Deja vu

Just got back from a relaxing weekend in the hills. There's something in the air there that gets to me. I have always felt totally at home in these environs; it's like home, a sense of belonging, of comfort , of freedom. I don't know. It's always felt this way doesn't matter which place it's been. Whether it's a commercial tourist destination or a tiny little indescribable hamlet tucked in the hills.  Maybe it's the air...like I said before. The clean air, the open spaces, the sparkling sunshine, the smiles on the rugged features of the people or the star spangled skies. Whatever it is, I just love the place up there among the hills and want to be there...forever! 

My love for the hills began when as children we would go on vacations to the various hill stations in UP. My father, being a ardent traveler himself, would take us to the hills and we would drive up there in his old fiat. Sometimes we did do part of the travel by train but the road trips were the best. We would stop by the roadside to have some fresh fruits and vegetables picked from the farms en route. For lunch breaks, we would stop at the roadside dhabas and devour the hot rotis and dal tadka. Everything would taste so amazing. I guess the most important ingredient in those dishes was the love and affection of the people cooking it. We would get an extra helping of the dal or an extra glass of that fresh frothy lassi. Most of the times there would be no sanitizers to clean our hands or bottles of bisleri to drink. Once we would reach the destination, we would set out to discover every little corner of the place. The old little temples tucked in some corner, behind some hill or near some lake or waterfall were our favorite because there would always be some story there. The churches were full of tales from the World Wars or the colonial times. Some even had some ghost stories as part of their history. It all added to my fledgling romance with the hills. And of course, once back home in the plains we had Ruskin Bond to help keep the fires going with his books set in the hills! 

During one of our trips to Nainital, dad got us to walk all the way up to see the Nainidevi temple. The next day we walked around the Nainital lake. During another trip, we had gone to Ranikhet, renowned for its tigers and other wild cats. My brother and me were playing outside the Circuit House, where we were staying, when we heard the deep growl of the tiger on the prowl. The chowkidar shouted at us to get inside immediately. We ran for our lives towards the guest house. As soon as the door was closed shut, we saw a tiger walk into the garden where we had been playing just a few minutes ago. Till date whenever I think about it,  I get goose pimples. 

My most life altering experience had been when I had gone for a trek with some friends to Manimahesh. At 13800 feet, life achieves a new meaning. The higher we went, the terrain became more rugged, the air more rare and the people more friendly. Whenever we would stop to give our weary legs some rest or to take in the view, cups of hot tea would appear, without fail, made by one of the villagers. Sometimes we paid, sometimes not. The kids there would then become our eager guides on the mountain trails. In spite of the effort it took to keep moving, with the heavy loads on our backs, I don't think I were felt anything like regret for being there. On the contrary, the higher we went, the changes in the terrain and the landscape, kept me motivated to keep going. As we kept going higher, the villages we crossed become more and more smaller. It would be a few dozen houses spread around the place. At Bharmor, our bus stop was actually the last house in the village. It was cold, I mean killing cold, at the place were we had pitched camp for the two days before we started back. There was no water, only ice. So we had to collect ice and melt it to use it. It was fun. All of us tried to fit in around the tiny camp stove to keep ourselves warm. In the night, we packed ourselves into our sleeping bags and then lay down as a box of tightly packed sardines to avoid getting frost bites. And of course there was no electricity. And that's when I heard the most enchanting sounds. The sound of the majestic mountains. In the night, the silence was as beautiful as it was surreal and frightening. I mean the sound would get magnified and appear to echo in the hills. We could see the silhouette of some animals standing against the moonlight but couldn't see the animals clearly. Now I know why there are reams and reams written about the beauty of the moon. I couldn't write anything, I just felt it. The words could never do justice to the beauty I saw that day. It's safely tucked in the deep recesses of my mind and only I can enjoy it from time to time. If the night had mesmerized me with its silvery web of magic, then the rising sun and the glories of the morning made me believe in the power of nature, a power above. The palettes had colors I had never seen before. The sky changed from an inky blue to various shades of red and pink and finally a golden hue washed over them. As the sun rose, watching the scenery change was the best form of meditation for me. I have never felt the same way about the hills since then. My love for them borders on reverence. 

