An open Letter to my daughter

Dearest Gudiya,

Yesterday was your birthday. You celebrated your 8^th birthday. You were happy that you are growing up. You are no longer 7. You are 8 now. You are no longer small. You have grown up. “I am not small anymore.” You proudly declared today during breakfast.

We were all very happy to celebrate your birthday. And next year you will be a year older. And another the year after. So will I be. As much as I want to see you grow and be independent, a part of me wants you to remain small and keep holding my hands with the tiny ones of yours. As much as I want you to find answers on your own, I want you to ask me those inquisitive questions. As you grow up, I will sit back and proudly watch you negotiate life. With every passing year, I will take more and more back seat as I expect you to take better control of your life. There will be a part in me who would want to advise you, contradict you, debate your decisions, run towards you when you fall. And then there would be a part of me that would just let you be, interrupting only when its absolutely necessary. Like the tiger who teaches her cubs to catch a prey and then watch them hunt for themselves, I would like to watch from behind the curtain as you take on the stage and perform.

Occasionally, I would reminiscence the memories of spending time with you over the years. Things you don’t have a clue of. You love me; but has the least clue that all throughout you are not only my love, but my life. When tired and exhausted I returned home from office, all it took was a smile and hug from you to get me rejuvenated. When you got hurt and I told you to ignore and move forward, it pained me the most. While playing, how sometimes I deliberately lost to you to see you happy and smile. Even after working and staying awake past midnight, I was more than happy to wake up at 6 the next morning. For, my day started with getting you ready and dropping you to school. And one day you will grow up to get ready on your own. You wont need me then. And years later you would pass out of your school and join a college. How I would miss waking up in the morning for you! How I would miss handing over the school bag when you stepped into the school gate!

Like birds do, like animals do, you will fly out of the nest one day in search of a better dream and better life. I would be too old to fly again. May be, too old to even dream as daring as yours. I will arrange and rearrange the straws in the nest, keep it warm, and wait for the little bird to return, who would not be that little any more.

Would you ever know that I needed you more in life than you ever needed me? Would you ever know that I learnt more from you than I could possibly teach you? Would you ever know how you came into my life and changed its course from the very first day? Would you ever know what you really mean for me? Would I be able to explain them ever to you?

                                                                                                   From your loving "baba"

The Chicago Rains

1^st April, 2017. Saturday.

The Emirates flight touched the Chicago O’Hare International Airport with a thud. The last one hour was a bumpy ride. We went through the dense dark clouds, until the waters of Lake Michigan glittered below. The aircraft fell into a couple of air pockets. I ignored most of it because my mind was pre-occupied with the excitement of meeting my sister, Ria, and her family after one and a half years. The last time we met was in December 2015, when we all happened to be in Chandannagore at the same time. Her husband Anirban, coincidentally, was my roommate in my first year in college. He was one of the most organized persons in the hostel. While often we went for lunch on a Bermuda and vest, he always came bathed, neatly combed and in kurta pyjamas. And then there is my nephew, who has grown up to the cutest and most adorable two and a half year old boy I have seen. They all came to receive me at the airport.

“Its so cloudy and windy here”, I remarked.

“There are predictions of rain…may be even snow!” Anirban commented.

We reached their house around 8 PM. In the meantime, Anirban stopped at an Indian grocery store to buy sweets. I realized an elaborate food menu is on the cards. The first couple of hours was off loading the gifts for them and then loading the gifts that they had bought for us. I was worried about the luggage limit. Anirban provided me an extra bag to carry them.

“The way you are providing me one thing after another, I guess, the next time I will come with one-way ticket. You may as well provide me the return ticket!”, I remarked.

Then I had a gala time with my nephew. In the meantime we started our chit-chats - stories, tales, gossips. At 11 o’clock we sat for dinner. Like a typical Bengali host, Ria cooked a gamut of dishes. Chicken, prawn, mutton, fish, fried rice – nothing was spared.

“This much I had to cook. This is the first time you came to our house, dada.” was her reply.

With every hour our stories became more and more gripping. One story leading to another. One incident reminding us of another. One event followed by another. Right from the childhood till date and all the years and decades that passed in between. All that we wanted to say but never found time to. All that we held back for so many years, skeptical how the other would react. That night the wall came crumbling down. We opened our hearts. Serious talks and lighter ones, about friends and about family, about India and abroad, about new relationships and the broken ones, about the shattered dreams and the new ones, about expectations and realities, about life and beyond…

“You remember that incident? When we all….”

“And that friend of ours….”

“I cannot forget that day….”

“That incident was so unwanted….”

“And they were never able to patch up…”

“Was it really necessary to…”

Hours of talking over the phone and thousands of messages in whatsapp over the years gave us the wrong impression that we didn’t have much to left to talk about.

“Is it the sound of thunder outside?”, I thought I heard a loud thundering noise.

“No, dada. It’s the cars zooming on the freeway right beside.”

The hands of the clock rotated quite a few times over. 2 AM, 3 AM….still we didn’t have any plans to sleep.

“I have lots of days when I can sleep as much as I want to, but such moments rarely come”, said Ria.

Twenty five years ago if anyone told me about any such meetings of the siblings in some corner of Chicago it would have been called a dream beyond dreams. But here we are….At 4:45 AM, Anirban with red eyes, retired to bed. Ria and I were still in no mood to hang up our shoes. When it was about 6, we decided to take some rest. However barely three hours after that, we all were awake and picked up the thread where we felt. Almost 12 hours later they dropped me at my hotel in Chicago, which was just beside the lake. It was very windy. A few drops fell on me as I hurried inside.

On the way we went to the Vivekananda’s Vedanta Society. We realized that it was in one quite place in Chicago, far away from the crowd, like an old movie set which no longer has the spot light on it. It was left on its own. The photos on the wall tried to freeze some moments in time while the city was busy running after time.

                                                                                ***

For the next three days I was kept busy in official work. Presentations, formalities, meetings and greetings kept me occupied. I left my room at 7 AM in the morning for breakfast and was confined to the meeting rooms till 11 PM at night. Lake Michigan was right in front of the hotel. I saw the waves breaking on its shore. And a dark dense cloud hovered over the lake, which looked more of a placid sea – the opposite shore of the lake was not visible. While taking the lift as I looked to the lake, I found people jogging on the pavement skirting it, some with dogs. Cars zoomed passed by. The trees swayed. At times the roads were wet. But I neither heard the wind howl, not smelt the rain. I was confined in one of those tall glass buildings, that had once appealed to me, but now suffocates me.

At night when I retired to my hotel room I looked at the lighted skyscrapers that stood tall in front of my large glass window. The snaky roads from my twenty-ninth floor room seemed to shine under the street lights and headlights of the car. I seemed to look at the concrete jungle and moving machines.. And yet, the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of Chicago is the speech by the famous Indian saint Swami Vivekananda at the World Congress of Religion in 1893. A place which echoed spiritualism about a century back now prides in its concrete jungle. The voice of the spiritual leader seems to have been has been long lost in the sound of the cars and machines.

                                                                                ***

5^th April, 2017. Wednesday.

On the third day, just before taking my evening flight, I had just enough time to meet Pinaki (Guha). Another very close college friend of mine. I went to his office, which was just a few blocks away from my hotel.

We could hardly believe that we are meeting after more than a decade. We grabbed coffee and took a corner seat in the coffee shop. It was right beside the pavement. Old memories flowed in. The sky, whatever could be seen through the skyscrapers, was cloudy.

People walked hurriedly with beautiful umbrellas – red, green, purple.  It was drizzling. But it must have rained heavily sometime back when I was in one of those window-less air-conditioned meeting rooms. The roads and pavement were wet.

We talked about so many things under the sun. In college, we used to talk about the life ahead. About jobs after college, about girlfriends, about the semesters and the assignments, about parents. This time we talked about our kids and their future, our families, our dreams, our office….

“You know, I take my son for piano lessons thrice a week. Better to do something creative than watch TV and play video games all day”, Pinaki remarked.

We talked about our lives which is so different from the one we had in college. When we were in the first year in college, we had some certainty about the next four years. Whereas now, leave alone four years, things can change so dramatically even in the next four months. We talked about the lives that we have and the one that we don’t.

“This cloudy and dull weather makes one so depressed”, I said at one point.

We talked about our kids and our lives when they grow up and fly out of the nests. We talked about books we read and the movies we watch. We talked about his involvement in the Bengali Association in Chicago and my obsession with exploring India.

And we talked about our friends.

 “What is he doing now?”

 “That professor, who taught us….”

“Remember that incident…”

“You know he is in…”

We talked and talked and talked.

We talked about some past misunderstandings and future vacation plans.

“Let me know when you have to be back in office”, I reminded Pinaki after an hour or so. By that time the coffee cups were empty. But none of us was interested in filling it. Coffee was just an excuse to find a place to sit.

“Another 10 minutes…”, he said. And that 10 minutes went on to become another full-fledged hour, until I realized that I had to get up before its too late to catch my flight back home.

“We could talk relentlessly for the next 24 hours, without getting tired or bored”, I remarked. But, deep inside we knew we had to part ways in a matter of minutes.

“We didn’t change much”, Pinaki said after taking a selfie with the huge towers in the background.

“Yes. Both in terms of how we look at life and the way we look!”

It was time to leave. I called a taxi for the airport. A lightning flashed…a thunder roared…a few drops started falling. Soon it started raining heavily. It became a haze. Pinaki disappeared in that haze. I was on the way to the airport amidst the torrential rain that lashed Chicago that day.
As I passed Lake Michigan, it never looked more beautiful- rain drops pouring on the placid lake...creating  ripples, making waves,weaving magic...bringing back bitter sweet memories of meeting near and dear ones in the distant shores of Chicago.

Our home: Kyunki Gender Biasness is just not one type!

Whoever talks of woman empowerment and feminism should come to my house. The small house in one corner of a lone street,where dogs sleep peacefully during day and bark aimlessly during night, in Bangalore is occupied by three ladies of three generations – my mother, wife and daughter and yours truly. So, feminism rules. One against three is no match for my voice to get heard. So, even if I try to roar at times I end up more like purring.

My mother wakes up at 6 AM. After somehow spending an hour opening the door for the maid, boiling milk and preparing my tiffin, she gets busy with the iPad. And that goes on till the late evening. When we sit for dinner she summaries the news that she had been reading the whole day. 

