Time to Think

I have been feeling very disturbed the last couple of days and I really don’t know why. I tried thinking about it but every time I would zero in into a cause, it didn’t make me feel any better. So I tried to go through as many reasons as possible to figure out the reason for my unrest. Then it slowly dawned on me. It was not a single reason or reasons. It was the generally apathy and stupidity which I had to endure daily when reading the sensational headlines. I have to read the morning newspaper in the morning daily or my day doesn’t start. And what do our front pages offer? After turning over two or three pages of full scape advertisements for luxury apartments or phones or online shopping festivals or even grocery shopping, when I do finally reach the “first” page of the news, it shows some silly headlines. I mean how does one start off the day on such a note? I really want to ask my other newspaper reading friends does this bother them too or have they too become immune to such things?

Gau rakshaks, social vigilantes, farmers. The list of well-meaning citizens is endless. To get what they want they resort to senseless and often unnecessary violence, all in the name of asking for what is their right. Right? No. No farmer in his right mind would ever think of destroying his produce. It’s the result of his hard work and sweat. It’s not easy money. So when I watched pictures of cans of milk being spilled by smiling, camera-friendly “farmers”, I just couldn’t get it. Trucks filled with farm produce getting spoilt waiting for reach the markets could have been sent to some of the remote areas where children are dying of hunger. Wouldn’t they have then made a point, a very strong point, with the unfeeling government? That they, the farmers, are the providers, nurturers, and their grievances should be given a fair hearing. What one doesn’t do for keeping the chair! Sad!!   

We seem to have developed a taste for witch hunting of late. And the favourite is the Army. Any Tom, Dick and Harry can pass a judgemental comment from the confines of his or her air-conditioned accommodation. But to understand why they do what they do, one has to be there. The human shield became a big issue. Wonderful, you well informed citizens. But why didn’t you speak out when the trouble makers used women and children as shields and fired from safe confines of some of the houses? Oh you couldn’t because they would’ve come and shot you in your homes. I feel bad for the Army, the CRPF, and for each one them wearing the uniform. They didn’t sign up for this. It’s because of them, their courage and sacrifices that today YOU are able to safely type away on your iPhone and macPros. They should make military service compulsory for every healthy citizen. Our powers to be will be the first to object. They will use their wily brains to wriggle out of it. Their baba log will have every health problem that is possible to stay out of the uniform. And then they will say – Army kuch nahi kar raha hai! Ha, patriots!!

Oh and how can I forget my dear gau rakshaks, the new sword wielding protectors of the holy cow. Thank god my grandparents sold off the cows they had at their house or god knows what all they would have had to do to prove that they are good caretakers. It’s total nonsense I tell you. If they are so worried about these cows then do something for them. Build them shelters, educate and train people. But then all this takes effort and more importantly is neither financially profitable nor will get them their two seconds of fame. Cows have always been holy to the Hindus. I don’t understand this new fanaticism. If they really want to lynch and kill then do it to all those rapists who do not think twice about their victim, age is certainly no bar for them. Kick them, castrate them, hang them. Do anything and the citizens of the country will thank you. If a holy cow can invoke such passions then why don’t they feel the same way when something happens to the women? Are they on an even lower social stratum then these animals? Instead of concentrating on banning beef eating and cow slaughter, maybe we should first deal with the real threats to the society. Totally misplaced priorities. Very sad state of affairs.

I know it reads like the ranting of another cynical Indian. Maybe it is, maybe it’s not. I don’t know. All I know is it’s the voice of my frustration, my inability to do anything. One can fight anything but not something as abstract as non-existent IQs and nationally acceptable apathy. My humble request to the occupants of the fourth estate – the next time you are covering any incident, please brush up on your adjectives. We have had one too many “gruesome, horrifying, chilling” news to deal with.  

      

Book Review of SITA - Warrior Of Mithila

So, the wait was finally over and I slept peacefully after devouring the second book of the Ramachandra series. This book delves on the other significant central character of the epic Ramayana, Sita. It’s written in the same simple, easily flowing signature style of the author. No big words, no heavy philosophy, just simple interactions of the regular people, which though are not as simple or straightforward as they appear. 

