to each one’s own

@ ganga nature camp

Rishikesh. The much awaited trip finally re-happened.

Between jobs, me and 4 other friends finally packed off for rishikesh. This trip, unlike many others was not improptu. Infact Disha and I did a lot of searches and finally selected ganga nature camp over aquaterra for obvious reasons. (and to my shame, I also prepared a format for comparison between the shortlisted choices). Aweful. But thankfully, I was true to my basic procrastinatory self, so nothing really came out of the excel sheets.

Let me redo the trip through a fototrip...

@ Suncity Bus Service from CP (N. Delhi) to Rishikesh. 9350918952.

(Beware of the bus owner. He can be very illogical).

With Lipika, the cute algae

@ Laxman jhula, 6:30 or so after chai n a cold ride in the dark to this bridge (where a homey pigeon walked the entire stretch of the bridge infront of us. Gues, pigs fly, so pigeons walk).

@ Ganga Nature Camp, Between Rishikesh & Shivpuri. 09412050478. (Rajeev).

No, swimming is not allowed. Not seedha. Nor Ulta.

The camp is very basic (read sand pit toilets). The food served is good, esp. the roasted mixed veg.

.......afternoon fillers... a baby trek to some waterfall, a dip in absoLUTEly chilled pool by the same waterfall, rappeling by the roadside 'tall-rock' (what else could it be called?)

Dumb Charade sessions, if you can come up with innovative n original names like...(i) lomdi ko ho gaya pyaar (ii) tahkhaane mei chudail

Recommended:

Include in your team someone like Lipika who can come up with the wierdest of ching chong names.

Our Lipika obviously took ages to decide.
She would look up to the movie-Gods for inspiration.. again take ages to decide.

Finally when she would manage to whisper to Disha, both would again take ages to laugh about it. Reconfirm yet again and laugh some more.

Her love for ching chong movies is so gr8 that Disha had to enact Once upon a time in 'China'. (Oh! to have heard Antonio Banderas speak with a chinese hangover). One also has to enact part I - IV as well to the names Lipika comes up with.

We did a lot of posing as well.

All of Us

Junta was on the move, while we waited our turn
Quite a traffic that weekend

Some would shout

Hey babby wo babby

Hey babby WO

So after some dunkings

and some more

We too hailed Jai Bharat and the ride started

Day 1 was just about 12-13 kms

Day 2 was about 27 kms.

Day 2 had some great rides with gr8 names (now i just remember 3 blind mice).

Remo, the funny instructor would come up with funnier annotations for the rapid-namesakes.

He was equally inovative in funny games like making us balance at the head of the raft.

Left-Forward...Right-Back...Left-Forward...Right-Back, he would shout the command. And Dunk would go our balancing act. If only we could capture the concentrated expressions with which we had been trying to balance. The best one being just before either jumping onto the raft or falling into the river.

...Disha and me

.......Mohit and Lipika

But The BEST among Remo's antics was

DISHA in her HOT SEAT.

Here goes...

Remo the funny man takes us to this rock by the bank. Makes Disha climb up and sit on the seat like formation cut out at the face of the rock. Mohit helps her and he jumps back immediately, and all of us back-paddled...instantly at Remo the funny man's command of BAAACK PAAADDLE.

Here she is...

Disha was astounded. Then she laughed. Then was irritated.

We ofcors, could not stop laughing.

Then she screamed.....Ok guys .... enough!!!! come back....

GUYYYSSSS!!!

mat aaaooo...mero ko kya hai....
GUYYYSSSSS!!!!

Well we did take our time to return.

We also sang saathi haath badhaana... while we helped her down
Some more foto sessions....

Kriti, the babe
Lipika, the joker

Some Cliff Jumps

Thats Mohit

Thats Me

My 1st jump was at a slant and how I ached :)

But the 2nd was perfect. I loved it.

(It was much higher than as seen in this foto ofcors. This clarification is since Mohit and I bragged so much about the thrill of the jump).


Back in camp. Our home for two nights n three days...

