A Vagabond Tale

A tear jerker in Netwar

2010-07-21T17:30:00.000+05:30

Perched on half of my ass in a contorted yoga pose, that I have now an idea to patent, the speedy 90 minute ride to Badkot from Yamunotri was scenic but tortuous in every way. The bus took 31/2 hours for the same journey the previous day. Now though I was squashed in the back seat of a Mahindra jeep sharing the tiny seat with 3 others. There were guys riding on top as well with women and kids perched on the 'good' seats next to the driver ! Another jeep change at Badkot, whose driver was saying 'aaoo baitho' (come sit) even when there were guys sitting on the bonnet! After more change of vehicles and other small adventures, arrived in Netwar for my night halt. The land cruiser type vehicles operating as public transport in the area leave only when full, so your wait could be from 1 to 10 hours !

Netwar is a small village with shops lining a dirty road . My destination was the forest guest house. After getting lost and going to a couple of stranger's houses finally marched into the place only to be told there were no rooms. There was a hotel in Netwar though, they assured me as i imagined spending the night under the stars. The 'hotel' had 2 rooms and was closed the owner languidly informed me. He asked me to ask at the barber shop down the road. A small entrance at the side of the barber shop was the entrance to a one room one dorm 'hotel'. The room was what I would classify as 'bedfall'. Having seen my share of hotel rooms I have classified them based on their vagabond comforts. I'm sure one day a publisher will be interested in this pioneering work and agree to publish it . Anyway a bedfall room is one in which there is just enough space to step in the room and fall on the bed. Don't even think about taking a 3 step contemplative walk to think about the state of the world ! The teenage dude who showed me the room was desperately trying to impress me with his knowledge of the local treks and women. I liked to travel alone, I said . I live in an ashram too ! Not hard to convince him on the second point since I was dhotified (wearing a dhoti) and had a clean scalp. For some reason he was very interested in the floor of the room and kept spitting there in between imparting his words of wisdom.

To get him out of the room and to avoid flooding i asked him to show me the promised 'attached bathroom'. He stared hard in my direction as if I had uttered the unutterable and grunted 'Come' . I was led into a darkened hallway where I was sure there were masked men with sickles (don't ask me about the sickle part but that's what I thought at the time) waiting to slit my throat after they found out that I had only 200 bucks in my pocket ! Finally we reached a wooden structure jutting into the valley. Truth to be told the views were great over the mountains but that was because there was not much structure to cover the views. Very little flooring and even less plumbing ! The water pipe sang some tunes but no paani was forthcoming. 'Dont worry you will have water' he said to me in that reassuring and confident way that meant that I would be really lucky to see even a drop anytime soon. Later that night after a bucket shower accompanied by admiring the hills, the room was quiet except that there seemed to be a TB patient in the nearby dorm who coughed his way through the night. .

Next morning I wake up in high spirits planning to walk to Sankri, a village 12 km away. Netwar is the starting point for Govind National Park and you have to shell out a minimum 150 bucks for a 3 day permit. Gullible vagabond that I am the guard managed to sell me a 5 day permit. I reckoned i could use the extra days ! The helpful guard also wisely dissuaded me from walking to Sankri saying a jeep 'will come anytime soon'. Ha ! My romance with alu paratha continued but to add to the sizzle had the most amazingly lip smacking dahi(curd), fresh local stuff. I literally almost cried after having devoured 3 parathas and struggling to get to my feet again. Err, the lacrimal glands were activated by my intense gratitude to the Lord for such tasty food and not on account of my physical disability that followed my gluttony !

Yamunotri

2010-07-10T17:42:00.001+05:30

If your days have been full of longing to see my post , here's the reason why Ive only just hauled myself to a net cafe. Death ! Yes, mine if i had braved landslides and a raging river to trek to civilization for the sake of love of the letter. Ah that sounded good! Lets not look at the real reason, laziness, and carry on to the topic of the day.

Just before my head hit the brick hard pillow,the decision was made to go to Yamunotri.What's the fun in planning a trip meticulously 6 months before the journey and then God forbid, everything goes exactly according to plan ? How very boring and ordinary. But imagine turning up at the bus stand not really knowing if theres a bus at that time that will take you to your destination? Being warned of the huge crowds but still being thick headed and turning up at the bus stand with a light heart and baggage...

Yamunotri is one of the four sacred sites of Hinduism set up by Adi guru Shankaracharya ( a cool dude from Kerala) in the state of Uttarakhand. Visiting these sites and bathing in the rivers/hot springs supposedly absolve you of sins. All four sacred sites were once reached through hard treks through forests teeming with wildlife, where you never knew if you would return .They are still closed for 6 months of the year due to snow. So people took these pilgrimages towards the end of their lives when they had nothing better to do ! Now most people just park their asses on a car/bus seat and puke their way up. There are still many hardcore sadhus still trekking up, more dangerous now, because of the very real chance of getting run over rather than being a delicacy on a tiger's breakfast menu.

The bus advertised itself as an express service and they were true to their word by stopping whenever someone on the road stuck their hand out. What was supposed to be a 10 hour ordeal became a 13 hour hell. Hey that's the fun of unplanned journeys! Lunch, garam roti and sabzi, was awesome from a small dabba (roadside eatery). A loud young group from the Punjab plains tried to goad the driver into picking up speed but it fell on deaf years.We finally crawled into Janki Chatti, 5 kilometres from Yamunotri where the motorable road ends, well after nightfall. In true vagabond fashion, I just set out in search for a room and got one with a king sized bed overlooking the Yamuna for a measly 150/- I soon found out why. Though Yamuna was just a stone throw away there was no running water in the room. The night was a little chilly but great to go to sleep curled under the quilt to the sound of thundering waters outside.

image courtsey:wikipedia

From Janki Chatti it's a 5 km walk uphill to Yamunotri, the mythical source of the Yamuna river. The actual glacier from which the water spurts out is a further 10 km uphill. The best time of the day to walk up is early morning before the crowds gather. I had a quiet walk sharing my path with the occasional horse carrying the geriatric, obese and the plain lazy ! Also you can get carried on a bucket like contraption on the back of a poor bugger all the way to the top.There's also one where you sit royally in the middle and four folks haul you up. The temple at Yamunotri is not structurally old although Shankarachrya is supposed to have founded it. It has to be rebuilt every few years because of heavy snows during winter.

There are hot water springs where you can have a soak but not anywhere as atmospheric as the ones in Manali(Vasisht) and Gangnani (near Gangotri). There are usually around a 100 people crammed in the space of a bathtub. There are also pestering priests who want you to get all types of rituals done so they can have alu paratha for breakfast. But all said Yamunotri is the least commercial of the char dhams...

tbc

Kaleidoscopic

2010-06-16T12:54:00.000+05:30

Heat searing into my skin
Rising up in sighing steamy vapour
On the searing blue berth I lie immobile
Dreaming dark grey clouds cool drafts and all pervading wetness.

Dimming sights ,a swirling dust storm
Craning my neck outside
Tonguing the first few drops
Of imminent thunderstorm

Smelling newly drenched earth
Rain french kissing the sand
Nude children uninhibited soaked in laughter
Men cowering under the shade of the banyans.

Bespectacled black blushing with exertion
Stumbling into my solitary coup
A pause, a break in my journey
Across me she sits , to stand again

The blackness drops, hanging on a hook
Brown pastures tumbling in and out
Behind the blinkers staying firmly put
I glimpse the glittering kaleidoscope.

(Penned in a rare moment of poetic inspiration on my last rail journey. The rains and the lass came as we neared the city of the Taj. My first poem in the public domain after an attempt when I was 13, in the school magazine. Ah, to speak of wasted genius ! *Sigh*)

A Tale of two 1s and two noughts

2010-06-07T10:07:00.000+05:30

My love affair with 1100 began 4 years ago and is still going strong. An incident when I was in McLeod Ganj, near the Dalai Lama’s quarters comes to mind. I had just quit my job and the vagabond shoes were new to me. There was not an abundance of common sense (not that I have much now!) . I was chilling with some friends and before I knew it, it was half past eight at night. Having said my goodbyes, I started walking to my guest house. A small problem! The guesthouse was a 4 km walk uphill, through jungle. Yes folks, jungle as in hard core forest. No lights, except star light! The last shopkeeper on the way up gave me some friendly advice that cheered me up.

