Goodbye 2011

Anything which has a beginning also has an end. This is an universal law. Creation culminates to destruction and destruction paves way for new creation. The trees shed their leaves in winter only to get the fresh green young leaves in the following spring. A generation dies, passing the baton to fresh young legs. The year that begins on 1st January, ends on 31st December. 


This year is almost drawing to an end. Like all previous years, this year has its own share of ups and downs, good and bad things. People celebrate the new year, but I feel more sad of the year that is leaving us. 


I don't know whether it is the sadist in me. Its like I had a guest in my house for a year...and today its time for her to leave. She had been with me through thick and thin - my every single moment - 365 days,31536000 seconds - of joy and sorrow! Even if nobody else was around, she was. She knows the reason for every drop of my tear, she knows when I wept silently, she knows when I needed the hug, but could not find anybody around, she knows when I was very elated, but didn't want to share that with anybody, lest the fragrance be lost in the crowd. She was with me through all my emotions. In this one year she has known me like no one else has. Today, she is leaving me forever. Today is 31st Dec. When people are celebrating and partying on the occasion of the arrival of the new guest, I feel sad to part away with my old friend. I look back at the year that has just passed by, whose last rays of the sun has just faded away. Another year in my life. Sadly, I can only think of the bitter moments. And perhaps that has something to do with the setting sun...it always reminds me of the bitter moments and bitter days. The sun, which has set for the last time in 2011 a few hours back. Now everybody is waiting with abated breath for the arrival of the new year. But to me, there is apprehension. I don't know what the New Year has in store for me -- good, bad, ugly. I don't know how the new guest will treat me. When I was a small boy for days I followed the same routine - wake up at 7:00AM, reach school by 8:30, come back at 3:30, play cricket or badminton, then study, then dinner with grandparents, then good night. This was the routine for years, occasionally interrupted by examination, vacation...but they also came at a periodic interval. Life was set and it seemed such routine would last till eternity.  That life might have been monotonous, but to some extent certain. But not now, anymore. Now, in a year so many things can change,people can change,relationships can change,dreams can change; life can change.And not all for the better.


And some things don't change. Some things universal facts about hunger, poverty, torture....For some 31st December is just another day in their life. For them everyday is a struggle for existence. Farmers committing suicides, people dying because of cold, children dying of hunger....all these thoughts dampen my spirit of arrival of new year. The loner in me refuses to mingle with the celebration outside. I look out of the window. The dazzling fireworks does not thrill me. The cheer and joy of the guys on bike on the street seems meaningless to me. Will things really change? Can a resolution change one's life? Or is it just another day and we humans have tried to add colour and flavour and found a mean to celebrate an occassion when most parts of the world are shivering in cold and there are people dying in cold? 


I take new year as an excuse to remind my friends, even if that is once a year, that I did not forget them. I take new year as an excuse to meet up with old friends and try to get out of my shell. I do not expect anything new from the new year. My lonely shadow will be there with me all the years; my deep-embedded pain will not wither; my tears will not dry. There may be something good for me in the coming days; there may be something not-so-good in the coming days. But they may just be isolate incidents that fall on that year; they have nothing to do with the year, as such.
My thoughts were interrupted  by the beep from my phone. From 11:30 itself friends got busy sending the new year wishes. I was ignoring them. Didnt feel the impetus to sms back. But then a phone call from another friend compelled me to pick it up. The loner in me was holding me back. But I had to wear the social mask and respond to the call. 


The tug-of-war between the loner inside and the social animal in me will continue for years.

                                             (This article was written on the New Year Eve)

Moments and Relationships

I sometimes wonder what is it that makes relationships make or break. True, that the initial part of most of the relationships start from the social formality, rule, compulsion...whatever you may choose to call. But surely a relationship can't last if it were only for the social obligations. When we are born and then once we start to know things, we are told that this is our father and this is our mother, this is our uncle, this is our aunt and these are our grandparents and so on. But had they not behaved like father, mother, uncle, aunt, grandparents etc. there would not have been any lasting bonding. And ,sooner or later, both the relationships start to wither away.

Beyond relationship there is something that we tend to overlook. And that is "moments". Precious little moments. Moments that we spend with those relationships. When my daughter was born, we were socially bonded as father-daughter. Two years down the line, we are not only socially bond, but also emotionally bond with each other. And that is because of the precious little moments that we spend with each other everyday. I tried to play the role of a good father and she plays the role of an adorable daughter to perfection.

However hard we try to ignore the fact and look the other way, we all have these few years to live and enjoy these moments. And in these few years we want to squeeze in as many happy moments as possible. Relationships , perhaps, provide us the opportunity. When my grandmother died, I felt very sad. Why? From two years before her death she became an Alzheimer patient - she could not recognise me. So, the last two years, she lived in our house like an old lady, who did not recognise me - but this was a special old lady as there are so many wonderful moments that I spent with her.Whenever I met her (even in those last two years of her life), I was reminded about those moments. The day she died I was sad as I will not be able to see her again and with her was buried tons of beautiful moments.

Apart from the good ones, there are bad or bitter moments in life too...in fact, I feel, we have more bitter moments than the happy ones. Bad moments leave scars and take time to heal. And that's perhaps why we tend to enjoy the good moments to the fullest and lap it as much as we can. Who knows when it will end? Bad moments are not pleasant. When in a relationship the count of bad moments far exceed the count of good moments, we decide to call it a day. By snapping the relationships, we are just trying to get reduce the bad moments in our short lives. Nobody wants to cry, be insulted and be humiliated. We make new relationships in the hope of adding beautiful moments to our life...sometimes we are right, sometimes we are simply disillusioned. We all celebrate the concept of love because that, supposedly, brings with it more good moments than bad ones.

Ultimately all these relationships and these moments will culminate into the inevitable death. Life is nothing but a collection of zillions of moments...and I keep reminding me of it. Nothing is permanent - neither us, nor the moments nor the relationships. Some relationships have pre-mature deaths, some relationships die when we die. Moments, like us, come with an expiry date on its own.
Sometimes good relationships pave way for good moments; sometimes good moments pave way for good relationships.

Or all these relationships and moments of tears or laughter all might just be maya, as the Buddhists would like to call.

Five Days in the Paradise called Kashmir

31st August, 2011. Wednesday. 


6:45 AM, Bangalore International Airport. 

         I am in the Bangalore International Airport with wife and my two-year old daughter. My daughter is playing around. We woke up at 4 AM in the morning and yet there is no sign of tiredness in her eyes. In a few minutes from now we will catch the flight to Delhi and then from there to Srinagar, Kashmir after a brief halt. By 2:00 PM we hope to be in Kashmir. That is about seven hours from now we should be in the supposedly "Paradise on Earth". There has been reports of some unrest in certain areas of Kashmir.Even a couple of days back there were reports of some unknown mass graves unearthed there.  I hope they don't come in the way of our visit.




 1:20 PM, Flight from Delhi to Srinagar

     We are about to land in Srinagar within half an hour. From the flight I can see the mountains, dotted with pine trees and occasionally silver lines, which might be the rivers. The seat belt sign is on. We are all excited. My daughter has been growing unrest in the last few minutes. This long journey is boring for us, it must be even more boring for her. But now its a matter of minutes that we touch-down.Our agenda for today is the Shikara ride in the famous Dal Lake for a couple of hours.




7:55 PM, Hotel Room, Srinagar.