But I have had an experience of another kind also in the hills. It's not the hills per se but rather the setting. We had gone for a trek through the Kangra valley. After visiting McLeodg

The lonely remainder of the days of past

anj and Dharmasala, we decided to walk back to the town. The walk was dreamlike with the tall conifers lining the road on either side, the wild flowers adding color to the wilderness, the occasional racket created by the monkeys. It was all too perfect to be true. As we all walked along, intoxicated by the general feeling of being content and happy, when we noticed a quaint little church peeping through the trees. It was a lonely church along the road, hidden behind the thick wall of trees and creepers. As we approached the church, I kept feeling like I had been there. It was a beautiful church. A true remnant of colonial architecture. We all went inside and offered our prayers in whichever way we thought it best since none of us were Christians to know what to do. As expected we decided to look around. There was a graveyard behind the church. Most of the graves belonged to the the latter part of 19th century. There were families buried, some related, some not. That's when we noticed a rather ornate cross over the grave of a lady and went over to have a look. As soon as I went 

there I told my friends that her child was also buried there. They looked around and found it next to hers! All of us were stunned. That was it. My friends, not wanting to abandon me yet not sure if they wanted to be around, asked me to get out of there. It was scary for me too. I didn't know how to react. I mean, I had never gone there yet I seem to know that place. It was creepy to say the least. 

Anyways it was quite an experience. All these memories came rushing back to me when we went to Araku. As we approached our guesthouse, I saw a white chapel standing a little apart on a small hillock adjacent to our lodge. The similar serpentine roads with its own tall green sentinels guarding nature's bounty on either side. The clear blue skies, with an occasional tuff of cotton white cloud crossing over. The women singing songs as they crossed the fields on their way back from work. The delicate plumes of smoke rising from the wooden stoves burning in some distance reminding us that dinner was being prepared as another day was drawing to an end. As the sun set over the hills, the shadows got longer. The tiny hamlets nestled in the lees were getting ready for the long night ahead. A few lights would be seen glittering down below, pointing out to the human settlements while the uncountable stars glimmered above showing the address of the residents above. After a long time I was able to point out the various constellations. Venus was sparkling like never before. Experiences like these can't be described. There are no words for it. And the words we have are 
not enough. 

No, never mind the experiences, I still love the hills and want to go back to them. Maybe I'll settle down in a small wooden cottage with a view of the towering mountains. Some dream this is. 

Cricket

It's all over the news channels, in the newspapers, networking sites, everywhere. The amount of space it's occupying shows the importance attached to it. Before I continue I must tell you it's about MS Dhoni's retirement from test cricket. Yup, I was talking about this news. The lost Air Asia flight, incursions by terrorists along J&K border, China's expanding military ambitions, ISIS crisis, all fade away in comparison to this particular bit of information. Gosh, it's unbelievable!  

Cricket has been a national passion since its introduction by our colonial lords and masters. Now it's reached obsessive proportions with the cricketers becoming demigods. Cricket unites people like nothing ever has or will. It has breached the boundaries of religions, castes, colour, states, countries, politics and anything and everything in-between.  I've nothing against cricket per se, but I can't understand this kind of obsession. I absolutely agree that Dhoni is a gifted sportsman (don't want to refer to him as a cricketer and restrict his talents!) and has proved himself on the field time and again. But going on and on about his retirement is overdoing the fan-following bit. He excelled in his sport and now like a sensible person is calling it quits before he becomes a shadow of his own past. Very sensible, to leave when still ahead. So instead I feel it would be a better farewell to just let him go and respect his decision instead on harping on it for so long that he starts getting self doubts. 

But then I guess if we need to fill up our sports columns we have to write about cricketers since no other sport has this kind of following. I read today about what Sachin Tendulkar had had for breakfast on the first day of this year. Really, are you serious? Do I really care?? But then it sells, so who's complaining. Surely not the news guys. I mean who wants to read how many didn't get to eat anything on New Year's Eve and went to sleep on empty stomachs not knowing what day it was? C'on, give us break here. Fans are meant to be obsessed, not in a negative manner though, about their idols. But keeping track of their daily diets and itinerary is a bit too much. 

People, don't forget. These guys have made their millions and now are reaping the benefits of such blind adulation. They didn't achieve what they did by following someone on Twitter or some other social networking site. They achieved it through sheer hard work, grit, dedication and determination. If you want to be Iike them, then work with similar single minded passion. Like true fans let's try to emulate their traits and get results. Let's get a life for ourselves instead of trying to look at their lives and feel inferior. 

I hope we survive this and live to see many more deserving sportspeople do well and make us proud. 

PK

Went to see the latest Aamir Khan movie 'PK'. As usual it was good. I mean when I say good, I don't just mean it as a package but in how such a sensitive subject has been dealt with. Of late when I go to watch an Aamir Khan movie I go with expectations of having my comfort zone shaken.  I've been forced to look at 'things' from a perspective which is very obvious yet not palatable to the average mind. PK has once again made us all rethink about something's which we all in our deep subconscious know as a 'wrong', yet most of us would not touch it with a pole. Even with people with whom we profess to be honest, we discuss such issues cautiously lest we disturb their sensibilities. 