‘Bhaisaab, make sure you talk to yourself ’

‘Don’t worry bhaiya I do that all the time!’

‘Arre, no sir, you have to talk loudly to yourself. Of course you know that there are bears in the jungle. Why just last week our....’

‘BBB…Bears you said?’

The word sent a chill down my spine but I put out a reassuring smile and walked on. Forget the bear problem, how the hell was I going to see and walk on the roughly cut irregular stone path? Ah, my double one double zero has a torch! It was the first time I was using it in pitch darkness and it was reasonably bright. It stayed that way for the 45 minutes of my journey.

I must tell you some habits of bears in India so that you know your bare bear stuff the next time you are lucky enough to bump into one, maybe in the supermarket or in the neighborhood tea stall. If you’ve been warned about bears in the area you’re travelling in and you happen to be alone, ALWAYS talk loudly to yourself. Make noise! Bears have poor eyesight and can’t see you even if you are close but the noise will serve as a warning, for them. Also it might get the impression that there is more than one person on the way.

For this to be more effective, you can try one of my techniques. I sing duets and use my falsetto voice to the best advantage. One of my favourites is Lukka Chuppi from the movie Rang De Basanti and believe me I can give Lataji a run for her money! But in McLeod Ganj that cold starry night I was singing Yesudas’s Hindi hits. I figured the bears in the area were familiar with Hindi, and I really wanted them to daud for their lives as I started my systematic murder of each song!

Cut to the present. I told this tall tale just to illustrate my attachment with double one double zero. She is ideal for my rough lifestyle because she’s strong, sturdy and has an amazing battery life. After 3 years of yeoman service, unfortunately the battery has now conked out. I turned Trivandrum inside out to find a new one but all that was offered were duplicates , in the range of 200- 300 /-.

Finally I found a shopkeeper who promised me the real thing.

He slickly takes a battery covered with a flimsy plastic wrap, the kind they dish out milk pedas in.

‘What the hell is this?’

‘Original battery sir’

‘But, but the ‘cover’ is open’

‘Sir, this was given by customer as he didn’t want it’

‘What? How do I know it’s not been used?’

Oops I touched a raw nerve.

‘Look sir, nobody is forcing you to buy this.’

Disinterested look from the dude.

‘Ok, how much is it?’

‘450/’

‘Ok saar good day!’

At the end of a long day, in another shop they finally point me to a newly opened Nokia Care centre. Something I appreciate about my fellow Malayalis. They are mostly a helpful bunch!

Nokia Care is on the 3 rd floor and since I was super fit from all the vagabonding I make it straight for the lift. The lift door opens and my eyes pop out. The floor is littered with shoes, sandals and slippers of every description. This looked more like the outside of a Nokia temple than a repair shop! Despite the sight of the million chappalls, I march bravely inside. There is a big hall packed with owners of the million chappalls. They are all staring at a lady behind a table. She must be the goddess! I approach her with folded hands and state my case. She barks out ‘Arun Vijayakumar’. Shuffling of feet behind me and a relieved looking gentleman marches on to the glass cubicles behind the lady. They are all manned by robotic looking men and women, the mobile doctors. I prostate myself before the goddess and state my case again

‘Ah yes the 1100 battery, original 299 rupees only’

‘Wowowo, I thought you only sold original accessories here’

Ah the goddess has a sense of humor, she smiles.

‘Latest stock from

China

, price drop form 450 to 299 just this week!’

I can’t believe my luck! Nothing like a bargain to lift my spirits up!

Isn't she a beauty ?

My experiments without mom

2010-05-31T15:03:00.001+05:30

A peculiar situation on the domestic front. Each time I visit my parents I resolutely decide to be on my guard against sloth. But after a week or so, it starts to infiltrate into my brain like an old familiar friend and I just lie around and … eat… and sleep. This is exactly why I decided to travel in the first place. People often think that travellers travel coz of an itch in their pants to see places, have new experiences and for spiritual growth. Nonsense! Mostly its because we have nothing better to do and have some spare cash lying around. Yeah guys go on and be jealous !

That's my story anyway. Too many comforts and life slowly slips into auto gear and Pan starts to wither away. Life becomes predictable and I start taking people and things for granted. Undoubtedly if I live in Trivandrum all the time, it’s a very shitty place to live in. It’s only because I travel to even more shitty places that Trivandrum looks hopelessly perfect to me now. My friends here just don’t get it.

As I was saying, a peculiar situation at home. The major causative factor for sloth is mom, or her indulgence. (We have a saying in Malayalam which means if something's shitty in your life , blame it on mom ! )This holiday I really decided to cut the sloth. I packed off mathaji to an Ayurvedic centre for 10 days to rest and heal her worsening arthritis. Rest from 35 years of non stop labour. I expected her to swoon and thank me endlessly but all she could think about was how we were going to eat !

So as she was chilling out, getting her systems tuned and oiled, it was up to sis and me to enter the dreaded space called kitchen. Mom had helpfully left behind recipies of some dishes we could attempt. The opening day’s performance, dosa was a runaway success. I’m now a certified Ghee roast specialist. Ha that was easy! Somewhere in the middle of the 2nd day, Dad inexplicably not satisfied with our excellent culinary skills, gave full powers to the maid to manage lunch and dinner. Apparently our innovations with coconut, chillies and coriander were just not working for him! But sis and I brushed aside this minor setback and held our fort for breakfast. Dad was forced to eat half cooked appams and passable (just) upmas.

But it was all good fun and more importantly woke me up in the morning instead of stumbling out of bed with The Hindu. On the plus side of life without amma, the house is quieter and I get nagged less. The fridge is half empty because we chucked out all the unidentifiable fungal food stuff. Some of the objects excavated were turned over to the Archeological Survey of India.

So if you’re experiencing apathy in your life, blame it on mom but at the same time why not give her a break? Get zing back into your life and learn the hard way that the life in the kitchen ain't no cat walk !

My 5 best thumps !

2010-05-24T06:06:00.006+05:30

The title might have got a fair number of you excited if you mistook thumps for humps. Apologies! Blogadda is trying to get bloggers to write about five instances when they really felt like whacking someone.

Five occasions when I would really liked to have got physical :

1.    On a recent 2 months yoga course, there was this guy who never spared any opportunities to be the centre of attention. He put his hand up for everything. Yeah the obligatory over enthusiastic guy in every class. He was instrumental in motivating us to volunteer for an NGO to pick rubbish from the street. But conveniently on the days when we needed to go out and pick stuff he was ‘sick’. On the last day of the course, a Canadian camera crew turned up to shoot a documentary about the NGO. They only wanted those who had regularly volunteered to be part of the shoot to make it look more natural. Unashamedly, our man was first in the line for picking rubbish .It took all my yogic abilities not to give in to the temptation to strangle him. But due to Health and Safety regulations (Canada), all of us were required to wear masks that day. So no one was recognizable, including our hero!

2.    Once on a skiing trip I found myself in a dorm with a guy who thought his moral duty to share his love for loud phone music with the world. The music was always on whatever he did, wherever he went! In the loo. Changing clothes. Walking. In the mess. Farting. Skiing. Flirting. How can I forget him trying to seduce a girl by pumping up the tinny volume, shaking his skinny ass and winking in her direction? Sublime! Our complaints fell on his obviously deaf ears. But during our time together I would get the urge to rearrange his facial anatomy at least once during the day!

Conversations can lead to humping (for some lucky guys), but in my case they more often lead to imaginary thumping. 2 such instances…

3. The setting: a wedding in Kerala.
‘So mone, what are you up to now?’ asks concerned ‘Uncle’

‘Err I'm travelling, Uncle.’