It’s the story about how King Janaka and his queen Sunaina found the baby Sita in the woods, resisting the wolves, fighting to survive. It took one strong woman to recognise another. Sunaina nurtures and moulds the little Sita to become the future ruler of the small kingdom of Mithila. Sunaina's dreams for Sita and Mithila are intertwined and become the core of the mother-daughter relationship. 

What I liked about the book was how the character of Sita was developed. She’s no longer the docile, subservient pati-parneshwar woman who meekly followed her husband into the jungles without as much as a word of protest. From the very beginning Amish has focussed on the individuality of Sita, as a strong, self-willed, intelligent,  sensitive, pragmatic individual. Even as a child, she had clear ideas about right and wrong. Her feisty nature is evident when she breaks the royal seal which Kushadhwaj, king of Sankashya, brings with him when he tries to assert his superiority and manipulate Mithila into becoming its vassal. Amish brings out her planning and strategizing strengths from time to time. Not demure beauty waitng for her prince charming, Sita manages to get Ram to Mithila to participate in her swayamvar. Her heart may skip a beat whenever she’s with Ram, yet it’s her head which works overtime trying to evaluate every action. Both as a husband and as Vishnu, if Ram had to be her partner, he had to pass through a series of evaluations to meet her expectations. That Sita was also an able diplomat was brought out in several instances in the book. The way she handled the sensitive ego of the Maharishi Vishwasmitra, avoiding confrontations with Maharishi Vashistha, and convincing the Ayodhya princes about their participation in the swayamvar. It all needs dexterity and subtly which she exhibits with aplomb. Sita has being created as the perfect combination of beauty, brains and brawns. Yes. She could fight like tigress, has the stealth of a cat and the eye of an eagle. 

Now for the drawbacks or things I didn’t like. For starters, there were too many references to our present society and social conditions. Similarities like the gang rape and brutal murder of Manthara's daughter is very similar to the infamous Nirbhaya case. Or the mention of Jallikattu, the controversial game from Tamil Nadu which burned the headlines for a long time. Or the constant jibes referring to "India" and our lack of respect for rules and laws of the land. What was most jarringly out of place was the use of “India” instead of Bharat. I mean, I don’t think India even existed then; it was Bharat. Such socio-political innuendoes were not palatable, at least to me. Comparison to the Shiva trilogy is unavoidable and inevitable. Yet the one thing that stood out distinct in the earlier series is the way the society was described and developed that it made the reader feel as if he or she was living there. It engulfed the reader in its flow and rhythm. This kind of connect was missing in this book. There was something seriously amiss. Maybe the characters were incomplete and aloof. Or the flow of the story was not keeping up with the characters. Or maybe an absence of some form of seamless continuity.

On the whole, was a wonderful book. Certainly, worth the wait. Looking forward to reading the third instalment. It’s about Ravana (have read the promotion booklet which was sent along with the book). Ravana is one of my favourite characters from the epic. Became my favourite after reading Anand Neelkantan’s book “Asura”. Anyways, keeping my fingers crossed and waiting with bated breath.    

Book Review of Lanka’s Princess by Kavita Kane

Book Review of Lanka’s Princess by Kavita Kane

The current breed of Indian writers is a brave lot. They are not scared of experimenting with the set-in-stone mythologies which have been part of our ‘cultural upbringing’ diet for generations. The Rama of Ramayana and Krishna of the Mahabharata have been humanised, making their follies look more acceptable; Ravana is no longer the blood thirsty brute nor are the Kauravas just power hungry brothers. Instead of just concentrating on these handful of central characters, a lot of writers have rewritten the mythologies from the view point of the women in these plots. This point of view is refreshingly contradistinct and forces the reader to look at the same oft-heard stories from a totally antithetic and colourful perspective.

I recently finished reading the Lanka’s Princess by Kavita Kane. It's Surpanakha's story, told from her frame of reference. Each of her family member is no longer set in the pre-set molds but is described by Meenakshi, or Meenu as she is fondly called. The events in the book unfold and we hear about the same mythological tales from someone who was instrumental in making the events happen. Mythology apart, the book also delves deeper and looks at the status of women in the society. The millennia were different but the circumstances and situations remain very much the same. Women were the pawns; marriages were for political reasons more than for love.