    Today is Eid. And I did not know that. I thought it was tomorrow. So, when we landed, the parking lot of the airport was almost empty. The hotel was supposed to send us private car to pick up to the hotel. There were a few other passengers - each should have got a separate car. But due to paucity of cars, we had to share the cars - two families in each car. They were SUVs. So, it was not a problem. On the way we found the roads almost empty;shops were closed. My wife sighted a few police and CRF personnel on the roads. She was wondering whether everything was fine and whether it is any curfew. As it turned out, it was nothing like that. The lunch on the day of Eid is the most auspicious time as the family has lunch together. In the almost deserted roads, our SUV zoomed to our hotel. We reached hotel at 3 PM. Damn hungry, we ordered some lunch. Served hot, it tasted awesome. Then we went for the Shikara (boat) ride in the Dal Lake. Our hotel is located on the backwaters of the Dal Lake. So, we jumped into the Shikara from the backward of our homely hotel. Shikaras are very comfortable, with sofas and cushions. I stared clicking the photos of the Himalayan beauty. It is truely marvellous. I have no words to describe. The boatman said how this lake gets frozen during the winter and sometimes even doubles up as a good cricket ground! He slowly drove to the Nehru Park located on a side of the Dal Lake. My daughter played around for some time there...The sun was setting behind the gigantic mountain range. The temperature started dropping by a few degrees. We took the ride back through some floating markets. While coming we saw a floating Post Office in the Dal Lake. The Dal Lake truly is the jewel in the Srinagar crown. My daughter was feeling sleepy. She was awake from 4 AM with the exception of a nap during the flight. As soon as we returned to our cosy hotel room, she fell asleep. Before coming I found in the net that that there are amazing dishes available in Srinagar. The hotel will serve us buffet dinner. Nonetheless, I wanted to try some typical Kashmiri dishes from the famous resturants. Now I am going out to bring them.




 11:10 PM, Hotel Room, Srinagar.

 Had awesome Mutton Rogan Josh and Mutton Sheekh Kabab! I was outside till 9:15 PM. No problem in the city. Very peaceful. I did not, for once, feel unsecured. The people are very friendly and very warm. Its sad outside people are afraid to come to the place. It was difficult to wake my daughter and give her the dinner. She was too tired. Somehow, we managed to feed her. She is again sleeping. Tomorrow we have to wake up by 7:30 AM as we have to leave for Pahalgam at 9:00 AM. It is about 100 km from Srinagar. The first day was a good one. Lets see how it goes tomorrow.

1st September, 2011. Thursday


 3:05 PM, Resturant, Pahalgam.

     Man has made some things which man admires. For example, the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China, the City of Las Vagus, the Roman Amphitheater etc. etc. And then there are certain things that the Almighty has created for man. And it is the latter things that have blown men away for centuries. They have stood the test of time.

We have just ordered some lunch at a restaurant in Pahalgam. My wife is busy making my daughter eat something - showing her the horses and the birds outside. While I wait for the food to be served, I thought of penning down our experience since morning. We had a good sleep yesterday after the long day. I set the clock alarm to 6:15 AM. For the Pahalgam trip we were given a off-white Cheverolet Trevor. The driver is called Gulam Nabi. Aged, around fifty. On the way, he explained how the place had been badly hit by the unrest that continued for more than for about two decades - since 1989. He talked about the plight since then. Soon after we left Srinagar, the road that took us to Pahalgam had another companion with it - the Pahalgam river that went upto the city of Pahalgam. Small brooks emerging from the distant green mountain range joins the wider river. At one place we parked our car by the river side. Cold clear water. Small stones to big boulders are strewn here and there randomly. Time seems to stand still.On the way we found nomads with horses and mules; the animals makes the sweet jingling sound as they walked stealthily on one side of the road. It was cloudy then, it is still cloudy now. The raindrops have started hitting the restaurant window pane now.
   
We reached Pahalgam at around 12:30 PM. The car left us at a place from where we had to take a horse ride to cover the local sight seeings. Stablemen with long gowns approached us for the horse ride. At first we hesitated to take the ride as we were unsure about the ride. It was drizzling and so the question was "Are we ready to take the 2 hour horse ride in the drizzle?" At last, we decided to go ahead. It was the first time we were riding a horse. A few years back I rode a camel in Rajasthan.  When I was small a circus group came to our town. Then I rode on an elephant. But horse - this is the first time. It was a steep landscape with no proper defined road. There was one stableman for the two horses. I was afraid how he will manage two horses. He tried to pacify me saying that the horses know the way and gave me a brief demo of the same. Not having much of a choice, we decided to continue with the ride with butterflies in our stomach. To make matters worse, my daughter started crying. Slowly she became quite and we got adjusted to the ride. We went to some valleys. They are too beautiful to be described. What is there in these mountain ranges, rivers, valleys, sky that makes men for centuries spell-bound, I don't know. Is it that we are part of Nature and so, when we see her at her best we cannot but admire her? Or is it that , because of our ancestral roots, we are more comfortable in the vicinity of nature and hence mountains and seas appeal to us? We covered valleys like Baisaran Valley, Kanomarg valley. Our horses crossed a couple of mountain brooks. We saw a gorgeous waterfall. It was raining, the ground was muddy and soft. My daughter was with my wife. Their horse slipped twice, but the stableman was able to control it and nothing happened. I don't know is it sheer frustration or the beauty around that my daughter started singing in the last 10-15 minutes of the horse journey. The horse ride was worth taking. Without it we would have missed something really beautiful that Nature had for us. I saw some of the greatest creations by the Almighty, I am sure. It reaffirmed the lesson of my life - without efforts and hardships we can't get the good things in life. The food must be ready by now. Let me go and check it...I am so hungry after the rigorous horse ride and its past 3 PM! The 25-km rigorous horse ride must be equivalent to a good two-hour gym give or take a few minutes.




 11:25 PM. Hotel Room, Pahalgam.

 On the way from Pahalgam we came across rows of apple trees lined on the both sides of the road for miles. We bought apples - plucked from the gardens and as fresh as it can get. It reminded me of the apple tree in Cranfield University and I plucked a few there as well on my first week in the University. On the way we bought Saffron and a few packets of dry fruits. Another awesome dinner (Mutton Dhania) followed by a lonely walk beside the Dal Lake. Tomorrow is to Gulmarg. Its closer than Pahalgam - about 50 km from here, but we tend to cover the Mughal Gardens in Srinagar in the evening. So, we have to start from the hotel same time. Heard there are horse ride there as well. Legs are a bit paining, but mind is too overwhelmed at the sights of the Nature...so the agony of the legs can be conveniently ignored. Two days gone. Three more to go.

2nd September, 2011. Friday.


12:40 PM, Gulmarg. 

Today is sunny. And that made the Himalayas completely different from what it was yesterday. It was a bright sunny day. It was the same driver.

We came via a place called Ananth Nag. And he had interesting story to share regarding that area. He said it was also known as Islamabad, synonymous with the capital of Pakistan. When unrest was at its peak if any person replied to the military forces that they were going to "Islamabad", they were beaten - they had to say Ananth Nag.The life of the Kashmiris bring tears to my eyes. They were living like hell in a paradise! They fled away from this beautiful place.They went to other parts of India to sell the famous Kashmiri shawls and other woolen garments.