‘Good! Good ! But where is yuar job?’ Ah, the good old mallu accent!

I take deep breath.

‘I’m taking a break from work’

‘But you said the same thing 2 years back!’

I start counting down from 10.

‘Yes uncle, I'm still travelling and loving it’, with plastic smile.

‘Where’s your dad? I have to talk to him. Young men shouldn’t be allowed to wander by themselves.’ Uncle wanders off in search of Dad.

Close to bursting point, but am saved by the curvy single daughter of said uncle who sashays to where I'm standing and asks admiringly, ‘So you really travel full time?'

4. Another conversation with uncle, later in the day:
‘Ah mone, I was waiting to talk to you again’

‘Wow, so was I’, plastic smile.

‘Really, about what?’

‘Err, well, err you know general knowledge, I mean general topics, politics, ble...’

‘Ok Ok, the reason I wanted to talk to you is because your dad is concerned by your lifestyle.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes he thinks you should stabilize’

‘Ah...’

‘You come from a good family, its time you thought about marriage.’

Direct frontal assault.

‘I saw you talking to Anju. What do you think about her?’

‘The …Ahh…you…she’s nice, yes she’s a nice HOMELY girl’. Maybe baldy daddy will get the hint.

‘Ha I knew it. She likes you too. She just told me. I spoke to your dad already.’

‘What the $%$%$%?!!!'

Now you should settle down and get a job'

‘But…’ I feel a light touch on my arm and turn to see the smile of curvy single Anju. Cold sweat and a thumping/humping feeling!

5. This happened today. I was climbing a newly painted iron spiral staircase to the second floor shop by the side of a busy road. It was so windy that the staircase was shaking! Damn! When I got to the top, pure emptiness! The staircase was a good 2 feet from the shop and propped up by sticks and PVC pipes! I could have just disembarked and had my legs plastered. No warning signs, nothing! Laughing faces all around. Blood pressure shoots up along with embarrassment. I see my reflection in the shop window and feel like thumping, the idiot that I am.

Cumulonimbus in a well

2010-05-20T07:41:00.004+05:30

The flickering flashes of light and the gentle grumbling in the sky woke me up today. A nice contrast to the boisterous rhythmic croaking of frogs that put me to sleep. The air was suffused with coolness , the soft sound of rain tempting me to linger more in bed. The monsoons are almost upon us and it's the time of the year that I love to be in Kerala. The dust and heat no more,all around is intense green and a certain stillness which is not hard to come upon even in a city like Trivandrum. Just go down a side road and soon you will lose the sound of traffic and be surrounded by trees and bird calls. Maybe the blessing of slow 'development' and a militant workforce that puts off the big industries.

The first thing I do when I come home is to head for the shower. The water is not brackish like in so many parts of India but sweet, more so if its from the well. Any house worth it's name in Kerala will have this concentric circular contraption that all children and a few demented adults like me love to gaze down into.There's something quite exciting and forbidden in leaning over the parapet to peer down into a well, to see the depth , width, the shape and structure of the rings and the inexplicable pull I feel to jump and be submerged in water.

Image courtsey : Wikipedia(click to go more deep !)

Traditionally there is an aluminium pail and a pulley to pull the water up. If the well is not too deep, people, mostly women do it freestyle, without using the pulley but just the rope which is an excellent exercise ! It's a sight I have seen countless times, the woman drawing water from the well and one which still fascinates me. If she's a seasoned hand , there's a sinewy flow to her movements making the whole process look effortless. She releases the rope first and the pulley rolls fast ,the pail in a free fall motion to the water surface making a characteristic sound loud enough to let the neighbours know that water is being drawn ! Then the pail hits the water and she tilts the rope slightly in a subtle movement for the water to enter the pail. And now with both hands she pulls the rope down in a rhythmic flow and the pail jerks upward in a see saw motion. The well in the house has a baby well near it as well. It was originally intended to store water from the main well for people not so keen on the exercise benefits of drawing water from such depths. I look down in the deep mother well in the courtyard and glimpse the static dark grey monsoon clouds in its depths...

A tatkal affair

2010-05-16T18:08:00.000+05:30

'It's the season of ripe, juicy sweet mangoes,
Of humid heat, threatening clouds and smell of new earth
So does one need more reason to set sail for Kerala? '

Hence I found myself in Rishikesh railway station at 5:45 am for a tatkal ticket. Trains are the cheapest way to travel in India short, long or medium distance. The fares have been frozen for ever and so tickets especially for long distance travel are very popular. Bookings for overnight trains open 2 months before departure date and on some trains get booked within an hour. Unfortunately the train I wanted to board fell in that category. Once a week to Trivandrum, and the decision to go home was taken just a couple of days back. The Railways brought in the tatkal scheme for people like me who wanted the ticket at short notice but dont mind paying the extra odd 150 or 300/-.Bookings for tatkal start 2 days before the journey and on popular routes finish in minutes. So it was crucial that I be first in the queue when the counters opened at 8 am. I was first in the queue but when the action started the reservation clerk started entering the details of people who were not in the queue at all. I learn later that if you care to pay a baksheesh of 100/- per person your details are entered first in the computer. No standing in queues ! 3 minutes and he was still slamming away on the keyboard. The guys at the back thinking that I was just hanging around even after my ticket was issued started heckling me. The clerk finally got to my ticket but by that time I was on the waiting list. I had to take the ticket anyway and board the train.

Three days on a train is hard enough but without a ticket, well well... I had come prepared mentally so the first day I slept on the bunks whenever one was free. During the night I just rolled out the bedsheet and lay down on the floor. Anyone trying to duplicate this stunt be warned that it can be only done at ordinary 2nd class sleeper class not the air conditioned coaches. They dont let folks without a confirmed ticket anywhere near the AC coach ! To tell the truth, it was not that uncomfortable except when people crushed my head when they were sleepwalking to use the loo. The timing is important, you unroll your 'carpet ' after more or less everyone goes to 'bed'. There were a fair number of people like me sleeping in the corridors lying down, sitting, standing, etc.

You feel the train up close , all the little jerks and movements and also the big jolts. Like knowing a woman intimately for the first time when you see that little balck mole on her hip , that knowledge which makes the relationship so special, if you care to notice it. So my relationship with the railways have taken on a whole new intimate level. Be that it maybe I have gone ahead and booked my next ticket well in advance !

Disjointed jottings

2010-04-29T20:34:00.001+05:30

My firm conviction that women are my preferred objects of desire stand corrected after the stay in the ashram. I'll admit it, even in the ashram I used to check the gals out. Yeah, I know, what a hard life a man has ! But not with hope or pleading eyes, as in the outside world. Oh no,Here we are the catch ! We are the ones who are forbidden to mix with them . A la role reversal. Yes we brahmacharis (even though short term !) are the prize catch indeed. Also the protective atmosphere of the ashram makes it easy to treat it as a game , and not the life and death scenario that chasing a woman usually involves. :D Hell I don't do chasing , I get chased.

It was this week that I realized that all this changed albeit temporarily. Usually I used to subtly check the women out on the way to the dining hall which was the only place where you could relaistically meet them. Any pretty girls visiting? But this week I suddenly realized I had stopped doing this. Now before you make assumptions like my kundalini had begun its upward ascent or something like that, I'll tell you my new vice. Actually there are a few. Topping the list is Gulab jamun. Ahhh heaven , bliss intoxication, I had 3 today. So sweet so soft. No need to seduce that sugary little brown ball. Where's the need to say sweet nothings ?Also not really necessary to take your clothes off for full enjoyment. Although I do admit to looking lovingly at them before they disappeared down my alimentary canal.God i can still taste those 3 juicy slightly crunchy gulab jamuns. Fruit Custard ( be still my heart !) comes second and Jalebi a close third.