The day after demonetization, the Times of India was full of stories of different flavours and aroma from the nook and corner of the country,

"You know what,,,this news is so horrible...", she began during dinner. 

I had already spent most of the day reading news from different portals.

"Which one?" I was eager to know if I had overlooked anything.

"A boy was murdered in a village near Kolkata and the police are on a whodunit investigation. They suspect its a love triangle!"

Come on, ma! The police might be busy stashing their hard-earned labouriously-toiled money into the banks and their wives might be taking out their jewelry from below the mattress and kitchen cupboards. How can you expect them to search for a criminal so soon. And to top it, its West Bengal, where by the time people reaches government offices, its already lunch time! 

She keeps a tab of which boy eloped with which girl, which actor is seeing which actress, which mother-in-law committed suicide and which actress is expecting…She became so up-to-date with the details of the Sheena Bhora murder case that every evening she used to explain the twists and turns of the murder mystery. One evening, tired from the countless meetings, follow-ups and escalations when I returned home, she came to update me on the case.

”Why don’t you write you application form to the CBI to include you in their team of investigators?”, I suggested.

And then is her special comment on food. And I would be very polite when I say, she is not known for her culinary skills. “The cook should have put more sugar in the dal, less chilly in the chicken and should not have made the curry so dry. You see the potato...they are half boiled. Amader cook ta na….”

Ah! Potato! Like there is no other vegetable in the world. Like most Bengalis her diet so far had been primarily on potatoes - potato this, potato that. No wonder the Bengali men develop a round potato-shaped belly by the time they in their thirties. Recently I realized that almost all subzis that Bengalis cook have 50% potato and 50% of the other vegetable. And when you have some potato-patron around, like my mother, the percentage of potato can be skewed to near 100% such that it becomes no better than a lady finger-flavoured or cabbage-flavoured potato subzi.  One of her patent questions when she started staying with us “The chicken curry is without potato?” It took me almost 2 years to make her understand that its chicken curry and not chicken potato curry or chicken-flavoured potato curry.

Last weekend when I was about to leave for office picnic at eight in the morning, she asked me 

"Around what time will you return?"

"Äround nine"

"In the evening?"

"Eh? I thought that was obvious. I wont be back from picnic in an hour! 

And then there is my wife. The home maker as also the 50% home financier - be it the EMI or household or holiday expense. An ideal modern independent woman. She knows to cook well and manages her office equally efficiently. Just like the balancing act God (or whatever!) did with the date 28^th September. The great singer of India, the Nightangle of India – Lata Mangeskar – was born on 28^th September. And so was my wife – 28^th September. Of course, the years were different! One was in the year 1929. The other one…okay lets leave it and come to the point. One has a melodious voice and the other just needs to whisper in the ground floor to be heard from the first floor of our house. I am sure the neighbour’s kids start studying attentively when she scolds our daughter during studies. But of course this talent is largely hidden when we have guests around.

Whenever she returns from official work or from her parents house in Kolkata for a few days (another benefit of having in-laws staying far away from you!) she has the same expression entering in:

“Look how unorganized you are! The house is in complete mess. Why are the pillows in the sofa are not in the correct position? Why are all the water bottles are half empty (or half full)  - cant you fill them? Why are your undergarments all in the hanger – are they showpieces? And look at the bedsheet…its so crumbled up.”

After organizing the house, she walks like a teacher in an examination hall, inspecting how many plants have died. When she took botany for graduation, I didn’t realise that she had so much interest and affection towards plants. Only after buying this house I discovered that. Now there are almost 50 potted plants in our house, some on the ground floor, some indoors and some on terrace. Once she has done her rounds, checking each plants minutely, she comes back with a grim face. I know a storm is brewing. 

“Do you realise you have killed 10 plants this time – 7 in the terrace and 3 in the garden. Why don’t you water them?”

“Actually I do. (Ummm….Do I?)”, I respond feebly.

“No, you don’t. Last time you killed 12. The time before it was 14!”

“At least its decreasing.”

"Not funny! By the way, that reminds me, last time I had asked you to accompany me to Shopper’s Stop, you didn’t take me. It was a weekend. You don’t take us to movies. You don’t take us to a restaurant…”

“But I have got Amazon Prime for you – 24 hours shopping. What more do you want? And you know I cook well…the hotel will charge the same dish two three hundred rupees”

“Kanjush !!”…She walks away.

My daughter and I have fun in the evening since my wife comes late. One day she arrived quite early when our house was almost the way the earth was during the creation of the universe. My wife almost fainted when she walked in. We felt we saw a ghost at the door. My daughter ran upstairs pretending she had lots to study. I was left alone, facing the music.

My daughter is only seven years of age. And yet the most formidable of the three. Its difficult to win against her in words. She always has the perfect reply and that “don’t care” attitude. And I wonder what I was doing when I was seven. May be still figuring out how to zip my pants properly!

The other day I asked her to stop studying so that we can play cards. She boldly replied “When you read books, do I disturb you? So, don’t disturb me!”

I just had a severe headache one day and she, like a pro, advised me “Read light-hearted books. The heavy books you read are causing this problem”. She has lots of questions and they are as different as an Indian meal. A common question she had, which I had too when I was small was “Why am I not in the marriage photos of you and mummy?”

“Because you clicked the photos! There was no better photographer around!”

Since we keep travelling she thinks we can go anywhere. So, she points to some random wallpaper-type photos and says “Can we go there?”

She teaches my mother, who is supposed to be her teacher in the house, how to click photos and send in whatsapp.

One day we went to see the movie Dhoni. The protagonist's (Dhoni's) first girl friend dies and he meets the second one in fifteen minutes screentime. “Look how Dhoni gets another girl friend so quickly”, she whispered in my ear. It was dark and there was none to see my expression. But if anyone asks who is my favourite girl friend, its definitely  her. When my wife and mother gang up against me (there common problem is I don’t listen to anybody), she stands up for me. And when they gang up against her, like complaining about the leftovers in tiffin box or need to put more hours in study, I come to her rescue.

She is recently confused whether she should become a fighter pilot or a tennis player – a situation much better than her confused father. Her father didn’t know what to do with life. Then did engineering because he happened to crack the entrance examination and everybody said everything in life would be “settled” after engineering. Then he got a job in IT industry. Felt confused within a few years. So left everything and went to UK to study MBA, only to land up again in the IT industry. He loves blogging, cooking, traveling and ,of course, reading non-fiction “heavy” books. And if that’s not enough to add confusion to life, he has recently joined weekend guitar and swimming classes. And when there is still some time left, it is spent with the three ladies of the house. Amen!

In the Tea Gardens of Munnar and Spice Gardens of Thekkady

Vacation: To be or not to be?

The long weekend of Diwali, which got even more extended by the Karnataka Rajotsav holiday on 1^st November, was too tempting. There was holiday for 4 days on a trot. And yet that was barely 2 weeks after a supposed exotic vacation in Lakshadweep. Had it not been for the planned Lakshadweep vacation, I wouldn’t have thought a second time about planning another vacation. But then I thought again. Should I or should I not?

“Don’t you think the two vacations would be in too quick a succession?” Debreena had a valid point.

 I thought for a good 5 minutes. I weighed the pros and cons of going for a vacation vis-à-vis not going. And I found no reason why I should not plan a vacation, even after scratching my head all the time! Once I decided that I am going (of course with family), the next obvious question was, where to? In 4 days I cant go to the Himalayas and be back. So, it has to be near. We wont enjoy the sea as the Lakshadweep hangover would not have gone. So, I needed to think something totally different and yet equally appealing. I would not be going for a vacation for the heck of it.

One place that I can always reliably fall back on is Kerala: God’s Own Country. I don’t know about God (pun intended), but what I can definitely say Kerala is its (my) Own Country. After a few searches in the net, I zeroed in on Munnar and Thekkady, a place we visited around 10 years back – just after our marriage. But, to be honest, we don’t have enough fond memories of the place. It was a combination of lack of experience and poor planning. So, here we go – a second chance with an added member, our daughter, who was not there with us the first time.

Reaching out for the beautiful moments and things in life

The Lakshadweep hangover

The flight from Lakshadweep, actually Agatti, had a stopover in on Cochin on 15^th October, Saturday. “We will be in this city again within the next 14 days for another vacation”, I let out the plan looking out of the world’s first solar-powered airport.

“Yeaaaa”, my daughter shouted as the co-passenger gave her a weird look

“I can’t think anything of a vacation right now. We are yet to return home from this one. There are loads of clothes to put in the washing machine. And we are already away from home last 10 days. Our house would need some serious cleaning.”, It seemed Debreena was very much in the beaches of Lakshadweep.

In the first few days Debreena was still in trance mode. Reference of the Lashadweep crawled during our conversation.

“The sea green painting on this wall is not like as we had seen in Lakshadweep.”

“We will set up an aquarium, but the sand should be white, like in Thinakara”. I reminded her that we didn’t bring any white sand from Thinakara – a big mistake.

And in the dinner tables, when a grilled pink perch arrived “It reminds me of the colourful fishes during our snorkeling. It was so amazing!”

And when I reminded her that we have another vacation coming up shortly, she kept on saying that she can’t believe we have such a back-to-back vacation.

“It’s like I am on a three-course meal for lunch and somebody is talking about the plans of a grand Mughlai Cuisine for dinner.”

“I think I have to take another vacation to shed the hangover of this vacation.” I said, thoughtfully.

The inevitable day and time had come, wherein we had to board the overnight train to Cochin.

29^th October, 2016. Saturday

We reached there early morning, where a spotless white Swift Dzire car waited for us.

“Hi, I am Joseph”, introduced the smiling driver with the typical bushy Malayalee moustache.

We had our breakfast and was through the busy streets of Cochin, soon diverting to a highway that took us to Munnar. In between we halted at a roadside coffee shop, opposite to a waterfall. We are yet again on another vacation!

Amidst the tea gardens of Munnar

The weather in November is generally pleasant. And as we took the hilly road, we felt that cool breeze. And then there was greenery all around, a hallmark of the state of Kerala. Anywhere you go, you see that tropical green forest. That’s the beauty of India. Every state is so much like an independent country. Since school days it has been drilled inside my head to parrot “In India there is unity in diversity”. It’s a very big statement for a school kid. We can still get a feel of the unity when we cheer for our Indian cricket or tennis team. But diversity? When my world was all that was around in my small town and once in a blue moon a vacation to the mountains or seas it was difficult to fathom the meaning and depth of the word “diversity”.

