The Homes We Live In

In one corner of this huge universe we have erected a structure, some with mud, some with bamboo sticks and some with concrete. We have put tiny windows so that the light and air can pass through. And there is a door through which we can enter in. Enter in a place, which we lovingly called our home. Some live in small huts, some in luxurious apartments, some in normal houses, some in spacious villas and a few in huge palaces. For the residents, there is a name to those structures - home. A place of shelter. A place to relax. A place to return after day's work. A place in this huge world which they call their own. People may spend their childhood in one home and youth in another and old age in another, which may as well be called an old age home. To others it’s a structure, just an erection. But to the owner it is no less than a living being, like a fond pet. There develops an attachment with that home. That invisible tie, that unspoken bond. We decorate our homes, during festivals, during Diwali, during Christmas. We paint them. We repair them. We treat them as one of our own.

Old people talk of home they lived in, full of trees and people around. They may not exist physically now; they exist only in their memories. Then there are the so-called people whom the world has labelled as refugees. They have been forced to abandon their homes in search of some unknown and ruthless dark world somewhere else. They have been from Bangladesh or Pakistan 70 years back or they have may been from Syria and Iraq today. We, who are comfortably placed in our homes, will never understand their pain. The pain to abandon the homes; the pain to be uprooted; the pain to learn that they don’t own any piece of land in this entire universe.

And then there are the homeless. Someone who never found a place, that we commonly visulise as home. They sleep on the footpaths and have families and grow under the flyovers and station platforms. But I am sure even that piece of unaccounted place is what they call their homes. For, I have seen them sweeping the ground under the flyovers where they have “occupied” along with their family. Their homes seem less protected than ours. And yet in protected homes, some people can’t sleep at night for fear or anxiety. Jobs, relationships, money – there can be so many things to make people feel unprotected and vulnerable in their protected homes.  At dead of night I have seen lights are on in some rooms or a lone person walking aimlessly on the road or someone staring at the sky from the balcony and giving long puffs to those half-burnt cigarettes. I have heard of people unable to sleep the whole night in joy or sorrow. I have heard of broken homes. Homes build by romantic couple wearing a deserted look after some years when both have decided to pursue their own ways. The home doesn’t have a place to go, to return to. A home does not have anything it can call home. So, clueless and helpless, its stands numb and ruined. The homes have seen them all. The romance, the fights, the kids, the growing of the kids, the leaving of the kids from homes. The homes have seen the male members leaving home to some far-off places in search of bread and butter for the family. The homes have seen men and women returning home after a difficult day. The homes have seen couples moving in, having families, growing old and dying. The homes have seen the houses changing hands, houses getting built, houses getting demolished. 

The homes have remained mute spectators.

There are people who have hardly stepped out of their homes their whole life. They haven't seen the world outside. Their world is all that is inside the four walls of their house. And then we have those people who have homes and yet they don’t enjoy the comforts of the home. They venture out in the world in search for something new, undiscovered and unexplored. They may take the ship and sail through the vast oceans or scale up all the way to the Everest. They may want to cross the Sahara or venture out to the moon! 

Even animals and birds have homes. Whether they stay in the jungles of Africa or Amazon, they have a place they call their own. The lions, the tigers, the snakes and the peacocks – they all have a place they return to at night, the place we call home, the place they call home. And then there are the migratory birds and animals, who have homes and yet abandon them every year, be it the Siberian birds that fly all the way to the Indian sub-continent in winter or the great migration of animals at the Maasai Mara and Serengeti National Park in July-September time.

One day I asked God, “Where is your abode – in mosques, temples, churches, gurudwaras…?”

“My abode?", He laughed. "What you call home is just a mental boundary. You talk with your fellow people and draw a boundary around a piece of earth – be it 10 by 10, 40 by 60 or 400 by 600 and call it your home. I have never created any boundary when I created the universe. You have created the boundaries. The boundaries are actually in your minds. If you let go the boundaries, the entire world can be called home. The limitless sky, the floating clouds, the fertile earth, the majestic mountain range, the deep blue ocean – you can find your home everywhere, just like me. But let me tell you one thing, my son, the actual home is within you, where your eternal soul dwells. That is where you find peace. That is where I also live in - within each of you, within every living being. That is where my home is!” 

Home is where the heart is

Gomukh: A Journey through Childhood Memories, Hindu Mythologies and the Mighty Himalayas!

The Childhood Connection 

 My relationship with the river Ganga goes back to a time much before I learnt "A for Apple" and "B for Ball". I was born in a small town called Naihati, where my maternal grandparents used to stay; I was brought up in another town called Chandannagore, where my parents, grandparents and all used to stay. And both these towns have one thing in common - the river Ganga flows by them. My secondary schooling was completed in two schools - St. Joseph's Convent (till Class four) and Sri Aurobindo Vidyamandir (from Class Five to Class Ten). Both the schools were located on the famous Strand Road of Chandannagore, which ran alongside the river Ganga. A common place for relaxation for the people of Chandannagore was a stroll on the Strand Road, be it early morning or late evening. There were rows of huge peepal and banyan

Ganga from Chandannagore on one winter morning

trees that bordered the river banks. When I think of my childhood I cannot think of it without the river Ganga. If I were to draw a picture of my childhood, there would be people, there would be our house, there would be friends and there would also be the sketch of Ganga flowing right across the canvas! When we used to go to Naihati, we had to cross the Ganga in ferries.And then my maternal grandfather, Dadu, took me to the river banks, which was 100 metres from his house. I used to watch the ferries crossing the river. The long chimneys of jute mills, skirting the banks of the river, used to hoot at scheduled times and puffed black thin smoke up in the air.  I always heard from my grandparents about the purity of the river and the mythological tales associated with her. Somewhere deep down within me,through my veins and nerves, the river stealthily made her way, without my consent or conscious.

My trip to Haridwar and then to Auli, in early 2012 truly started the journey within me. While writing the blog on that trip, I did mention about it, but didn't realise then how deep and profound the journey was. It was during that trip, taken almost four years from now, that the seeds of exploring the origin of the Ganga was sowed somewhere deep down within me. Especially standing at the Devaprayag, where the roaring

A photo of Devaprayag from the Auli album

Bhagirathi meets the placid Alakananda to be henceforth called the mighty river Ganga, I was blown off my feet. If Bhagirathi was like the thumping monsoon thunder. the Alakanda was like the floating autumn clouds; if Bhagirathi was like the fiery tiger, the Alakanada was like the plumed peacock!
I immediately knew I have to explore the place where this roaring Bhagirathi originates from.
That origin is precisely called Gomukh, origin of the river Bhagirathi or more famously, origin of the river Ganga. Gomukh was where I packed my bags for in October 2015.