The funny or not so funny part is that I am not alone. Its one of the greatest paradoxes in spirituality that the more you delve into yourself the more the world opens to you in every way. You notice the flowers that you never noticed before on the sidewalk. The river so ordinary before now seems endless in its shades and movement. The women are all pretty , irrespective whether they are 16 or 60. Maybe why all the scriptures warn the aspirant to not look at the opposite sex.The food has never tasted as delicious as this ever. Even though you are lectured day in and out on the impermanence of desire the desire is still there. Only it transfers to a more acceptable vice. That's why you will find many sanyasins/priests with a thing for food. Im hardly a sanyasin but since ive been following their lifestyle for 2 months i guess ive developed some of their qualities !
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The most comfortable item of wear in a hot climate has to be the mundu(dhoti). Yes indeed I'm loving the feeling of wearing a skirt and connecting with the feminine side of me ! Last post I wrote how unusual it was to find a ladies bag in the Ganga. My friend rang a couple of numbers from an address book in the bag. He located the lady who came to meet him distraught, to collect her belongings. She had arrived in Rishikesh the previous evening with her friend and was staying in an ashram on the opposite bank. She goes for an early morning dip with her handbag, leaves it at the side of the river on the ghats takes 3 dips in 15 seconds turns around and oui, it's gone with 7000/-. AGH , women ! Not a tiny sum for an Indian. That's India, folks spirituality happily coexists( i think!) with depravity, all part of a universal moral order. I better stop before I start a lecture ...
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Still in matters related to the dining hall there was a lady there yesterday handing out crisp 100/- notes to the Sanyasins. The monks are ones who are supposed to have renounced everything and live on the charity of others. Still it seemed wierd to see them accept it so casually without guilt,happiness or thankfulness as if it was just a daily affair. I was helping the kitchen out late into the afternoon when the Swami who manages the dining hall materializes infront of me with the 'cash lady'. 'These guys do seva(selfless service, ha!) here' , pointing to me and another guy. My co-sevak jumped for the money with glee. I mumbled something to the Swami about the inappropriateness but found it rude/uncomfortable to refuse. In the end i think I did the right think coz my ego took a big hit. I was a beggar although a bit of a posh one. You know the whole point of begging is to reduce/annihilate the ego. I've no doubt about that considering how difficult it was to accept money even when doled out with a free heart.

I've been shot

2010-04-21T13:09:00.000+05:30

Im just back from the laundry. A tiny 1 room hut by the roadside which serves as a shop and home for a family of six. As I sat on the charpoy waiting for my dhoti to be ironed the two youngest kids were splashing about in a metal 'tub'. It says something about my isolated non family existence that I couldn't remember the last time I saw children stark naked having the time of their lives. The little girl closed her nostrils with her hands and was diving into the water repeatedly laughing all the time. Her brother though kept throwing tantrums inbetween, sulking a lot reminding me of my younger days. The same situation provididng very different reactions in people ! Everything and everyone in and around the vicinity were wet.

A very good day today. A documentary team from Canada shot us cleaning the shit out of Ganga, but alas my 5 seconds of fame were for nothing. We were unidentifiable under the green masks !

The Kumbh Mela is almost over. For over a week millions of people marched into Haridwar and neighbouring Rishikesh hoping to absolve their sins by taking a dip in the Ganga at the auspicious time. Pure superstition you say ! According to Pundits one of the days was so auspicious that it comes only once in 5000 years ! So I decided not to take the chance and dive in !

There were people sleeping everywhere during the past week including the roads. Even our early morning visits to the Ganga were not so serene anymore. But you've got to admire the tenacity of the ordinary Indian, how they make do with so little. Makes me ashamed of myself and my never ending needs.The most bizarre thing was the public announcement system. The majority of people visiting were from the interior villages of India. In the mad rush, people get lost,and so there is a public address system to let people know if someone's missing or lost. But here's the unique desi twist . You make the announcement yourself. Women screaming their lungs out shouting 'helllloooooo, heeelllooooo, kahan heeyyy tuuuu? (where are you?)' is very common. As if the lost person also has a mike and is going to holler back. There are requests, scoldings, rants, sometimes dialects you have never heard of...you get the gist. Highly amusing...and very noisy.

Ah one more week in the ashram folks, and I have absolutely no clue where i should be heading next. Any suggestions welcome ;) Usually nature takes care of that as I meet someone or come to know of something that intrigues me. Also, a strange never before desire to settle down somewhere near here. I tell you, the river has bewitched me no end...Something unusual happened today. As i was swimming in the Ganges found a ladies handbag, full with personal stuff like driver's license, mp3 player etc. Don't get excited people, no money was involved ! So there it is , my stay drawing to a close, maybe, and the thermometer shooting steadily up, for sure!

Intimate with mother

2010-04-07T16:29:00.011+05:30

Sunday is our 'rest' day. But we still have to get up at 4 to meditate. I'm getting used to this four o'clock business now. Today I was up at 3:45 and follow my routine of brushing teeth getting fully dressed and steeping out. It's so quiet outside, Rishikesh looks like a ghost town. There's only one place to go to, where she flows like a queen, looking very proud and aloof. I offer my pranams to enter and she kind of says ok. The cold is indescribable just like the waning moon rising over the mountains. Magical landscape kind of numbed by the cold. Im out in a minute, any more than that and I might be lining myself up for pneumonia !

After breakfast some of us line outside the dining hall in green jackets,gloves and green masks. It looks like a major O.T (Operation theatre) Unfortunately our undertaking is not that glamorous ! We are about to venture forth to ....pick garbage ! One of our sanyassinis from the West (where else?) spearheads the effort working on behalf of an NGO, as we go rag picking through Rishikesh. Working mainly with the help of donations and money collected from hotels and homes, it's an intriguing concept that surprisingly works.They have workers who collect and sort garbage everyday, recycling everything that can be recycled. All the biscuit wrappers, tobacco pouches and the flashy chocolate wrappers are the ones that can't be recycled and go straighht to the landfill. I'll think twice before buying 'Hide and Seek' biscuits again !

People on the road give us strange looks as we move along with big jute sacks picking up 'stuff' on the way. A very crazy way to spend a Sunday but I love it ! On our way back to the Ashram some of us continue the craziness and suddenly decide we want to get intimate with the mother. So we speed off on a jeep 15 km uphill. The huge yellow raft is unloaded from the jeep and we put our life jackets on. With an instructor and helper on board, sitting at the very back, we delve into the bossom of Mother Ganga. I sit at the front , the place of maximum wettability. The Hindus have a belief that you should enter the river without disturbing it especially a holy river like the Ganga. So we always ask for blessings since we are about to fool around ! Yes, highly superstitious but feels good anyway ! The rapids were exhilarating and scary. There were times when we thought we would capsize. All we saw was water and then in the middle of that , the instructor screams us to paddle harder !

On calmer waters we jumped abroad and swam ahead of the boat. one of the guys was scared to jump in the water because of pure hydrophobia, and lack of knowledge of the art of swimmology. Even with the life jacket he was not budging an inch. All our persuasions fell on deaf ears. So we did the only decent thing to do, dumped him into the water headfirst. He also happened to be the last guy to come back on board ! I will never forget the feeling as I floated down the river looking up at the sky , feeling the sun and the mountains and forest all around me! We came back wet, exhausted and very very happy. I'm falling in love with the river more and more everyday...

Acceptance Speech

2010-04-02T15:33:00.009+05:30

For all people interested, Devil's Musings has picked up another award. Yes folks, I know it was just a matter of time considering how good a writer i think myself to be ;) Bad jokes apart, I am not a big fan of awards , competition, etc. But since blogging awards usually don't come with money, my non materialistic self is sort of ok with it. Sepo deemed it fit to bestow upon me this award:

Just for a change im going to stop being narcisstic and talk about 5 wonderful people I'm passing this on to. They are all unique but have many things in common:
1)I have never met any of them in the real world.
2)They have stood by me and commented through times of frequent posting, and times of post famine.
3)They keep coming back and read every post even though i don't go to their blogs for weeks.
4)They are all gorgeous women who write exceptionally well.

So in every way apt for this award !