Our driver said he also did the same about 20 years back. He went to Calcutta to sell shawals for two years. He said there was a good friend of his called "Banerjee", who used to run a Bengali hotel here. When condition became tensed here, the hotel was shut down and Banerjee returned back, perhaps to Bengal. When he went to Bengal to sell shawls, he searched for him. But in the vast city, he could not find him as he did not know any of his whereabouts. A couple of years back the hotel re-opened, but under a different management. Banerjee has not come back since then - to run the hotel or otherwise. And Gulam Nabi does not think he'll come back again. "He must have found something better now"

While they were away trying to earn bread and butter for their family in places like Delhi, Calcutta and Bangalore, their heart and mind were in Kashmir. They were always praying for the safety and well-being of their family members. I remember, as a child, I saw young Kashmiri lads with big bags on their back selling shawls. At that time we could little imagine what drove them away from their homeland and force them to become "shawlwallas", as they we commonly called and what was going inside them. Tough times!! Somewhere the lives of the Kashmris and the beauty of Kashmir seems so much in contrast to each other - they seem to be poles apart. While one is about the unrest, the other is about serenity; while one talks of fear, the other talks about peace.
As predicted, there was the horse ride. The driver brought us to the place where the stablemen were ready with their horses.Taking the help of a guide and a stableman we rode upto the Gondola. The we climbed on top via the Gondola.My daughter seems to have enjoyed the ride. It is cold up here. In winter this place is filled with snow and is ideal for Skiing. Snowfall here is 7-8 feet! We saw some huts on the way up. The guide said these people relocate during the snow and return once they melt. Now we have the greenery to enjoy. My daughter is playing in the cold spring water. I tasted it some time back...its tasty! We will stay here for a few more minutes. It has suddenly become cloudy. We can see the clouds shrouding the mountain tops. There was Phase Two Gondola ride from here to even higher up. But we were advised by the guide not to take the ride.One, there is nothing much to see from there. The view from there is much like what it is from here. Two, there is less oxygen and the child might find it difficult there.
 Let me walk around here for a few more minutes, before I get down.




 4:30 PM, On the way from Gulmarg to Srinagar.

 The car is speeding through sleepy mountain ranges. In about an hour we will reach Srinagar. My wife and daughter are tired. They have dozed off to sleep in the car. Man has not created words that can describe the outside scene. The town of Gulmarg seemed like taken out of some fairyland. It has a touch of mystery. There are cottages, canopy and clouds. And the horses grazing in the distant lush green valleys. Slowly and stealthily our horses found their way through them. We passed through a Golf Course, a children park and a temple. At one place my daughter was swinging round a pole, when one professional photographer approached us whether he can take her pictures. We did not have any problem. My daughter also seemed to have enjoyed the photo session.

The stableman was a young lad. During the journey, he said he was planning to do BEd and then get into a teaching profession. The teachers get decently paid here. He is a stableman now to earn money for his family and his future studies. The guide showed us a big half-built old building. He said this was supposed to be a hotel of a famous hotelier in India. But when unrest began they left the place, never to return again.He said during unrest no tourist came, while 90% of the people depend on tourism for their livelihood. My obvious concern was, how they survived in those years. He said, they had a real tough time. Some left the state, some started farming, some lent money from loan sharks and got into the vicious debt trap. He said that about two lacs kashmiri civilians died during the 1999 Kargil war with Pakistan. Every moment I had the mixed feeling. On one side is this paradise, on the other the plight stories of each and every kashmiri. Their eyes have seen and their hearts have felt a lot more pain than we can possibly imagine. Ten - fifteen or may be even more years of their life have been in darkness. Some have lived through the darkness, some may not have.

We had lunch and then on our way back. Now we plan to go to the Mughal Gardens in Srinagar. We don't have much time. Tomorrow, Saturday, is Sonamarg and then Sunday we take the return flight. When I was small I had heard that the total Kashmir tour takes at least 15 days.Train from Calcutta to Jammu (railway station nearest to Srinagar) takes about 48 hours. Then there is about 500 km by road, which is another whole day. Then some rest. Some casual sight seeings. And then back. Total 15 days. In today's fast-paced world, 5 days is what we have. Both me and my wife cannot get any further leaves from office. But that's fine. When I was planning the trip, I was sure about one thing. I did not want to drag this journey to the extent that we tell, "Enough! We should now return home!" I wanted to finish it in at a time when we still crave for more. I did not want it to stretch endlessly. The car has entered in the city of Srinagar. We will reach the Mughal Gardens any time. As the name suggests, they were built by the Mughal Emperors. There are three such garden - Nishat Bagh, Shalimar Garden and Gardens of Chashma Shahi. 




11:35 PM, Hotel Room,Srinagar

 The Mughal gardens were very beautiful. The Mughals would have made them centuries back, but kudos to the gardeners and the administration who maintained the gardens. Very clean and very well decorated. There were springs in the gardens. The driver said that the source of the spring is unknown. Water flows like that throughout the year. It is "Qudrat ka karishma" (Grace of the Almighty) that even when the whole of Srinagar is under snow, the spring water never freezes!

From the Nishant garden we saw the sun hid behind the clouds, calling it a day.The sky was filled with birds returning to their nest. Another awesome dinner. Its time to go to bed. Tomorrow Sonamarg, about a 100 km from here. I have set the alarm to 6:15 AM. There we will see glaciers. There is also the horse ride. Slowly getting used to the rides. I have a bit of back pain, but that was obvious, considering the horse ride in the rough terrain. But I'm sure this is something I will miss when I leave this place.

Bangalore and this place may be separated by a few thousand kilometers, but otherwise, they are poles apart. The guide, the stableman, the cook in the resturant, the driver, the waiters lived the simple lives that you find in many parts of India. Their lives revolved around tourism, around the fear that engulfed Kashmir; they talked about about the sensitive areas like Lal Chowk in Srinagar, about Pakistan and the India-Pakistan border, about the police and military, about shattered homes and small dreams, about snow, about horses, and course of the bitter old days and memories associated with it. Their life is so different from that of mine. My life is about EMIs, about malls, about office, about recession, about inflation, about finding play homes and schools for daughter, about investment, about the growing traffic and land prices in Bangalore, about fighting corruption, about Facebook and Google....etc etc. I shall perhaps never ever meet them again in life. Slowly I will forget their faces, too, if I have not taken pictures of them. But they will remain with me in the form of their stories...heart-touching melancholy tales of simple people, who just wanted very simple things in life, like to live in peace, to live without fear. Is it too much to ask for?

3rd September, 2011. Saturday. 


4:40 PM, On the way to Srinagar from Sonamarg. 

 Good that this was the last of the day-long trips that was lined up for us. Things can't get better and more rigorous than this. Sometimes you seem to find the last picture in your album or the last item in your shopping list and do not want to proceed further. Our trip to Sonamarg was something like this. I am on my way to Srinagar. As our car finds finds it way through the mountains, simmering in the golden sun rays, I try to put down on paper today's events. Each day we took the car at around 9:00 AM and each day the road and the scene was different. It may sound very strange. Because, after all, it is the same Himalayan mountain range and how can it change between only a hundred kilometer? Well, it did. While the way to Pahalgam was very scenic and beautifully crafted, the way to Gulmarg was through rows of Walnut trees followed by a steep climb. Today the road to Sonamarg was raw beauty - the uncensored version, if I may call it. With basic things like water in the form of river, rocks in the form of boulders and mountains, flora in the form of big and small, tall and short tress, topped with the golden sun rays piercing through the mountain ranges sheer magic can be weaved and that is exactly what the road to Sonamarg had for us. Sonamarg is higher in altitude and we could feel the chillness of the atmosphere on the way. Every time the car took a bend in the spiraling mountain roads, another facet of the paradise seems to have been revealed. The sheer change in the angle of the sun's rays completely changes the environment. You have to see it to believe it. On the way the driver, Gulam Nabi, said that this roads leads to Leh, about 500 km from Srinanagar, another place where you get nothing but raw beauty at its best.