I knew I had to make some diversion before we entered the main town of Munnar. As soon as Munnar was in sight on some distance mountains, Debreena started tracking on the GPS. It was already around 3 hours in the car It was around lunch time. Somewhere during the journey we lost the sun on the way. As we approached the tea gardens and the mountains, the clouds came buzzing around.

“Take this right turn”…we did

“Go straight…after 5 km you would find a school. Take the second left from there….” We kept following the instruction that came from behind. What came from all around was rain. The intensity increased as we neared our resort – it was supposed to be in the middle of a grand tea estate owned by the TATA Tea. We were able to see the resort. I had seen it in the photos. But the road that led to the place was single lane. And that too muddy. The last 50 metres was downhill. The rain picked up full force. The car skidded as it got down. The helpful staffs of the hotel rushed with big umbrellas as they saw us coming.

Ours was the supposed best room of the resort. On the top floor. And that’s because I had booked it a good six months earlier, when most would not have been thinking anywhere around. And I ensured we have the best room to stay. The windows were huge. We opened them. A gush of fresh wind with a splash of rain entered in the room. We ordered lunch and looked out of the window. Rows and rows of small and sturdy tea plants. All uniformly cut. At places stood tall trees and then tea plants again. There was no respite from the rain. The lights were fading fast. The mountain range of the Nilgiris hills became a faint outline, unless it disappeared from our sight. Gudiya and I had fun playing nonsensical games and then catching breath by watching the rain outside. Debreena was engrossed in actually walking. When two cars came face to face on that single lane, one had a hard time reversing and giving way to the other car. The electric wires that passed from the front of our window posed an unwelcome obstacle for the camera. And yet we found a few crows and sparrows sitting on them and shedding the water from their wings. Afternoon rolled into evening and evening crawled into dusk and dusk disappeared into a dark night. The clouds came crawling down. They were now hovering over the tea gardens, like cows returning to their herds, like school boys dragging their cricket bats as they wrapped up the day’s play.

It was raining monotonously outside. At times people under colourful umbrellas made way to or from the resort. It was fun to watch them as all you can see is a moving umbrella through the alleys of the tea garden and then when they came out in the open you saw that someone was

Looking at the tea garden we sipped tea, lazily. As the darkness shrouded the place, another resort around 100 metres away, had its lights lit up. The sound of the rain stopped sometime back. I tried to go out and take photo of our resort and our room. Hardly a few metres and I found my sneakers grappling in the sticky mud. I ventured no further and meekly returned to my room. A big family was occupying a couple of rooms downstairs. Their loud laughter and high decibel discussion went through the roof, much to our annoy. Gudiya got bored and switched on the TV for some Chota Bheem cartoon. I got a call from the office about some urgent submissions that needed to be done. So the laptop had to leap out of my bag. Debreena was still reading the book. Our activities came to an end when dinner was served. Post dinner while Debreena and Gudiya got under the blanket, I stared at them enviously. I was awake for a couple of more hours, working on my laptop. And when I decided to shut it down, I looked out again one last time. It was total darkness. The lights of the distant resort was switched off. It was Diwali in two days, which means it would be new moon on Monday. And whatever slice the moon had left, was behind the dark clouds. I heard the croaks of frog from outside, interrupting the pittar-patter of the rain. It was the proverbial rainy nights, where the novelists plot some murders or the movie directors express the sensuous and passionate side of love between love birds. The philosophers and introverts would look at the darkness and try to find its meaning. I looked inside. Debreena and Gudiya were in deep sleep, cuddled under the blanket. I joined them.

30^th October, 2016. Sunday

Getting around Munnar

The morning was glittering. The distant Niligiri mountain range that was defeated by the clouds since the evening, was back with head held high. The morning rays of the sun glittered on them.

“Do we really have to travel another 100 kilometres today to Thekaddy today? This was such a lovely place to have a relaxed vacation”, Debreena said.

“I am afraid, we don’t have an option.”

We got refreshed, took a shower and went to a tea garden visit. In between we could see how cars struggled to climb uphill in the slippery muddy road and how their 4X4 car pulled out one from the mud. After an initial hiccup, our car was safely on the road. We loaded our bags. The guide gave us the standard lecture on the tea plantation, its workers, the tea plants. And all the while I was admiring the hundreds of grasshoppers that swamped the place. We had seen them last evening from our room.

 After that we drove to the Kanan Devan tea factory. It was a good experience, watching how the tea, that is so delicately served at homes and hotels and in such hurry in trains and shops, is brought to the cups from the plants. Tea, which is the world’s 2nd most popular drink after water, was lapped up as a popular drink in India only around 1920s, which is not even a century back! We bought some tea packets and headed for the Mattupetty Dam. There was a scenic places where the tea garden slope has a perfectly symmetrical rows of tall trees. I remember having stood here last time. But like in all tourist places, the beauty is now ruined by stalls and more by a huge commercial billboard that displays the name of the tea company. Its like you go to the Taj Mahal and find a huge placard displaying the name of the contractor who maintains it and keeps it clean daily! The way to the Mattupetty dam was lined by cars. When we reached the dam we wondered whether there was anything worth coming here. We turned our car back, had lunch in the Munnar city and was again to our next destination, Thekkady, a town in Nature which was about a hundred kilometres away. It was getting cloudy.

On the way to Thekkady

Just before entering the town of Thekkady, Debreena had the GPS on. The name of our “tree house” was Monsoon Retreat. I have seen its reviews and photos in Tripadvisor. The GPS told us to leave the main road for a single lane road and then a delicate turn. Ouch! The turn was just enough for a bicycle to turn. So, Joseph got down asking the locals for the direction. Some people already craned their necks from their houses and watched how a car got trapped inside. I am sure this was not the first time they saw such a scene

“There is another road from the other side”, Joseph said after getting direction from a youth.

When we went from the other side, there was hardly any decent road. It was just wide enough for the car to make way. Even an auto rickshaw coming from the other side had to park itself on the courtyard of a road-side house to make way for our car. We were so relieved to see an arrow on the right: “Monsoon Retreats”. That road went down. At the dead end on the left was a big gate and lots

of trees. Standing between them were cottages more like tree houses.

“Next time don’t book at such remote places. I wonder how this place will be at night” Debreena commented as soon as she stepped out of the car.

I was still struggling to find where the owner was. I was almost lot in the rows of tall trees. I called out his name quite a few times. And then I found a lanky young person peeping from behind a 6-feet tall cardamom plant. He walked upto me and in a deep voice said “Hi, I am Subish!”

I had already exchanged mails and phone calls with him for the last few months. He showed us our tree house. It was about 10 feet above the ground. I sat on the balcony as darkness set in. The birds came to their nests. A few Greater Racket-tailed Drongo perched on the trees around. Their long tail flickered every time they tweeted. A woodpecker was nimbling at a ripped-open ripe jackfruit. And then soon another one joined. There was a papaya tree just beside our tree house. A sparrow came hopping on it. A jungle babbler was pecking on a bunch of red cherries. It was becoming darker. Gudiya and myself started playing chess on the balcony. But my mind was more occupied by the Nature. Debreena sat on the chair in the balcony, sipping a cup of tea, while Gudiya and I were having coffee with Good Day biscuit. It was very quiet and peaceful. To add to the charm, the mobile signal was weak. Soon the lamps of other tree houses started glowing. Debreena and Gudiya went inside. Debreena was reading a book; Gudiya was playing with her dolls. I was still outside. The weather was very pleasant. I was staring at the darkness and , yet, didn’t know what I was looking for. The crickets started chirping; the frog started croaking. There was no TV in the cottages.  So, its only the sound of the nature that drowned me. We walked carefully through the dark paths to the dinning place and had an early dinner. And then back to the balcony again. I realized that my nerve has soothed considerably in the last few hours. I could feel the serenity inside. As if, I can hear my heart beat too. It was hardly nine and yet it felt to so much at peace. At that time the sound level of the traffic at Bangalore would be piercing the clouds! To top it, it was the night before Diwali night. It was impossible to find the feeble moon from behind the clouds and the big trees. So, it was pitch dark in Monsoon Retreats, except a few strays of light that found its way through the long and short leaves and branches of the trees.

31^st October, 2016. Monday

At the Periyaar National Park

The next morning we had plans to go to the famous Periyaar Lake. We thought of taking a boat ride around the lake. After around 20 minutes of drive in the morning through the empty narrow roads, we reached the entrance of the Periyaar National Park around 7:30 AM. We thought we were among the first to enter in. But soon we realized how wrong we were. The road inside the park was wide and foggy. The huge trees bent over the road forming a canopy. From a tree top a cuckoo’s shrill voice

pierced the air. A few monkeys chattered as they danced from one tree to another. When we reached the ticket counter to buy the ticket for the boat ride, we found ourselves at the end of a huge queue. We were definitely not the early birds. I stood there and realized we didn’t have much chance to make the ride. Most of the tickets were sold online. Whatever few was available for over-the-counter purchase would be wrapped up by those standing ahead of me in the queue. Monkeys kept jumping on the asbestos roof, scarring off some visitors. At last the inevitable bad news flowed in, “No tickets”. The queue soon dismantled. People went in different directions. Some went back, some st on the benches around with a dejected look, while other strolled towards the lake. We sat on bench on the shore of the lake, which looked more like a waterbody, and looked at the distant boats getting filled by people, who were marching towards the jetty with the look of victorious army. A colourful kingfisher sat patiently on a tree looking at the placid waters of the lake. Our expression was no different. While the kingfisher was up in the morning in search of a
basic necessity for survival, we were just in search of quenching our appetite of wanderlust. When we realized that there was indeed no chance of any boat ride this time or even the next one after a couple hours, we thought it was a good time to take leave.

We lazily returned to our car. It was still foggy.

Spicing up the day

Now we had the whole day at our disposal. And there was no plan or place to go. It was all about admiring Nature, watching the birds and the bees. There was a small artificial tank just in front of our cottage. There was supposed to be a snake inside. We waited for a long time to catch a glimpse of it. But, in vain. We explored the plants near our tree house. There were cardamom plants and pepper plants. Being a foodie and a decent cook myself, I was familiar with all the species. Now it was good to know how the plants look like. In the afternoon we took a trip to a Spice Plantation. It is quite common in this part of the world. In fact, it was just behind our stay. For a student of botany a tour like this is more like a thrust-upon fieldwork. For us, it was a casual walk. What looked haphazard and bushy at first sight, soon looked a carefully planted garden. A few pineapples “bloomed” in one

corner of the garden. A coffee plant had coffee green and red seeds hanging from it. A cocoa fruit had just burst open. And cluster of figs hung from the plant like bells.