Butterflies in my stomach

Its one thing to get excited about going to a place and another to do a reality check and make arrangements for the trip. Making arrangement was not that difficult as I already have been quite an expert by now. But the reality check was important. After 2 km walk on the streets of Bangalore, I seem to run out of breath and here we are talking of trekking at least 8 km on a day. Hilly and rocky terrains. Easily about 15 km on a plain land like Bangalore.
Initially I had planned to go all alone. Debreena and my daughter went to Kolkata at my in-laws house to enjoy Durga Puja . My mother joined me somewhere in November (my tickets were booked more than a year back). And then a couple of months later one of my uncles and aunt decided to join as well. Now the team had a good number. Plan was that my mother and aunty would stay at the last point where the car reaches, namely Gangotri. Uncle (Basu pishomosai) and I would take the next leap to Gomukh. As the D-day approached there was excitement within, but there was also that sense of skepticism that I may have been able to shield from the outside world, but constantly bothered me.  I thought I would do bit of work-out and get myself ready a few months before the journey. A few weeks before the journey, I cleaned the

This is how the trekking path looks like.
It gets worse at places

treadmill at our second floor room that had been gathering dust for months, in not years. I started running in the evenings.
Day 1: 1.5 km.
Day 2: 1.5 km
Day 3: 2 km
Day 4: 2 km
Day 5: Its too boring to run mindlessly at one place!
The plan was shelved permanently.
A few weeks passed. And only 10 days remaining. Suddenly I re-motivated myself. This time I chose  the most peaceful time of the day - early morning. Initially I had a hard time getting up at 6 AM. When I ultimately did, put on the trekking shoes (I bought from Decathalon only for the trekking purpose) I managed to walk for 2 km the first day. 4 km the next day. Not bad! And then a cramp. I decided to rest my legs and not strain it unless we do the actual trekking.
I was packing the bags, confirming with my travel agent, giving tips to uncle, told people I'll be trying a shot at Gomukh, but always feared: what if I dont make it?

The journey begins:

My mother had always wanted to travel in Rajdhani Express, the premium train in India. So we took the Rajdhani from Bangalore. While flight would have taken 3 hours to Delhi, the Rajdhani took a whooping 34 hours! Actually it was not that bad. It helped us build the momentum. Pampering by the catering staffs, chit-chats with the co-passengers marked the initial phase of our journey. People getting down and a complete new set of people occupying the seats. And what followed is a complete different set of conversation. The family with the infant who boarded from Bangalore to Nagpur were busy managing their child. They talked with the co-passengers of how difficult it is to manage their work and family simultaneously. At Nagpur they got off the train and some businessmen took those seats. They had some transport business and were on phone till late mid night, instructing different people - sometimes shouting, sometimes in hush-hush voice. And all these when the train rattled through the stations, over the bridges and across the fields. From Delhi's Nizamuddin station we took a car to Haridwar. We would have the same car for the rest of the trip, all the way to Gangotri and back. The driver was a jolly good  fellow by the name "Narendra". ("Narendra is a famous name these days", I had remarked to which he had a grin on his face). He was a round bespectacled man with a thin voice. I would not blame you if you mistake him for a sweet-shop owner instead of a driver. The breakfast at the road-side inn was the perfect stop. In 5 hours flat we reached Haridwar. Hotel was

Ahh! Haridwar!

booked. We checked in. My uncle and aunty had arrived the previous day. We met them at the famous Har-ki-pauri ghat of Haridwar. It was evening. The famous Ganga aarti was about to begin. After the lazy train journey, the car trip got some momentum in us. We had great chole-batura at a local joint in Haridwar and waited on the steps of the ghat for the aarti to begin. It was getting dark.

18^th October, 2016: 

The Aarti at Haridwar

This is my forth visit to Haridwar and about a dozen times I have stood in front of the river, watching the evening aarti or the prayer offered to the river Ganga. or Ma Ganga. And each time I am mesmerised, speechless. Mainly for two reasons, the devotion with which the prayers are conducted and the devotion that the people who watch them have. They all really think that the river is a living Goddess and Her blessing is quintessential to their very existence. People of all caste and creed, shapes and sizes have gathered to watch the aarti. There were infants to the nonagenarian who had taken a dip in the holy river and now all set for the

ceremony. The atmosphere is laden with humility. First the ghats were washed clean with the water from the Ganga. Then carpets and mats were placed on the wooden platform. Huge lamps were brought. Young boys and girls were selling puja materials - incense sticks, flowers etc to be offered to the river Goddess. While sitting and watching the aarti I wondered whether such practice is followed on any other rivers in any other part of the world? Do people in any other civilisation go in hundreds each year to worship the origin of a certain river?

The sound of conch shells, the lighting of the lamps, the floating of the flowers on the river, the chanting of the prayers and the ringing of the bells drowned my thoughts. The atmosphere just engulfed all my senses. When the ceremony was over, the crowd returned to

Devotees

the hotels and houses. The place became a lot quieter. My uncle, aunty and mother were gossiping at a distance. I sat on one of the steps of the ghat and thinking about our journey ahead: to trek upto that place where the water seemed to be coming from. And this water runs for about 2500 km until it opens up in the Bay of Bengal. And in this 2500 km, among hundreds of small towns, cities and villages lay Naihati and Chandannagore. And the water that is brushing my bare feet will, in a few weeks time, kiss the banks of those two cities. If this water could have carried my messages I would have told it to tell the two cities how indebted I am to them for what they have given me and for those wonderful time I have spent there.

When it was getting late, we dusted ourselves up and had food from the local market. The next day was a tough day. We need to start at 4 AM to cover the distance of about 300 km uphill in one day, where the average speed of the car is 25 kmph. You add the nature, breakfast, lunch and tea breaks and do the math yourselves to know the approximate time we might reach Gangotri. Altitude wise its a climb to 11,500 feet above sea level from a mere 1000 feet above sea level within a matter of around 12 hours. Anything above 10,500 feet above sea level and doctors say AMS (Acute Mountaineering Syndrome) can kick in any time in the form of dizziness, vomiting, nausea, headache etc. With 3 elderly person in the group, I can hardly take a chance. We all have been popping in Diamox since morning.
We hope and pray Ma Ganga will take care of us as we start the car the following day.

19^th October, 2016

Up, up and above!

My mobile alarm screeched through the dead silence of the night. It was 3:15 AM. By 4 AM we were all ready. By 5:00 AM our car was on the outskirts of Haridwar. It was dark outside. And cold. We all knew it was going to be a really long day. I had experiences of such long days in the Himalayas earlier. But not the rest of the team. Our driver, Narendra-ji was a nice person. We had one addition to the car. Our guide-cum-cook for the trekking, Durga-ji. The spacious Innova made the ride a comfortable one. Before sunrise we crossed Rishikesh and then we were taking small steps at a time. Spiraling mountain roads, waterfall from the distant mountain wall, a narrow river, deep gorge and ravine - I have seen them all earlier and yet never seems to get enough of them.  Chamoli, Uttarkashi, Harsil and we were only around 30 km from Gangotri. It was evening.We pulled the window glasses of our car up: the wind was getting colder. We had already

The road gets tougher as we approach Gangotri

covered ourselves with sweaters when we crossed Uttarkashi. Harsil had those beautiful small apples, approximately half the size of tennis balls. They were as sweet as honey. We armed ourselves with a few kilos of them. When we ultimately reached Gangotri, it was dark. Electricity is scarce here. With some torches and faint lights we walked upto the GMVN Tourist lodge. On the way I saw a half-naked sadhu (while we were shivering in cold, despite the thick jackets!) covered in ash and performing some prayers over a stack of dried leaves and branches. As we crossed an iron bridge. we could hear the howling of water from all around, but the darkness meant we saw nothing that night. The hotel had lights, powered by diesel-run generators, but was warned that by 11 PM that would go too. Our bodies ached, legs pained as we had dinner and threw ourselves on the bed.

Late at night my asleep was disturbed. I opened my eyes. And my eyes saw nothing! I could not see even a flicker of light anywhere around. Not even my nose!  I have never seen such darkness in my life. It was cold. Suddenly I felt the room suffocating. Was it an early sign of AMS? Or was it just the thin air with less oxygen? It was scary. I groped for the torch, mobile, whatever that could provide me some light. But it was not easy to get one.After a few minutes, I found my mobile. It was 2:30 AM. I had a few gulps of water. Or may be its just my mind playing tricks on me? I took a deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Next time when I opened my eyes it was morning!

