My India

(1)

The folks are nice, the leaders rough,

For all of us Indians, Life is tough.

But after living here a while

We take it all with a smile

To survive, a sense of Humor is enough.

(2)

Poor infrastructure and stinking drains,

An economy still dependent on rains.

Crooks are the bosses

Life, a sum of losses

And now Maoists have started hijacking trains.

(3)

Next to slums, there are many a high-rise,

The people work and leaders take the prize.

While you rough it out

Without a question or doubt

Criminals and politicians live life king size.

(4)

Will this match result in a win or loss?

And when will Dhoni win the toss?

Who give a damn for health-care

We just want to sit and stare

At TV and watch Bigg Boss

SPARROWS

I read in today’s newspaper that environmental workers in Hyderabad, concerned about the declining Sparrow population in the cities, have launched a programme of distributing cardboard boxes for sparrows to nest in. Apparently, the plan is picking up steam and making a slow but steady progress. Well, more power to them. Over the last fifteen years or so I have been noticing the gradual disappearance of Sparrows from our homes. I remember that when I was a kid the sparrows used to be regular residents of our home. In fact it sometimes seemed that it was their home and we were the intruders. They would make untidy nests in ventilators, cornices, the upturned cups of ceiling fans and at times even behind framed photographs. The birds were very industrious, constantly bringing in straws and dry grass and would contribute to the dirtying of our home as much as us children. I remember my mother’s chagrin and the amused resignation at their antics. The males with their distinct plumage were as active as females in building nests and feeding the perpetually hungry baby sparrows. I remember the distinct cheep cheep and the wide open beaks of the brood when the parent sparrows brought food. Sometimes a baby would fall out of the nest much to the agitation of the parents. I and my sister would try to save the unfortunate fledgling by making a nest of cotton in a shoebox and offering it food and water but without exception they all died. I still do not know if it was despite our efforts or because of them. The remaining babies would grow fast and leave the nest and fly off. The flying lessons that the sparrows provided to the chicks were a source of constant entertainment for us. Occasionally an adult sparrow would dash against the whirring blades of a ceiling fan and die leaving us all very sad. The sparrows were such a constant presence in every house that we stopped noticing them as we grew up. One day when I was talking about sparrows to my children my son told me that he had never seen one. I realized with a shock that sparrows had vanished from homes. I am told that the dense urban sprawl, high frequency waves from mobile towers and use of plastic pipes in place of cement ones have contributed to this decline in sparrow population. Since then I have been looking for sparrows everywhere I go. I have seen a few in condominiums in Gurgaon where they nest on the A Cs and a few in the holiday resorts where there are wide open spaces. I hope that sparrows make a comeback. I don’t want the present generation to grow up without seeing sparrows.

2 States- the latest Chetan Bhagat Novel

I am no die hard fan of Chetan Bhagat. Sure, I have read all his books and have found them entertaining. I have identified with many events of Five Point Someone and recommended his books to many friends. But his books did not have the raw resonance of say, Jhumpa Lahiri. That is before he came out with his latest offering, 2 States, the story of my marriage. This is undoubtedly his best till date. The simple and sweet boy meets girl love story has been presented in a wonderfully innovative and refreshing manner. The cultural and linguistic divide between the two families (yes, the boy is Punjab da puttar while the girl is a Tam bam, no less.) has been brought out in a manner which is humorous as well as poignant. Bhagat manages to put across his point with remarkable candor without being preachy. The best part of the book is that the sense of fun never goes away. Some Tamils and Punjabis may be a bit miffed at the mild dose of sarcasm directed at them but as Bhagat says you only make digs at people you care for. I don’t really know how much of the book is autobiographical but the situations seem real enough. The book is an easy read (which is the USP of all Bhagat works anyway) but the underlying message is not lost. The book is priced at a reasonable Rs.95.00 and I am sure it will be a runaway success like all his other works. My recommendation- Go for it and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did.

Contemporary Limericks

Most unusual case, said the nurse with a frown,

This patients Blood Pressure moves up and down.

The Doc came and said

With a shake of his head

It moves with the SENSEX, you clown.

*** 

For high tech gadgets, it’s a mad mad charge

Live life king-size, live life large….

Its both sad and funny

In lieu of food or money

Even the beggers want a mobile recharge.

*** 

Akshaya, the actor of many a hue,

Was asked what else he would like to do?

He said I have fulfilled my passion

And achieved my secret ambition

Of acting in a film that was 'BLUE'.

*** 

The Nobel peace prize for Obama,

Is a stunt and political drama.

If it goes downhill at this rate

On some future date...........

They might as well give it to Osama

***

That’s what cricket is all about,

Indians may well sulk and pout,

After a day of top ranking,

Pakistanis gave us a spanking.

They lost to Aussies and we were out.

***

There was this guy called Dhoni,

From Cricket he made a lot of money.