The most striking part of the book is the protagonist, or more suitably the anti-hero(ine). Meenakshi is not the quintessential beauty but it’s her strong personality which is her most alluring characteristic. She has a mind of her own; she’s opiniated, head strong, self-willed and extremely passionate. It’s this passion that leads to her subsequent downfall. She has her own fixed ideas of right and wrong, and refuses to see it any other way other than what suits her. Kavita has successfully created a character one would both love and hate at the same time. Meenakshi was rechristened Surpanakha by her mother Kaikesi, who detested her from the moment she was born, who saw her for what she was - an evil mind with a vitriolic tongue. Surpanakha’s only objective in life was to avenge the murder of her husband, Vidyujiva, even if it meant the annihilation of her family. Her hatred for Ravana far exceeded the love she felt for everyone put together. Her jealousy and hatred for him overshadowed every happy event in her otherwise ignored life. Her single minded dedication, patience (as she waited years for her plans to fructify) and commitment to see the destruction of Ravana and Lanka gives both the chills for the cold hearted execution and awe inspiring respect for the manner she single handledly  went about the whole operation. Anyone who crossed her path, or her, was in her cross hairs. This included Rama and Lakshmana for spurning her advances and mutilating her. Even after the decimation of her brothers and destruction of Lanka, she headed to Ayodhya to avenge her humiliation by the Dasarathputras. Here she met her match in Urmila, her wise wife of Lakshmana, who made her see the senselessness of her  pursuit of vengeance. Her advice to learn from her pains to better her life opened Surpanakha's mind to a more giving and embracing attitude which melted away her pain. The book ended in a more or less expected manner where she sees the mistakes she has made and accepts them, without blaming someone like she always did.

The narration was beautiful. Meandering through the stories we know, retaining their essence yet creating a whole new view point. It’s like seeing parts of the Ramayana through a kaleidoscope. Each character was well defined.The rakshasas were not disfigured ogres; Mareech and Subahu were men of knowledge, Taraka was a beautiful learned asura queen. Ravana was a larger than life person. A flamboyant charmer with good looks, a scholar of Vedas, Upanishads, tantravidya, astrology and occult sciences and could play the rudraveena; Kumbha was the huge lumbering giant with an even larger heart, the most sensible and humble of all the siblings; Vibhushan was all brains with no spine, his knowledge restricted to the books and not to life

I enjoyed reading the book. It made the epic look more interesting and dynamic. The dormant characters suddenly were drawn out in flesh and blood and appeared real. It’s in short a woman’s struggle to seek justice for the wrongs done to her, or so she thought. Her suppressed anger, indestructible prejudices and relentless pursuit of justice make up the core of the narration.

Recommend read it at least once for its refreshing perspective.      

Revisiting Resolutions 2017

We're already two months into the new year and I decided it's not to late to revisit my resolutions which I had made last year. Yes its true, I'm not joking. I had in all my excitement made some simple resolutions in the beginning of 2016, with the naivety of being able to follow them through. What I didn't know was that life loves throwing bouncers at us every now and then. And inspite of years of trying to dodge them, we mortals still haven't learnt to predict them or even avoid them. Anyways the bottom line of my story is that I don't know where the last year went. It just zipped past at a pace I still haven't come to terms with. It's all a blur. Too many things happened, some simultaneously, some giving a breather in between. And before I could figure out what's happening, I was writing 2017 in the date. I still keep fumbling with the year like I just woke up from a deep slumber and found instead of a Prince Charming, a new calendar! I don't want to think about it anymore. Forget it (no pun intended). No regrets.

Welcome 2017. My resolutions, made in January 2016, remain steadfast and remainded me of the tasks cut out for this year. The one major resolution I had made passionately and with absolute strong-willed intent was to become more conscious of my health. I guess this is an ailment which all of us who have crossed the dreaded 40s are inflicted with. After years of indulgence and neglect, the body starts showing the after-effects. The last year, the invisible 2016, didn't help matters. So now is the time for action I decided on the cold January morning of 2017. I searched, located and cleaned my sneakers, tried out my gym pants (thank god for the breathe-easy material, they fit even after all the extra kilos and inches!), updated my playlist on my iphone. I was all set to go, no one or nothing was going to deter me this time. The alarm was set. As I got ready to go to bed, I worked out the routine for the morning. My kids would leave for school and then I would hit the road. Maybe run for a couple of kilometers. Perfect. All set.