We reached Sonamarg at around 12 noon. Horse ride again. My daughter has started enjoying the ride now. As usual, steep climb and then some plains where boulders seems to have been carelessly scattered around and brooks founds their course through them. There were a couple of small wooden bridges built across the brooks. There were herds of sheep grazing the green mountain slopes. Shepherds kept a good vigil over them. Mesmerizing! On the way we could see the glaciers on the mountain tops - quite high above. We knew in a matter of time we will be there. But how do we go on top...they are so steep? We got the answers soon. And it was something I feared! The horse started climbing on those steep mountains amidst stones and boulders, no sign of grass. It was a bit terrifying. If the horse slips we will fall over the hard stones and roll down a few metres below. And thats not a good news. In our previous, rides if we had fallen we would have rolled over muddy plains or green valleys. Half way up, the stableman let us know that this is the last point the horses can climb to. The rest is so rough that there is a chance that they might slip and fall. The solution? Walk on foot..!! It was not an easy thing to trek up for several meters carrying my daughter. My wife did most of the hard work. Once we reached there, the world seemed different. It was glacier in the form of cave. Water trickling down the walls of the glacier, that stood there for centuries. Some enthusiastic tourists wanted to go inside the cave, but were strictly warned by the local guys. Last year a chunk fell from the roof of the glaciers and nine people were trapped to death.

The view from top was different this time. The mountains around were more rocky with snow-capped, rather glacier-capped. From the top we could see horses way below near the tent, grazing the grass.After spending a few minutes we climbed down. We had thought that climbing down would have been easier. But we were wrong as chances of slipping down was more. Then back to the horse. While returning my daughter fell asleep on the horseback. I dont know how one can sleep that way when the roads are so bumpy and you are always been shaken. The only time when one can sleep on horseback is when you are too tired. Thats what my daughter was, I guess. It was too much for her tiny body. We thought of getting near the river bank. But did not. One, my daughter was asleep. Two, it was already around 3 PM and we all did not have lunch. Three, it suddenly started drizzling. The horses started walking briskly and that was quite an adventure for new horse-riders like us. It was fun, though. Once we were near the car parking lot, the rain had stopped and the sun appeared. They say here "Weather in Sonamarg and fashion in Mumbai changes in minutes!"

We are now inside the car and are on our way back. Just a few minutes back I saw the roads were wet, testimony to the fact that it had been raining there. But now, as I look out of the window, I see a clear sky , and soft sun rays on the turbulent stream. Evening shadows have already been cast in some areas in the distant mountain. Now we are heading straight home. On the way we will buy some more dry fruits and Kashmiri spices, a "Khan suit" for me, typical dress for the Kashmiris, some fashion jewelleries and dress for my wife, something for my daughter....lots of expenses ahead....




 12:00 midnight, Hotel Room, Srinagar.

We did all the shopping. When we passed the Dal Lake, the sun was setting. Another sunset, some more memorable moments that I was able to capture.Since childhood I am obsessed with sunrise and sunset wherever we go. And I must tell, I have not seen any two sunsets or sunrise the same. Its amazing!

We returned to our hotel room at around 8 PM. We thanked the driver for his taking us around and making the three trips to Pahalagam, Gulmarg and Sonamarg memorable.I was too tired to go out and buy dinner from the best resturants in Srinagar. We found, our hotel had cooked delicious Chicken Biriyani...

Tomorrow is our way back. Most of the packing has been done. I am sure I have to shell out some bucks for the extra luggage. Thank God, none can weigh the bountiful of memories that we all carrying on our way back. And this is where the difference between the physical world and the world within becomes so prominent. All that we are carrying physically - the apples, spices, the dress and all that which adds weight to our luggage - will perish in due course, some in a few days, some in weeks, some in years...But the whatever we are carrying within us is not erasable or perishable. I have captured some moments in my camera. But some moments and the feelings and thoughts that has become associated with those moments cannot be captured by any man-made devices or inventions. When there was no camera, men painted moments, men wrote poems to express their innermost thoughts. And yet some thoughts and moments remained within - the inexpressible ones. Today mankind has improved to the world of digital cameras and blogs, but not the words to describe them. I can call the place Paradise. In fact, there is a famous line on Kashmir "Gar firdaus, ruhe zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin asto" by Mughal Emperor Jahangir or some say by the famous poet Poet Firdausi. It means, "If there is a paradise on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here !!". But that does not describe the grandeur and splendor around, that does not describe the bubbling water drops and golden sun-rays falling on it, that does not tell about the sheep grazing on the mountain slopes or the horses grazing in the meadows and the thoughts it evokes within us and a million such things. When I say "the horses grazing in the meadows" or "snow-capped mountains", you create a visual image in your mind. But the images that you create in your minds are based on similiar experiences and similiar images that you had seen before. And there lies the limitations to our imagination. What if we had not seen before? As for the photos, the camera captures only one of the aspects of the environment - the visual aspect. And it is not the only aspect that deserves to be captured. What about the sweet murmuring sound of stream during the journey from Srinagar to Pahalgam? What about the feelings of cold drops of rainwater in Sonamarg, accompanied by the brisk walking of the horse? What about the smell of the fresh apples as I entered the apple garden? What about the excitement that we had during the horse-rides? How do I describe the taste of the Kashmiri dishes? How do I write what I felt when I heard the pain-stricken experiences of the local Kashmiris? How do I describe all these?

4th September, 2001. Sunday


 7:45 PM, Flight to Bangalore via Delhi

 Today, I woke up in the morning and clicked some pictures of the misty Dal Lake in the morning and Shikaras ferrying passenger from the houseboats. After that I took some snaps of my daughter playing in the garden of our hotel.Srinagar has a bit more stringent norms as far as the airport security is concerned. So, we had to start a bit early in comparison to other airports. As far as our safety is taken care of, I don't think we should complain, just because we don't know what else to do! The flight from Delhi to Bangalore is a bit bumpy as it is cloudy on the way.




 11:55 PM, Sunday. Sonar Kella, Bangalore

Sonar Kella is the name of our house. The name is inspired from a popular Bengali detective movie by the same name by the famous director, Satyajit Ray. We are safely back. Except for the bumpy flight in the last hour of the Delhi-Srinagar, we had a safe journey. Tomorrow is office. Need to go to bed now.
It was well and truly a memorable trip.

8th September, 2011. Thursday.

7:55 AM, Sonar Kella, Bangalore 
 I will soon publish my blog after proof-reading it one final time. These days I have been taking special interest about any news about Kashmir.
Two days ago my father called me in the morning saying that there was curfew in Srinagar.
After yesterday's bomb blast in Delhi High Court, today's one newspaper headline read "Delhi blast: NIA gets a few leads, 4 grilled in Jammu and Kashmir".
Some things never change.
But life has to continue and it continues - for the near and dear ones of the dead in Delhi blast, for the local Kashmiris and for the rest of the world.

"We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
 We shall overcome someday;
 Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
 We shall overcome someday." .