The journey within the journey:

The Gomukh trekking plan is something like this:

Day 1: Gangotri (Alt 11,200 feet) to Bhojwasa (Alt 12,440 feet): a distance of 14 km by mule/horse
Day 2: Trekking from Bhojwasa to Gomukh (Alt 13,960 feet) and return: a total of 8 km
Day 3: Bhojwasa to Gangotri by mule/horse

20^th October, 2016

The steady start

Our guide Durga-ji came sharp at 8 o'clock. He looked all charged up. He got a porter with him who would carry our belongings. The kitchen items and tents etc would be carried by a horse. The porter, Mann-ji, I came to know later, was 62 years of age. I felt guilty that an aged person like him would carry all our belongings. But Durga-ji and Mann-ji both assured it has nothing to do with the age and that Mann-ji was

The photo says it all

fitter than most of the porters in the route. As I crossed the bridge once more, I saw the roaring water under the bridge rushing through a deep gorge. In one frame, nature captured both Her aspects - the beauty and the beast. As we started our trekking, there was the initial hiccup of getting used to the horse and the ride. Once we got a rhythm, we were comfortable. We just needed to lean backward or forward depending on whether the horse is stepping up or stepping down. 

"Balance is important", said the horsekeeper. "If you can balance yourself properly, there is no problem". But the path was too rough and narrow at times with a deep ravine on one side. I was at the mercy of the horse. I kept peeping down to see if there was anything I can cling on to if the horse slipped and I fell along with her. Instead of the horse ride, walking was the other option. Most people walk the 14 km stretch from Gangotri to Bhojwasa. I thought taking the horse was better (and obviously, the easier) option. The flipside was the dependency on the horse. Walking the stretch had its own share of challenges. At that altitude with thin air, you tend to get tired easily. So, the 14 km on rocky paths may very well be 28 km on a plain land. Your legs can hurt you badly and if, unfortunately, you are struck with AMS, its the end of the road.

The greenery of Gangotri was gone. And more importantly, the mobile network was gone. This meant we had , at our disposal, an uninterrupted 3 days of peace. Who actually cares what happens to the outside world, then the world that was unveiling in front of me was one of the gorgeous I had ever seen? I could feel the kind of cold desert look all around. Only rocks and bit of thorny shrubs. The ride was sometimes comfortable, sometimes scary. Sometimes we were asked to walk on foot as the road was either very

The greenery gives way to the boulders, rocks and pebbles

narrow or slippery due to some waterfall or small brooks cutting across the path. After around 2-3 hours, we saw a green patch with pine trees. "Thats Chirobasa", said our guide. Many people stop at Chirobasa, a place for night halt for those who dont want to risk too much on the first day of the trek. Chirobasa is 9 km from Gangotri, which means we had another 5 km left. We had lunch there. Durga-ji had already packed aloo paratha and pickle. When we were having the lunch, it became cloudy. And , what more, it began to snow!
"If it snows, Gomukh would be tough", said Durga-ji.
It also meant an even more chilly night at Bhojwasa. Suddenly we realised that our porter, Mann-ji, was nowhere to be seen. He must have been behind. We were on horse-back with no luggage. And poor Mann-ji was carrying such a heavy load on his back.

We slowly made our way to Bhojwasa. It was getting dark, thanks to the clouds above. When we reached there we were pleasantly surprised to find Mann-ji. "I reached here about 30 minutes back and have been waiting for you all!" This man is super-human! I have seen people going to gyms, building muscles, running for hours on treadmill, having an air about themselves. And here I find a 62-year man who thinks it is perfectly normal to carry 20 kg weight on the shoulders and reaching a place 30 minutes before the horse does! Really, sometimes in life we live with so much hollow egos and pride. Travel teaches me to be humble and modest.
Durga-ji and Mann-ji erected the tents. It was 6 PM. The clouds have gathered on the surrounding mountain peaks. At 12,500 feet above sea level, the clouds were only a few storeys up. It was misty all over, guess it was the clouds that filled the small Bhojwasa valley. I became skeptical about the snow and the clouds. They

As evening sets in at Bhojwasa

should not play spoil sport. There were ashrams of two famous sadhus or babas - lal Baba and Bengali Baba. My uncle went to meet the Bengali Baba.
"The door is locked. Dont know whether he is there or not. Though I saw some slippers around", he said. I had no intention of meeting any baba there. I was trying to get some good photos in the golden evening light.At one time, I noticed the moon emerging from behind the mountains and with no cloud around!
"Get inside the tent as it will get dark soon. Dinner will be served by 7.". Durga-ji was in control of the situation.
This is the first time I was living in a tent. Both my uncle and I got inside the tent. We organised the things. I heard about the batteries of the cameras getting drained out in no time in the freezing temperature. It would dip to -12C at night. Soup was served, followed by dinner. Outside it was completely dark. I was worried about the AMS. I kept the oxygen canister beside me, just in case. I put the batteries of my camera inside a socks and then into the sleeping bag with me. There was also a powerbank that I bought to charge my camera lithium batteries. My uncle and I were tired after the long horse-ride. We fell asleep in no time.

The star-studded night

Suddenly, I woke up at night. I had read that one of the things we should do to avoid AMS is to drink a lot of water. Thats what I have been doing for the last few days. But what I did not do in the last few hours is to ensure that the water leaves my body. So, at around 1 o'clock, there is a tremendous urge to answer nature's call. Coming out of the sleeping bag, where I have been warmly cocooned,  is itself a nightmare. To add to that I have to come out of the tent. The very thought struck like a punishment to me. I turned left; I turned right. And realised that the call of nature only grew louder.
So, with no other option left, I stepped out of my comfort zone, in true sense. Stepping out of the comfort zone has never been easy for anyone. I am no exception. Leaving Chandannagore for the hostel life during engineering studies, opting for Bangalore as the location of my first job and not Calcutta and then quitting job to study MBA in UK - all these involved leaving my known persons and place and jumping into the dark. In Bhojwasa, though for only a few minutes, I did step out and the reward I got is perhaps one of the most memorable moments of my life. As I looked up, I saw a starry sky. As if somebody has carefully pinned a thousand fireflies on a huge canvas. I stood still, looking up. It was a spotless clear night lit by a thousand stars. Our polluted city sky has only a dozen stars to showcase. And here, if I had a student of astronomy with me, he would have easily shown me the milky way and other constellation. Though that would have increased my knowledge, it would have perhaps spoiled the romantic moment. Had it not been the cold, I would have stood there for hours. It was truly amazing. I never imagined that the sky held such a beauty in her bosom at night. I was so desperate to catch the same glimpse the next night that, the next night too I drank lots of water before sleeping. As expected my sleep was disturbed at the dead of night. But this time I did not hesitate to step out. The outside unknown world that seemed dark and cold, very much in contrast to the warm and torch-lit tent, had its own share of treasure for only those who ventured out to explore it. I would have missed it had I preferred the safety and security of the tents instead.

21^st October, 2016

A Perfect Day

I dont know what a perfect day should be like. But if there is any, then this day should be one. It started with a rather unusual note.