We peeled some bark off a cinnamon tree, rubbed it on our palms and smelt the refreshing odour. Our tour guide broke a small branch from a small plant and rubbed it on a rough surface, exposing the bright yellow colour inside. It was turmeric. The turmeric that I had in my kitchen never smelt so good! There was a watch tower, which we climbed. Then we walked on a bridge made of rope, which led to a tall tree house, at least 20 feet off the ground. A spider was busy weaving a web between two branches of a tree. There were a few guinea pigs in one cage and hens in another. A big tank had some fishes, which ate plants. So, when the guide threw some leaves, the fishes surfaced and munched those leaves happily, before going underground again. During the tour I also gathered some spicy information about spices. For example, white, black or red pepper originate from the same plant. The difference lies in the way we process them. The end of the planned tour saw us standing in front of a shop in the garden that sells fresh spices. It was a good business strategy. We succumbed to the plan and ended up buying a few packets of this and that. On our way to Monsoon Retreats we stopped by a shop to get a packet of cashew nuts and a few more dry fruits. By the time we were in our tree house, another evening welcomed us. And I saw the evening gradually rolling into a dark night as the twitter of the birds gave way to the sound of the insects.

There were lightning in the night and I desperately hoped for some rain. The sound of rain on the trees would have been worth listening before going to bed. I even smelt petrichor and a few drops even fell on us when we went out of our tress house for dinner. But it never went beyond that.

1^st November, 2017, Tuesday

On our way back 

Our last day of the trip. As if to bid us a royal farewell, a huge pink lotus bloomed in the small tank. A grasshopper hovered around another bud. Gudiya and I were taking photos of the birds who flew around. Debreena was packing.

“Its actually a nice place…we should come here again”, she said, looking back, as the wheels of our car rolled.

For lunch we went to a restaurant, where we had lunch the previous day too. It was run my women-only staffs and were rated high in Tripadvisor. Kerala is quite a modern state. Its literacy rate is the highest in India, close to 100%. 

Our train to Bangalore was at 8:35 PM from Ernakulum, which is very near to the Cochin railway station, where we arrived a few days back. The distance was a good 160 KM, while I thought it was only 120 KM. So, it would take around 5 hours and I had calculated not more than 4 hours! At one stretch, the road had rows of rubber trees of either sides and at another there were pineapple plants. A deep cut was made on the trunk of the rubber tress and a pot was placed below it. And the juice trickled in it. And then there was something happening outside which was more than a trickle or a dip. It was the heavy downpour, that is so typical of Kerala. In the month of November I hardly expected it to rain and that too with this intensity. The windscreen wiper of our car moved

vigourously. And our driver, Joseph, was having a hard time looking the road ahead. But there was no sign of the rain getting abated. Water logged on the roads. People covered themselves in raincoats as they walked by or got hidden under huge umbrellas. Vehicles moved with parking lights and headlights on. It got darker than normal. While I always enjoy this type of rain (I realized I am a pluviophile), I was also keeping a watch on my watch. The google map showed we will reach the station at around 8 PM. A big traffic jam in the city could easily delay by 30 minutes, bringing the ride to a nail-biting finish, as we would struggle to catch our 8:35 PM train. Joseph realised our situation and drove steadily through. But driving in that rain by straining his eyes and craning his neck soon stressed him out. He requested for a coffee break. It was still raining very heavily. Getting out of the car and stepping into the roadside restaurant seemed a challenge. The staff from the restaurant came running with huge umbrellas. But that could not save us from getting partially wet. We had hot cups of filtered coffee with dosa.

We reached the railway station in time. The rain had stopped by them. There were just a few drops that fell here and there. I went to get dinner for the night. Soon after I returned, the arrival of the train was announced. We walked with our bags to the platform and boarded the train.

The voyager in me

Within half an hour the train passed by rows of solar panels. Those were the ones that provide power to Cochin airport, world’s first airport that is solely powered by solar energy. We were here about twenty days back when our flight hopped in here before landing in the Agatti island of Lakshadweep. As I looked out of the window, the darkness, interrupted by occasional lights, reminded me of sitting on a chair in the balcony of Monsoon Retreats and feeling the darkness. The last four days we have been to the tea garden and spice garden, the tea factory and the huge lake; heard sounds of insects and twitter of colourful birds; walked in a foggy mornings and watched the evening blend into night; smelt the fresh air after the rain and the refreshing odour of the turmeric stem; felt the silence and absorbed the darkness…and the list goes on.
What may look like a slam dunk vacation for most, is always a new expedition and experience for me. In every vacation I become a Christopher Columbus or a Marco Polo on a new voyage in search of a new world. And as my discovery of tea gardens and spice gardens sink in, plans of my next voyage begins to take a shape. In a few weeks the wind will again hit the sail and the ship will, once again, leave the shore of a monotonous and mundane land in search of the unknown.

From Christmas to New Year: Birds in Bharatpur, Snow in the Himalayas and Sadhus in Ashrams.

The Planning Phase

The last week of December,2016 was fast approaching and I was still unsure of where to go: which room in my larger house, India that is, should I explore. I had booked some flight tickets leaving Bangalore on the night of 23^rd December, Friday and arriving on the first day of the new year. But what I planned to do in between was very much open. Debreena and Gudiya had planned to spend in our native Calcutta. I still needed motivation to go to Calcutta. Calcutta and Chandannagore, my native, was always about reliving the memories and travelling back in time. I realized this again when I went there in the winters of 2015-2016. I have even mentioned the same in my blog. There was nothing forward to look out in those places. So, Calcutta or Chandannagore was ruled out. The failed attempt to Hampta Pass had been bothering me for quite some time. Its not the failure, per se that was giving me sleepless nights. It was my utter insincerity and lack of preparation and homework that angered me more. So, immediately upon return to home in the first week of September, I hit the treadmill. In the first few days I realized how under-prepared I was as I ran short of breath in a few minutes. I was determined to push the boundaries. I was getting out of the comfort zone. I started hitting the treadmill on a regular basis; I kept an eye on my food habit. I was a man on mission to get get sorted out and improved. Soon I was feeling better. I was doing better. I was able to shed a few extra pounds. Not bad! So, in the last week of December 2016, I decided to do another trekking to check how I was shaping up. In the first week of December I zeroed in on two potential treks – Kedarkantha Trek and Deoritaal-Tunganath-Chandrasila trek. Both are winter treks and would involve forest trails, potential walk over fresh snows and camping on the meadows. The later had an added beauty of camping on the shores of the Deoritaal Lake. I went ahead with that. But the trek was of 5 nights. I had more time. I decided to visit India’s largest Bird Sanctuary at Bharatpur, Keoladeo National Park before I begin the trek. I contacted my travel agent and booked the air and bus tickets in between.

Everything was set. I would fly out of my Bangalore nest on 23^rd December at 8:45 PM. Reach Delhi at around midnight. Try to park myself in a hotel near Delhi's Nizamuddin Railway station for the night before taking the earliest train to Bharatpur the following day.

Spreading my wings...ready to fly!

23rd December, 2016.

The journey begins 

The flight was supposed to reach Delhi at 11:30 PM. I hoped it would delay (due to fog) so that I can reach Delhi in the wee hours of the day. To make matters worse, it reached earlier than the scheduled time. By 11:30 I was outside the airport with my luggage. It was already quiet cold. As we were landing I realized the haze that engulfed the city. I booked a Uber taxi and went to the Nizamuddin railway station.

After my initial struggle to get my rucksack through the door of this Eon car, I settled in and the car soon zoomed through the empty flood-lighted road.

“Where are you from?” I started my conversation with the driver 

“Uttar Pradesh?”

“Yes. And you?”

This is a question that I have difficulty in answering recently. While still a Bengali by heart, I have left West Bengal more than sixteen years now.

“From Bangalore”, came the safe reply.

I was trying to strike a conversation so that he doesn’t dose off behind the wheels.

“Why are you working so late at night?”

“This is my last trip for the day. My home in near the station. That’s why I accepted your booking.”

“And you will now go home and cook or does your family stay with you?”

“My family is here. I am doing all this to lead a good life. Whats the point if they are far and I visit them only once a year? You know, sir, the best thing is the feeling to return home and spend time with the kids. I have two girls – fourteen and seven. Their smiles make my every toil I make worth it”

Soon, I found myself in a station that’s almost empty. People have curled themselves on the platform under bed sheets. There were announcement of trains that are arriving and departing late due to fog. The enquiry counter had a queue with people desperate wanting to know the status of their trains. I found a ten year old boy rubbing his eyes and shivering. He was sleeping in a corner of the platform, when his mother woke him up, probably because their train has arrived. I enquired , in vain, for availability of any retiring rooms. All were booked. It was almost 1 PM and I had a train at 5:15 AM. I stepped out to the road where rows of claustrophobic rooms were rented out in the name of hotels. I did not have much time or energy to be picky. Neither did I have much option to negotiate as time was not on my side. There were hardly any persons on the road. There were dogs, instead, who barked at any passersby. I checked into one of the hotels not even 100 metres from the station, removed my shoes and socks, set the alarm clock in my mobile and thats it! I was lying on the bed, hoping to catch a couple of hours of sleep.

24th December, 2016.

Towards the Keoladeo National Park

Before my alarm clock was on a rampage in the dead silence of the night, I woke up. I got refreshed. And was again on the streets with the big rucksack on my back and a smaller one in front. I reached the platform only to hear the announcement that the train has been delayed by an hour. When the train finally arrived I had little patience to stay awake till it leaves the station. I was allotted an upper berth and was up there in no time. From time to time as I woke I realized that the train was getting even more late due to the fog, a common nuisance in this part of India during this time of the year.