He thought he was fearless

But he got a bit careless

And all fans are crying over the ‘Anhoni’.

***

It’s a tale all old timers tell,

Be humble when you play well.

Even the mightiest batsmen fall,

The moment they stop looking at the ball.

And most of the fans will give you hell.

***

Limericks

( 1.)

Shashi thought embracing austerity was crass

Flying economy was like travelling cattle class

Before he could say Twitter

His party had the jitters

And Holy Cows are not going to let this one pass.

(2.)

Ghulam Nabi Azad did everything he could do

Advising the nation about watching TV too

So to curb the population

The health ministery of the nation

Went to Mexico and imported Swine Flu.

(3.)

Television’s gain is cinemas loss

Big money sends everything else for a toss

Reality TV is in fashion

It’s everyone’s current passion

And Big B now stands for Big Boss.

The Birthday

Rita Chatterjee usually got up early in the morning. After preparing breakfast she saw her twin children Sumedha and Som off to college. Then she waited while her husband Raj got ready, finished breakfast and set off for his office. Her entire morning was a whirlwind of activities. ‘Ma, where are my shoes,’ ‘Ma, I can’t find my pen,’ ‘I don’t want parathas for breakfast.’ or a softer, ‘Dear, I can’t find my mobile’ from her husband. Only after everyone had left she had some time to herself. She had a leisurely bath and a peaceful cup of tea before her maid turned up. The maid’s tongue moved faster than her hands as she did the dishes and then proceeded to clean the house. Then Rita would cook lunch, wait for the children to come back, serve them lunch and then eat herself. Her afternoons were lazy affairs spent in her room or on the balcony depending on the season. She could curl up with a magazine, listen to her favorite Rabindra Sangeet and take a nap. Raj reached back home around six while the children vanished on their own mysterious errands. The unwritten rule was that they had be back home before eight. The family usually had dinner together. This had been her unwavering routine for the past few years. Ever since she got married, Raj had been the fulcrum around which Rita’s life had revolved. The arrival of twins a year later had made her busier still. Her life had been completely centered on the three individuals that made up her family. Years had flown and suddenly her kids were grown up and in college. Raj had got more and more involved in his office and the silences between them had been growing. Rita had started feeling increasingly unimportant in the family’s scheme of things.

She occasionally regretted her decision to discontinue her studies after graduation and settle down in matrimony. She had been a fairly good student and a swimming champion in college. Many of her peers had been shocked by her decision. They had felt that there would be no dearth of proposals for a beautiful and accomplished girl like her and she would be better off continuing her studies and building a career. Her best friend Sucheta had said. ‘Why do you have to get married at such an early stage? Complete your post-graduation first. You may have a good career in swimming itself. And sportsperson get preference in Government jobs. You are a good student. I don’t think you should throw away all this for the sake of marriage.’ But at that stage she had been completely devoid of ambition and had quietly accepted her parents’ decision to marry her off to Raj. She had not had any reasons to regret that decision for many years but only recently dissatisfaction had started raising its head. ‘What direction would my life have taken if I had continued my studies?’ she thought. ‘Could I have been an IAS or a Bank officer or a Lecturer? Maybe I would have been a state level swimmer or a coach in National Institute of Sports.’ She tried imagining herself in different roles and occasionally regretted her routine house-wife existence. Then she would look at her family and would think, ‘I have done a good job of raising my family. They need me to be around.’ ‘Sure.’ A voice would whisper in her ears, ‘They need you but do they really care about you. The children need their mother and Raj needs his wife but do they really care for Rita, the individual?’ She would be forty next week, she remembered. ‘And I bet they don’t even remember your birthday.’ The voice whispered insistently.

‘Do you know what is special about next Saturday?’ asked Sumedha at the dinner table. Rita was happy. ‘She has remembered my birthday.’ But she feigned ignorance. ‘What?’ ‘Papa is taking us for a visit to Corbett Tiger Reserve.’ Sumedha was jumping with joy. ‘All arrangements are in place.’ Rita hid her disappointment. ‘Nobody remembers my birthday!’ she thought. ‘And I’ll be forty. Officially a middle aged woman who has devoted the best years of life to a family which does not care to remember her birthday.’

They started their journey on Saturday early morning, Raj driving their Maruti Swift. Som sat beside him and took a perverse delight in counting the number of trucks which had turned turtle while negotiating the highway. They reached their destination, a wildlife resort on the banks of river Kosi, situated on the periphery of Corbett Tiger Reserve by lunch time. The resort boasted of all the trappings of modern living, from AC rooms to a well maintained swimming pool, while being away from the noise and chaos of urban existence. Rita tried to remember when she last entered a pool. ‘Probably four or five years back,’ she decided, ‘and I have not even brought a swimming costume.’ She was still disappointed that nobody had remembered or mentioned her birthday. She toyed with the idea of giving them oblique hints but her hurt won the day and she decided to keep quiet. They had a surprisingly lavish lunch and the children decided to go on a safari in the Bijrani range of the tiger reserve. Rita wanted a nap after the long drive and a heavy lunch but as usual the kids got their way.