First rays of the sun at Bhojwasa

I woke up around 6. I walked upto the riverbank with my camera. The valley had not woken still.The rays of the sun had just started to paint the snow-capped peaks golden. The birds we flying around in flocks. The rays of the sun slowly flooded the entire region. There was none around. I sat on one of the huge boulders and looked aimlessly at the snow-capped peaks and the flowing river, the first rays of the sun and the flocks of birds flying above.

Watching the birds and their freedom!

I dont know for how long. Suddenly a voice from behind me,
"How do you feel,my son?" I immediately turned back to find a sadhu in saffron attire.
"Nice place. Its beautiful!", I uttered those words spontaneously.
"Yes, its really beautiful", he said looking at the far-off mountain peak.
After sometime I felt he might be one the babas of the area. "Are you Bengali Baba?", I asked.
"Yes, I am" Then he paused to add, "I have something to say to you. Its important for your life". I was not prepared for the last part.
"Come to me when you have some time"
"Now?"
"Not now. I have to go to Gomukh now to take a dip. May be tomorrow."
In that cold water to take a dip?
He seemed to read my mind, as he quickly added. "I do that everyday. And have been doing so for years now".
Mann-ji came looking for me in the meantime as the breakfast was ready. I asked permission to leave.

The trek to Gomukh was the final test for us. All my plannings and arrangements for so many months have been especially for this day. The first few steps were steep. I ran out of breathe in the first few metres. And we had 4 km one way! Then I slowly regained myself. Paced myself nicely and continued the walk. I remembered what the baba advised in the morning. "Don't rush through. Dont think you have so much to cover. Take one step at a time. Look for your next step and the next ten steps. Plan for them only. Once you have covered that distance, then plan for the next. You have the whole day at your disposal. Don't rush through.

Getting used to trekking on the rough roads

Its not a race!" How true the words were. For this journey as well as the journey of our life. If a twenty year old ever thought how he would spend another fifty years of his life through different phases, he must have gone mad.Instead, he performs one duty after another, passes one phase after another and consequently lives through those fifty years.
It was better. I was now able to walk steadily without running out of breath. I was negotiating the rocks and waterfalls, the boulders and the bridges much better. I could also walk fast without getting tired. I felt confident. My uncle,in his first trek at sixty, was faring no less in his performance. I was enjoying the Nature around.

On the way we crossed the famous Sivling. It was a glowing in beauty.
We also met some other trekkers.
"I am returning from Tapovan. Had plans to spend another night there. But, man, it was so freezing cold that I can't bear anymore", said a foreigner. Tapovan is further up from Gomukh and a very secluded place ideal for meditation.
"One of our friends has been down and out with AMS. While the team is arranging horse for his return, I thought of walking upto Gomukh", said another. I gave him 2 Diamox tablets "This might help your friend."
"Those peaks are called Bhagirathi 1, 2 and 3", said Durga-ji, pointing to the three huge peaks which were

Crossed the spectacular Shivling on the way to Gomukh

also visible from our camps at Bhojwasa. But now they looked bigger and brighter as we approached Gomukh. The path was getting tougher. A slip on the boulders would have hurt us a lot. My newly bought trekking shoes gave my feet the perfect landing and lift. My heart began to beat faster as I knew we were almost there. Then suddenly Gomukh lay in front of me. What a beauty! All the images that I saw, all the stories that I heard were nothing compared to what stood in front of my eyes. I walked a few more steps near it to catch a better view. I didn't know what to do and how to express the joy within. It was a personal achievement from many fronts. It was the place of the source of the Ganga, that Ganga which has been so much part of my growing-up days. It was a walk of a few miles, which I never imagined I could do. It was a place I have been planning for the last few years, until it materialised this time. I sat on a huge boulder, not knowing what to do, what to think. I just wanted live the moment as much as I could. I felt thirsty. And drank the water that came from the melting glacier in front. It was the sweetest water I ever drank! People filled cans with the holy water at Gomukh and took to their homes, for them, for their neighbours, friends and reatives. I did not bring any water with me to Gangotri, leave alone to Bangalore. The moment that I lived there is far more enriching than any material, be it water, be it stones, that can be brought from there.

By the time I returned, it was getting dark. Durga-ji was with my uncle who was walking slowly, about 20 minutes behind me. I came to the tent to find Mann-ji sitting quietly. He offered me a cup of hot tea.
"As soon as I saw you, I made this for you", he said with s smile.

Mann-ji. So much to learn from the humble and simple man

Taking a sip at the cup of tea, he narrated me about his life in Nepal, his 40-year old daughter from first wife, and two sons, the younger one being six years, from his second wife. Listening to him, I thought he never complains about anything in life. He has taken the burden of duty in his life with the same spirit as he has carried our loads from Gangotri.
"But you are sixty two. How long will you be able to work like this?"
"I dont know...as long as my health permits. Some die at forty, some live even at hundred. So, you can never say."
I didnt have any answer to that. Mann-ji's innocent smile and , even more, his way of dealing with life has an extra-ordinary tale of zeal and simplicity that is a rare character. And, perhaps, that is what gives him the energy and strength to move forward in life.
I was better prepared for the cold night. And that also meant having plenty of water so that I dont miss the opportunity and moment of standing under a thousand stars.

22^nd October, 2016

Mission Accomplished: time to return.

A few tents, a couple of permanent structures
- thats all of Bhojwasa in one frame

The next day early morning, I was again at the riverbanks with my camera. I saw Bengali baba collecting stones from the banks. I walked upto him and politely asked him when he wants me to walk into his ashram. He was gathering some stones.
"Once I'm done I'll call you.", he said.
I sat on the banks, enjoying the beauty of the river, the snow-capped peaks and the blue sky. Slowly other people, mostly Europeans, gathered around. Everyone was enjoying the morning in his or her own way. Some prayed at the sun, some drank the pure water, some sat quietly, some clicked photos, some heaped small stones one above the other as a ritual to express their wishes and desires. The morning breeze was

Bengali Baba

fresh and cold. I was lost in Nature, when Bengali baba tapped my shoulders and called me in his ashram.His ashram was more of an extended hut. It was build mainly with stone and a tin roof lay above. His ashram was a small and humble one. A bench was erected with stones and boulders. It  I was skeptical of what he was going to say. I did not have any expectation as such.  He began with how he  stays in the place when everyone else leaves it in winter.
"For three years I not been to even Gangotri"
"Not even in winter?"
"No, not even in winter, when the snow is 7 to 8 feet over here"
"Dont you fear that you will fall sick? What happens if something happens to you? There is no one around"
"I dont fall sick and I am not afraid of anything", he said in a firm voice. "Okay lets get on with the things that I called you for. Do you know why I called you?"
"I have no idea...perhaps to give me some pearls of wisdom on how to lead a good life."

"There are three main things I wanted to tell you. Whether you follow them or not is up to you. But if you follow them you will reap benefits, that’s all I can say.”
“I am all ears.”
"Firstly, it is very important to wake up early in the morning. Rising with the sun, if you may call. You see, in the spiritual world we believe that the sun is the source of all the energy that we see around. You see the birds and the animals wake up very early in the morning. We should do the same. The air is pure and fresh. Have an early dinner. Sleep early. The same thing which you do at late night, do it the next morning, when you are rejuvenated after the rest at night. Make it a habit, my boy. Wake up early"
The one person who I instantly remembered is my grandfather. He used to wake up at 5 AM, be it summer, winter or monsoons. He made the morning tea by himself when everyone else was still asleep. Then the pigeons came flocking on our courtyard. He fed them with grains….