This applies to Sepo as well. So ladies thanks a bunch! For my other regular readers, thank yopu as well for your regular visits and support. Unfortunately im allowed to pass this on to only 5 folks, so until next time...

The Winners:

Raji Don't let the simple layout fool you. Just in her teens she writes exquisitely in a wide canvas not limited to the usual fascination with fashion, boy bands et al. Check out her latest post Wishes and Dreams and you'll know what i mean !
Jai Published author. Do i need to say more ? Highly recommended with a huge fan following. My gut feeling says shes also a nice person at heart !
Jeeves Another young writer who puts her heart into her writing. Non pretentious and very enjoyable read.
Gal next door Anonymous blogger who can rant and fume and also go totally soft. The variety of topics she handles is mind boggling and i never quite know what to expect when i visit !
Elmoniv One of my favourite bloggers in terms of style of writing. Go see yourself !

Just before you think that i cater only to the opposite sex, I will be failing in my duties if I don't give an award to a fellow vagabond:

21st century nomad takes honesty to a whole new level. I am a big fan of his post cards !

Love comes uninvited...

2010-03-29T15:33:00.009+05:30

The cool shade of the trees and the yielding soft sand were a welcome relief from the long tiring walk back from the temple high up in the hills. The absence of waves and the mellow green water did not make the riverside any less like a beach. They stripped straight away and dived into the cold but welcoming river.He felt the eyes of a girl on him as he emerged from the river. To see desire for you in someone's eyes...

They had kept their bags under a tree near an Indian family, from the city, with a Ray Ban wearing mom constantly admonishing her two little kids to stay out of the water. She spoke in English but in a lazy drawling sort of way. The hour of the day and the hypnotizing river was making me feel the same. The kids were having a whale of a time with their 'didi', someone akin to an Au pair. Didi literally means elder sister but like bhaiyya (elder brother) the term is overused on anyone elder to you, but not too old ! The didi kept stealing glances at him and he enjoyed this flirtation of the eyes which was becoming a rarity in today's modern world. Though enjoyable he sometimes wished that Indian women be more direct and declare their intent in a more straight forward manner. Her heavy hair was tied loosely in a bun and her wet salwar kameez now clung seductively accentuating her body. Playing with the children in the water she seemed to be one of them and it seemed to make her more lovely. Probably, a girl from a small village gone to work for the rich in the city.

The kids just refused to leave the water despite the girl's frequent pleas. But it looked like she was as interested in splashing about as they were. As the minutes slipped by, he drifted off to slumber. The sun was warming his legs when opened his eyes again and the family was getting ready to leave. His thoughts returned to her and her life in the city. Did she have a room of her own or did she sleep with the kids? Did she see her parents often or did she have any at all? Idle questions with no relevant answers...

She lingered on the wheatish river sand and was the last to leave. She didn't look in his direction as they made thier way back up to the road. The beautiful imaginings of the male mind says with sure conviction that every girl who look twice in our direction are hopelessly in love with us. But maybe love cannot be invited at all. It comes on its own time, in forms we never recognize until long after...

His friend soon remarked that they had forgotten to take the little girl's shoes.
"The maid is going to get thrashed for that", the friend chuckled.
He noticed the cute little pink slippers in front of them and smiled thinking of the impending fury of the rich woman who would no doubt be very attached to these little slippers. Silly of the didi to have missed that right under her nose.
Soon she came back, but with light steps and a neutral face , no sign of having even got a scolding. .She swooped down on the sandals in one fluid motion and for the first and last time looked into his eyes and smiled.

Life begins...

2010-03-20T20:15:00.001+05:30

...with the gentle chiming of the bells at four in the morning. By the time I gain full consciousness half an hour drifts by. The Room Mate's already up at half past three bending over his ass in weird positions I haven't seen in any yoga book before. Ah, always depressing to have an over enthusiastic room mate ! The weather's dry and so is my skin and hence after applying a generous amount of oil on my slightly shivering body I head for my cold bath. The bathroom is thankfully empty and by the time I head out 5 minutes later, the wind has picked up speed and started blowing relentlessly down the mountains. I slip into my white kurta pyjama 'uniform', the supposed hallmark of a Brahmachari, someone who practises purity in thought, word and deed. Ha Ha! Nevertheless I think the colour of the apparel does affect me. For the past 3 weeks dressed in what some may consider to be prison overalls I feel a strange calm. Next I do pranayam (breathing exercise) to quieten the mind (tough luck!) and also for my hayfever.

When the bells toll at five we are assembled in the hall sitting crosslegged on the floor and chanting mantras from the Vedas. Despite my initial indifference Sanskrit's a powerful language and its hard not to be moved by the surging voices of 40 sleep deprived souls ! We sit quietly for an hour trying to tame the wild monkey inside, the mind. Before breakfast i do neti( pouring water through one nostril and out through the other) and try to master shirshasan [the king of all asans(postures), where you basically stand on your head and try to look cool and relaxed while youre contemplating how not to break your neck while coming down]

The 'morning' session proper consisits of a series of lectures on various topics like Patanjali Yoga Sutras, The Upanishads, Religious Consciuosness, Western Philosophy, Indian Philosophy, Bhagwat Geeta, Narada Bhakti Sutras, etc. The teachers vary in age from 25-85, most are sanyasins of some stature spiritually. Evenings are spent doing half an hour of Karma yoga ( doing a job to perfection but without attachment to the result ). Hatha Yoga ( The Yoga of postures and breathing) follows at 5 in the evening. Dinner's at seven and its lights out at 10 pm.

Breakfast's a simple affair with a small katori( bowl) of upma/rice. There's a smile on everyone's face when idlis(steamed south indian rice cakes) are dished out, which happens once a week.

Image courtsey: Wikipedia

Ok it doesnt look as esthetically tempting as above, but for a South Indian idlis in any arrangement is welcome! Now lunch is interesting. As in breakfast we all sit on the floor crosslegged with empty plates and katoris. The sanyasins are served first. Rice roti , sabji( vegetable curry mix) ,dal, buttermilk or curd and on lucky days when a rich dude happens to drop by and donate, we are spoiled with absolutely ravishing gulab jamuns and custard ! Ok imagine all this stuff on your plate. The sight and smell's killing you but you can't touch it unless the mantra chanting is finished, which takes an agonising 10 minutes. But soon the go ahead is given and this is when the real meditation happens. Everyone single mindedly concentrates on stuffing the food down within the alloted time of 20 minutes. There's no restriction on the amount of food but wasting any is frowned down upon. Another short prayer and everyone's up to wash their plates and burp away contentedly.

Next: Love comes univited...

The lump in my pants...

2010-03-12T20:22:00.000+05:30

I sit in front of a screen taking forever to load Blogger. Despite the speed of the internet, it feels as if I am abroad, coz im surrounded by white bodies. Rishikesh was all jungle just 40years ago. Hard to believe seeing the rush of people in search for salvation now that wild animals once roamed this very place not so long ago. At the foothills of the Himalayas with the Ganga's eternal presence, it's still beautiful with lots of forest cover, not a bad place for enlightenment ! I'm in an ashram learning the flavour of Vedanta for 2 months. The day starts at 4 and ends at 7. I hardly check mail and blogging once a week, maybe less, is the only activity I might do on the net for the foreseeable future. The day is so full I don't miss the internet that much although sometimes I wonder what my blogging buddies are upto. The sanyasins(Hindu monks) who teach me also question the 'wordly' life and it's ramifications. hmmm not helpful at all. ;) Hopefully I will get to read what some of you guys have been upto soon. For the people who keep reading and leaving comments I can only say that Im very very lucky to have such good readers !

My mobile phone gave up the ghost in Manali. Truth to be told, I was using it more as a camera than a phone. A small voice in my head kept telling me that this was a sign and to trash the set. Which I did. But I also got a new Nokia 1303 (or was it 1203?) whose unusual feature was that while making a call your neighbour could hear the person at the other end of the line more clearly that you. While getting on the bus to Rishikesh I felt something amiss. Something was just not right ! Yes the permanent lump in my pants pocket where my phone used to be. I panicked for a millisecond and then decided to just let the damn thing go. On the bumpy bus ride I could swear that I could feel the phone vibrating in the pocket. Almost like a bloody phantom limb. It was Holi and i had a window seat. I got reasonably wet with all the kids by the side of the road taking upon themselves to give unsuspecting bus passengers a colour bath.