They hired an open jeep and set off. The jeep entered the park and set off on the rough track fashioned by the wildlife department. Rita was enchanted by the tall Sal trees and the thick undergrowth of bushes which characterized the jungle. The first animals they spotted were a herd of Sambhar deer. They also came across many Barking deer and Cheetals. ‘The barking deer is also known as Kakar.’ informed their guide. Rita was the first one to make the most unusual sighting of the day. She saw a pair of large raccoon like animals who were rushing up and down the tree trunks. They had beautiful black colored pelt with yellow undersides. Even their normally stoic guide was excited. ‘That is a pair of yellow bellied pine martens.’ He whispered. ‘They are sighted very rarely.’ The driver stopped the car while the animals raced up and down the tree trunks without a care in the world. ‘They hunt birds, small animals and steal eggs from the nests.’ informed their guide. ‘They are better tree climbers than even jungle cats and leopards.’ When Som tried to photograph them, they just vanished into the undergrowth. They came across many birds, wild boar and a herd of elephants. The herd consited of female elephants and many calves. The tuskers were conspicuous by their absence. 'Even here females have to bear the brunt of raising the children!' thought Rita. ‘Where are the tigers?’ demanded Sumedha. ‘After all, this is a tiger reserve.’ But the king of the jungle proved elusive and tired but happy, they returned to the resort. Rita felt like a dip in the pool and regretted not packing her swimming costume. ‘I don’t even remember where it is. I haven’t used it for such a long time.’

The moon came out with its entire splendor after some time as Rita sat outside the cottage all by herself. The children had disappeared and Raj said that he had to talk to the resort manager. The river Kosi glistened in the silver moonlight but the sight did not offer any solace to Rita as she had started feeling blue again. ‘I can’t believe it even Sumedha has forgotten my birthday.’ She thought. Suddenly cries of ‘Happy Birthday’ rent the stillness of the night. Sumedha realized that her family had sneaked up from behind. There was Raj carrying a huge cake and grinning from ear to ear. The kids hugged her and said, ‘And you thought we all had forgotten. Haa haa.’ Rita was surprised. ‘Where did you get the cake from?’ ‘I specially ordered it and had it delivered from Ramnagar.’ ‘But that is twenty kilometers away!’ ‘Anything for you, my dear wife. After all, whatever my little family is, it is only because of you.’ Som spilled the beans, ‘We thought that we will give you a surprise party on your fortieth birthday. So we all pretended that we did not remember your birthday while Papa arranged the tour.’ And then there were the gifts. Raj gave her a Pearl set. There was an Ipod from Som. ‘I have loaded all your favorite Rabindra Sangeet in it.’ He said. Sumedha had brought her a new swimming costume. ‘I know my mom is a champion swimmer. We will hit the pool tomorrow morning and I’ll race you.’ Rita was happy at last. The creeping depression she had been feeling vanished and she felt fulfilled. She knew that the years she had invested in raising this little family of hers had been a worthwhile enterprise and that the value of a home maker was not less than of a career woman. She hugged all three of them and said, ‘Thank you, Raj, Som, Sumedha and thank you God, for giving me such a loving family.’

...............................THE END.......................................

Pintu's Diary

For past 15 days my City has been buzzing with rumors of attacks by a mysterious shadow. Apparantly, a dark shadow which sometimes assumes the shape of a large black cat attacks people sleeping on the roof or in the open. Things have become so bad that people have fallen off the roof and seriously injured themselves. Nobody sleeps in open anymore. The following is a fictional account of the events through a child's eyes. Please remember that this is a story and in no way true. The events and the eventual explanation exists in author's imagination only.

PINTU'S DIARY

Today was a good day. I spent the entire day on the roof flying kites. I like 15 August. Papa says we gained independence on this day. I like independence. I like kites more. No school today. I got twelve kites. Added to six I had they were eighteen.Three got torn.Seven were cut by other kite flyers. I am still left with eight. I too cut three kites. A good day. Sometimes I wish I had a brother or at least a sister who would hold the Charkhi while I flew kites. Still, sometimes Ramu (my friend) comes over to do it. But he wants to fly kites and I have to hold Charkhi.Lot of pigeons live on roof. A few crows come too. A big Kite (the bird and not the paper one) usually sits on the TATA SKY antenna. Kites eat pigeons. But not this one. It sits there kind of peaceful. Does not do anything the whole day. I like the roof. Nobody disturbs me here. Ma is calling me downstairs. Better go or she will be angry.

*****

I am sad. Someone has been killing pigeons. I often find feathers and spots of blood on roof. The place has become scary. It feels cold in afternoon also. I will not come here. I will not fly kites. I wish I had a big and strong brother.