"The next one is about duty. There is a time for everything. You see, time does not wait for anyone. When our time comes, we all have to leave this earth. We all have a limited time here.  And in that limited time we should perform our duties. Duties as a son or daughter, a student, a brother or sister,  a husband or wife, a father or mother, a professional, a player....you name it. You have to perform the duties honestly and with sincerity to the best of your ability. You can deceive everyone in this universe, but you cannot deceive yourself - your conscious and your soul. And in all the work that you do, as part of the duties, there is nothing called big or small, noble or undignified. Remember, Work is worship.”
“How do I know if I have performed the duty the way it ought to have been performed?”
“You will know it. You will discover the inner peace if you are on the right track. Watch out for that little voice inside!”
The sunlight had started entering the small hut. The light was removing the darkness. One came from the sun, the other from the Baba. While the sunlight pushed aside the darkness of the hut, Baba's words filled me, enlightened me.

"The third thing is very important. It is the key to ever-lasting happiness and content. Always keep in mind the difference between need and the greed. I live in a small hut. It protects me from the sun and snow. And that’s all I need from the shelter. I could have made this a fancy one. I have many disciples who have offered me many times to “upgrade” my shelter to a new one – stronger, bigger and more comfortable with a small garden in front. But I did not do that. I do not need to do that. I need a place to meditate and this small place more than serves the purpose. While our needs are limited, there is no limit when it comes to greed. You buy a fancy car, your friend buys an even swankier car; you build a luxurious house, your relative gets a super-luxury mansion. It does not end. Be content with what you have. Compare yourself not with others, but with your own self of yesterday. Are you a better person today than you were yesterday? With each passing day we all are going a step closer to death. The question is, are we getting closer to God by uplifting ourselves morally and spiritually? After all, that’s what differentiates us with the animals, who live by the day. While we humans should strive to be a better human being.
"I will leave you with that thought. I have to leave for Gomukh now." He said hurriedly as he went inside a room. I heard him murmuring the Gayatri sloka:
om bhūr bhuvaḥ svaḥ
tát savitúr váreṇ(i)yaṃ
bhárgo devásya dhīmahi
dhíyo yó naḥ prachodáyāt

"We meditate on the glory of that Being who has produced this universe; may He enlighten our minds."

I stood still at the gate of his hut. Not knowing whether I should wait, leave, ask his permission to leave, when he will come out. I was confused. I was also thinking why he chose me to say all these. There were so many other people around. Suddenly he appeared from inside with a waterpot (kamandalu). He seems to have read my mind again. "I was saying these to you and not to all those on the river banks because I think you can follow these with sincerity." I was honoured that he said so. But not sure whether I would be really able to follow all his words to the tee, especially his version of waking up early which is before six in the morning.
"I'll try my best to follow them." Those were the only words I could think of while leaving.

When I came I found that our tent has been dismantled. There is no sign of our shelter for the last three days. We waited for the horses to come from Gangotri to take us back. A large team of European tourists were also waiting. They grew impatient as the horses arrived late.
Mann-ji had already started his journey back with the 20 kg load. We got on the horse and made our way towards Gangotri. I looked back at Gomukh and the Bhagirathi 1, 2 3 peaks one last time.
We reached Chirobasa late afternoon and by the time we were entering Gangotri it was dark. We were greeted by the jingling of the bells of the puja at the temple at Gangotri. We could see the lights from far off, through the tall trees.

Then, through the market, we made our last walk towards our hotel. The sadhu was doing the same thing he had been doing the other evening. Offering prayer in front of a fire lit from dried branches. I believe he does

Was always half naked when we all froze in the cold

that every evening. He was still covered in ashes. Sometimes I wonder what would have been the childhood of these sadhus, of Bengali baba. When did they decide to turn their backs on everything and start living a life of renunciation and sacrifice? How would their family have reacted? And do they reminiscence their childhood, their early days like we all do? Do they feel sad thinking about those days? As I crossed the bridge the river roared from below. Nothing seems to have changed here in the last three days. May be, nothing has changed here for years!
I found that my mother and aunty had made friends with a lot of other tourists of the hotel. Like ours, some male members went for trekking and the ladies got bored in the lodge. So they started their share of gossip and friendship. When I looked at the mirror I saw I was tanned. The nose, especially, was in a bad shape and needed immediate attention. A suncream should have reduced the damage.

23rd October, 2016

The mythologies never end

Pine fruits on the way to Pandav Gufa

The Gomukh and Tapovan area are full of mythological tales of the Hindu Gods and Goddesses. Even places around Gangotri had mythological connections. One such is Pandav Gufa (Cave). After seeing the Gauri Kund and Surya Kund that lay within 500 metres of our hotel, showcasing the most gorgeous waterfalls, we proceeded towards the cave. I have not seen a natural cave in the Himalayas. And so ventured out with uncle and aunty. My aunty had visited the place the day before with her newly found friends in the lodge. Today she turned guide for us. Indeed it was a long walk through pine trees. My uncle told me stories of his professional life and how challenging his job was at times. On a warm sunny morning , it was

a memorable walk. At the same time I began to question whether the Pandavas of the Mahabharat really visited the cave. Last year around the same time we visited the Chandrataal Lake, which was also connected to the Pandavas. I began to wonder how kings, generally thought of as persons sitting on thrones and not too much into body and muscle building, could travel through such rough and tough terrains in those days. When the entire region was hardly inhabited by anyone what was the need to go at an even more remote place and hide in a cave? Who carried their logistics then? Leaving those questions behind, I concentrated on the intriguing story my uncle had been narrating. When we arrived near the cave, at first sight, it looks like a huge rock. My aunty showed us the small door,

The sadhu inside the Gufa

The entrance to Pandav Gufa

through which you can enter in and exit out of the cave. Without someone telling, its not easy to find the door. A good place to hide, indeed! Once you enter inside, you find a huge cave. Dark, except for the fire that a sadhu has lit. I realised he had made this his home. All the sadhus in the region have got used to this human intervention. So they just neglect our presence and carry on with their own work.

The temple at Gangotri

In the evening we visited the Gangotri temple. My mother joined this time. There was an evening aarti here as well, though a much toned-down version. But the theme remains the same. I came to know that the town of Gangotri officially shuts on the day after Diwali as it gets extremely cold and starts snowing. With no inflow of tourists then, staying at Gangotri makes no sense for the hotel owners, shop keepers, porters and all. They
climb down to the nearest town, which is either Harsil or further down to Uttarkashi, if not Rishikesh or Haridwar. And I was thinking that the Bengali Baba will stay alone at Bhojwasa. You have to have something in you to even think about staying in such a harsh condition for about five to six months alone , almost like an island, with no one around in the adjoining 40 or more kilometres. 

24^th October, 2016

The Beginning of the End

It was Saturday. We drove from Gangotri to Dhanaulti, a distance of 210 KM. We started at 8:30 AM. We had sufficient time. So had generous breakfast and lunch breaks. When our car spiraled along the mountains,

Narendra-ji (left) & Durja-ji (right) during breakfast

far off we would catch glimpse of some saffron-clad sadhus moving in some isolated area. They must have found their places of meditation, just like the Bengali Baba or the one at Pandav Gufa found. What are they searching for here even in the harshest of winters when you dont find another living being around?