Lovely dark night. The sound of rushing Ganga and chilly air, a heady combination

Back into our 10/- raincoats bought at Ram jhula

and back to Delhi.

and back to Mumbai.
and back to Work.

no cheers to bushi dam

the plan was to go to malshej, which for some reason did not happen. So we went to the cliche`d Lonavala. A sumptious lunch was in mind which thankfully did happen. But Bushi Dam - damn ! also happened.

This is what it was like.....
(misty therefore hazy)

Many more like us from Mumbai and Pune had headed to Bushi Dam...

(Like a short cut you know about and cleverly give a miss to the traffic jam

and discover that ...so do a lot many people).

anyways....

How do you reach Bushi Dam?

You pay for this ticket that ticket (pollution ticket included)
You pass by a purple-yellow-orange-green walled eatery called Chinese-hukkas
You get directed to the damn ooops dam by a lot of young boys frantically waving their hands
You pay 50/- parking

You then cross a big puddle of brown water
Some of your friends might not want to enter into that water
So just you or some other determined one like you might have to go

You pass by a lot of men in ugly chuds
and women with hairy legs showing thru raised sarees

You will also find a bhutta wala selling bhutta right in the middle of the trickling water to the picnicers who eat and hurl the chewed off remnants one after another into the same water

and
When you finally reach up-well almost upto the dam

This is what it will be like...



no it is not a Mela....

they are picnicers squishing their butts to fit in

while the dam'ed water manages to find some space to trickle down

4 more reasons on why to give bushi dam a miss:-

1] as you disgustingly make your way out (having never reached the top), a cow just might raise its tail to shit in that very water you will have to wade thru'

2] you could be caught a traffic jam on your way to and from the dam. Any place with a traffic jam has to be 'touristy' and avoidable

3] the chai you get there will be milky and less than luke warm

4] you still might not like bright yellow chuds on fat men with hanging paunches

What you need to do is head towards Upper Deck which has a steeply priced buffet for an OK meal...but the view is great..and if you are not photogenic, you will be lucky here

And What you definitely need to do is head to Malshej Ghat the next weekend to wash off Bushi

my lookalike

He still smiles at me even though his pink nails have faded

even though its been six long years of having known me

Ishaan

Can you blame me for falling in love?

Her husband for social completeness

My chai-wali Patkar maushi called me a ‘kutti’ today. Lovingly ofcourse since she is very fond of me and favours me with untimely coffees and surprise hugs.

Sometime back she was frantically arranging for 5000 bucks since she feared her husband would drink away what she called her home of 20 years. Transfer it in her name, she did.

“So, now u have it in your name. Throw him out! “
‘Aiiga! Kya bolhi tu? Heh heh!’ She chucked.

I said- “aur nahi to kya. Find another mausa!"
to which she called me kutti

[Aside: comment on ‘another mausa’, was a joke. There was another dimension about ‘done-with-the-men’ conversation].

“But why do you need him anymore? What has he given you? “

A man of 50 odd years who gets government money which he drinks away. Gets fed, drinks, gets a ready family to abuse, drinks, swears, drinks, sleeps in stupored glory, drinks, gets to stay in a ready-made clean house - two children and one grand-child who maybe love him only because he his their father, drinks. And drinks.

A man who thinks it is his due that he ‘be-served’. He is after all ‘the’ man of the house.

“Aise hi hota hai. Aadmi hai who mera!” She insisted perhaps the 100th time since we have had this kind of conversation many more times before.

Samaaj…Aurat ka zindagi….reet….

She again repeated those endless reasons as to why her husband is parmeshwar. About social sanctions. About traditions.

We have this on-going game, where I tell her what she calls ‘outrageous things’. “Tradition is as per convenience. There was a time when sati was sanctioned”, I continued.

“I will do Sati, if required” declared my Patkar maushi.

So she would. For a man who she resents. Whose bed sores she tends to. Bed sores, brought about by a long bed rest while he recuperated from the physical fall since his drunken legs didn’t support him.

She will shed tears for him since he is her husband. And she will shed tears for herself, since she is a 'mere woman', as she calls herself.

A ‘mere women’ who single handedly raised two children, got one-married. Managing all in some 2000 or 2500/- that she earns. Money, which she often had to hide in secret places from the hands of ‘the man’ of the house. Those hands which would not hesitate to fall harshly on her and her two children.

