered, then, there should be something here to suit your palette. And you won’t have to lift a finger to get it, either.