In the Innova, my uncle was sitting beside the driver, Narendra-ji. Narendra-ji was in Gangotri for the last few days.
"You could have joined us to Gomukh", I said to him. "We had a great time. Durga-ji rocked", I said. Durga-ji, our guide, was sitting next to me on the back seat. My mother and aunty occupied the middle seats.
"I am not that tough to take on the adventure", he said with a smile on his face.
"Its hard to believe so, Narendra-ji.", I interrupted. "One who has been driving with such ease in these tough roads is by no means faint hearted"

I asked Durga-ji about his family and what he does when the trekking season is over.
"I dont know good English like you. Otherwise, I would have worked in some government offices."
"And I dont know good trekking like you do. You visit so many wonderful places and see so much of the world." Perhaps its our human nature to always think that the grass is greener on the other side.

We reached Dhanaulti at 7:30 PM.The car parking lot was full.
"Its much warmer here", said my mother at the dinning table. The thermometer read 7C.
"Not that warm, too!" I reminded her.

25^th October, 2016

The last lap

Here, in Dhanaulti, we bid farewell to my uncle and aunty. They would go on to stay there for another two days, before visting Amritsar and then to Chandannagore. We would go from Dhanaulti to Dehradun via Moussoorie. From Dehradun we would catch the evening flight to Bangalore via Delhi.
Dhnaulti is a place that seems to have been the right mix of nature and people. It has plenty of greenery all

Morning at Dhanaulti

around. There were pine trees all around. They were flowers - big and small. Birds tweeted from some distant trees. The first rays of the sun pierced through those pine leaves and fell on the soft grass.
The morning in Dhanaulti was a morning in the mountains epitomised. It was cold, bright and sunny. I tried my hand at capturing close-up photos of flowers, birds and butterflies. I noticed that my albums lack close-ups shots and shots of humans and locals of the area.
I took one of the narrow mountain roads that is fit only for the walkers of the area. It was a lovely morning walk through the forest. The sweet smell of flowers filled the air. Someone was selling roasted maize. I had breakfast an hour back. But the smell of the maize was too tempting and I fell for it.

At Dhanulti

Never had I tasted such a delicious maize.
We left Dhanaulti at around 10:30 AM. In a few hours we reached Moussoorie. It was disappointing, just like Manali was a year back. Commercialization of the city cornered the Himalayan beauty in some dark spots. Dehradun was no fun either. We realised that we had stepped inside the "real world".

At the airport I hugged Durga-ji and Narendra-ji for their great company.
The flight from Dehradun was pleasant. The flight from Delhi was late by 1.5 hours, which means we would start from Delhi at midnight, reach Bangalore a couple of hours before morning.
Suddenly from the land of the sadhus, where time seemed to move on its own, it seemed we have been time machined to an era where people are always looking at their watches and yet running behind schedule.
At the flight, when the aircraft was soaring some thousands of feet above the sea level, I remembered that exactly a year a ago same day, same time, I was in another flight. That was from Hyderabad to Bangalore. However, the thoughts that filled my mind back then were the thoughts of a lifetime that I had spent with my father. I was holding in my hand ashes of his mortal remains. He had died a year back en route Bangalore from Kolkata. The plane made an emergency landing in Hyderabad. That was a year back. I realized, as the Buddhists and the Hindus say,  everything is maya.

Getting philosophical...

Booking train tickets, hotel rooms, cars and air tickets is not the journey.When I look back, I find that all the planning and booking had nothing to do what with the actual journey. They are facilitators, at most.  Journey starts after the bookings have been done and bags have been packed. Journeys begins when I leave my world and meet people in their worlds and find they have left a lifetime impact on me. Durga-ji, Mann-ji, Narendra-ji, the Hungarian who asked me to translate English to Hindi for the horsekeep, the waiter  at the restaurant, Bengali Baba and other such sadhus. the couple at the train, the old man at the ghats of Haridwar, the young couple at Gangotri who planned to shift to Bangalore in a few months time, the list is endless. I don't have any expectation of meeting them in future. Perhaps, thats the beauty of journeys. One moment you find something, the next moment you lose it.You meet a stranger in the morning, gossip the whole day and lose him by the evening.
Journey is not the arithmetic distance between between Haridwar and Gangotri. Journey is all that lies between the places. Journey is not about how high Bhojwasa or Gomukh is. Journey is the trek from Bhojwasa and Gomukh. Journey is sitting on the ghats of Haridwar and watching the evening aarti with thousand others. Journey is sitting alone on a boulder in front of Gomukh and reminiscing the journey since childhood. Journey is looking up in the sky to find a million stars above and remembering the famous song of Tagore
"Aakashbhora surjo tara, biswobhara pran,
Tahari majhkhane aami paechi mor sthan,
Bissae tai jage..."

("What amazes me most is my presence in this universe -
Among the sun,
Among the constellation of stars,
And among so much life all around")

The journey from one world to another, over the rivers and across the bridges

PS: I did the final touch-up to my blog and posted it (today) on he day of Diwali. Just remembered tomorrow Gangotri will be shut down for the next few months. It must have been very cold there and some spells of snowfall might have occurred by now. And further up, at Bhojwasa, Bengali Baba must have been preparing to start living another secluded life in the harsh winter for the next few months..

Trapped in the concrete jungle

The city is a concrete jungle.
Where he flocked in to lead a "better" life
But ended in holing up in his own nest
Among the several thousands of nests
That people call "apartments"

The supermarkets and malls display enticing ads.
So do the large hoardings placed on the roadside.
The neon and led lights illuminate the busy commercial streets.
Everyone is desperate to make his life better.
Everybody is so willing to quench his materialistic thirst

World-class apartments and luxury cars,
Foreign vacations and designer dresses.
The temptation is irresistible.
How much ahead is he from his friends, relatives and neighbours?
The rat race that began from the age of five seems never ending.

The whole day he was able to keep himself occupied -
Browsing net, checking FaceBook and WhatsApp
Getting to know what others did and said and felt;
How others are enjoying their life.
He wonders, if its only he who is  fighting to live another day?

At day's end, just like the birds,
He returns to his own nest
In some remote corner of the city
Far away from the maddening mob -
Miles away from the cacophony of the crowd.

He realises that the whole day he was running -
Running away from himself, from truth.
But, at the dead of night when he can hear his heart beat,
He can also hear the voice from his soul.
And this time he cannot run away from it

"What do you gain by pushing and shoving and racing the whole day, the whole life?"
"You are becoming a robot - mechanical and heartless!"
"At the end of the life you will realise you ran behind mirages of material happiness!"
He hates to hear these words every night.
The voices which inside him grows louder each day!

He doesn't want to hear them for he has no answer.
It has been decades that he pondered about the purpose of his life
The city life does not allow him to.
Somewhere in the concrete jungle he forgot the simple mantras to enjoy life.
All he has mastered in the last few years is the art of mindless running.

Loitering on the Ghats of Benaras and around the Stupas of Sarnath

At the New Delhi Railway Station

The waiting room of New Delhi Railway station was full to the brim. Trains were running late for hours. Even platforms were filled with passengers held up by those late arrival and departure of trains. Its the 1st of January, 2015. 8:30 PM.I had my dinner. I found a quiet place in front of a closed book stall. I satt on the platform, with the least thought of what others will think. I dog sniffed beside me and then left. I was reading a book of Ruskin Bond. My train which was supposed to arrive at 8:15 PM was already late by a couple of hours. At around 9:30 when I was about to collect my baggage from the locker room, I saw a youth, all wrapped up in shabby thick cloth, came close to me, underneath the book stall and lay down. It seemed this is the place he sleeps on each night. A part of the platform was getting cleaned. By 10 the crowd had thinned.