She will continue to be the victim, all the while trying to be a survivor.

She needs the social sanction of a useless husband for keeping her house, ensuring baap ka saaya over her children.

To my mind, the only encouraging (wee bit) thing about such a mess is that, she once a while hits him back!

my mrs k

there have been so many times that i have avoided her. a few steps away but i would acknowledge only when acknowledged. i remember those meetings when she would turn everything topsy turvy and me in my very-undiplomatic ways would get impatient and say something to goad her more. it became a game between us. who could goad more. then who would start goading 1st. then an avoidance on each one's part. she has always had a fond word to say about me. but behind my back. i yes, however tacky it might sound, love her. love her and respect her. i have been able to seperate the human her and the professional her. i loved one and accepted the other. why did she take all the crap that i gave her? she also loved me i know.
the most elegant of women i have known and seen. the most soft spoken of all. the ready smile. her walk so light as if she would glide on air. we used to say that she is not a person but an experience. we used to say, 'she has more energy in her 70 yr old strong frame than all our energies combined together.'
a woman who saw and did so much. a woman who has been an inspiration to so many. one of my NGO partners had written a song on her calling her devi. We ofcourse had lagughed and would so often feel embarrased when so many of them would behave as if they were worshipping her.
i would cringe when some1 would imitate her as she called out my name in her sing-song voice. she would call out- bye children in that same sing-song voice. a voice which at times have shaken all the veterans here. (even me at times).
which now lies numb and unfeeling. that beautiful face swollen because of medicines which her body rejected. with tubes she lies having never had thought this is how it will end. for all those times i avoided her, here i was waiting for hours and hours for a glimpse of only some seconds. seconds which leaped in shock to see what looked like the unbelievable. a flash and life changed for her. as it changed for all of us. as another one who reaches out to me now in a broken voice. with heart rending words that he needs my support. she is like God for him and he cannot live without her, he says.
We await for the miracle. which will bring back that sudden deep breath.

Mrs. K passed away on April 24th 2007, 2.30 am at Breach Candy Hospital.

Minu

My friend passed away yesterday. Survived by an old mother, sister, brother-in-law, a niece who perhaps she had not seen and friends.
My batchmate whom I did not really know that well. She had a life to live ahead and not leave behind a mother who perhaps would not look so tired and lost.
Friends had gathered and like Shuchika and I perhaps even they were relating this to their own lives.
Death so sudden-so unbelievable. What can be darker than dark? Does the body feel a passage from life to wherever they go? Does it look back? My reference has changed from ‘she’ to ‘it’. How would the mother be feeling? It’s the loved one’s who are left behind and who feel the pain every single day.
Am I selfish to think who will mourn my death? Who all will I matter to so much? Isn’t it our purpose in life to love and be loved- as Jesus said-Love one another as I have Loved you.

And here we get caught in small, inconsequential worries, misplaced pride, envy, jealousy, malice and most incriminating of all-purposelessness. Caught up in frivolity. While time ticks by.

Is Death not the biggest truth of life? At the end, perhaps there are no are no grey areas. Just black or white.

my stint at taragram

I had some fabulous years at TARAgram. TARAgram- a rural technology demonstration unit, is 15 kms from Jhansi. Located at Madhya Pradesh, TARAgram is in this fantastic wilderness, where the dry summers drain you off all energy; so bright and hot in the summers that the rocks seem to reflect more heat and the dry leaves crackle as if it'll start a forest fire of its own. The rains so heavy that those very trees would sway in wet greeness and little riverlets would drain into the already swollen Betwa river.

We had our own power supply through DESI power (Decentralised Energy System of India), our own stationery of TARA handmade paper and our own sigdi-koyla in the cold cold winters. The koyla that I mention, is charcoal made out of biomass. My colleague would always corerct me and say 'invasive biomass' invasive biomass' not a waste! ok, bajpai, I give you that!