I woke up with the first ring of the alarm and was raring to go. Everything went as planned. I did a few warm up exercises and started the walk/run. And then it happened. A few minutes into the walk (I had still not started with the run, thank god!), I was huffing and puffing and looked ready to collapse. I braved on, blaming the cold air, my old shoes, the uncomfortable socks, the ill fitting clothes, anything. But after a few more minutes, my brain wouldn't think of any more excuses. It was just gasping to survive. I had to admit to myself that this was not working out (what a choice of expression!!). I was too out of shape. I had to start from the scratch. I could no longer give those fat aunties condescending smiles and privately enjoy their unsuccessful efforts at losing weight. Hate you, Shilpa Shetty! 

Got back home, feeling depressed, defeated and severely dejected. Come on, come on! rethink, replan, redo the plan of action - I kept repeating to myself so as not to slip back into the comfortable lifestyle that I had been enjoying for the last couple of months. So, ok! The next step I decided to try out was to exercise under supervision. Actually it was more to ensure that I kept to the plan. I joined the gym in our society and went all prepped up to work out a good sweat and watch those calories burning away. Ha! not so easy babe! After two days, I was reminded of Sanghi ma'am and her Bio classes in school. How many muscles (or is it muscle groups?) are there in our body? I just don't seem to remember, however much I tried. Every body part screamed out for mercy, every muscle begged to be let off. As for me, I was wondering what was I doing - I mean voluntarily getting ready and heading for the godforsaken gym which was located, ironically, on the first floor of the community centre. Looking at those stairs (of course there's no lift!) one had to push oneself further, motivate oneself to climb up those stairs and into the gym, to be welcomed with a big smile by the taskmaster, I mean the gym instructor. My torture didn't end there. My gym instructor would push me harder, after knowing about my history of fauji training and marathons (full, half, quarter, whatever) and outdoor activities. And I couldn't even curse him because inspite of being the tall, overpowering hulk with rippling muscles, he was such a soft spoken person that listening to him over the loud music was itself an effort. Another effort. Also I guess because my mind would be so numb with exhaustion and concentration that thinking anything was impossible. Kind of reminded me of my days at the Naval Academy where it was easier to just follow orders instead of trying to understand and make sense of them.

Anyways, I'm still very much alive and certainly not in a very much kicking state. I just had this overwhelming urge to pour out my grievances on paper. Hence this blog. My biceps and triceps are crying for compasson as I type. Well if you don't hear from me for some time, you know the reason why. 

Here's to the never give up spirit. Hope you all also have a wonderful and healthy 2017. Maybe a little less painful. But then again - no pain, no gain. Till then, stay healty.    

Days of simple happiness

A lot of my online friends,(well, I seem to have more of them than the real life ones!), have taken the 100  days of happiness challenge. Sounded weird to me. I mean, can you really limit the number of days you can be happy, or appear to be happy? What about the rest of the days of your life? Aren't we supposed to be happy then? Or was I missing the point? Then one of my 'real life' friend explained the concept to me. It's about finding, or trying to find, a source, a reason, an idea or anything that brings happiness to you for a specific duration, say in this case a 100 days. She dared me to do it for a longer duration of time, if I could. It's the easiest challenge I had accepted till date, or so it appeared till I started it. Finding a reason or idea or anything that brings a smile to our face or touches our heart in our daily life is not easy. Not because it's not there, but because we close our minds to it. So caught up are we in our automaton lives that we don't have the time or the inclination to enjoy the small pleasures. That's when, after two failed attempts to start and sustain my challenge, I decided to give it a final dedicated shot. Like my friend said, "It's all up here, in your mind!"  So here I'm, trying to find at least one instance of happiness in each day from hereon for the next hundred days.