Turmoil

We have lost some good years of our lives
Fighting,quarelling,insulting,humiliating, protesting et al.
Some years which could have been the best in our lives,
Which we could have spent in better ways.

We could have spent less time on the fire fighting
And more in understanding each other;
We could spent time in building bridges
Instead of drawing the boundary lines and personal spaces;
We could have used the energies in good causes,
Rather than shouting and screaming through the roof;
We could have sat down and resolved the problem,
Given an honest attempt at making things better.
We could have been more true to ourselves.

Instead we chose not to talk about the elephant in the room;
We chose to brush the dust under the carpet.

The London riots,
The Anna Hazare campaign,
The Al-Qaeda terrorism,
The anti-Mubarak uprising...
All are reflection of the restlessness among the people
All are reflections of the unrest inside
The grudge, the anger, the frustrations.
Why is this the world in such turmoil?
Why are we in mental agony and anxiety?

If only we all lived for the cause we were born.
If only there was more peace...
Both inside and the world outside.

At least, I didn't want to live this way -
Every day, every moment, perhaps, till the last day in my life
Fighting for my right, my pride, my place.
Shouting above others, lest my voice be drowned!
Overpowering others, lest I be trampled!


I dream of a better life....a better world...
And I still keep dreaming the same every single morning!




PS: The above painting is created by me. For more paintings, please add me to your FB friends or visit https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150235895019563.327436.719044562&l=46e638be71&type=1

Bitter pills

With the passing of years I learnt that...


You can bury the tears and the sad moments in time.
Unfortunately, the good times also get lost in time.
You have no control over other's words and actions,
So, its better you watch yours!


Elders are not always correct,
A child can sometimes teach great lessons.
To err is to human, to commit same mistake twice is crime.
Education does not always make one civilised.

Physical proximity does not translate into nearness of the heart.
Heart can beat for the person even if the distance is thousands of miles.
A dozen telecom service providers could not stop the increasing communication gap
That exists between two souls, two generations or two countries.

It doesn't matter if you are dead...people will learn to live without you,anyway!
(Only the foolish think they are indispensable!)

Childhood heroes

As a child we all had some heroes whom we admired. For me, at least, there was no dearth of such persons. I had a whole lot of them ranging from sportsperson to film personalities and directors to musicians to even fictitious characters! I was fan to so many persons. I grew up admiring their different facets.

For example, I was a big fan of the tennis star Gabriela Sabitini. In almost all cases she lost in the Grand Slam finals or semi-finals and I was highly disappointed. A die-hard fan of Maradona, I was in tears when he was dis-qualified from the World Cup.I admired cricketer Kapil Dev so much that when we went to Chandigarh, I asked my father and made sure I saw his home.
I was a fan of the Oscar-winning Indian film director Satyajit Ray. There are quite a handful of his movies that I watched at least a couple of dozen times! I know the dialogues by heart and yet I will not get tired watching them again and again and again. I admired Charlie Chaplin and The Three Stooges.
As a child, I never thought that Sherlock Holmes was a fictitious character. So, when I visited 221B Baker street during my MBA days in UK, I sort-of met one of my childhood heroes. Its a great feeling.
And then there were some persons whom I saw closely and admired them. One person was Shanti-jethu (Uncle Shanti) , with whom I closely interacted for 2-3 years when I was around 15 years old. He left a deep impression on me. He first introduced me with things like will-power, positive thinking and other spiritual concepts at a very early stage of my life, which , I must acknowledge today, have been one of the strong foundations for what I am today. Thanks to Facebook, I am able to reconnect to him now after quite some years.
Then there was Subrata-kaka (Uncle Subrata). He is solely responsible for introducing me to Western and Indian classical music, again something that has been a good influence on me throughout my life.
And then there is father, one person I was in awe with...perhaps like any other child...

I admired them and many more. Each for different reasons. While for some it may be the skills of a sportsperson, some it were for they introduced me to the vast world outside, while some for their knowledge of the world within.
I am thankful to the Almighty for having come across such wonderful persons in my life during those wonder years.


And then the world opened up for me...I realised that ,after all, all are human beings...they have their own share of virtues and vices.But, nonetheless, childhood heroes are best remembered that way - the larger-than-life figure, people whom you tend to admire to the extent that you almost start worshiping them! And then as you grow, you get to know of the darker side and though you may still admire the person, you may not want to worship them.
A couple of weeks back I saw an interview of Gabriela Sabitini...she seemed very much like a common person. I personally feel sad when I see Maradona getting tangled in unnecessary controversies. I realised my father, like any other person with flesh and blood, has his own share of good things and flaws. For people like Subrata-kaka or Shanti-jethu my interaction with them now is nil or so less that I best remember them as they existed when I was a child.
Sherlock Holmes is an exception.The best thing about him is that he never existed in the real world...he was one personality whom I dreamt of and believed the way I wanted him to be...Sherlock Holmes changed the way I changed over the years. In my eyes he never changed!

Nonetheless, childhood heroes have a special place in our hearts...however old and aged we may become. Yes, it is sad to acknowledge, one day, that they also have their flaws. Like, today, I guess, my two-year old daughter thinks I can perform super-human acts. And, so, for the things that she cant do, she wants me to do. And when I do those simple things, she has all the smiles and ,at times, the awe. I see the sparkle in her eyes that I once had when I looked up to my heroes. And this may continue between me and my daughter for some more years. Until, one day, she will realise that I have a lot of flaws,too. May be she will feel sad that day, just like I confronted reality and had to digest the bitter pill about my childhood heroes. That day, perhaps, I'll also be sad that my daughter has lost one of her childhood heroes...and it happens to be me. I'm sure, I'll also feel happy that day that my daughter has grown up...!





PS: Losing childhood heroes is ,definitely, one of the flip sides of growing up!

They dont make them like that anymore!

"Gobindo-da" was a person about 10 years older than my father. His uncle was a cook in our house. He was brought to our house by his uncle when he was barely six. By then his mother died and his step-mother did not behave properly with him. He had been brought up by my grand-parents.

Over the years he got married; had kids and bought a house near ours. He was Man Friday of my grand parents. He was a devoted family man, but every evening he used to visit our home. Now I understand that it was his way of showing respect and gratitude towards my grand parents. He also had a good relationship with my parents. As a child I was very fond of him. A bulky man, who had a good sense of humour and one who does not know to say "NO". He was part of our family is all respect. We all loved him.

And that was when I was small and was in school. Then I stayed and commuted from my home. Once I started going to college, I was staying in hostel.I used to come home in weekends and so lost regular contacts with persons like Gobindo-da. And then my professional commitments and Bangalore as work location ensured that I communicate with these people even less.

The day I am talking is one rainy evening when I was spending my vacation in home - relaxed and away from the office deadlines and emails. My grandfather had died and grandmother was bed-ridden. The mango tree that once stood beside our main gate had its branches stretched out beyond our boundary wall and leaned on the roadside. That was a temporary shelter for some passers-by or cyclists who were caught off-guard during occasional evening showers.I was having a chat with parents and brother on the balcony of our first floor. It was overcast. A cold breeze was blowing, which indicated that there was rain in areas near-by. In our place, it just started drizzling. It was not that dark then. But, the street lights have just been switched on. There were all indications that it was only a matter of time for darkness to engulf us.
Suddenly, I realised that Gobindo-da was standing outside our house without any umbrella and under the shady mango leaves.It seemed, he was thinking whether he should wait there for the rain to stop and then proceed towards his home or should he return home,lest the rain starts pouring heavily. The fact was, for all practical purpose, he was considered very much part of our family for the last sixty years. I don't know what was going inside his mind, but sadly,that day, in his mid-sixties, he hesitates to even enter the house! My heart sank. I went out to get him inside. He came to the balcony and we started chatting. I don't remember what the topic was, but what I remember is that after about 15-20 mins I felt quite out of place with the conversation. I excused myself. It was not any uncomfortable topic, but just that I was unable to relate to it. After a few minutes, the rain stopped and he slowly and stealthily left for home.
Sometimes I think of the way I behaved with him my whole life vis-a-vis on that one particular rainy day. There were many rainy days earlier when I played carrom with him and heard stories from him with wrapped attention. But that day something went wrong, something didn't click.