*****

I have not gone to roof for many days. I have to sit in living room and listen to Ma and aunty talk. All day they talk about Churail only. There is churail in city. She comes in night and attacks people sleeping on roof. Did she kill the pigeons? I will not go to roof alone. But I am bored.

*****

The Tribune

Mystery cat terrorises city

Thursday (Our local correspondent)The city is buzzing with rumors of a Mysterious Shadow which assumes the shape of a wild cat and attacks sleeping people. A number of people claim to have been attacked. A few have shown unexplained scratches on their bodies. One girl was seriously injured when she fell from the roof after an alleged attack by the Mysterious shadow. The district administration has dismissed this as baseless rumor. The SSP when contacted said that he has issued instructions for effective policing in the effected area to restore people’s confidence. The president of local IMA has dismissed the rumors as phenomena of Mass Hysteria. As for the scratches he says they may be self induced.

*****

Pintu’s diary.

We have new neighbors. Actually, they have been here for a month. Aunty visited us today. I don’t like her. She has green eyes. I read in Harry Potter that witches have green eyes. In England the Churails are called witches. She has very red lips and pointed teeth. She asked me why I did not go to roof any more. She said she has often seen me playing on the roof as her window looks out to the roof. I ran to my room and did not come out till she was gone. I told Ma that she was a Churail and Ma laughed at me. Sometimes, grown ups are stupid.

*****

Ramu came today. We went to roof to play. All pigeons are gone. Where? Has kite killed all of them or is it the Churail? New aunty was looking at us from her window. She looked at us and licked her lips like a cat. I am afraid. We will not fly kites anymore.

*****

The Tribune

The cat hysteria continues

Saturday (Our local correpondent)The hysteria in the city about Mystery cat refuses to die down. Increased policing has not helped. There was a near riot in old city when two groups belonging to different communities clashed blaming each other for the menace. The District Magistrate and the SSP have appealed to all residents not to listen to or spread rumors. The City Rationalist Association has decided to start community policing to restore confidence in the populace. Meanwhile the number of people claiming to have been attacked by a large black cat, or a woman with flowing hair or a dark shadow keeps on increasing.

*****

Pintu’s diary.

I am bored as I have nothing to do. I don’t go to roof any more. Papa brought me a portable video game but I am bored with it too. Maybe I’ll go to roof tomorrow.

*****

I will not stay here. I will go to Mama’s House in Faridabad. Now I know who killed the pigeons. I also know who the Churail is. It is the aunty with green eyes. I was so bored in the afternoon that I went to roof alone. Ramu did not come and I don’t have a brother or sister. I was busy playing with Marbles when I felt cold. I felt someone’s eyes on my back. I turned and saw Aunty on her window. Her eyes were greener and lips redder than ever. She licked her lips the way a cat does. Then she smiled and called me. Her teeth were pointed like Dracula. And when she waved at me she had cat’s paws instead of hands. I ran and ran and shut myself in my room. She knows that I know the truth about her. And she will kill me. I will not stay here. But Ma will not believe me. Papa will laugh when I tell him what I saw. So I’ll cry and cry till they are forced to take me to Mama’s house in Faridabad.

THE END

The Long Weekend- a short story ( Part II )