Once on the train, I did not have the most polished look. My hair, devoid of oil or shampoo, resembled a bird's nest of sorts. My black trousers have been taken care of by the platform dust. My creased T-shirt complimented my looks, not to mention about the unshaven beard. When I boarded the train, my co-passenger, who I later learnt worked as electrician in New Delhi, must have been very confused about my identity. Aged around twenty-five and originally from Bihar, he wanted to strike a conversation with me:

"So, where do you work?", he asked.

"Bangalore!". I tried to give the shortest possible reply

"In IT?" The fame of Bangalore being the IT hub in India has reached to every corner of the country.

"Yes", I replied with a cosmetic smile on my face.

"And what type of work?" His questions seemed never-ending.

"Some computer repair".  He will not understanding this ERP and Cloud Computing things. So I tried to keep things as short and as simple as possible.

"You must be earning a lot. I know of friend of mine who earns lakhs in IT. Of course, he is in Delhi only. How much do you earn?"

Thats the real India for you! I was travelling alone this time and so booked a sleeper non-AC coach for the trip to Benaras or Varanai, whatever you want to call. If ever I hesitated that I should have booked a ticket in the comfortable AC compartment, this question reinforced my decision. I was in search of India which is beyond the sophistication of the modern society, where the people do not hide behind a veil of artificiality. And here I was in conversation with a stranger...who within five minutes of meeting popped the question which people do not ask even after five years of interaction!

The train started after a total of three hours late. I was tired and the compartment was dimly-lit. I was fast asleep.

A morning in the train

I woke up in the morning by the babble of voices all around. Things were getting interesting in the journey. As the train, already late by a couple of more hours, entered Uttar Pradesh and limped and hopped into different stations, the passengers (of course, unreserved!) got on the train and were making there way among us - the reserved passengers. Soon, I found someone sitting on the corner  of my seat. A small jerk and he would be on the floor. I woke up. It was around eight. Someone pointed to the tents near Allahabad. "That is the place for the famous Kumbha Mela", he said.
I would definitely love to come here during the largest gathering of mankind in the history of the civilisation. But the very thought of the uncontrolled crowd makes me hesitant. And yet, I know, my journey through my motherland is incomplete without checking  the Kumbh Mela check-box.

I peeped out of the window. It was cloudy. The roads and villages were wet, testimony to the night-long shower that the area received. Soon, people in the compartment started discussion and argument on varied topics, ranging from the winter to Delhi to the damp climate there, from the recently  released movie PK to the foreign policies of our PM Mr. Modi. These passengers, like most Indians, had opinions on all that was happening under the sun.

The scenery outside was pretty dull. There was no sunshine, that one would typically expect in this region during this time of the year. But the dullness of the outside was complimented by the interesting topics being discussed inside by the enthusiastic passengers. From time to time the hawkers made brisk business, especially the ones with tea, coffee and snacks (reminds me that when in TCS we used to jokingly say that the company is the abbreviation of Tea, Coffee and Snacks).

Arriving at Benaras 

When the train dragged itself to the Benaras railway station after a couple of hours of delay, the weather was no different. From my previous experience with Benaras I knew that Benaras is not at her best in this type of cloudy and damp weather. But I had little option. I off-loaded my luggage in the railway retiring room. The initial one I had been provided was pretty shabby. After raising my concern with the authorities I was shifted to a very comfortable room, which had much more than I would have required for the days in Benaras. Then I took a rickshaw and through the narrow lanes of
the age-old city went to the "ghats". The roads had puddles and were water logging at places. It was still drizzling. People carried umbrellas and made their way through the not-so-clean streets. Despite the rain, there was no dampness to the energy level of the people. I had a very late lunch in one of the road-side shops. I did not care about the oil they cooked in and the dishes they served on. Sometimes its great not to bother about the things that may or may not have any impact in future. Its a great feeling to live life in its present form. You dont worry about the cholesterol and sugar and BP when you feast on those delicious sweets and hot kachoris cooked right in front of you. You just enjoy the moments for they will never return again.

Benaras makes me philosophical!

I made my way slowly to the Dasaswamedha Ghat, where the evening aarti is performed. People poured from all over to the road. They were the common man from different caste, creed and colour from all over the country. I found a group of widows hurriedly rushing towards the ghats. The widows of Benaras have their own painful history, some who lost their husband in their early teens and have been leading a restricted life since then for decades. Among the crowd you could often spot the saffron-clad sadhus, wondering around without a defined motive. The ox in Benaras is famous and its not difficult to find them on the streets and people touching them and then placing the hand on their foreheads as a sign of seeking the blessing of the animal, who is oblivion to the honour he has been receiving. And then there are the foreigners with cameras who seemed like the kids lost in Disneyland. They didnt know what moments to capture and what to leave. Some local "guides" tried to impress the foreigners with their two cents on Benaras in exchange for a couple of dollars. There were some who were busy eating whatever they found on the road-side stalls, while some bargained hard for the odd saree or salwar. Some shopkeepers, realising the fact that "make hay while the sun shines", got out of their shops, on the streets, pleading the customers, at times nearly holding their hands and dragging them inside, to showcase the array of products they lined only for them at the maximum possible discount.
I walked with these people. I just walked with the crowd, observing the colourful and diverse world around me. And yet I was feeling a sense of solitude inside. Its a solitude that does not pain you but give you the peaceful thought of being able to connect with your inner soul. There were people from all over India. It was  a mini India in itself. It was the India that was very different from the India you find anywhere else. My discovery of India would never have been complete without Benaras and her people. I got a strange feeling as I walked with the crowd. The feeling of the maya or everything so temporary all around. Nothing is permanent. For centuries people have walked down the road, for centuries they have offered their prayers to the holy temple of Baba Viswanath and worshiped the Ganges. Reminds me of the famous lines from the gifted A.L. Tennyson "Men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever". How true is it for Benaras and the river Ganga that washes the city's feet every moment. The whole set of people I am walking with  will be replaced by a completely new set in a hundred years from now. The world will change a lot. But , perhaps, Benaras wont. And the devotion of the people will not.

I reached the ghat before the aarti had started. I had just the time to take the boat ride to the famous Manikanika Ghat. It is the funeral ghat. Stacks of wooden planks were placed on the walls of the ghat. A funeral pyre was burning. As the day ended the smoke from the lifeless body filled the air. Some people who surrounded the pyre were crying and sobbing. I told the boatsman to stop rowing. I saw in front of the last few moments of the life of a mortal being. I do not know who the person was - male or female? Whats the age? Whats the background? How did he/she die? Who are his/her family members? And I shall never know the answers. What I saw was the end of his/her journey called life. He/she must have had a childhood, must have been mischievous, must have fallen, must  have laughed and cried. The person surely has undergone the roller coaster of life. He/She had emotions, feelings, thoughts. And today everything becomes meaningless. Its just the mere body, which has mostly turned to ashes and lost to smoke. All that we hold too tightly during our lifetime seems so fragile on this day. All that we fiercely claim as ours - our land, our property, our egos, our prestige, our honour, our money, our LIFE - has been reduced to ashes and smoke. Is the life worth fighting for the trifle matters that we magnify manifold?