Us, Jharkhandi's and people from Bihar, Orissa, MP , Chhatisgarh would recognise the 'invasive biomass called 'lantana' as "putus", a thorny bush with rough dark green leaves and tiny bunches of orange or purple or red or white flowers. The DESI power that I mentioned above is electricity generated through another of Bajpai's "invasive biomesses', called 'Ipomea'. Again, us Jharkhandi's and people from Bihar, Orissa, MP , Chhatisgarh would recognise Ipomea as "theythur" or "besharam" or "behaya". Yeah, a plant actually called by that name!

"Besharam" is a tall shrub with palm sized leaves and tall stalks. It has lavender coloured bell shaped flowers and 'besharam' can grow anywhere. Throw a stalk anywhere, be it muddy or dry, 'Besharam' grows. I call that 'survivor' or 'perseverant' not 'besharam'. No wonder, Bajpai was so protective of his biomasses. We even had our own check dam. There were times when we would take our lunches by the dam and sit with our legs swinging over the water.

8 kms away from TARAgram is Orchha. Located at the banks of Betwa, Orchha's history dates back to the 17th century. The Ram Mandir, Jahangir Palace, Teen Deviyaan ka Mahal, Laxmi temple, Chaturbhuj temple and much more. Each has its own story to say (and all guides tell it differently as well). Ram Mandir used to be more beautiful, I'm told, until Uma Bharati painted it pink. As you face Ram Mandir, on the right side is a gate which leads to an enclosure which has two square 15 foot pillars, called "Saawan Bhaado". I was told by some wise women that at the onset of rains, Saawan and Bhaado like two lovers bend and seek each other. Well, I could not imagine two squares reaching out to each other but on a fading light, the pillars did look imposing.

Jahajir Palace is impressively imposing as well. Each window on every direction gives its own perspective and meaning to beauty. A damp afternoon thrown in, and the mood is purrfeckt!

Two sides of the Palace overlook Betwa. As the skies turn a deep purplish-orange, the views could be anything - be it the trucks on their way to Niwari or Tikamgarh or Bhopal passing through the metal bridge on swollen Betwa or a flash of branches being swept away while a boat paddles downstream home or 2 women washing clothes at the ghat which has a dozen broad steps while a man rushes through his bath in the water soon to turn dark, while children dip and frolic and swim and dive from the water-slick smoothly rounded rocks.

From yet another side you can see, a well-maintained garden with a Mahal called some Fulwadi or the other. Supposedly, the Bundela Raja's favourite mistress used to reside in this Mahal. The front side as always overlooks people rushing through their touristy-agenda.

Jahangir Palace was made to commemorate Jahangir since he had helped the contemporary Bundela Raja to usurp the throne, my so-called guide had told me. (I do not remember why I never took an official guide).

Well, Jahangir came to visit for 1 night only an dit took perhaps 17-18 years to build this palace. (Am I wrong or what?). The room where he slept is not grand. A small platform where his 'rajsi' bed would have been laid.

One of my colleagues would stuff his week-long dirty clothes in a rucksack and on a Sunday afternoon would wash them at Betwa, drink beer and sleep off on the warm rocks. What fun!

A 4 centuries old stone bridge which was quite low would year after year get submerged during the rains. It was also a source of rancor since only one heavy vehicle could pass at a single time. With the Bundelkhandi tempers virtually always on the rise, the drivers of nose to nose buses would hurl swear words left right and centre.

The drive from TARAgram to Orchha during the rains is not just a drive. It is an experience. Beyond the old Orchha bridge is a wild life sanctuary. I never saw any wild animals but the drive down is mind blowing on a dark night.

I only regret not using each and every moment to soak up all that the place had to offer.

the rock

many expressions come to my mind

cool mist washin over me

thin soft flakes melting down my cheeks

cold fingers finding warmth on your tight clasp

fingers and palms fitting perfectly

long companiable silent walk

pausing and looking back

stopping and looking ahead

breathless but content

words shared with people heading the other way

not meaningless words only an effort to catch onto more newness

the fading sunlight

gods light

pink light

orange light

purple light

still some more light after the sunset

then darkness

only firelight

and that within

the chill of fresh silkcotton like snow, the heat of dancing flames

the intimate cover of silver-darkness

the colours of intimacy, love and companionship

the sounds ethereal

some more expressions come to my mind

intruding sunlight

like the hiss of snow on fire

of an impending closure

of the joy of having known such happiness