They woke up late the next morning, a rare luxury indeed. ‘How about some trekking. I need some action.’ Sachin said. So after breakfast they set off on the short but steep climb to the Hanuman temple on the top of the hill inside the Air Force Station. This was restricted area but tourists were allowed to trek to the temple, situated on the hilltop also called Manki Point. The climb was far from gentle and they had to stop half-way to catch their breaths. ‘I think this idea of yours has sinister ramifications. You want me to die of exhaustion so you are free to pursue whatever nefarious designs you have’, huffed Anjali. Sachin just smiled as he caught his breath. The climb proved to be well worth the effort. The top of the hill provided panoramic views of the surroundings and they could even see the distant city of Chandigarh. 
The descent proved to be a relatively easy affair. They discovered a Tibetan eatery in the market and did full justice to the offerings of momos and thupka. The weather changed dramatically in the evening as dark clouds gathered and it threatened to rain. It started raining around seven. By eight it was pitch dark, the wind howled and shrieked and the house made ominous creaking noises. The rain lashed the surroundings with unabashed fury and they sat in the small living room in enjoying the unaccustomed sights and sounds. ‘It can’t possibly get worse than this’ said Sachin. 
The moment he said it the lights went out plunging the room in pitch darkness. Using his mobile Sachin hunted up the candles left over from yesterday and lighted them. The candles flickered and spluttered sending out feeble yellow light which cast eerie shadows in the room. And then the hail stones started falling making a loud noise on the tiled roof. There was a louder noise reverberating through the house. ‘Someone is knocking on the main door. Who can it be at this time on night?’ wondered Anjali. ‘Maybe it is the caretaker.’ Sachin said as he moved towards the door. 
He opened the door and peered out in the dark. A young man dressed smartly in jeans and a leather jacket was standing there. He was drenched and drops of water dripped off him. ‘I am sorry to have disturbed you at this time of the night. I live nearby and was caught in the rain. I am used to walking around in the rain but then the damn hailstones started and I had to seek shelter so I thought………..’ ‘Do come in.’ said Sachin as he ushered in the stranger. He was reluctant to admit an unknown man at this time of the night but the fury of the elements left him with no other choice. The young man walked in and sat on a cane chair in the darkest corner of the room. ‘I don’t want to spoil the settee as I am soaked.’ He said as an explanation for his act. Anjali was concerned. ‘Do you want a towel?’ The young man gave a sad smile, ‘Thanks m’am. I am okay. I love the rain and often roam around like this.’ Sachin noted that the man had a deep scar running across his forehead. The young man noticed the glance and said, ‘Mobike accident. I too drove a Bullet like you and the brakes snapped while I was going to Kalka last year. But I am here to tell the tale so that is good enough.’ Seeing the surprised expression on their faces he said. ‘By the way, my name is Robin. I live around here. I saw you driving around in that bike of yours yesterday. I even saw you taking an after dinner walk but did not disturb you. I am a bit of a Bullet fan myself. But you need to be very careful when driving around in the hills, particularly when going downhill.’ Sachin was miffed, ‘I have been driving a bike for many years. I have never had an accident.’ ‘And you should not have one,’ replied the stranger, ‘Just get the brakes checked before starting off on every journey.’ Anjali joined forces with Robin, ‘I did not want to come on a bike. I wanted the car.’ ‘No, no, the pleasure of driving a bike is far more. Just be careful and get the brakes checked.’ By that time the hailstorm had petered out but the wind was still howling in the trees. Sachin thought, ‘what a spooky night. It almost makes you believe in ghosts.’ Robin apparently read his mind. He said, ‘You know, ghosts exist. I know it but please understand that all spirits are not evil. It has stopped raining and I must go. Goodnight and remember to get the brakes checked.’ And with a polite nod he was off. The light came on after a few minutes and Sachin and Anjali did not think much about the matter after that. 
The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Kasauli looked washed and scrubbed and Anjali and Sachin started putting their things together as they neared the end of their brief holiday. As they handed over the keys to the caretaker Sachin asked him, ‘Do you know this fellow Robin?’ The caretaker gave a visible start, ‘Sir, why are you asking me this question?’ Sachin said, ‘we met him yesterday.’ The caretaker paled visibly and asked, ‘who did you meet yesterday and when?’ Sachin said, ‘Robin, The smart young man in jeans and jacket who lives around here. He said he also drives a Bullet. Don’t you know him?’ The caretaker said, ‘Robin was the only son of the owners of this Bungalow. He was a very kind hearted fellow and drove a Bullet. He died in an accident last year while driving down to Kalka on his bike. He is buried in the cemetery out there. May his soul rest in peace.’ He shuffled away leaving the dumbfounded couple behind. 
Anjali was the first to find her voice, ‘ Don’t you think we should get the bike checked before commencing our journey?’ They made their way to the market in silence and told the mechanic to give the bike a through check. ‘ Sir, the brake wire is about to snap. There is only one strand left. Thank God that you brought the bike for a check-up before driving back.’ Sachin and Anjali could only gape in silence as the words echoed in their minds, ‘You know, ghosts exist. I know it but please understand that all spirits are not evil. It has stopped raining and I must go. Goodnight and remember to get the brakes checked.’

THE LONG WEEKEND- a short story ( Part I)

