bomb-bay 2

Dear Mr. Journalist, Bombay bomb blast is not sensational and it is not a drama, it is sad and frustrating. Stop making it into a frenzy. Start helping people instead. We don’t want to know gory details, tell us what we want to know, what steps have been taken to save and aid the injured and to prevent such attacks in the future. Better still; tell the government, what we the people truly feel. You have the power to help. Put a full stop to blame game. Hold ppl who are supposed to be responsible, responsible. Make heads roll, or else shut up about the blast and cover Kalmadi's breakfast plan and other pointless shit. just stop playing with facts, figure and our emotions.

bomb-bay 1

Dear Mr. Terrorist, 'Bomb'ay the name does not imply u freakin bomb the city when ur bored or get a new batch of interns. More then frightened we are irritated with this act of yours. More than fear there frustration. Your USP is fear, so try new targets like our politicians and useless bureaucrats. BTW the name changed to Mumbai years back. please take note

Almost Roopkund

 This is the story of my trek, Almost Roopkund, yes the name sounds a little weird. What started off as a fun trek, turned into a life changing experience. Nope I did not suffer from any accidents nor did I go through any x number of hours of gruesome ordeal. This place made me redefine my sense of reality.  I guess there was nothing normal about this trek for me. It was a series of random events strung together. Every one of them new and breath taking, every one of them made me rethink a lot of my past assumptions. I will not get into the travel details like I usually do. For a change I will share with you my experience. I have warned you before, don’t expect anything coherent.

One random phone call led to a series of events which unfolded in a very dramatic manner which finally landed me in New Delhi one lazy hot Tuesday morning. I choose to use the word lazy here to remind you that I don’t run the rat race. I set the pace for my life. After the basic preps and running around the journey to Rishikesh began, then later to places like Rudraprayag and Karnaprayag. At the end of the first leg of the journey we landed at Wan, an isolated village nestled amongst the virgin valleys of the Himalayas.

The trip so far was adventurous by any normal measure, but I was not looking for just any adventure. I embarked on this journey for a variety of reasons. I guess the most important was the need for answers to a few of my questions. I needed time and space to find it, time and space, away from the mundane responsibilities of everyday life.

Wan was answer to some of my questions, here I found myself slowing down, absorbing the nature and all her energies. Here I had a strange yet familiar encounter with Latodevata , a local deity, who also happens to be a very ancient pine tree. Here I understood the reason why people visit Himalayas in search of their personal truth in hordes. Here there is no need for a cordoned space called temple, no need for a sanctum sanatorium. I realized the very space is sacred. 

We started our trek in the night, those of you who are faint hearted; don’t even think of trying this. We were duly admonished at by the forest guards and the local shepherds when they figure out we had made the first ascent in the night.

The reason, some of my fellow climbers had a paranormal experience, which involved floating lights in the middle of the forest. Before you judge and look for scientific reasons, understand very few of you have ever experienced any trek like this before. It is kind of difficult to visualize any such experience sitting in comforts of the city life.  Ya, back to the story, this experience freaked out two of my companions, so we stopped the trek and decided to camp for the night.

The climb so far was quite simple and easy, however I suffered from acclimatization problem. This in layman terms means I really couldn’t breathe and every step was a nightmare and every draw of breath set my lungs on fire. We ascended 3000 feet on the first leg.

The climb from the 2^nd base camp was relatively easy due to the easy gradient; however the air was getting thinner and thinner with every step I took. I took every opportunity to rest and catch some nonexistent breath.

We reached the third base camp. There the weather went from bad to worse, with constant hail and rain. With ten people already stuck in the higher reached with no possible rescue due to bad weather, we decided to wait and watch. The weather in the higher reaches Himalayas is like the thought process of women, very random and constantly changing.

Trust me the wait wasn’t bad either. The place is breathtaking. The high altitude meadows of Himalayas are beyond comparison. With snow capped mountains surrounding us on almost all sides, I was lost to the beauty.

With the weather showing no improvement we decided to start the descent. The trek down to Wan was normal and my breathing showed some improvement. Once in Wan we took the same route back to civilization.

On reaching Rishikesh we split up with Rahul continuing to Delhi. Hiten and I decided to spend the extra day roaming around Rishikesh. This basically involved me spending an awful amount of time at the Freedom cafe at the banks of Ganges. Go there it is an amazing place with good food. The next day we took the train back to Delhi. Then I continued my journey to Amravati. This was one of the most memorably journeys of my life. I found what I wanted.

  Praveen

Strings

The strings that once were

Tugging at the remaining strands

Fighting to break free to spread my wings

To get the first taste of freedom

I paid a heavy ransom

The strings that once were

Running from the web to stay out of reach

To stay pure to stay clean

How much will I lose?