Ultimately the train arrived at Bharatpur station three hours late. I took a rickshaw and found the way to the hotel I had booked. It was nice one. I had breakfast, took a shower was off to the bird sanctuary. I hired a cycle. It has been long since I was riding one. I did not take any guide. It was a lazy cycle ride. The first couple of kilometres were quite bare on either sides of the road. I did hear different types of tweets from different branches. I looked around. While I spotted a few at times, most of the times I could not find where the tweets were coming from. It was fairly crowded. There were people on hand-pulled rickshaws and horse-drawn carriages, as well. Some group had hired guide, who would be able to sight those birds. I hear a familiar sound, that of a Koel. I looked around and caught sight of the Indian Koel among the bushes. Far away on a waterbody I found a Little

Waterbody

Cormorant, sitting on a long dried stem. The sun was directly overhead. I removed my sweater. At one place on the roadside I saw a few people looking up to a palm tree. I also craned my neck and found an owl cozily sitting in. People were clicking photos. I was no exception. While we humans keep on talking about personal space, its so mean of us to keep intruding in the lives of other people. We open a National park and maintain it for birds to fly in. And then we invite people to watch the birds eat, sleep, drink, breed and what not! Its like giving shelter to the homeless and then making it an exhibition for the others to come knocking in.

I passed the second gate…not really very excited as the place fell short of my expectation. At the same time, I realized that I did the mistake of not hiring a guide. Because it is the guide who knows where the birds have nested and rested. After the second post, things looked brighter. There were colourful ducks on the waterbodies, swimming and playing around, while hunting for their food. Again, I stopped at a place where a guide was focusing his binocular and inviting people to see through it. There were Great Cormorants sitting on the top of a tree far away. On a tree, among the leaves, sat quietly, what looked like parrots initially, two green pigeons. Pigeon is one bird that I have been introduced very early from childhood, thanks to my grandfather who used to splash fistful of

Little Erget

grains. But those were the black-white-grey coloured flocks of pigeons. And then I heard the chatter of parrots – the rose-ringed parakeets with red beaks and long tails. While I was watching the birds, something very unwanted and uncomfortable kept me busy all throughout. The cycle that I was provided hardly had air in its tyres and the chains came off after every few metres. It was making me irritated. But I had little option. In the middle of the park, there was no way I can exchange my cycle. So, I carried on with it, limping, hopping, cycling, walking….

And then I heard the shrill voice of what seemed more than a hundred birds. As I went to the spot, my heart beat increased and I felt goosebumps. There were thousands of painted storks nestled in hundreds of trees on the other side of the waterbody. The sound of baby storks were  all over the place. Each tree had more than a dozen nests and each nest was guarded by a couple or more storks. It was an unbelievable sight. The parent storks were feeding the young ones, some were swooping down in search of food, some came with food between their long beaks and flapping their large wings.  The first thing that came to my mind was the basic instinct of all the living organisms. Rearing the child was so fundamental in the lives of any living creature. Seeing the child weather the initial storm that comes in the first few months after birth remained the primary duty of their parents. An extremely scientific mind will reason the hormone and evolution theory for this behavior. A God-fearing person will marvel at the creation of the Almighty. But the truth may be somewhere in between.

I sat on a bench and finished the packed lunch of aloo paratha with a dash of pickle. There were this selfie craze. Leave alone the beautiful and colourful birds which were a hundred metres away, these people were busy making faces and clicking their own photos. Personally, I am not a person fond of selfie and feel it ranks in the lowest order of photography both in terms of quality and content.

By the time I reached till the last watch tower, the rays of the sun were barely making through the leaves of the trees. The shadows grew longer. And flocks of birds hovered overhead. From the watch tower I witnessed the birds fly, swoop, dive….A white-throated kingfisher waited patiently on the side of the water body. Painted storks were flying to get food for the babies before night settles in.

Painted Stork

The activities of the birds had increased considerably. They had sensed the limited time left for the day.

My bicycle had given up by then. I found that cycling with flat tyres made me only marginally faster and immensely tired. So, I decided to walk. The entire crowd was walking towards exit. One is not allowed to stay inside during the night. There was news of two leopards around the area. It was getting really dark. I found a dear peeping out of the bush. Its curiosity brought it almost on the road. Perhaps it was waiting for the people to leave the park so that they all could be there’s to enjoy, roam around freely and have fun. Just like, children would wait on the fences of the playground, waiting for the older boys to leave the playground so that they can have all of it. Suddenly a thought dawned on me, that I had not seen our national bird, peacock in the sanctuary. This sanctuary is in Rajasthan, which is home to our national bird. It should have a few peacocks. Just at that point, what we call “telepathy”, a peacock flew across the road near the exit. It gave a shrill call like the referee does at the end of a football match. It was end of Day One at the Keoladeo National Park.

Evening I went out to have an early dinner, walking through the almost-deserted cold streets in an otherwise small town. The memories of college days came flooding. One particular winter in the final year when I had to stay in the college hostel to clear an exam (which I had previously flunked) while others had left and the hostel mess had closed. After studying the whole day, my friend Sandipan (who stayed to help me prepare for the exam) and I walked through the canopied roads of the college campus to have dinner in one of the restaurants. Those days I was always occupied with the thoughts of a life post college days. I counted the days till the final exam. It would not be an exaggeration to compare the thought with that of a prisoner who waits eagerly for his release date. And here, in Bharatpur, there were birds in thousands who are not chained. They are free to fly and conquer the sky. What a contrast between that winter of 2000-2001 and this winter of 2016-2017.

View from the Watch Tower

 Its Christmas, 2016
Day Two at Keoladeo National Park

From childhood, Christmas meant fun time. Christmas meant holidays, cricket, badminton, cakes, woolen clothes, fogs, picnics, blankets, zoological garden – a day of festival. This Christmas I had plans to spend with the birds. Those beautiful and sweet creations of nature that have not only inspired us to sing, but also the initial inspiration to wander from one place to another.

“What time does the sun rise?” I enquired the hotel owner the day before. I was planning to be there before the crowd spoils the environment.

“Not before 6:45 would you see the light. 8 is a good time and the visibility will be better by then.”

Winter foggy morning in Bharatpur

And so, I was at the entrance by eight. I hired a bicycle, this time ensuring that its one of the better ones. I needed a guide. I had no second thought on it. So, I negotiated one. Amar is his name.

So, Amar-ji and myself started cycling through the hazed empty road in the sanctuary. Amar-ji kept on looking here and there - for birds in the nearby bushes and the far off branches. He showed be a flock of Jungle Babbler. Then he took a diversion and took me to a pond, which any person who do not know the topography of the place would have the least clue of. There was a Little Erget and a variety of birds. He showed some birds chirping among the bushes. It was getting exciting for me now. I was able to spot birds at a more frequent rate than last evening. 

He then took a right turn, where the rickshaws don’t go. And then I found a huge marshy land. There were ducks and ducklings swimming merrily in the absence of any human intervention. Far away a

Black-necked Stork

couple of black-necked storks stood still on their long and slender red legs. A few bulbuls hopped around. A group of rose-ringed Parakeet played and fought on tree branches.Then we took another diversion where I could spot a few rickshaws. Three owls were cozily seated one beside the other on a branch. And another outlier sat a few feet away in another branch. A Rufous Treepie, with its long tail, came hopping around. A painted stork crossed the road and it was such a nice feeling to see it completely ignoring our presence. A grey heron craned its neck and was looking still at the waterbody. It was looking for the right opportunity to pick its food. 

As Amar-ji took a tea-break, I found a beautiful pair of bulbuls were chirping inside a bush on the winter morning. The shinning black Darter spread its gorgeous wings, drying them, as it sat on a dried branch. A red-vented bulbul was guarding its nest and a pied bushcat was hovering around. Where were all these birds last evening? How could I miss these beautiful creatures? Then I realized last evening I was just riding a bicycle; this morning, I was on a journey on a bicycle. Its quite like life. Either you appreciate all the beautiful moments over the years, take a pause, appreciate and move on. Or you just run behind some mirage and miss them. Either you look out for the bird once you hear a tweet or you look at your watch, tell yourself that you are getting late and hurry up.

A Black Drongo was looking around. Amar-ji pointed a spotted owl sitting camouflaged among the branches. Another turn and a Indian Grey Horbill sat right on top of a huge tree. There were people with huge rather immobile cameras. By the time they had the camera set on a particular bird, it flew

off to another branch. It was already four hours since I started in the morning. I had initially negotiated for three hours. But things were getting exciting as we approached the other end of the park. I spotted a few other rare birds, but don’t recollect all their names. One was sleeping on a branch.

“Some foreigners negotiate a different way”, said Amar-ji. “Like, they say, you help me spot me this bird and I give you 3000 rupees”

He stopped me in the middle of the road and pointed at a huge eagle. I would have definitely missed these birds had I cycled all alone.

A huge turtle protruded its neck. The sun rays glittering on the hard shell. It seemed time also stood
still for it. I went and sat on the fag end of the park, beside a huge marshy land. I bid goodbye to Amar-ji and watched the birds. They stayed in flocks, flew in flocks, at times one bird came fluttering its wings from a distant horizon and joined the birds on the ground. There was no hurry in them, there was no sign of worry in them. They flew whenever they wanted, the rested wherever they wished. It was so nice to see them unshackled. I munched on the packed aloo paratha and wished I spent more time with them. But I was aware of the time. I had a bus to catch for Agra in the evening. I made my

way. Stopped at the watch tower once more. Found a small turtle near the pond. And a photographer almost on the brink of the pond clicking its photo. An Indian Pond-Heron roamed around freely.

Lastly, I sat in front of the thousands of nests of the painted storks. It was a place so full of activities. There were busy storks, patient storks, flying storks and resting storks. It was a breeding place for the storks. It was a place where Nature and living beings complemented each other. While the Nature provided nurture to the living, the living provided life to Nature. It was a symbiotic relationship where the whole was much greater and better than the sum of the parts. It was difficult to leave the place. I can still hear the call of the thousand storks when I am alone in a silent world – that may be in the dead of night or in a quiet corner of my home.

Sunset at Bharatpur

Bharatpur to Agra: Meeting people

It was supposed to be a non-event. Just a 60 kilometre ride on a local bus, which would take about an hour and a half. You don’t reserve your seats here, you just hop on to it. I did the same. The bus was almost empty and I went and found a seat near the driver. The bus started filling in. Casual discussions with my fellow passengers revealed that they were a team from Hungary who were on a trip to India.

“And how do you feel?”, I asked a lady by the name Orsolya.