I sometimes feel guilty of asking him to come inside our house and then ,perhaps unknowingly, not giving him the due respect. But there is little I could about it now.
My last memory about Gobindo-da remains that day. After that I did not meet him or have any conversation with him. When I went home I sometimes saw him sitting idle on his balcony. He used to inquire about us from my mother. A couple of years later his wife died of a heart attack. And then one day I heard he died.

Surely he is one person who brought is a lot of smile and laughter during my childhood days. He was known for making up interesting stories, but no one complained as we lapped every bit of them. I still have fond memories about him carrying that brown colour leather bag, playing carrom with us, giving us a ride on his cycle and making strange sounds with his nose. He was a happy-go-lucky person in every respect. He had his own share of miseries, but he made sure they are very well camouflaged beneath his fun and banter.
I am yet to find another person like him.
Perhaps, "they dont make them like that anymore"!

The Other Side of the Story

On 10th September 2010, we had to catch the train from Bangalore to Calcutta. It was raining heavily. I booked a taxi. But the taxi driver did not behave well from the time I met him. I got really pissed off. In multiple occasions he proved to be arrogant and stubborn during the 25 km journey. I was sure I would complain against him to the taxi company.
While off-loading the luggage, I asked him, "Why do you seem so irritated today? I am not pleased with your behaviour."
"I am sorry", his voice toned down for the first time as he counted the four 100 rupee notes that I gave him, "My two-year old son is admitted to hospital and I am still at work as I need money for that. I am tensed and worried."

During the entire journey, I was looking at the incidents (that is, the rude behavior of the taxi driver) through my glasses. Now I have got to know the other side of the story. Obviously, the result is not the same. Sometimes I wonder how my reactions and attitudes to persons will change if I always had the luxury of looking at the different events from multiple angles.


My cook does a fairly decent job, a rounded fellow in mid-fifties with a very polite and measured behaviour. When I asked him how he landed in Bangalore as a cook, he narrated me a story that drew sympathy from me. To cut the long story short, he was a taxi driver in Calcutta, until one night he ran over a drunkard, an accident for which he had little fault. However, since then his life changed with his driving license being seized, police behind him and his nightmare of landing behind the bars chasing him. At that time he had two kids. He had a real troubled time seeing them through the tough mental and financial conditions. I felt really sorry for him. I thought that we sometimes crib and complain for so small things, but here is one person who has and perhaps will for the rest of his life live with the nightmare of finding himself on the wrong side of the bar.

Now lets take a different perspective of the incident. What if the widow of the deceased had worked in our home and complained how a taxi driver ran over his "occasional drunkard" husband and how that ruined the dreams of her and her then one-year old daughter? What would my reactions be?


Examples are not difficult to site. The other day the cleaner of my car was limping. On inquiring he said that two motorists collided at full speed and one came and hit him, while he was standing for the bus. In the event, however, both the motorists died. Two days later he came and informed me that the persons who died were identified. In fact, one of them was known to him - he was his room-mate when he first came to Bangalore about eight years ago.


In Chandannagore, my ancestors have been living for a couple of hundreds of years. So, by default, my grandfather and all had a good say in the society and everyone respected them. They passed on their regard when they passed our house etc. And that gave me this strange notion that so many people’s lives revolved around ours. But now I have learnt that each person has a life of his own – a unique story to tell. Now, when in news I find 10 people died, I know that is may be a column in the newspaper, but so many people’s life and dreams have changed its course and the loss is not at all limited to 10 or 20 members, but much beyond than we can possibly imagine. How do they interpret and view the incidents? What is their version? What is their story?

Every person has a story to tell. Every person involved in any event or incident will have their own versions of it. The drunkard who lay unconscious on the roadside, the child labour who works in the near-by tea stall, the one-legged beggar at the traffic signal, the old lady who sweeps the road in front of our house, the shopkeeper and the vegetable seller, the motor-mechanic, the cab driver – everybody has a very different and unique story to share from worlds of their own. To us, he is just a drunkard. Some, perhaps, will even call him an evil influence on the society. But what does he think of himself? Where does he come from? Perhaps, he was also a very normal person not too long ago. Perhaps his girl friend left him or he lost everything in some mishaps. Or maybe he was always like that since childhood as he was an orphan, losing his parents in some unfortunate events. Or maybe, he is not a drunkard – someone has drugged him for some motives.


We will never know the answers until we try exploring people and reach out for “the other side of the story”. And once we start exploring those stories, we could easily find some of the most interesting reads of our life, far more interesting than the most gripping novels that any writer has ever penned.

The walk

The walk is never an easy one,
It was never meant to be easy.
Sometimes you walk under the scorching sun;
And at times there is torrential rain.
Or may be its the spring time,
With colourful flowers all around you!
Sometimes there are companions -
You get a hand to hold,
You get a shoulder to cry upon.
But most of the times the walk is a lonely walk -
When you fall there is none to lift you.

Sometimes you walk through the dense forests,
And at times you walk through the endless deserts,
Where mirages constantly try to distract you.
Sometimes you take rest under the shadows of some leafy trees,
And soon you brush aside the dust and start walking
From dawn to dusk and even beyond.
You stop by the stealthy river and sleepy town.
You halt where the children play.
For once you think that you were also a child in some bygone days,
And you think of those childhood days.
The very next moment, you are brought to today's reality.
You know you have to keep walking...

Until, one day,suddenly, you come to know that there is no more walking.
However big or small you are, time will stand still for you.
You have reached your destination.
All the walking and running that you had been doing over the years,
And all the talking and fighting that you were engaged in so long,
Have,once and for all, come to an end.
Its all over.
The red ball of fire has set.
It is time for the calm and serene moonlight
To pierce through the darkness
That was around you, that is inside you.
It is time for the Almighty Touch to enlighten your soul!

Strangers

Who is a "stranger"? What makes one a "stranger"?
The mere fact that we don't know and haven't met and talked earlier makes one a stranger?
When can we tell that we 'know' a person and hence is no more a stranger to us?
And...how long do you take to 'know' a person?

Sometimes we get into a conversation with the co-passengers in trains or flights, with the shop keeper and the taxi driver. The apparent strangers seem like friends of bygone days. We really have so much to share and talk about!
And sometimes we bump into friends of bygone days and don't know what to talk next. The friends seem like strangers.

What if the co-passenger (the stranger) in the flight I was talking with turns out,at the end of the journey, to be my primary school friend ?

Divorced couple behave like strangers to each other, though they have shared many a memorable moments of their life together.

Yesterday's strangers can be today's neighbours and friends.

So, the words "strangers", "friends" and "neighbours" are very relative terms to me.
In a way, everybody is a stranger as we dont really understand any other person.