How much will it cost?

This race this never ending run

Away from shackles away from chains

Which when once around,                     

To its every call I should beckon, I am bound

Like a slave like a dog

Waiting to please the master

But I know no master I bear no shackles

And never will I live for another

Let the world be damned

And its rules burn in hell

With the strings broken

All that remains is my sanity

A few meager possessions

But there is hope there is light

And there is a way to win this fight

Rise and snap the chain and rope

This is a war song to inspire hope

A battle cry to all you brave souls

Fighting your personal battles

Don’t you give up, let them not see you cry

Grind you teeth and take the beat

Coz we have nothing to loose

But a life to live

CONtext

Was reading newspaper came across the words: common man, ordinary people. Just struck me, who then are the uncommon and extraordinary people?  What is uncommon about them?  What actions of theirs are so extraordinary? Politician – no, most of them cheat, steal, lie. Actors/celebs: nope again. Lies, fake, deceitful. Businessman- maybe, some are good and progressive. What is about the guy sitting next to you on the train, the vegetable vendor, the old man buying vegetables from him? What makes them so ordinary and common?  I can come to only one conclusion, if IPL Chairman Lalit Modi, 2G Raja, Reddy brothers, and the likes of Pappu Yadav, Rakhi Sawant, are the uncommon extraordinary people according to media, the people who give the meaning to words like deceit, fake, extortionist, murderers. I am happy to be ordinary and common in this CONtext.  

Sticky Notes

This is a note to self…hmmm maybe some sort of reminder, more than a blog entry. I started this blog, when ever that was to keep track of some of my journeys both with in and with out. Like a marker along the way (da….. obvious ). These are not turning points, needn’t even be important events. These are a record of events I enjoyed, experiences that moved me, simple joys of life and a record of things I have read. Yes this is a travel blog describing a different kind of journey. One most of us rarely take. Through the catacombs of thoughts, through green valleys through what ever life decided to throw at me and more importantly what ever I decide to embark on. These might not be coherent but then again what is? In all these years if there is one thing I have learnt and internalized then it is that ‘the only true worthwhile pursuit in life is the pursuit of life itself’

Praveen

An eternal roar

The story of Raja and Rani is not just a tribute to the couple themselves, but also the many forest guards involved in giving them their space to mate for life. No, I am not using crude terminology. I actually do mean "mate" because this is the story of the only tiger pair we have heard of that has mated for life. The villagers of the Melghat Tiger Reserve, who had never seen the two apart, always knew when the pair had walked past, the inter-twined pug marks, a result of the way they gently rubbed past each other as they walked, were always a clear give-away. It was no surprise then that the one who watched over them, intended to bury them together whenever the fateful day came.

There came a time when the villagers realized that the pair had not been spotted for almost a year. Not even the romantic tangled prints that had become their identity could be traced. About the same time a pair of tiger skins was confiscated in raid some where in North India. On further interrogation it was found out that the skins were of a pair of tigers from Melghat jungle. Those skins were the remains Raja and Rani. A shooter, hired for Rs. 500; a trap setter, hired for Rs. 50; a person to watch the trap, hired for Rs. 5 all led to a women, hired for Rs. 1500, to wrap the skins round her waist, don a Burqa and transport them to a wealthy woman who paid Rs. 15 Lakhs for the skins of a pair that had mated for life. They were all arrested.

On hearing this news the distraught Mr.Barde, a forest guard to whom Raja and Rani were more then just a pair of animals, interrogated the perpetrators to find the location of the killing. On hearing that the remains of the tigers were scattered through out the mountain side to avoid detection, he traced back the location and spent the next few months looking for every remaining bone. Their bones were brought back and buried together for eternity, their pug marks never to be found again. He in his own way paid back to his beloved Raja and Rani.

On seeing the depth of emotions involved in this incident one of the perpetrator committed suicide in the same jungle.

With all the NGOs claiming to work with animals and the various government departments that are formed, we forget (as we often do) that the true heroes lie at the grass root levels. They are the true inspiration to all those with a passion for wildlife and should be on a pedestal right up there above all else.

This story is the legacy of people like Barde who are still out there. Working beyond the call of their duty, working to protect and save the last few remaining tigers. Living in inhospitable conditions and taking it all in the stride. In spite of people like Barde toiling out there, if the tiger ever goes extinct, due to our insatiable greed, on that day I would have lost all hope on human race.

Raja and Rani, their corporeal form might have been lost for ever but still somewhere in the deep jungles of Melghat in the heart of this country, if we listen closely we might still hear their roar.

Maansi & Praveen