Sachin parked his car at looked at his watch. 11.30 PM. He was bushed. His neck muscles were tense. His head throbbed. He made his way to the lift lobby and waited for it to arrive. As the lift begun its ascent towards his 11th floor apartment he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. What had happened to him? Seven years back he was at the top of his class in IIT Kanpur and was considered the guy most likely to succeed. And just seven years later he was climbing the mountain of corporate success fairly rapidly. Then why was he so disillusioned? He tried to analyze his feelings. He had always been an outdoor person. He had grown up in various military cantonments of India where space was never an issue. Even in the hallowed academic environment of IIT Kanpur he had excelled in games and had rarely missed Gym. He could take the mental stress of his job. It was just that the long hours he had to put in prevented him from taking physical exercise. The few laps in the condo’s pool on Sundays were not enough for him. His wife of five years, Anjali was working in a software firm and had to put in long hours in the office as well. As a result they were left with very little family time and recently their relations had been slightly strained. Nothing serious, he reasoned, we just need to unwind a bit. 
He reached his apartment and found Anjali waiting up for him. She too looked tired. He remembered the early days of his marriage. There had been a lot of love and passion, a sense of wonder and fulfillment. The love was still there. The sense of wonder had given way to an easy comfort, of camaraderie and trust. It was just for the past few months the passion had waned a bit and occasional flashes of irritation had raised its head. It’s all due to the stress of work, he told himself again. ‘How was your day?’ asked Anjali. ‘Tiring’ he replied. ‘You do appreciate the fact that both of us have turned into automatons. We are robots at the beck and call of the monstrous entities known as our respective employers!’ intoned Anjali. She had once harbored a secret ambition of becoming an author and was fond of using long words. He smiled, amused by the turn of speech. He still found her trait of using long words endearing. He had a sudden brainwave. ‘Tell you what. Tomorrow is a holiday. That is Friday. With Saturday and Sunday we have three days off. Let’s push off.’ ‘But I have so many chores at home. I have been accumulating the washing. Our bags are not packed. And all the resorts will be full. Where will we go? And how?’ As usual she had many objections. ‘Don’t worry. Just put the clothes in the washing machine after dinner. Pack our toothbrushes and a couple of jeans. We’ll start off at five in the morning and drive to Kasauli on my Bullet. I’ll find some place to stay.’ He was impulsive as always. ‘But your bike has been lying in disuse for months.’ She protested. ‘It’s fine. I know my bike. It will not fail us. After all it’s my first love and you are my second love. Remember our honeymoon!’ She wavered, remembering those magical days when they had driven off on the Kalka- Shimla highway on that bike immediately after their marriage without any plans or a care in the world. ‘Let’s take the car.’ ‘Please, please, let’s take the bike. We both need a lot of fresh air. Now be a good girl and do the needful. We got to get up early tomorrow.’ 
Next morning they were on the road with only a backpack for company. As they left the Ring Road and drove into the Grand Trunk Road, he felt liberated. It had been too long since they had done this. ‘We should do it more often’, murmured Anjali, echoing his thoughts. By eight, they were having their breakfast at Kalka. He hit the hills immediately after Kalka. He rode skillfully, enjoying the raw surge of power of the bike and the touch of Anjali’s body as she clung to him while he tackled the serpentine roads. By ten they were at Kasauli. They looked at delight at the towering mountains and the majestic pine trees. The hillside was full of colorful dahlias which had escaped from the gardens and were growing wild covering entire swathes of the hill. 
Now came the difficult part of travelling without previous bookings. All hotels and resorts were full and no room was available for love or money. Anjali was irritated. She refrained from making a comment but looked at him with I told you so ex-pression on her entire countenance. ‘Don’t worry, dear wife, I will find something!’ said Sachin as he drove off towards the TV transmission tower, some half remembered story of guest houses for rent in that area in his mind. A couple of enquiries later, they were guided to a small Bungalow near the cemetery. It was a beautiful affair with freshly painted tiled roofs, two bedrooms, a kitchen and a small garden. There was an outhouse with an ancient caretaker who was happy enough to give them the keys for two days. ‘It’s beautiful’, exclaimed Anjali as they settled down in the master bedroom. 
They were back on the road after freshening up and they drove to Giani da Dhaba in Dharampur for lunch. The entire afternoon was spent in lazing around in one of the numerous meadows surrounding the town. ‘I’ll cook dinner for you’, he volunteered on his way back. He messed around in the kitchen, banishing her from it as he cooked after years. At eight, he set up the dinner on the dining table, complete with a couple of candles, a rose from the garden and a chilled bottle of Himachali fruit wine. The food was not perfect but everything else was and they enjoyed the meal immensely. 
They went for a walk in the moonlight after the meal and strolled hand in hand towards the cemetery, slightly tipsy from the wine. The marble tombstone shone luminously in the moonlight creating a hypnotic effect. ‘Its divine’, murmured Anjali, as she snuggled up to him to ward off the chill, ‘I could spend the rest of my life here.’ ‘You will be bored out of your mind after a week of this.’ He replied as they made their way back to the bungalow.

To be concluded............