At the same time, quite contradictorily, perhaps, none is a stranger. When we talk with any other person, however apparent stranger he or she may be, we realise that there are some common things we both can relate to - there is a bit of me in the stranger and a bit of the stranger in me! Irrespective of caste, creed and colour, there lies some underlying truths and facts in life that prevents us from being a complete stranger to any other person. On the way from Moscow to St. Petersburg, when my friend from Cranfield University, Adrian narrated to me his childhood days spent in a certain town in New Zealand, I could relate that with mine.

Every person - every so-called stranger - has a world of his or her own. The life and world of an Indian taxi driver in Melbourne is so different from the room-boy who works in a certain hotel in Hardwar, India, which is again different from the old man in the wheel chair in the aisles in WalMart...the list of strangers I met and interacted with is endless. When I talked to them and got a glimpse of their life, I was enriched. Each had a fascinating tale to tell.

This is what makes me take a different angel to "strangers". Each has a different perception about the world, each sees the world in his or her own way and each has so engrossing experiences to share. If only we could have biographies of everyone in this universe!

I am a stranger to so many people, and that includes the readers of this blog. But, that they read (and sometimes even appreciate my blogs) is a proof of the fact that we somehow connect to each other.We are not as much strangers as we think we are.


Our immediate friends, relatives and neighbours have the world that are more or less similiar to ours. It is the strangers from whom we can get the flavour of familiar and yet unknown worlds, universal and yet very much personal world.

Leave alone everybody else, do we understand ourselves fully? Do we know what we want and what we dont?
Are we not strangers to ourselves at times?

The final goodbye

In our life there comes innumerable such moments when we have to say the final adieu - "sionara", not necessary to any person (close or we met casually) but also place and sometimes even phases of life. And its difficult to say that one - "GOODBYE".

The first time I felt, in a small way, that saying goodbye can be really painful is when my favourite teacher in Standard 1, Sister Marcellina, left St. Joseph's Convent, my school. Then leaving the school in Standard 4 was also heart breaking for me. I realised that I have just concluded one phase of my life. After that I left my secondary and higher secondary schools and then was ultimately relieved to "run away from the clutches of the professors of my engineering college". With every goodbye, to these institutions, there was the eagerness to look forward to the life ahead. After my higher secondary, I was excited to explore college life. After college life, it was the excitement of the professional life - the feeling of being financially independent and less accountable to parents. But the underlying emotion and sadness of leaving the institutions can never be ignored.

When I joined my first company, TATA Consultancy Services or commonly known as TCS, an IT firm in India, we were taken for training in GOD's own country - Trivandrum, Kerala. After three months training and enjoying the newly-found friends and freedom in the picturesque region, we were dispersed to different offices of the organisation in different cities. It was sad to bid adieu to the entire atmosphere. But, at the same time, it was difficult to suppress the sheer joy of joining the TCS office in Bangaore, the Silicon Valley of India.

Thanks to TCS, I have been able to visit quite a few places abroad. The first time I went abroad was in 2002 in Santa Clara, California for a very short stint and then soon to Salt Lake City, Utah, USA and then in South Korea and USA again. Every time my tenure in those places ended and I took the return flight, I was excited to meet my near and dear ones back home with the gifts that I so meticulously shopped for them. At the same time saying the final adieu to the place was difficult. There were friends I made, which were not necessarily the colleagues.
In Santa Clara,for example, I met a Mexican driver, with whom I started interacting and getting some wonderful insights into his life. And so was the receptionist of my hotel who made some hilarious facial expressions and mimicries.
In South Korea , the old maid who cleaned my hotel room was an immigrant from Indonesia. She didnt know English and I didnt know any other language that I could communicate with her. And still we spoke! In sign languages and tit-bit English words. I remember her face when I said to her that I am leaving...it said all.
Long after I again went to Washington DC. I took the tube and then walked for 10 minutes to reach my office. On the way, every morning, I passed by a violin player, playing some melancholy tune. Sometimes when I had a few cents jingling in my pocket, I placed on the mat laid in front of him. The last time I walked past him, I felt sad. I would, in all probability, never see him again.

And then there are friends. In different walks of life, you meet them; your lines cross and you spend some wonderful moments with them. Something happens - you change workplace, you change city and soon you realise that its time to say GOODBYE. (Thanks to Facebook, you can always stay connected, though!)

Quite often, its difficult to say adieu to inanimate objects, as well. I remember, when one of our old ancestral buildings was being demolished, how sad my grand-parents were as they spent their childhood there. Sometimes, we fall in love with some our of wardrobe collection or even our vehicles. The other day my carpenter said how he adores his 15-year-old motorcycle and is not willing to replace it, though he is fully aware of its aging symptoms.
I remember the last time I left Fedden Flats, my flat during my study in Cranfield University. From the car park, with moist eyes, I looked back at the large window in the first floor, the forth from the right - it was the window that brought all the fresh air and sunshine for the last one year for me.

And then there are the final final adieu to the near and dear ones, perhaps the most painful of all the adieus. My grandfather was bed-ridden for 2-3 years. During that time, everytime I came back from home to bangalore, I didnt know whether I will meet him again, until one day, while in Bangalore, I heard he is no more. It was a similiar experience with my grandmother after a few years. My maternal grand-father was so hale and hearty, that I could not still believe that that was the last time I saw him. Then were were not-so-close relatives and neighbours, but nonetheless, its not always easy to say the final goodbye. One day my mother called me to say that the rickshaw puller, who took us to school for 7 years died. I had lost contact with him. But, the news brought with it some sweet memories and a heavy atmosphere.

I have learnt that this is how life goes on. Expect the unexpected. There will be final adieus, and there will also be new beginnings. A phase will end, another phase in life will take on. A mortal relation may end, but the relationship can stay with us forever. All said and done, the heart still aches to say that final adieu.

Life and its moments

Last week, I went to my home town in Chandannagore on the occassion of my brother's marriage. As mentioned in my earlier blogs, this small sleepy town near Calcutta is where I spent the initial days of my life and had been there until I relocated to Bangalore for professional reasons.

On my way home from airport, the driver took a short-cut road through some village-like areas. The roads were narrow, mostly peppered with pot holes. There were bushes and hedges on both sides of the road. There were ponds that nurtured green water, thanks to the water-hyacinth and other phyto-planktons. There were some brick house with stains on the wall. Some huts were of mud. People either walked or were on cycle. When the car passed, they were almost pushed to the edge or out of the road. There were some ladies carrying vegetables in baskets on their head. Some workers who toiled under the scorching sun took some break in between to quench their thirst. The driver honked its way through the village. I watched some children play cricket, with bat made out of wooden planks and the wicket with bricks stacked one on top of the other.There was fresh oxygen in the air.Both sides of the road had abundance of green, be it in the form of the mangrove, the bamboo shoots or some unknown wild plants.

Few years back, I might have cycled though these roads and hardly noticed these activities. Then, I didnt find any reason to stop by the pond just to take glimpse of children swimming and playing in the "green" ponds. It was my daily sight. And I took all of these for granted. But today, I do. Today, things have changed; time has changed. In Bangalore I do not get to see these. I started appreciating the beauty of the raw nature here, the beauty of the green trees and the hedge-surrounded ponds, the unsophisticated life of the people here...