“Oh! Its amazing…I find so much diversity all around that its difficult to express. You know, when I planned and started my trip to India I had some expectations from the trip. But as I explored more and more of India I realized that it’s a world that I had no clue or idea of. It’s a world beyond my imagination. I mean the people, the culture, the food, even the roads and monuments that I have seen in Rajasthan – you have to see it to believe it. And its so different from the world I come from. From my world its difficult to imagine or expect anything about this world. The travel guides teach you the anatomy, but they miss the soul, which you need to feel. Its like you are a qualified heart surgeon and one fine morning you discover love! And you start finding the meaning of life….”

The conversation went on for quite some time on topics like the Indian society to the belief in God to the western influence to yoga…until the bus left the highway and started panting in the streets of Agra. I realised that it would take ages for the bus to reach its terminus. I was supposed to leave for Hardwar for my next phase of the journey.And that terminus was different. So, I got down in the traffic and asked people about the direction to the Agra ISBT bus terminus. Suddenly I heard voice from behind me

“You were in the bus that came from Bharatpur, right?” It was an elderly bespectacled person, around fifty, a briefcase in hand, muffler wrapped around the neck.

“Yes…the one that dropped me at the traffic signal”

“I know…you were sitting in front of me and chatting with the foreigners. To reach ISBT, you should take a share auto from here to the talkies and from there another auto to ISBT. Join me...I’ll guide you”

After around 20 minutes of bumpy ride through the busy roads of Agra he told me to get off. Then he also showed me where to catch the next auto from.

“You can see the buses standing there. There are share autos beside it. Get into one of them. They will take you to the ISBT”, he said pointing to a few buses that horned a few yards away 

“You can have dinner near a restaurant near the bus stop. That’s a very good place. Have a good journey” 

He soon disappeared in the crowd. For a moment I stood still. In life we come across people who help you for five or ten minutes and disappear in the ocean of humanity. When we thank people who made our lives better, we thank our parents, teachers, grandparents, friends, kids, siblings and yet there are innumerable persons who have helped us cross those small bridges in the journey of our lives. Those nameless and faceless persons, who come into our lives for a fraction of a second and disappear. I remember a similar incident in Trivandrum, the place I started my career from. On the last day of our TCS training in the Techno Park, I had a train to catch in the evening. When I stepped out in the afternoon, I could not find a single auto. Suddenly a localite offered me a ride in his bike. He dropped all the way to my hotel, a good 20-30 kilometres. When I turned to him to express gratitude I found that he has already left.

I had a good dinner at the hotel, but was cautious not to overeat. After all, you would seldom rick yourself on an overnight bus journey. I reached the bus terminus an hour before. The bus left on time. Sharp 8:30 PM. It was supposed to leave for Haridwar at 4:30 in the morning. I was desperate to catch a few hours of good sleep. My sleep was disturbed at one point. My seat was just behind the driver. I woke up to find the road very foggy. The visibility was only a few metres and I wondered how the driver was driving at such steady pace. But soon I thought that you have to rely and trust on people’s skills and hope they know their business well, be it the one who is driving a bus, a train or a flight.

26^th December, 2016

Haridwar and further up 

Haridwar is a city that is close to my heart. I was here in 2015. At 5 AM when the bus dropped me in front of the railway station, it was freezing cold. I was waiting for my driver to pick me up. For the fifteen minutes I stood, there was no dearth of people. The tea shops were making the business, selling hot cups of tea to bus drivers, passengers, local people. Some gathered around the fire. Dogs curled themselves under some sheds. An old man, wrapped in a thick blanket, was trying hard to move around. The auto rickshaws were hankering behind potential customers, as people got down from the buses. My car arrived. Ravi was the driver. Soon I was on the way to Rishikesh. The crowd was left behind. The car drove through the dark and deserted roads. 

Ramesh-ji is my travel agent in Uttarakhand. Over the years he has become a good friend of mine. My plan is to go to his house, freshen up and proceed towards Sari, a distance of 220 km. Ramesh-ji is a very nice person, who spent the initial days of childhood in West Bengal. I met his family at his home, while he went to repair the car which got punctured on our way from Haridwar. He will be my guide for the trip.

The Hamlet called Sari

The road to Sari is through the holy confluences of Devaprayag and Rudraprayag. Devaprayag is where the placid Alakanda river meets the energetic Bhagiarathi river to form the holiest of the river in India, Ganga. Rudraprayag, which is further uphill is where the Alakananda meets the Mandakini river. I was on this route in early 2012 on our journey to Auli. In one way, that journey to Auli rekindled the wanderlust flame in me. It was a journey that marked the beginning of many more journeys. Our aim was to spend the night in Sari. By the time we reached Sari it was 2:30 PM. Our trekking starts from the hamlet of Sari. The first day was a trek to Deorital lake, which is a 3 km trek.

Sensing we have sufficient light remaining for the day, we were already contemplating of starting for
Deorital in the evening. Ramesh-ji went in search for a porter, while I had hot rotis and a curry with cauliflower. At around 3 PM, the plan was reworked and finalized. We will start for Deorital in the
next hour and not the next day. We potentially saved a day! By 3:45 PM I was climbing up. My trek has just begun!

And the trek had begun...ahead of scheduled time

It was steep. From 6601 feet at Sari I had to climb to 7841 feet above sea level, more than 1200 feet that involved 3 km of trek. The twin towers stood at a of height 1362 feet. So, that’s about climbing the twin towers or 150 floors in building and that too without proper stairs or paths. I got breathless at times, sometimes I hurried, sometimes I paused to gulp in water, sometimes to eat biscuits, sometimes to remove the full sweater. Or sometimes to plainly admire nature. The village of Sari, from where I started became tinier. I looked up. I saw a couple of village girls carrying huge bundle of straws on their head. I made my way up again. Some people who planned Deorital as a day outing were climbing down.

“How much more?” I asked, desperately hoping to hear that the lake is just a few feet away. This is first of the innumerable times I would ask this question to others and others would ask me.

“You are just half way through”. The reply sank my heart.

I passed a tea stall. And then another. Then I reached the lake. A small and beautiful lake surrounded my mountains. The sky was orange. The waters of the lake stood still. There were patches of snow around. I put my luggage in my tent. There were quite a few other tents around.

“It snowed here two days back. First snow of the season.” The tea stall owner said.

The trek begins

There were , actually, too many tents and people around – laughing, singing loudly, clapping. Night fell. I walked on to the tea stall, which served us rotis and subji. No electricity around. Occasionally you would see people moving with headlights. The stars twinkled above. The Milky Way glittered above in all its glory. I was shivering in cold inside the sleeping bag. Even a few layers of woolen clothes and jackets didn’t seem enough in the beginning. The woolen clothes made me fatter and the sleeping bag felt tighter. Gradually things settled. The crowd quietened. My aching legs and tired body gave away. Staying awake since 4:30 AM, barring a few dosing offs in the car, had already prepared the perfect ground for a sound sleep. I woke up shivering again at 3:30 in the morning. It is these times that you seem to question the real reason for taking the pain to do all these. I mean, I could have easily spent the last week of the year in Bangalore waking up late, reading a book, enjoying a siesta, running on the treadmill in the evening, watching a movie in the night and then slip under the blanket at night. And yet I chose to scale a height equivalent to the height a twin tower, have a bare minimum roti-subji for dinner and then shiver inside a sleeping bag in the wee hours of the night. We all want comfort in life. “You need to settle in life”, my father used to say. And then when you actually settle, you start missing the fun of an unsettling life. In a settled life, life becomes too much predictive and that brings the monotonous factor. So, you throw away that settled life, pick your backpack and start exploring the world that is beyond the boundaries of your world, the same way my Hungarian friend discovered a whole new world in India. A bone-chilling night on the shores of the Deorital Lake, under the starry sky, on a hard ground is an experience which a thousand nights on the most cozy and comfortable beds on earth under the most luxurious blankets will never be able to match up to.

27^th December,2016: 

Day 2 of the Trekking.

I woke up in the morning before the sun appeared from behind the mountains. I went on a stroll beside the lake, which was a couple of metres from my tent. Most of the trekkers were still inside their tent. Only a handful were roaming around, clicking photos like me.The sky cleared. Then the clouds turned orange. The lake reflected the sky and the orange clouds. And I sat still on the shore of the lake. A very thin sheet of ice had already formed on the banks of the lake. The temperature had

Deoriataal in the morning

dipped considerably last night. Some birds chirped around. People were getting out of their tents, sharing stories of the chillness of the previous night with their friends. I was alone. I had only my guide, whom I have known for the last eight years. Sometimes it feels great to be alone and soaking the wonderful vibes all around. I had my breakfast. Ramesh-ji and the porter packed the tent and we started the trek. The other trekking parties were getting ready to start.

It began with an ascend, followed by a forest trail. The forest trail was adventurous. The sunlight had just been piercing through the leaves of the trees. And I continued my walk on the leaves strewn on the path. The rustling sound, sound of birds nearby or a waterfall in a distant kept my ears busy. And then also there was the sound of my heart beat. A steep climb and the heart had to work overtime. I removed my full sweater....I was sweating. The sun glass came handy and so did my cap. The hiking stick provided the much-needed support. Then there was a steep climb. I walked. I paused. I continued. There was a small level land where trekkers who left ahead of us lay on the soft green grass. We all were catching our breath. Some were drinking water, some energy bars, while others just lay on the ground, enjoying the pristine beauty. One of the trekkers sat quietly with a philosophical look at the distant mountains, oblivious of the crowd around. Another took a selfie. One thing I liked is the number of ladies and women trekkers. While, traditionally people might think trekking is for the strong and well-built men, it was very encouraging to see women matching steps. On the hindsight, its no wonder, considering in the recent Olympics it was the Indian girls and women who bagged medals, while their male counterpart failed to make it to the list.

We started again. You start small chit-chats with other trekkers on the way. One common question is "How much more is the ascend?"

It was literally, miles to go before you sleep.  It seemed everybody wanted to trek, but none wanted to take on those steep climbs. It is, to be fair, not an easy task for us who live on the plains.

"Just another half a kilometre...", would my guide assure me.

But he was barely correct. I believed he said so deliberately, so that I am not too much disappointed.

My guide and porter who had been adept in this type of terrain, were obviously far ahead of me.

Forest trail

Apart from the climb, what caused me to slow down further was the paradisiacal surroundings. I stopped to soak in the beauty and capture them through my lens. 

"Its the journey, but the destination thats always fulfilling for a traveler", I keep saying to myself.