Link to part II

Confessions of a Goa-phile

I am completely, irreversibly, hopelessly in love. I am in love with Goa. It was love at first sight. My first sight of Goa dates back to some twenty years. I was doing my post graduation and had to attend a Conference in Hyderabad. Now Hyderabad is quite a distance from Goa but we (that is me and a couple of friends of mine) managed to convince our boss that the journey from Patiala to Hyderabad took three days by train instead of the actual thirty six hours and thus armed with extra three days of leave and a circular railway ticket for Delhi- Hyderabad- Bangalore- Goa- Bombay- Delhi we set forth on our journey. On the third leg of our journey we took the night train from Bangalore to Goa. My first memory of Goa is the sight of the magnificent Dudhsagar falls. The waterfall is set amidst thick forested landscape and the water plummets downwards with such force that it appears milky white from a distance thus giving it the picturesque name. The train stopped at Molem station and a number of vendors selling cold drinks (or so I thought) in buckets full of ice appeared. When they reached me I realized that they were selling beer. You can imagine the shock and awe that generated. I have encountered a guy selling country made pistols in a train when passing through Bihar but my first encounter with the business sense of the Goan is a far better memory. The sight of Dudhsagar fall through the train window with a bottle of chilled kingfisher in my hand was enough to make me fall in love with Goa and the bond has only strengthened since. And my first look at the Arabian Sea! People who have never seen the sea will find it difficult to imagine the feeling as it is better experienced than imagined. The experience of standing on a lonely beach, the feel of sand below your bare feet, the sound of crashing waves in your ears and the unending expanse of blue in front of your eyes while feeling the salt tinged breeze on your face is one which makes you feel at peace with yourself. And mind you, Goa is not all about blue waters, golden beaches and bikini clad babes. The languid air of relaxation, of taking things one at a time, the feeling of being away from the rat race generates a kind of Zen, a feeling which the Goan call susegad. Goa has a lot to offer to the bird watcher, the wildlife enthusiast, the angler or the adventure sports lover. A small state of a few hundred square kilometers, it has the restless sea, golden beaches, lazy rivers, wild waterfalls, Blue Mountains, green forests and fields of paddy. Wherever you go you will find the ubiquitous coconut palms, the beautiful houses with the sloping roofs and churches and chapels. Another constant presence is of the wine shops. Goa is the tipplers paradise but it is very rarely that you will find a bona fide Goan creating a scene after drinking. It is mostly the tourists (that too from my part of the country) who are responsible for the instances of drunken indiscipline. I keep reading about the ugly underbelly of Goa which involves drugs, pedophilia and sundry other crimes but I have encountered nothing of that sort in my ten odd visits. I am sure these problems exist but they are well hidden from the ordinary tourists like me. And the food! I could fill reams of paper describing the mouth watering delicacies on offer. But it will be sufficient to say that I put on around 2 kgs for every week I spend in Goa despite the rigorous physical exercise. In addition to the famous eateries many small unknown shacks and restaurants provide the best food in this world. If you are a vegetarian, you will survive but the true gastronomic pleasures await the carnivores. One day, I keep promising myself, I will buy a small house in Goa by the side of a river, ( I can’t afford a house on the beach anyway), install a state of art home theater, buy the DVDs of all the movies I have to see, plug in my world space receiver, and go live there permanently with all my books and crates of beer. There will be a spare bedroom for friends who would like to drop in. Would you like to be there, my friend?

Flowering Trees

Trees are essential for our survival. Even a class V student can tell you that. So what new can I write about them. I have no intentions of undermining their biological and environmental usefulness, but the ornamental aspects of trees appeal to me more. Take a look at trees around you. Will you find such vibrant shades of green anywhere else in nature? Try to appreciate the subtle differences between the various shades of green and you will discover an endless source of entertainment. And if we look at flowering trees, nothing in nature surpasses their beauty. Many a times on a hot summer afternoon when nothing else cools our eyes the only solace comes from the flaming orange blooms of Gulmohar. Another tree which flowers in the height of summers is Amaltas and the bright yellow blooms look very attractive indeed. The purple blooms of Jacaranda come later. One shrub which is a riot of colors throughout the year is Bougainvillea. One can devote an entire post describing the shades and colors of various varieties of Bougainvillea. Magnolia with its reverse temple like structure and mildly scented flowers is another favorite of mine. Chandni and Raat ki rani are not much to look at but they smell divine, particularly at night. One flowering tree which has beautiful flowers and smells equally good is Harsingar, also called Shefali. The small white flowers with orange stalks finds many a reference in the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore. And all the trees I have mentioned are found in cities all around us. Just take a close look at them and you will discover an perpetual source of delight, something to make the tedious job of surviving in a city more tolerable.

Birds in the city.

When I moved into this city some eighteen years back there were a lot of trees. The road I live on was lined by tall wild almond trees. As far as looks go, they were ugly trees with large leaves and large useless pod-like fruits which simply littered the street. A large number of common mynahs roosted on the trees, making a huge ruckus every morning and evening and peppering anyone unfortunate enough to be passing below the trees with generous amounts of bird-shit. Then the trees were cut down for widening the road and I started missing the clamor of birds which had made these trees their home. After a few years I noticed that the birds were back. The mynahs were now roosting on a mobile tower which had come up recently. On noticing carefully I saw that a pair of kites had made a nest on the highest platform of the tower and the rest of the tower was used by mynahs. They spent the night on the tower making the familiar racket every evening and flying away in the morning. This made me curious about the adaptability of birds in the changing urban environment and to celebrate the first monsoon showers of the month I decided to go bird watching in the city. I picked up my scooter and rode around early in the morning enjoying the mild showers. Now our city has very few patches of green left, most of the flora being represented by isolated trees by the road or small private gardens. The first birds I came across were a group of parakeets (I counted ten) perched on electric wires. The next sightings were two kites perched on a huge advertising hoarding. There were a number of pigeons and a few doves mostly on eaves and rooftops. The biggest surprise was a common grey hornbill which flew across the road and disappeared behind the few remaining trees. The commonest presence was of crows and mynahs. Some good Samaritans had left feed for birds on the sidewalk of the only flyover our city boasts of and scores of crows and mynahs were fighting over the spoils. A few years back these crows had almost disappeared but have made a strong comeback. Maybe the discontinuation of use of Declofenac (a pain killer) in domestic livestock which was threatening the vulture population has something to do with this resurgence in the number of crows as well. The best part was reserved for the last. As I reached home and was parking my scooter I spotted two brown rock chats and one bulbul on my gate. Not bad for a half hour drive. The only thing that makes me sad is that I don’t see sparrows any more. These little birds which were a part of our everyday existence when we were growing up have become rare indeed. Still, I am hopeful that like crows and vultures they will make a comeback and our children will get to see them.