All these taught me a lesson. It is about expectations and taking things for granted or not. I realised that we lose most of the fun in life by taking good things for granted (thinking they are how things should be) and cribbing for the bad ones. As long as I stayed here and took my home-town and all that it had for granted, I failed to appreciate the good things that were lying here for decades. When we start taking things for granted, we fail to realise that every moment of our life is a gift of GOD and consequently stop enjoying life.

When I left India to study in UK, I realised some of the great things that India can offer. Before that I took all the good things of my country for granted and blamed her for all the bad ones.
We take independence and freedom for granted. Ask the Egyptians and the Libyans and people of such countries. Then we will realise how privileged we are.
We take relationships for granted, most of all perhaps our parents. Once they have reared us, we leave them onto themselves and get busy with our lives. Ask those orphans who are deprived of them and their unconditional love.
We ,sometimes, take our partners for granted. Ask the widow and the widower how they miss their good old days, when they were together.
The water that gushes into the commode every time I press the flush button in my toilet may be the water that some families in some parts of the world use for 4-5 days.

Commuting by flight, logging onto my laptop and then hooking onto the wi-fi in my own home in Bangalore and then writing another blog may be something that I would hardly have paid attention to, something for which I would have hardly thought of thanking GOD. But that twenty minutes of short-cut that my driver took made a world of difference to my world.

The voice of a confused engineer!

1997. I don't remember the dates. But it was the season of results. My engineering results were out.That time engineering colleges were few and far between, espcially the good ones. I shocked myself and perhaps everyone who knew me by performing way beyond my expectation. I thought, "This is it! I will be an engineer." I never knew I was destined to be an engineer and that too from one of the best engineering colleges in India. Now I can relate to the feeling of Leonardo de Caprio (cast as Jack Dawson) in the Titanic movie, when he suddenly gets the ticket to take the maiden Titanic trip. Same was with me. The Engineering colleges were due to start their session from August and somebody gave me a ticket, that would supposedly change my life.
In fact, it did. Then and now.

Within weeks into the course, I realised that I was a square peg in a round hole. Among some heavy-weights as far as ranking in board exams and general academic record is concerned, I was at sea - trying hard to keep afloat when others were swimming comfortably.
And then I met these wonderful professors. Some were bald headed. Some wore thick glasses and tried to give an impression that they were very knowledgable. One professor spoke so softly that it seemed he is in his courtship days and whispering to his wife. Some shouted so much that it seemed they were football coaches training players on field. These and many more such talented teachers made sure that the sea I landed on is turbulent. This might help them can identify the great swimmers. If one or two gulp a few gallons of saline water or even drown, it doesn't matter to them. So, what, if, as student, they were not great, either. When you are at the other side of the table, you view the world completely differently.

The pain grew with passing day. I can't jump off, can't run away. The ship left the shore...if I jump off, I'll land nowhere. Till now, never in my life have I felt so out-of-place - even in the lucky trip in business class or in the Cranfield environment.
Things grew from bad to worse with the progress of the course (semesters). Is it co-incidence that the pregnancy is counted in a similar format (trimesters)? With each passing trimester, the pain increases, but the hope that the end of the tunnel is near and the result is sweet, keeps the would-be mom smiling. Same was with me. The only motivation that kept me alive was the degree at the end of the course.
My specialisation was in Electrical Engineering. Though electric circuits did not give me shocks, the course made a habit of giving me shocks in the form of the assignments and obviously the marksheets.
Sometimes all things happening around us seem to be a big prank and a royal joke, however painful and torturing they may be. These moments have occurred to me innumerable times while in college. The otherwise large college campus, with tall green trees and the heritage building with an even heritage electrical machines lab (more of a electrical machines museum than a machines lab!) seemed like prison to me. I was just looking forward to the last day in college. The semesters and mid-semesters began to haunt me every 3 months or rather, each quarter, in today's terms. Sales people have a target to achieve each quarter. In college days, it seemed, I was targeted each quarter!

Weeks passed, so did months and semesters. There were fun and banter. But then there were also exams and mark sheets. Now when I look at those marksheets, I feel pity that so much toil and tears resulted in 1 sheet of paper. Such a shit!

After 10 years of passing my engineering college, the names of subjects in the marksheets ring no bell in me, leave alone excite me. My engineering learning skills come handy only when I draw a road map or ask my carpenter to make some furniture for our home and may be while making some connection between TV-DVD, TV-Home theatre etc.The world and people may think I am an engineer. I may think otherwise. There is a point upto which one can pretend to be someone, who he/she is not. I have stopped pretending. But the confusion remains - "am I or am I not an engineer?" Shall I believe the marksheets and what people say or shall I believe my inner conscious?

The voice of a confused engineer refuses to die!

The serpentine lane!

The view from my bedroom is very soothing during the day. There is this serpentine lane which sort-of bumps into my house before taking a sharp 90-degree right turn.

From morning the road becomes busy - people go to office, horns of school buses to pick up children, the garbage-van blowing his horn, some pet-lovers taking their dogs out for a morning walk, the maids, the milkman with the jingling sound of the aluminium cans, the newspaper man distributing newspapers - throwing newspapers upto the second and third floor from the road with spot-on accuracy...the road is so full of activity!

At night, my beautiful lane becomes so grim and sombre. From evening itself the lane begins to show changes in its activity and complexion. Right in front of my bedroom window a halogen light glows brightly. A few metres away, another one. And then another. The lanes is bathed in golden light from evening to the wee hours of the night. When its midnight, there is hardly any passer-by. Couple of stray dogs bark either for no reason or by the occassional sight of some passer-by. Sometimes the typical sound of auto-rickshaws or some two or four wheelers from some far-away distances can be heard. The world is asleep. I look behind. My daughter is in deep sleep after playing and running around the whole day. She is one and a half years old. My wife is also asleep, tired from her hectic office schedule.

But there is something inexplicable that is keeping me awake. It may be the yearning to talk to myself and be alone with myself. It may be the constant flow of bitter-sweet memories of the past that keeps flowing in, especially when I see this silent lane. It may be the thoughts of a loner, thoughts of a confused soul, thoughts that are too close to my heart, which I cant share with anyone on this planet, because no one will understand them. It may be my tears that come out when everybody around is asleep. It may be renewing my friendship with the stars and the moon, that we all hardly pay attention to in the era of sky-scrappers and neon lights.It may be my endevour to dive deep into myself and try to discover more of myself.

The clock ticks past midnight. I say to myself that I have to go to bed now. Tomorrow I have to go to office. Another day awaits for me. That will be followed by another night. Same like that of tonight. Let me keep some thoughts for tomorrow night as well. My eye lids become heavy. Though I would much rather sit by the window and stare almost aimlessly outside, I ultimately had to call it a day.

I shut down my laptop.

I dream of a day ...

I dream of a day ...
When there is no fighting, revolts or uprisings,
When bombs and guns are things of the past,
When people don't suspect or kill fellow-human beings,
People don't live in fear; people don't die in shame!


I dream of a day...
When human bodies are not scanned by metal-detectors,
When we don't have to fear about terrorist attacks,
When our identities are not in our religions or skin-colours,
And our thoughts and views are not guided and biased by fanatics!


I dream of a day...
When there is no curfew around or police barricades,
No fire in protest, no fire in the minds of the people,
No tear sheds
No stone pelting, burning effigies - burning humanity!


I dream of a day...
When the first rays of the sun bring messages from the Almighty,
The rain washes away our inner evil and filth,
The moonlight fills us with calmness and serenity
And the entire world sleeps in peace.