One evening in Benaras

When the aarti started we were all hypnotised by the electrifying atmosphere. Those who have not seen it, its impossible to describe what it is like. Counch shells blowing, the small diyas illuminating the ghats in their own small way, the sweet aroma of the incense sticks, flowers and camphor, the halogen lights flooding the ghats, the chimes from the hundreds of bells and the ritual performed by the priests weave magic. The ritual is worshiping the river Ganges, who has cradled the Indian civilisation. It is an ultimate way of showcasing our gratitude towards her. It lasted for about an hour. When the ceremony was over they distributed blankets to the poor and needy that are aplenty in

Benaras. They jostled to be among the first in queue, lest the limited number of blankets gets over. I should have clicked a few smiles of those who received the blankets. We take so much things for granted. And by "so much" I mean SO MUCH. We take our comfort, our relationships, our freedom, (in fact) our life for granted. If I might feel "unlucky" when offered a middle seat in the flight, what about these people - my countrymen? These people have so much to crib about and feel utterly betrayed and frustrated in life. They have thousand and one reason to curse GOD or , in the first place, not believe in GOD at all! And yet, on a cold winter night, when I am wrapped from top to bottom, they come running half-naked from nowhere, grab a blanket and give the most satisfying smile and , above all, thank the Almighty! I shudder to think about their dinners.  These are perhaps among those millions around the world who go to bed without having a square meal a day.

Once the aarti is over, in half an hour the ghat was almost empty. The actors were missing from the stage. It had a deserted look. Some diyas have died as they soaked up all the oil. Flower petals were strewn here and there. Some people floated small diyas on the river...and they moved stealthily along the river current. But overall, the place was quite. A few foreigners with camera were busy capturing the "Incredible India". The place was so crowded some time back and now its so desolate. I sat on the ghat for some more time. I could see a couple of flickering lights far off. A faint  "Ram nam satya hai" from far off land echoed in the heavy atmosphere of the Dasaswamedha Ghat.

Sitting that night on the ghat I remembered by late father, who had passed a few months from then. As the ghats became even more quiet, I could hear my heart beat and hear my soul. The phenomenon of life and death is as natural as the falling of the dry leaves in winter only to be re-born in the following spring with renewed energy and vigour. And yet we mourn death. I would have spent hours sitting just like that on those sacred ghats of the city, had the bone-chilling wind not compelled me to return to my shelter. Ah! Shelter....something that comes so easily to me. Something that means a warm four-walled room under a ceiling to me. And something which means some place on the footpath under the cold and cloudy sky to the road-side beggars.

One morning in Benaras

The next day next day I woke up to another foggy morning. It was cold as the sun was still playing hide and seek. I took a boat and completed the river cruise. Its not like the river  cruise on Thames or Seine river where you pass by the sophisticated buildings of London and Paris. Its of a different kind, where, old buildings, now seems haunted, skirts the river banks. They were residences of some zamindars and rich merchants. They are gone, now. When in Benaras, I had that constant feeling of the short life that we all have; the short time we all spend as actors on the world stage. And so the obvious questions haunts me - Do I live for myself or for others? Do I want to achieve something because I want to achieve it? Or do I do that to show others? Do I write a blog because I feel and love writing blogs or do I do so in the hope that someone praises me for it? Do I do a work because I love and enjoy it or is it in the selfish hope of getting rewarded and appreciated for it? Do I play for myself or for the crowd, expecting applause all the time?....

Migratory birds flocked around. As I threw grains they swooped towards me. Migratory birds are another wonder of Nature's creation. On the ghats people bathed in the cold and not-so-clean water. Only devotion can bring such acts in humans. As I passed over some other ghats, I saw some more were being cremated. The cycle of life and death never ceases to stop. The boatsman had some tales to share with me - his life, his relatives life, his childhood. It was drizzling at times. Bells rang in some temples. Barbers shaved the heads for some. Even the most scientific minded person might just think about GOD when in Benaras. Such is the atmosphere.

Most of the afternoon I spent on the ghats and visiting the famous temple of Baba Viswanath. The temple is reached through narrow alleys, bordered by small shops selling anything from pins to souvenirs to clothes to flowers. Evening I had some lip-smacking snacks, followed by the aarti. I can watch the aarti for days together with the same curiosity and amazement. And everytime it seems to have something new to offer to me. In front of me on the desolated ghats was the darkness and behind me the world talked, walked, ate, slept. All I could hear was the soothing sound of the river Ganga flowing stealthily. I was lost in myself.

One morning in Sarnath

On third day my flight was in the evening. I had heard about Sarnath, the holy place of the Buddhist thats around 12 km from Benaras. The Buddha went from Bodh Gaya to Sarnath about 5 weeks after his enlightenment. I hired an auto-rickshaw who would take me to the airport via Sarnath. Sarnath was a city that had something special. As soon as I was around the city, I felt peace inside. It was quiet. It seemed that the sound pollution is unknown to the city. I am not keen on visiting temples or
other religious place. Neither am I too interested on the historical buildings and monuments. And Sarnath was a combination of religion and history. But having seeing  Chaukhandi Stupa, Dhamekha Stupa (a solid, cylindrical, brick structure which is 43.6 m high and 28 m in diameter), Dharmarajika Stupa (which contained the bones of the Buddha and was constructed during Ashoka’s reign) and the remnants of the Ashoka Pillar, I was once more reminded of the rich cultural heritage of my motherland.

There lay before me two ancient religions of the world, probably whose epicentre is the Varanasi-Sarnath region. Outwardly the two places are poles apart. Varanasi is crowded,  not-so-clean, beggars aplenty and there is always a babble of voices anywhere you go. Sarnath, on the other hand is tranquility personified. Its quite and peaceful. Roads are clean and you dont find beggars around.
(And all when the two cities are just ten kilometres apart.) And yet both are considered among the holiest cities of the respective religion. In Sarnath I saw lots of foreigners from the ASEAN region, whereas Varanasi had predominantly Indians. If I was overwhelmed by the enormity of Benaras, I was humbled by the greatness of Sarnath. If the energy in Benaras was vibrant and visible all around, the energy in Sarnth was more subtle, but no less!

A deeper observation, however, will reveal that all these differences are only on the outer surface. You dive deep and all you find is the underlying current of devotion of human - young and old. The devotion I saw in the eyes of the Hindu devotees  is no different from those in the eyes their Buddhist counterparts. While one goes to show his gratitude at the Baba Viswanath temple, the other walks around the stupas to offer the homage. While one reads out slokas from the Vedas, the other recites the sutras from the Tripitaka. While one says "Om", the other chaunts "Buddham Saranam Gacchami".  Its just how we, nickel-and-dime mortals, manifest and express ourselves to the Creator, calling Him Allah, Iswar, Buddha, Jesus or by any another name.

The Late Arrival at the Airport

Due to huge traffic jam I arrived at the airport in the nick of time. When I had handed the ticket print out to trade with the boarding pass, my eyes fell on the booking date. I had booked the tickets to Benaras when my father was still undergoing his chemo therapy.He knew I would be in Benaras during the first week of January. But, by the time I made it to Benaras he no longer needed those medicines anymore. He had started his journey for the heavenly abode a few months back. He always wanted to come here, but kept on deferring the decision. Ultimately, he never made it here. And yet, when in Benaras I always felt he was somehow there with me - walking beside me along with the crowd or sitting beside me in the desolated ghats till late evening. Sometimes death means only a physical extinction, the essence of deceased never fades. Just like the fragrance of a incense stick stays long even after the stick has been burned to ashes or you a see a star twinkling even today while it may have died a few million light years ago!

The Story of the Middle Seat!

"Sir, here is your boarding pass. I am sorry to inform that the flight is full and we dont have any window or aisle seats for you today. We have only middle seats. Have a pleasant flight! ", said the lady at the airport ticket counter.
I took the boarding pass from her with a smile, not even daring to think how "unlucky" I was not to get a window seat.