Then again there was a forest trail. Tall trees that almost kissed the clouds. They formed a canopy. It was 2 PM and already not much sunlight illuminated the path. Night would set in early in this part of the world. 

Water trickled through the stones and across the path. I stepped on some stones and made sure I dont get myself wet in this cold winter. Soon, I found patches of snow littered around. And then, as I walked, the snow extended to the distant meadow, between the trees. A dog had been following us for quite sometime. It stopped when we stopped. It walked when we walked. It was getting colder as the sun was no longer overhead. It hid somewhere behind the trees.

Looking at the setting sun: miles to go before I sleep

When I reached the Rohini Bugyal (Bugyal, meaning meadow), my legs were already aching. I sat on a huge stone, having a late lunch, while Ramesh-ji and the porter got the tent ready. There was a hut at some distance. Thick grey smoke came from one of the turrets of the hut. Ramesh-ji went there to arrange for my dinner. I got into the tent. It was windy outside. There was no tent around me. The other trekkers had put up their tent about half a kilometre below. I looked outside to see the overarching huge mountain range. It was getting dark. And I was again reminded how tiny and insignificant I , and the whole humanity is, in front of Nature. Flocks of birds flew above. When the sun went permanently behind the mountains for the day, the temperature suddenly plummeted. The world was getting ready for another cold night. So was I. The night before there was too much sound around. This night was the silent night. Winds howled above the tent. The flapping of the tent gave an indication of how strong the wind was. I wrapped myself. Ramesh-ji brought me the dinner. When I stepped out, it was total darkness. I could only make out a faint outline of the mountains as the moonlight shone on them. A dim yellow light and faint babbles came from the distant hut. The starry sky was the best ceiling I have ever seen, with the Milky Way glittering. I wanted to stay outside in that dark silent night. But the bone-chilling wind was not helping in my cause. I crawled inside my
tent, slipped under the sleeping bag. Now I was used to the freezing temperature. I had a good sleep. Perhaps, saw a dream too, though can't recollect it. When I woke up, to a dazzling morning.

28^th December, 2016: Day 3 of the trekking.

Good morning, Himalayas!

I woke up pretty early in the morning. Because I slept early last night. The mountain in front looked gorgeous in the morning light. I noticed a waterfall gushing out from one of its side. Behind me was the slope where snow had started accumulating. I did not notice it in the fading light last evening. Now the snow also shone like silver. I walked towards the hut, from where again smoke was again
oozing out. An old man was making tea. People surrounded a small fireplace that was made by burning dried branches and leaves. Ramesh-ji was already there. I had tea and bread.

Ramesh-ji and the porter dilly-dalllied for some time and we were late. The other trekker groups had already started. 

Catching breath

The initial trek was over sheets of snow. It was tricky. I had to be careful not to slip. I took extra caution while stepping on. The hiking stick came much handy. I had to also take big steps through some large boulders. It was at times demoralising to look ahead...because all I found was a steep climb. Likewise, it was so fulfilling to look back...After all, I had managed to climb up so high. Looking back provided the impetus to stride ahead. And thus it continued....walking on snow, over the rocks, forest trail, hopping over water streams, cliff on one side and and ravine on the other and then suddenly everything opens up to a carefully crafted small and beautiful meadow.

And I was walking all alone all along...Sometimes reflecting back to the journey, not this trek, but journey of life in general. Some moments - happy and sad. The forest brought out the deepest pain and emptiness that the concrete jungle had pushed back in some darkest corners of the memory chest. I was walking. Thinking. Reflecting. Bygone days, fragmented relationships, daily struggle, desolated
lanes...they all came began to flow unrestrained. It is so necessary that from time to time we face ourselves - unmasked. For, I can pretend to be someone else in front of the whole world. But I can't play hide and seek with myself. I can't fool myself. The trek was much more than walking through the woods and rustling over the dead and dried leaves and branches. It was actually the journey within, fueled by the journey on foot, that makes one so refreshed. At times I stopped to drink water.

At times to remove or put on the sweater. At times, I wondered how much more do I need to walk before I rest for the day. Thoughts came flowing...And then I heard the babbles of people through the forest.

The Bridge

There was a steep descend. Suddenly, descending seemed more difficult than ascending. While you run out of breath during ascend, while descending you risk slipping and tumbling down. But the descend continued. Now apart from the babbles I heard the sound of water, that of an effusive brook. And then I found the bridge. It was placed delicately on the two banks of the brook, just like you would see in fairy tale books. Maple trees with brown leaves were all over. Some leaves fell on the water, floated on it and flowed with it. There was snow around. A huge brown trunk of a tree had fallen on the brook. Water flowed below it. I sat below the bridge for some time, marveling the creation. And then continued my journey..."Men come and men go, but I go on forever"

"Not very far", my guide assured me again. 

I have been already well-versed with those lines by now and know what it means. I have heard it at least a dozen times in the last two days.

A small meadow came. I lay on the soft green grass. The air was as fresh as you can get. Some Himalayan birds flew around the tall trees. The sky above was clear. We were now nearing the end of the day. That night, the plan was to sleep in a room of a so-called hotel in the hamlet of Chopta. As we walked out of the meadow I could faintly hear the sound of horn of cars....after three days. Soon, we were out to where there are roads and cars ply on them, where there are shops and people throng them. Welcome to the real world!  Our car was waiting...It took us to the hotel. It was actually a small room with an attached bathroom. I had a sumptuous lunch of hot rotis and curry made with potato and cauliflower. It was a simple lunch and yet beats the curries that they make in the upscale

The meadow with patches of snow

restaurants, hands down. After all, spicies, and that too mainly artificial ones, cannot make for the natural taste and flavour that fresh vegetables bring.

The room was cold. Since it was east facing, the last rays of the sun could not find its way into it at that hour of the day. I watched the small hamlet getting darker and darker. Dinner at the same restaurant, rather, dhabba. The night was not as cold as the previous two nights. After all, it was a room built with brick and mortar and not tent. And it was a hamlet, not a solitary tent in the middle of nowhere!

The following morning I had an audacious plan. Wake up as early at 2:30 AM, start at 3 AM for the Chandrashila which is at an altitude of more than 13000 feet above sea level. Chopta, where I was staying is at a height of 8790 feet above sea level. So, its a climb of more than 4000 feet. On the way would be the Tunganath temple, the highest temple of the Hindu God Shiva, located at a height of 12000 feet above sea level.

29^th December, 2016
Day 4 of the trekking.

I made a blunder at the very beginning of Day 4 of the trek. I got fully geared up and was all set for the trek. And I didn't take care of one very vital thing. I did not eat anything. I ventured out in an empty stomach. After taking a few steps uphill, I felt dizzy. I was not matching the pace of other trekkers. At that point I did not realise that it was the empty stomach that caused this problem. It could have been anything from less sleep to less oxygen in the air to AMS. I realised I would not be able to make it.The road was steep. It was dark. While I was planning to walk slowly, some localities

On the way to Tunganath Temple

advised not be left behind the trekkers group. There might be wild animals around. 

"So, its better to go in groups" 

I returned back and decided to start when the day breaks.

I went to bed, but could never sleep. The thought of not making the trek haunted me. I had done my homework. I had been steady the last few days. So, what really happened. As I pondered, the thought of the empty stomach made me realise my mistake. But it was too late to get ready and join the group and too early continue again. The reason that people start at 3 AM was to catch a glimpse of the sunrise from the Chandrashila peak. Now I was late anyway and would not meet that purpose.

I waited for day break.

As soon as the veil of darkness began to disappear, I got ready and started my trek. It was a steep climb, but a very scenic one. There was a proper roads of stone. This is actually a pilgrimage tour too. In winters the temple remains closed. At other times devotees walk up to the temple. However, during those months there are ponies that take them. Now its only accessible by foot. The snow has made the road slippery and , thus, unsafe for horses and ponies. I could see the road winding up. And I knew this was already the toughest part of the trek. I had modified my plans. I had planned to climb upto the Tunganath temple, take a glimpse of Chandashila peak from there, but not really climb upto it. Aim was to be back by evening in Rishikesh, which is a good 180 km from Chopta, and would thus take around 6 hours. What that also means is, we have to retrun to Chopta before lunch and leave Chopta after lunch.

As I climbed up, I found the path has been covered with snow. One or two people returned, but most were still around the temple or the peak or climbing.

"It was very very cold in the morning", said an European when I asked him what it was like to be up here in the morning.

Tunganath Temple at 12000 feet above sea level

I found a Monal. Its a very typical Himalayan bird, which is so colourful that you might just as well mistake it for a peacock. The Monal was pecking something on the ground. The climb was tiring. But then I did reach the temple. The highest Shiva temple in the world. The temple and shops around were closed. They were locked and would open only after spring, after the area would receive abundance of snow and then the snow would melt. To someone who is still figuring out the existence of God, it was a strange feeling in front of the temple. No bells chimed, no priests prayed, no devotees stood with folded hands....If God meant purity and His abode was supposed to be a place where you found peace and tranquility then this is that abode. Here, the sunlight cleanses the mountains each day; here the wind brushes past the trees; here the birds and butterflies fearlessly fly in freedom; here the moonlight visits them each night.The temple, in a way, symbolised the
destination, where each journey culminates into. The temple was the highest point of my trek. Philosophically, I can say, my tough journey ended at the doorsteps of a temple and that too of a God who stands for Creation and Destruction...just like it happens in real life.

During my jourey towards Rishikesh I was contemplating about staying in one of the ashrams there. I told Ramesh-ji. Being a localite, it didnt prove too difficult for him. He used his contacts.

By 7:30 PM I was in an ashram in Rishikesh. 

In an ashram in Rishikesh

Life is all about experience. And travelling helps me gain loads of it. I have never stayed in an ashram and what better place than to stay in an ashram in Rishikesh? The entire ashram had a very simple look. There were rows of trees and buildings that housed rooms, on one side. The sadhus roaming around in saffron attire. There was no loud music or sound of traffic. People walked slowly and talked softly.

As soon as I entered (it was well past 7:30 PM) I was told to go for the dinner that would get over in no time. I rushed to the dinning place. I had to remove my shoes outside. Roti, rice, daal and a curry were all that were served. Actually, not served - self-served. I had to take up my own plate, pick the rotis, pour in the dal and subji and the plate and wash the utensils after dinner. It was a simple arrangement that reminded me of the simple things in life - the bare minimums. The cot was devoid of any fancy mattresses - just a two inch thick cotton-stuffed "Indian mattress", on which I last slept in college hostel. As my tired body surrendered itself to the bed, I could hear faint chants of hymn from some corners of the ashram. 