So far the ashram's been good to me except for a few health niggles. It's beautiful to live by the side of a river so beautiful . Ganga changes her hue throughout the day but mostly its a warm green. Ah one of my big toes seems to be getting infected despite my crude attempts at surgery with a safety pin and dettol !May have to show it to a professional soon.

Om shanti shanti shanti...

Sublime snow

2010-03-06T12:46:00.001+05:30

We have a dorm accommodation in a mountain hut. I opt for a small room crammed with 9 other guys. There's no heating during the day time. At dusk, a boy comes around with sawdust and a strange powder which he puts in a furnace like apparition which burns and simmers till around 1 in the morning. Sometimes under the sleeping bag it felt like i was in Kerala during the summer. The hardest thing to do was to strip. Removing clothes when its bone freezing cold requires for me atleast 10 minutes of talking to myself, pacing up and down and then slowly to start the process by peeling away the warm snow boots and the slightly wet cotton socks.

The first few days all we see as we gaze outside the window is the snow. Outside its breathtakingly beautiful in a valley surrounded by the majestic white peaks of the Himalayas. In the midst of all the skiing, one often forgets the magnificence around. The 20 odd people were of a mixed age group with youth predominating. I was one of the 'older' folks with two twin girls of six making up the other extreme. Our instructor was a cool 24 year old guy who started skiing since he was six.

The skis were taller than me and were not that light. Throughout the 2 weeks, we carry the skis around more than we actually ski. It's 5 seconds of skiing (more accurate term: falling) and then unlocking your skis, hoisting it on your shoulders and climbing the slope again.The snow boots were very heavy and cumbersome but warm. They were also slippery to walk on cemented ground as evident by the numerous falls in the dining hall ! It was a great thrill though to finally put my skis on and to start skiiing. Not for long though, for falling happens more often than skiing in the first week.Starting with 'downhill' we progressed to 'snow plough' , 'traverse', 'side step', etc. The young devils in our course made it look so simple. Most of them had already skiied quite a bit before. The hard part after a 'crash' was to find these little guys looking at me with pity and to endure a lecture on the finer points of skiing.

We had a race at the end of the course fom a slope so steep that I was sure I would either end up dead or with a lifetime disability. Each person races on his own and is timed individually. Though I was almost shitting in my pants just before my turn, once I started I had a ' in the zone experience'. Only the slope ahead was before me and the speed was thrilling. I tagged the poles with ease and for the final curve even stepped on the gas. Thud! Yep, the inevitable fall but I recovered quickly to storm the finish line. An exciting high and I realized that the guy who just did the race was not me.

The constant pressure on my big toes from the snow shoes means that i have two swollen toe nails all black and blue. I limp around now but am happy that i finished my course in one piece. The bus back to Delhi was advertised as semi deluxe but infact very ordinary. Arriving at my photographer friend's place he was so shocked at my changed countenance that he took snaps. My face was the colour of coal except for the part where Ray Ban shades provided some uv protection and my lips were split. A true vagabond.

On to Rishikesh and beyond...

A white start in a Volvo

2010-02-25T17:21:00.002+05:30

Me: I need a bus that can take me to Manali
Him: When? How many people ?
M: Today evening. Just one !

H: All we have is air conditioned Volvo, 1000 rupees please.

M: Well since its the height of winter I don't think I need a Volvo. Don't you have anything that's semi decent, not infested with roddens or bed bugs but with good seats?
H: Sorry bhaiya, only Volvo. But for you special price, 800/-. smooth ride, nice springs !
M: OK dude so long then !

M makes a calculated half turn of the body with intense disinterest and contempt for Volvo written all over face.
H: Wait wait. What is your budget?
M: 500/-
H chokes on his paan and starts laughing.
M turns and walk out of the door.
H comes out of the door and literally shouts.

H: I give you for 550.
M: I know, I'm just going to the ATM for the cash.

Sandwiched between honeymooners whispering sweet nothings I feel left out, big time. The Volvo is definitely comfortable the only minus point being a Bollywood slapstick playing that nobody seems to be interested in watching. When I open my eyes in the morning everything's white. 6 feet of snow in 2 days, the heaviest this winter in Manali, I learn later. Good news for skiing but not so for road transport. The bus drops everyone off 6 km before Manali from where we pay exorbitant rates to taxi wallas to get to Manali. En route there's a landslide and I am forced to trek 6 km to the mountaineering institute.

My Nike football boots have behaved reasonably well in the snow. Just as i am sniggering at the poor bastards with heavy winter boots, I am suddenly contemplating the magnifecence of the azure blue sky. I have just had the most perfect bum fall ever. Apart from a couple of local teenage girls giggling and a man as usual shouting to be careful after the incident, its not been a major embarrassment.

I'm the first one to arrive at the mountaineering institute. There has been no electricity for 3 days and there will be no heating in the building during the day time, I'm told. But I'm upbeat. I've had a dog follow me all the way in Manali, a scene identical to my departure from here 2 years back.

I take it as a very good omen. I just love the snow although it's bone chillingly cold inside the institute. The next day we are to be transported to our destination 12 km uphill. There are 20 of us for the starter course. At dinner i meet a Japanese guy and after just a few minutes i can sense he's a traveller. It's a gut feeling that ive seldom been wrong about. I find him interesting and soon we're chatting away like two good friends meeting after a long time. His English is surprisingly good for a Japanese guy. Our conversation is soon interrupted.

'Are you Japanese ?'
Various people at different places have thought me to be from India, Portugal, Sri Lanka, Brazil but never from Japan. Has the cold flattened my features a bit? The questioner is undoubtedly pretty wearing a baseball cap and track suit.
I recover quickly from the shock of a never before asked question and unexpectedly seeing a woman in a room full of men.

'Yes im from Osaka', i say in all seriousness.

She takes a moment to digest that along with her roti but is soon on her way.

The transport that was promised the next day did not materialize. So we set off on foot carrying 20 kg rucksacks. The pace was fast and there was little time to admire the scenery. The snow and the distance meant that my Nike just couldn't do it anymore ! Boy was i ill prepared for this trip ! With wet socks and layers of clothes soaked in perspiration I literally crawl into the skiing center.

Adventure on the Jammu tavi...

2010-02-09T12:08:00.000+05:30

The train is spluttering to a stop at Vijayawada station, platform number 7. A full half an hour behind schedule. My head spins endlessly and I can’t see straight. The adventure began in Trivandrum when I arrived at the railway station not to find an ATM in sight. The only evidence of a SBI ATM that remained was the name board. I had around 80 bucks in cash for a 3 day journey. I did not have even toothpaste, talk about meticulous planning! It did not occur to me at the time that I would have to pay for things to eat along the way.

A group of Army jawans(soldiers) were my immediate travel companions. So I got a free unasked crash course on Indian army politics and some amazing revelations that will have to come out in print one day. The second day the hunger hit me, even though I was lying in my bunk most of the day dreaming of snow and sublime yoga poses. One of the jawans matter of factly took out an orderly sheaf of papers containing the train time table that he had printed out. The train would stop at Vijayawada for 25 minutes, according to the printed word. But now that it was already running more than half an hour late, would it still follow the time table?

I would have to leave my luggage behind, go up and down the over bridge and cross all those platforms to the exit at platform no.1. I slowly ascended the steps with the calm steely exterior of a Zen monk but with the palpitations of a lovelorn teenager. After coming out of the station I found 2 ATMs. After swiping the card in the 1^st one for 4 expletive filled tries, I moved to the second one. Ah finally the sweet sound of the machine dispensing cash!