Let me start of by talking about something that always brings a smile to my face, and heart, and stomach - food. Yesterday's weather was perfect for a drive, to be outdoors. So we decided to go visit the temple town of Annavaram. A quaint sleepy town, with its raison d'être being an old temple situated happily on top of a hillock. It was a favourite getaway earlier when I was staying alone. This visit was going to be different because we were going as a family. The two hour drive was blissfully uneventful. At the temple, a few extra hundreds ensured speedy, unobstructed darshan of the deity and we were done. Now for the more important things at hand, lunch. We walked into the first restaurant that we crossed as soon as we got out of the temple gates. It was a typical South-Indian mess, a fuss-free place with only one item on the menu, the self-sufficient veg-thali. This guy was a little more entrepreneurial and offered idli-chutney also on the menu. There were tables all around and people sat down where ever they found an empty place. We luckily got a table for four and settled down to have our thali. The adventure began when instead of plates, the lady got us banana leaves and placed it in front of us. She sprinkled some water on it and was gone. The girls went crazy. How could they eat on THIS? Then came the round of serving with one boy serving only chutneys, then another came and served us the curries, sambar, rasam, dal and pulusu, then came the papadams, and finally the lady came back and heaped our plates with hot steaming white rice. Yuuummmmm...it was pure heaven. That inconsequential gastronomical spread had done what I was wrongly seeking inside the sacred sanctum. I found what I had come looking for - inner peace and happiness. I didn't wait for the others to start and immediately dug into the hot rice while the others were trying to figure out from where to start. It was one of the best, most satisfying meals I've had in a long, long time. There's no fuss, no frills yet it's the most fulfilling experience. I'm sure every true-blue South Indian will identify with this incomparable experience.

Gives a happy feeling! Food always does. 

Boys Don't Cry ... Really??

  

The other day while watching TV, I saw the ending of an ad where the once-upon-a-time big-screen diva Madhuri Dixit was saying something about boys don't make others cry. As I had not seen the complete ad, this little teaser intrigued me and I wanted to see the whole of it. I sat in front of the idiot box, like an idiot, waiting for the ad to reappear.  It was sometime before I was able to break free from its hypnotic grasp and think. Heck! I could search for it online! God, never felt so dumb! But I guess I have many who understand the power TV has on many of the powerless zombies like us. Anyways, back to the issue at hand. So I searched online and found the ad I was looking for. It was a beautiful concept created  into a thought provoking ad by Vinil Mathews. 

The beauty of the ad was in its simplicity. It addressed such a basic prejudice we all are conditioned to accept as 'normal'. Gender stereotyping. Boys are the stronger sex, hence cannot cry. We have grown up listening to that reaction so many times that unconsciously we too say it, even without realising it. In this ad Madhuri says it, so I'm hoping many more men would have at least heard her out. Boys don't make other cry. Really? I would love to believe it myself. 

Our social conditioning and gender stereotyping is so, so deeply entrenched in our psych that we look upon the men, or to be politically right the males, as the stronger sex. In India, mothers dote on their sons because they carry the family name forward, thus keeping the lineage going. Fathers adulate their sons, irrespective of their capability, talent or character, because now they, the fathers, are assured a place in heaven as they have a son to light their pyre. Sisters are made to keep in mind that it's the brother who calls the shots, so keeping him happy has its perks. Wives, well, the lesser said the better, after all he is the 'pati-parmeshwar'. So in short, each one in the family treats him as an irreplaceable asset, almost a Demi-God status. So what happens when you get so much attention? Well, you learn to take all this for granted; you treat everyone around you as menials, whose duty is to serve you. 

Growing up on this staple diet of confused and convoluted thinking can distort ones attitude towards the other sex. The scene of the husband abusing his wife is not fake or unreal. That's the real ugly truth. He doesn't give a damn to what she feels. He's right in his thinking because that's what he's learnt from the time he was in his mother's lap. So the suggestion made by the ad is very correct, and required. For the men to be made more sensitive towards the others, they have to be made to feel that the others too are equally important. Be it socially, within the family, at the workplace, or anywhere. Other people, not only the women but also other men, are as human as they are. They too feel pain, hurt, denial, humiliation, anger, frustration. Once these men understand that they are not the focal point of everyone's universe, they will better understand the others. And this can be done only, and only, if they are told about this right from the time they are born. Treating them as just another family member, another sibling, another child, will make them truly belong to the family, and not as the poster boy for the family. 

#StartWithTheBoys is  fantastic initiative which is the need of the hour. With the increased cases of rapes, it only brings to forth the glaring reality of our skewed stereotyping of the genders. For women to be treated as human beings and not a non-entity, it is important boys be made more gender sensitive. A tall order given that centuries of social conditioning has now become an accepted norm, especially in the Indian context. But a start has to be made, and it has started. Let's be part of this change. 