No alarm clock to wake me up the next morning. So, I had a sound sleep. I woke up just in time to reach the breakfast table before the breakfast runs dry. Then I took a shower. The morning was cold. The ashram is on the bank of the river Ganga. What followed was a long walk around the riverside. Sadhus bathed in that cold water, while I was wrapped in jacket and muffler. Birds hopped and chirped around. Since visiting Bharatpur, I had , unconsciously, developed a knack for keeping an eye on birds. While in Bharatpur I had a guide and a brochure at the end to put names to those birds. Here I was marveling nameless Himalayan birds. The Ganga in Rishikesh is pretty wide. The colour of the water in green. I was not walking on any road. It was just the river side. A lady as sitting alone. When I asked her for some direction, she showed me a card which said she was undergoing a meditation course, wherein she is not supposed to speak. I carried on walking. I could see the Ram Jhula (jhula means bridge) in a distance where the river bends. Three girls were selling flowers.

"Phool le lo babu", the girls pleaded me to buy flowers.

I had no reason to buy one. Then when they saw the camera hanging round my neck, they insisted that I click their photos. I don't know what they gained. But I got some great photos and innocent smiles. I kept walking. Small birds, large birds, blacks birds, white birds, colourful birds- there were birds of different shapes and forms. I walked till the Ram Jhula. I had read about an ashram in Rishikesh, where the celebrity Beatles group stayed in 1968. John Lennon, in particular, extended his stay in that ashram. I wanted to visit that ashram. And for that I had to cross the Ram Jhula by boat, go to the other side of the river and walk another kilometre or so. I was following the route. The boat ride was also nice. The river had a gentle current. A sadhu was sitting on a boat. Just before I stepped in the boat I had heard a heated conversation between the sadhu and another tourist on the boat. I realised that the tourist was about to click photo of the sadhu, upon which the sadhu violently protested. I had seen this type of behaviour from Sadhus earlier too.
Sadhus don't like to be clicked. And yet their look, the saffron attire covering the dusty body, the rustic look...they make a great recipe for photos. However, I did not want to get into another confrontation with him again.

Upon reaching the other side, I asked about the "Beatles Ashram", as it is commonly known there.

"Follow this road through the market", I was informed.

The Ram Jhula

The market was full of tourist shops - souvenirs, "I Love Rishikesh" t-shirts, woolen clothes (where I found Bengalis bargaining hard), music shops playing fusion Hindu slokas, restaurants and sweet shops from where aroma spread to the road. There were also small time hawkers selling key chains, small statues of Gods and Goddesses, balloons, pens etc. There were also vendors selling snacks. As I walked past them I cannot resist my temptation all the time. After the walk of over an hour by the river side I was feeling hungry. And then I found a sweet shop selling hot samosas. Its only humane to fall for it. The samosas were getting deep fried in a kadai, which was as black as one can imagine. While I was waiting for the samosas to be taken out of the kadai, the small music shop beside it was playing a soulful fusion music of a Hindu hymn. I looked for it and bought an MP3. When I was handed over two samosas, I realised that the paper wrapper was already soaked with oil dipping from them. I pretended to overlook and quickly finished them.

My walked continued through the busy market. And then I came to one end of it. And then there were small houses. I was told to walk even further. When the road ended to a dead-end, I saw another one going left and ending into another property. It was the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's ashram or Beatles Ashram. The ashram wore a deserted look. There was no one there now. I bought the entry ticket and walked in. A post box stood under a tree. With no one around I wondered who would be using it. There were a few dome-shaped structure, which were supposedly used by people for meditation. I could hear the sound of the river Ganga flowing. One of the domes was where John Lennon had meditated. It was the most beautiful one. There was a colourful graffiti on the wall. It was a graffiti only a poetic and philosophical person could have envisioned, with faces of two human faces and clouds and whirling winds and artistically written. "When you look up the sky and see a cloud, think of me": John Lennon to Yoko. You fall in love with some songs, some incidents, some words and some

 "When you look up the sky and see a
cloud, think of me": John Lennon to Yoko.

people. These words at that time seemed to me the most romantic word I have ever seen in my life. It was written in so much plain and simple English and yet expressed so much. It might be in one of the mornings or evenings, when Rishikesh was much quieter than today, that John Lennon missed his wife Yoko, who might be in another part of the world. And in that moment of solitude, when telephone was also not so widespread, these words flowed. I sat there, in the dome, trying to place myself in that situation. I felt the pangs of solitude and loneliness. And the thought that while John Lennon died 12 years after his stay in Rishikesh in 1980, which is around four decades from now, his words, his lines still screamed of romance from one of the neglected domes in one corner of Rishikesh. Suddenly the feeling of us being mortal and that we all leave this stage one day overwhelmed me. All that we feel and think, all the love and all the struggle, all the pain and all the gain would one day mean nothing to us. As we would cease to exist! That day I found a new meaning of life and death, of humanity and mortality - the universal truth. Someone weeped inside.

A group of teenagers came in whistling. That destroyed the serenity of the place. I got up and explored the ashram. The haunted-looking buildings, the deserted roads, the tall trees which nests the Himalayan birds...

I continued my walk by the riverside upto the Laksham Jhula, which is another few kilometres. On that side of the river, there are lots of small ashrams or kutirs, home of the sadhus, lined up. I saw old sadhus drying their clothes in the clothes liner or just strolling around. The river bed saw some activities - yogas, exercises. People were water rafting, a very popular sport in Rishikesh. Laxman Jhula was brimming with tourists. I ate in a small restaurant and took an auto to my ashram.

Within an hour I set out for the Ganga aarti in Tribeni Ghat. The Ganga aarti is the worship of river Ganga by the devotees, who consider Ganga a Goddess. I have been quite a fan of the aarti - be it in Varanasi or Haridwar. But this time I had a different take on it, both on that day as well as the following day in Haridwar. In the both the occasions I realised that commercialization played a big role. Apart from the belief and faith of the devotees, its was the transaction that also important. Pay so much to get your name announced, pay so much to worship the God, pay so much to buy a glass of milk to pour in the Ganga, pay so much for the flowers and earthen lamp wrapped in a leaf...it was so much money. The volunteers have sufficient time to reach out to the devotees to ask for money in the name of religion. In fact, when waiting for the train at Haridwar station one aged person, whom I
ended up chatting for about an hour, asked me what I thought of the aarti. Initially hesitant, ultimately I expressed my views. 

The flame

"Even I share the same thought...but you see the Ganga is still polluted. They worship and then they throw garbage. Have you seen young boys selling glasses of milk to be offered to the Ganga?"

"Yes."

"In the first place I doubt whether that was indeed milk. I would not be surprised if I find its some type of colour or solution like corn flour mixed in water. And the young boys selling the milk never seemed to afford a glass of milk each morning. People should buy the glass of milk for the boys and not for the river. Thats utter waste!"

The actual worship is for fifteen minutes or so. But ask any person who has seen it and he/she will say its no less than an hour. Actually, the preparation is elaborate. The arrangement is very well orchestrated.  The crowd, the chantings, the earthen lamps, the chime of the bells, the elaborate ritual, the smell of the camphor, dusk turning into night as the worship ends....During the aarti I found a man in sixties dancing vigourously in circles for not less than twenty minutes. Another person, also in sixties, took dip in the ice cold water around 8 PM. These acts can only be done by only those who have the utmost faith in the rituals and beliefs. And these things have not changed since the time I first visited this place more than two decades ago. The shopkeepers who served the roadside snacks or dresses did not change. The only change, since last time, is, the increased number of hawkers selling selfie sticks as well as young boys and girls, men and women clicking selfies. 

The last day of the year

And then came the last day of the year - the last day of my trip. I walked along the river in the morning and went to Haridwar for the evening aarti and then the train to Delhi. Like a true traveler, I am proud of the fact that I spent the New Year Eve on the Haridwar Railway station. In the railway platform I found a poor hapless mother of two kids - elder son six and younger daughter two - desperately trying to make so many ends meet - food for the kids, warm clothes for them, trying to make the younger one fall asleep, keeping an eye on the elder one. The elder one was also caring about his sister and looked after her when their mother went to purchase food. The two kids played. And after barely having something, both of them fell asleep on one side of the platform. I am sure whatever they ate didn't fill their stomach. And I doubted if their mother had anything to eat. Ironically, during that time, on the eve of New Year, in many parts of the world people would be uncorking champagne bottles, oblivious of the fact that millions go to bed in an empty stomach. For these millions there is nothing New in a New Year and its not years but by days that they live their lives and think of survival.

My train to Delhi was at 12:55 AM on the first of January. In the Delhi Airport I met my proverbial "friend, philosopher and guide", Hirak-da while standing in the queue for the boarding pass. After security check-in I met my college roommate Aniruddha after fifteen long years. 

My flight to Bangalore kept getting delayed due to fog. So did Debreena and Gudiya's flight from Kolkata. Eventually we reached Bangalore in the evening.

Experiencing the different worlds

When I reached Bangalore after 9 days on a Sunday, I felt like I have been away for ages. In the last nine days I have visited and seen so many worlds. The world of birds, the world of the Himalayas, the world of the sadhus and ashram, the world of the devotees, the world in a railway platform. Each so much different from the other. The world of birds in Bharatpur was all about tweets and looking around to catch a glimpse of a colourful bird. The world of Himalayas during trekking was about physical stamina and introspection... it was about ascends and descends, spending nights inside tents and waking up to the serenity of the Himalayas. The world in the ashram is about tranquility and simplicity, not to forget the Beatles Ashram where time stood still, The world of devotees was about faith and that of the railway platform was about survival. 

You prepare for an exam and sit for it. You know what to expect in the question paper.

In my trips, however  meticulously I plan my trips and irrespective of the number of blogs I read, when I return I am always overwhelmed by the experience that I had never planned or read. Through my blogs I am only able to articulate a fraction of that experience. Through my hundreds of photos I am only able to capture a handful of moments. The best way to experience those worlds is to experience them first hand: pack the bags, book the tickets, reserve the hotels and reach out for them!

A day ends, another begins...A journey ends, another commences