I sprint over supine bodies, cows, luggage and other unidentified objects to the entrance. Near the entrance I slow my pace down and casually walk in. I don’t want to be stopped by the police on ‘suspicious’ circumstances. Mangled uncombed hair and beard stubble makes me definitely look shady.

I break out into a run once out of sight of security and every time a train sounds a horn somewhere I imagine my train pulling out of the station. Finally as I dash down the steps to the platform a guy coming up casually says: ‘The train’s pulling out, go fast yaar’. Shit, shit shit, why now at the final stretch?! Before I know it I am on the platform, by the train. The ‘stranger’ bastard had lied to me. The train was still there. I catch my breath and with the snug feeling that only money can evoke, go to buy a vegetable biriyani.

Hello & Goodbye !

2010-02-05T07:52:00.002+05:30

I’m setting sail today but the eternal procrastinator that I am, packing is yet to begin. Life slows down when you vagabond. There is seldom a morning plane to catch or a deadline to be honoured. When life assumes an unhurried pace, apart from feeling lazy, you start to hear your inner chatter and longings. Seeing the real you and not the ideas you have created about yourself is probably not a great experience. I got into travel thinking it would be a 24 hour party but unfortunately that’s not been the case so far. Long spells of aloneness broken by the arrival of an uninvited stranger. But I love these periods of aloneness; it makes me who I am. It feels good for my spirit as if I’m delving into myself, almost 24 hour contemplation.

Travel is all about hellos and goodbyes. A realization that all is fleeting. How many people met on the way will you see again? The magnificent impermanence that is life hits you. The year’s just into its second month but strangely I’ve been contemplating about death. I’m thinking of leaving a set of instructions for the D day. Maybe I can carry them around? Here are some not so morbid points:

1. I do not want to die in a hospital.
2. I do not want a doctor pumping my chest and giving electric shocks.
3. I want to breathe my last in nature.
4. I want to die alone (I'm still thinking on this one!)
5. I want to be fully conscious when I go (no morphine!)

See, now you know what unconventional travel does to a supposedly sane mind. I’m already thinking of death! Bloody hell!

Looking forward to meet an old friend in Delhi and then onwards march to Manali. I’ll see you folks in Delhi.

Blog news: I’m enabling comment moderation. For some reason I've been spammed a lot these last few days. So don’t panic and call the cops, if your comments are not immediately visible!

Lost in translation

2010-01-31T18:52:00.001+05:30

I’ve been subtitling a video for an NGO about a remarkable woman in her 50s in a Keralan village. Someone who’s still full of life and laughter despite tragedy being her constant companion in life. People like her inspire me to make the most of my blessings. Also, in the past week, I dusted off a few moldy VHS tapes featuring some ancient home videos and a 1986 wedding and ripped them into DVDs. It was funny to see myself as a gawky teenager (something that I’ve still not outgrown, according to mom) with braces. Even more curious to see my parents younger and surprisingly not bad looking at all! How people change over a decade and half! The wedding of my aunt, the first in the family to be ‘caught on tape’ was such a simple affair.

Regular readers might have noticed that although the author claims to be a vagabond, he doesn’t actually do much travelling. So to set the record straight, in a few days time, I’m finally planning to move my butt and do things I have wanted to do for a very long time. First I’m off to foggy Delhi, travelling by train in sleeper class. Excitement guaranteed for 3 days! Then the trail leads to Manali and further up where I’m joining a skiing camp. This has been a childhood dream of mine: to learn to ski. When almost your entire life is spent in the tropics, snow takes on a magical quality. Skiing and snow were mysterious things that I saw on TV screens, surreal. I always thought it would remain that way. So improbable. But now with loads of free time, it’s a possibility. After a couple of weeks on the ski circuit, its back to Delhi and then off to Rishikesh where I’m enrolled for a 2 months yoga course. Let’s see if I last that long.

I’m almost sure that the ski station near Manali won’t have internet access. About the ashram in Rishikesh I don’t know if I can sneak away once a week for surfing the net. I hope to log in at least once a week to update this blog. I’ve almost totally made up my mind that I will not be taking a phone with me. I like these periods when I’m cut off from the ‘media world’, not reading newspapers or watching television. But so far I have not tried to go without a mobile phone.

I’m already feeling a little nervous and excited. It’s always that way for me with regards to all long term travel. There’s a not so small part of my mind muttering about the craziness of the whole thing. Why leave a warm clime and cozy home to freeze your butt off somewhere?
Ah, the trepidation of insecurity and also the pull of adventure. But I do hope to continue writing and telling everybody else what a wonderful time I’m having. ;)

A village day

2010-01-23T17:29:00.001+05:30

The people in the village are always curious about me. The neighbours frequently visit trying to figure out the guy who doesn’t work for a living. When the same questions are put by the nosy arrogant middle class living in the frigid cities, I usually lose patience. But here, I am embarrassed. Mani, from next door, leaves the house at 3 in the morning to catch the train to work. The subsequent train that stops at the tiny village station is too late for him. If he wants to travel cheap using the season rail pass, he has no other option. Otherwise he has to take a room in the city paying exorbitant rent. He has 2 daughters to raise and his wife is a stay at home mum. He gets a pittance at work and returns at 7 in the evening. Raising daughters in India, that is another story, but in a nutshell he needs to start saving for the inevitable double dowry.

He came yesterday evening and insisted I eat from his house instead of trotting off to the nearest hotel.‘I don’t understand why are you so embarrassed about this. If I was staying in Trivandrum near your place, would you let me eat from anywhere else but your home?’I think, probably not. For all my pretensions, I think I still have the hard brutality of the city dweller inside me. Even unconditional kindness and warmth offered takes time getting used to. I reluctantly agree on breakfast the next day. Enough to say people here are embarrassed by my embarrassment for inconveniencing them.

The morning is always the most beautiful and exciting part of the day. This time of the year it’s a bit chilly and the mist does magic with the sunrise over the kayal. I take the thotti (an aluminum pail with a rope attached) and head for the well. It’s just about 10 feet to the water surface and I send the pail crashing down. Juggling the rope like a music conductor I manage to fill the thotti to the brim (this is pure art!). After filling a couple of buckets its time for the well bath. A towel tied around my waist I splash the cool water from the well over my body with the grand finale being emptying the whole bucket over my head. The most refreshing bath ever! Nobody’s interested in the noisy performance except the odd kingfisher or crow perched on the mango tree.

I wear one of the most comfortable garbs in India for a man, the mundu. It’s a cross between a small bed sheet and skirt, wrapped and tied around the waist allowing free circulation of air! Perfecto for the tropical climate. Nobody wears a shirt here unlike the cities, especially at home. My chest exults in the new found freedom and I’m in the mood for contemplative relaxation.
As the sun makes his way up the sky,I slowly head to Mani’s house with a sturdy stick in hand. The house dog is notorious in these parts for sinking his teeth into unsuspecting visitors. The red tiled house is dark with little ventilation and furniture. I am in good time. His wife Mili has just made a steaming puttu ( steamed rice cake) .

I mash it along with banana, sugar and ghee. Mili talks about her small ‘business’ in which she lends money to other housewives like her for a small interest. The milk is from the cow next door, she says. Will I have tea? I decline the offer and laugh seeing the incredulous look on Mili’s face when told I don’t do tea or coffee. Among other things she tells me about the time she saw the temple elephant stamping a man to death during the last festival.

Her eldest daughter, the shy one, is flitting about doing chores before she heads to school. She’s excited to be going on a trip today to watch a nearby exhibition. Her skin is gleaming with the mustard oil she has applied before taking bath. There is no water connection in the house, so she has to draw water from the well. Still in school, she’s already a beauty. I smile as I envision her breaking many hearts in the future. But she’s hardly aware of her exquisiteness as she walks around almost half naked . A most beautiful thing to see innocence still unharmed in a girl flowering into a woman ! I go back to watching the hypnotising tender ripples on the kayal.