PK is a movie about an alien who gets stuck in our blue planet because his first encounter happens to be with a small time thief who makes a quick getaway after robbing this naive alien of his remote. The whole movie is thereon about this alien's attempts to get back his remote so he can go back. Cute storyline, I thought. Ok, they could have done away with, or cut down, the rantings of Anushka Sharma in flowery summer dresses, showing off her svelte figure, in the cold climes of Belgium. But then I guess, "the script demands it". After all they need to have something for the non-thinkers too. Anyways no complaints there though I confess Sushant Singh Rajput looked pleasing in the sleeveless sweater. 

Back to PK. Though the initial attempts of PK to retrieve his remote looked hilarious, it also made me think. There were many instances when his simple observations force you to not only think but also admit about their correctness. Finally I would feel the cogs of my under-used grey cells trying to turn, much against their will. Like when in one simple sentence he conveys the importance we give to clothes when he points out that it's the crow which would appear out of place if it dressed up in a necktie since it's a not a natural thing for it to do. Or when he gets a few people to dress up in dresses which identify them to a particular religious group irrespective of what their personal beliefs. Yes of course it's so true. I mean isn't this what our subconscious has been conditioned to think like over the years? A guy in Pathan suit has to be a Muslim, a Sikh has to have a pagdi, etc. Whether we admit it or not, we've all indulged in this kind of stereotyping many times in the course of our social interactions. 

PK tries to approach as many gods as possible in his attempts to retrieve his stolen property. But every time he asks for assistance, our God fearing brethren tell him that only God can help him out. I could feel his helplessness and anguish when he speaks to the unfinished idols of Durga. His confusion is so genuine.  I mean what are we, the normal regular people, supposed to do when dealing with such states of helplessness? His remote is symbolic of our own problems. It could be anything; uncontrollable situations or circumstances going out of our hands and spiralling into unwelcome directions, or unfulfilled, untenable goals or ambitions. I don't know, it could be just about anything which we desire so badly that we want to get it by any means. And that makes us desperate. And that desperation makes us so vulnerable that our otherwise logical mental faculties just stop operating and we decide to seek interventions.  Really? Does it help? I don't know that but what I know is that it provides us with some kind of excuse to look for comfort, like knowing someone's there watching over us. 

PK very aptly calls these overseers 'managers', I mean after all they do manage our affairs once in their hands. PK's inferences and comparisons may sound childish and naive but the logic doesn't fail. I couldn't help but agree when he says that our minds have been so absolutely conditioned to give in to these managers that we unconsciously act the way they want us to, not how we actually should/would. Jaggu leaving the church just before her wedding after reading a letter is a perfect example of how even the educated are remote controlled by social conditioning. Of course the whole scene was very filmy et al but one can't ignore what's been said so loudly. 

Why all this hullabaloo about this movie? Damaging theatres, tearing down posters, filing court cases. What's it all for? Excuse me gentlemen, if you can take a well earned popcorn break (all these activities are strenuous and can burn a lot of cals as well!), I would like to ask you what exactly offended you to go so aggressively against the movie? PK never said anything about God or any religion. He didn't like the managers. That's it. Assuming the managers maybe paying for all these activities but then it's their job. They thrive because they work on the weak minds of desperate people who want to get results which they are not meant to get. In India at least there's no dearth of such managers because there's no dearth of God fearing people. With more media coverage and exposure, one expects people to be more cautious of such pseuds, but daily we get to see more and more of how these Godmen are exploiting the masses while they live in unbelievable luxury. Bottom line, even education doesn't help since many 'educated' people also fall for such fakes.  After all who can resist a shortcut to guaranteed results?  

The basic premise of the movie is that we don't need managers to speak to our God because somehow the whole conversation between our God and us gets lost in transit when we speak through the managers. And in the bargain, the managers gain control of our minds and by extension, our lives. I absolutely agree with this whole thing. What happens between my God and me is personal. If I can't get my God to understand what I'm saying, then how can anyone else, who doesn't even know me well enough, get through to him and get my job done. It sounds so demeaning to the whole spiritual experience. Maybe that's why I no longer feel like visiting temples. 

Each of us as individuals has a mind of our own. Each of our minds is an individual in itself. It thinks like no other. Has views and opinions of its own. It's a medium of expression of our deepest thoughts. So why get so aggressive and agitative? If the views expressed don't suit you, don't watch the movie. It's that simple. But please don't ask people to stop thinking. Or worse still, don't ask them to think like you want to. That's death knell to many. Personally, I give a total thumbs up to the movie, the content and the acting. As far as the concept is concerned, well it's beyond such trivial things as star ratings. I think it's life altering.