Do round rotis taste better than non round rotis

Rotis are rotis. Round or otherwise. It will always have atta and some water to make it into a soft dough. The shape becomes relevant in the context. I mean the ingredients remain the same, well most of the time, unless you decide to become adventurous and improvise. You know like add some thing extra like freshly chopped dhania or some finely grated veggies which would otherwise be unpalatable to the kids. So I guess the shape and size do not really matter. Yeah if you ask this same question to a hungry person, you can expect a very predictable answer. Just gimme the roti Amma! Round, square, triangle, or any other polygon that you can think of. Just give me the damn roti. Well for a person suffering the pangs of deprivation and denial, any edible consumable is welcome. Colour, shape, texture, vintage etc. are of no consequence or importance to the starved being. What's relevant is it is consumable. Period. 

Hot just off the tava soft rotis are the fastest and surest way to reach the gastronomic heaven. No ambiguity there. Umm ..serve it with a sinful blob of butter and you do the greatest service to the insatiable palates. It earns you enough compliments to want to go back and create more such pieces d'resistance. Most of the Indian households , especially those north of the vindhyas, need the assurance of these simple, unassuming, delectable rotis to feel satisfied about their dinner. You know that alls fine with my world feeling. The weariness of the day, the fatigue when struggling to earn the very same rotis for the family, the struggle to provide two square meals ( square meals of round rotis!?! Strange!!) , everything seems so irrelevant when the first morsel enters the mouth. Life seems so blissful and complete. God is generous and merciful. Every Lalita Pawar incarnate would bless her good-for-nothing daughter-in-law for these gems. Maybe not aloud but happy she will feel. 

So I guess the shape doesn't matter. What matters is the how hungry is the consumer. 

Proud to be an Indian ...always

I saw her on YouTube. A most impersonal first meeting. Thousands more would've seen her too. But images of her stayed in my mind all night, making it a long sleepless night. When I switched on the TV next day for the morning news, there she was again. Dressed in a tan color overcoat, looking over her father's coffin, draped in the Indian tricolor. Alka Rai is all of twelve but she carried herself as a woman. But when she broke down, I did too. The pain was too deep to escape it. I didn't know Col Rai. Now, would never know him. But by watching his proud daughter I wished I had a chance to know him.

Col Rai was killed in another of the many encounters which are a daily phenomenon in the lives of the Army men posted in the troubled regions in J&K. His death too would have got a few lines coverage in some corner of some page in the national dailies, unnoticed by most of us. What changed the whole scenario was the show of sheer grit, pride and love exhibited by his little princess. As she stood next to her father's coffin, she shouted the war cry of the Gorkhas! The somber, sad surroundings were suddenly electrified into a highly charged atmosphere where everyone felt as one. The men of the unit stood united in their shared pain. They shared the pride of their slain warrior's family. They felt honored to be part of that large family of the Gorkha regiment. I felt it too. I felt pride at being associated with the uniform, of having the honor of having worn it, of a sense of belonging. It's a feeling hard to describe but easy to feel. What struck me was the way that little girl reacted. She felt this the best way to honor her slain father. To shout the oft-heard warcry of the Gurkhas. She wouldn't have felt this way had her father not felt the same way. Children learn what they see at home. If she had seen her father not take pride in his uniform, in his job, in his duty, she would never have reacted this way. 

It was a wake up call for all of us. So caught up are we in the daily grind that we forget some basic essentials of being a human being. We forget the value of life. We forget how fickle and unpredictable it is. The house still not back into normalcy after the celebrations for his receiving the gallantry award when it was jolted into shocked silence by his untimely and sudden death. That's life. That's death. Totally and absolutely unpredictable.  No one wants this, maybe except for one Mr Geelani, who sits esconed in the warmth of his shawls and Indian hospitality. Anyways, it made me think about the vagaries of life. 

Pride in being a human being first, pride in our work, pride at being blessed with family and friends. These are things we tend to overlook. No, it's not the feelings of a self centered, ego centric narcissist. This is the kind of pride one feels in gratitude. This is what makes us more consciously responsible. More emphatatic and giving. Makes us feel like pushing ourselves to excel and better ourselves. That warcry set the tone for that young girl who till then lived in a dream.  She will henceforth want to do better so that her father can feel as proud of her, as she does of him. 

But do we need to go through so much pain to realize our potential? Or the value of others around us? 

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.