Ass warming

2010-01-20T08:47:00.004+05:30

My lingo for useless time spent between vagabonding. It’s similar to the feeling of ennui the non-vagabond has going for a 9-5 job she detests but worse coz the vagabond doesn’t even have that detestable job to lose himself in ! Personally, I warm my butt mostly at home. Every self respecting Indian son is expected to stay at his parent’s home if he is within a 1000 km radius. If work takes him away, 'that’s alright, son.' Even after marriage lots of sons still live under mamma’s wing with their wives as per tradition. And hence we have all these exciting mother in law/ wife spats that’s serialized by TV channels as soap operas and hence provide employment to thousands. Yes folks, optimistic oppurtunistic people that we are, there’s always a silver lining in India for even the most hopeless problem.

When I come home after a long trip, I help around the house and finish all those chores my folks lovingly put aside just for my arrival. After that initial adrenaline flush and honeymoon period with my folks, relishing the unbusy streets and clear soft water of my home city, the lethargy soon sets in. Soon im moaning about going to the shop around the corner for bananas. The Malayali’s love affair with bananas, that will have to be another post !

Although my star sign dictates me being loyal and submissive to my blood no matter what, I have not exhibited any such idiosyncrasies so far, much to my parent’s exasperation. So to avoid calling in the cops, I usually get away every couple of weeks when I’m home to the village where my dad grew up. Ah yes the die hard fans of this blog, who devour every word I write, would realize that I have been raving about this place in the past few posts. Terra firma surrounded on 3 sides by a kayal (lake), it’s the kind of idyllic place writers or pretenders like me would feel inspired. I always stay for a few days recharging my vagabond batteries. Also by this time, folks back home think that maybe having me around is not such a bad idea after all. Of course this cycle repeats itself ceaselessly.

to be continued...

The home coming...

2010-01-16T08:05:00.006+05:30

The clouds hang low with rain as I race back to the past to dig out my first memories. I was maybe a tad over 10 years, playing by myself in the forecourt of an old tiled house populated by my mother’s parents in the deep south of Kerala. With the darkness of night fast approaching I was watching with interest yet another ant that I had captured being devoured by a kuzhiaana. (Literally: elephant in the hole, antlion in English). The kuzhiaana lies deep in a small sandpit near the walls of houses and makes a meal of any insect unlucky enough to slide into its hole. It comes out kicking up little spurts of sand before nabbing the ant and disappearing underground. It’s such a fast and covet operation that I never saw a kuzhiaana in the flesh.

A kuzhiaana's abode !

Image courtsey: Wikipedia.

The gate creaked open and the telegram man walked in. I called to my grandparents above the crackle of the state TV station. I was old enough to know that the telegram man inevitably bought with him bad news.

‘Your grandfather has died. We will have to leave tomorrow’, the living grandfather told me matter of factly.

My first encounter with death. I watched the darkness outside for a long time and maybe felt a certain sadness. When I went inside again, my grandparents were still seated in front of the television engrossed in the unfolding drama. Did that telegram really not come?

The next day we made the 2 hour journey to the small village where my father grew up. Down innumerable winding tiny lanes ending at last with a vision of silver and the breeze. Every time I go there it has been the same and every single time it gives me the goosebumps to see the endless lake and the sea just beyond. An old tiled house with broad verandas and sweeping views of the lake. My grandfather had a white cloth stuck around his face resembling a white beard. There was a lamp burning at the head of the body and incense sticks galore stuck in ripe bananas. Nothing though could mask the smell of rotting flesh in the room, the smell of death. We had to sit there for sometime as someone read the holy text and women wept silently. People were constantly filing in and out of the room.

Outside the men were pasting betel leaves with white lime and stuffing it with betel nuts and tobacco. When their cheeks were close to bursting they would spit it out colouring the earth red. Plates heaped with cigarettes were passed around. The women were either inside the house or in the smoke filled kitchen. The men stood around talking about the weather, current affairs and everything else but death.

A beautiful final resting place

Some of the branches of the enormous mango tree were being hacked and made into little pieces of wood. My uncle came out dripping wet after a ‘well bath’. The elaborate rituals and Sanskrit chants started for the departed soul. Soon the body was taken out of the house accompanied by a mass wailing I have not heard since. The pyre was soon lit on the banks of the lake, with the soft breeze and the sea just beyond. Everybody, the fishermen going about the day's work, the people on the opposite banks and those in the train that sped past must have been transfixed by the fire.The coconut tree planted there in my granddad's honour is quite tall now. But all those years back, I had a strange thought : 'This is not a bad place to die'

Confessions of a neurotic narcissist blogger

2010-01-12T09:07:00.004+05:30

I can never quite forget the first time I received a comment on my blog. I was not even aware that other people were reading stuff that I wrote. A certain secret satisfaction that 'someone out there' cared enough to blurb. A rite of passage every blogger goes through. It would tally with my theory that all bloggers, more or less, are exhibitionists. Not with regard to their clothes, though there may be the odd exception, but with their feelings. We like to be appreciated for our incredible writing skills, artistic ability or photographic finesse as the case may be. ;-) And of course a bit of narcissm helps to convince ourselves that our thoughts are important enough to be read by other people.

Once you succumb to that first comment, which is usually mildly encouraging, you're a goner. Soon you are logging in and going straight to the comments section. Six years back on blogger, that was the measure of your popularity, the number of comments you had. And the number of times you logged in to check the comments section was an indication of your neurotic obsessive behaviour. Thankfully blogger didn't have 'followers' then or I would have been permanently docked in a blog rehab institution!

Pretty soon when I sit down to write I take into consideration my imagined audience. E.g. if you have too many sensitive readers, you don’t want to be f*&^!#^ rude do you ? The pressure is on dude, you have got to make them laugh, entertain them. All the attributes of the audience, your own perceived notions of course! So what started off as just a venue to blow steam and let out dirty thoughts and secret fantasies becomes an exercise in posturing. Bloody hell!

The best part of blogging has to be the 'blogging buddies'. You can impose your wish list of what qualities constitute an ideal friend, on them. They are on their best behaviour, so are you. Only if they lived longer. Of the many buddies I had six years back, only a couple survive. And they DON'T remember me now! The rest are dead. Maybe not physically but for all practical purposes for me, they are stuffed. Most leave without goodbyes, just like in real life. Their thoughts compressed into pixels still remain like an elaborate tombstone on the net.

Some weirdoes like me go into a coma for 6 years and then suddenly spurt back into life. When I read my old entries I couldn't believe I had ANYTHING TO DO WITH THEM, much less write them. But I love myself too much to delete them. Even the bad jokes copy and pasted from a website now forgotten.

Who would have thought watching traffic was so much fun? Of course I speak of the site meter. Coming from all over the world for reasons that would of course put any self respecting exhibitionist to shame. God forbid, if any of your posts contain Indian or mallu in combination with girls, s*x , hair, eyes, toe nails, back, ankle... You get the drift. All thanks to Google of course. I imagine some poor sod hunched over his lappie hyperventilating with glazed eyes as he makes his way with high expectations to the vagabond's site. My apologies to all those sods. That way traffic watching is not so great. The realization that most visitors come here to blow steam like me, but in a very different manner.

On a slightly more serious note, isn't there something fulfilling about reading what people feel when they read our little entries? Isn't that the closest we can realistically hope to getting published? And of course to read what others write is much less stressful and more pleasurable than writing! The different way people tick, think and of course Google still amaze me...

Dedicated with special affection to my blogging buddies.

The New Year resolution

2010-01-08T07:39:00.002+05:30

On New Year's eve under a pregnant moon soon to be eclipsed by the shadow of the sun, swatting mosquitoes and nursing an ageing glass of red spirit, I broke convention. This year I would have resolutions, for the first time ever. What's the area of my life I want an improvement in? How many new languages to learn? How many habits to kick? How many promises to keep and break? After a long deliberation of a minute, I decided to just have one resolution since im pretty happy with the way I am . So here it is: do 10 things(maybe more if i get bored too quick) this year that I have never done before.

So I'm off here, to stay alone, which hasn't happened before. more details on return .