Monsoon

Monsoon! The word has innumerable associations for me. It conjures up the smell of first drops of rain on the parched earth. It is associated with dark clouds, gusts of cool breeze, flashes of lightening and the roll of thunder. It reminds me of floating paper boats in the water logged streets and of wading through knee deep water on the way back from school. Memories apart, Monsoons are the life blood of our country. Everything, starting from ground water level to water level in reservoirs to industrial production and even the sentiment on Dalal Street is directly or indirectly impacted by the monsoon. So where are the rains this year? I read in the papers that rainfall is adequate in Southern, Central and Western parts of the country. Good for them. But what have the poor North Indians done to displease the rain Gods? All are looking expectantly at the sky everyday. And believe me, it is not only the farmers who are doing it. Everyone I meet nowadays from the Doctor to the Milkman is wishing for rains. The clouds did make an appearance a few times but went away without doing anything like in the movie Lagaan. So for the sake of everyone, let us all hope and pray for the rains. Let it rain so that the farmers can get on with their job; let it rain so all the water reservoirs fill up to the brim; let it rain so all of us get relief from the sweltering heat; let it rain so children may wade through knee deep water on the way back from school or better still get an unexpected holiday on account of a rainy day. Let it rain so that I take my bike and go for a long drive in the pouring rain; let it rain so that I catch up with ‘Singing in the Rain’ on my DVD late in the night; let it rain so that the family can sit together enjoying Kichri and Garam pakoras. So, all my friends please join me in beseeching ‘Indra Dev’ to have some mercy on us and bless our parched land with the bounty of rains.

Memories

My childhood was spent in various Railway Colonies of North India. My father’s job with Northern Railways involved getting transferred every few years. So we travelled from one place to another living in huge Bungalows (A legacy of Colonial days). Most of these were high ceilinged structures with lots of trees and unkempt gardens around. Insects, small animals and birds roamed around freely. Presence of frogs, toads, rats, mongoose, wildcats, hare or jackals and an occasional snake were taken as a normal occurrence. But one of my most vivid memories is the presence of birds. From the humble house sparrow to the regal peacock, there were all kinds of birds. In winters all kind of migratory birds flew in to roost in the tall trees. Egrets, cranes, storks and geese would fly in by the dozen, build untidy nest and raise their families. The noise they made and a peculiar acrid smell that was present everywhere is still fresh in my mind. In addition to the seasonal guests there were the regular residents. The ugly but stately vultures usually nested in the tallest of the trees. I understand that the population of vultures has dwindled alarmingly over the last decade and their colonies have become a rare site nowadays. But we did get to see more than our fair share of them. Peacocks made their nests on the ground among the thick bushes and searching them out to look at the large spotted eggs was a game for us. As a matter of principle, we never stole the eggs or caused any damage. Occasional exceptions to this rule were when we removed baby parrots from their nests and kept them as pets. I remember the unusual nests of the grey hornbills. The female bird would find a cavity in a tree trunk and make a nest of mud and guano imprisoning herself in it in the process. A small hole in this mud wall would enable her to peek out and accept whatever food her partner brought. The most interesting nests were of baya or the weaver birds. Usually clumped together on small trees the inverted bottle shaped nests would fall off after being abandoned after a years use and we used to carry them home much to the annoyance of my mother. The bright yellow male bayas were much better looking than the dowdy females. The feeding of birds provided hours of entertainment. I remember a bright colored Coucal (also called the crow pheasant) chasing down and eventually gobbling up a garden lizard. Immediately after monsoon showers, various birds would gather around the small holes from which swarms of winged termites emerged thus setting themselves up for a royal banquet. Egrets, mynahs, crows and even peacocks would gorge themselves silly on the bounty. The insects outnumbered the birds by far and the survivors would crowd round tube lights on the wall providing another feast for the geckos (wall lizards). With the rapid urbanization and dwindling of trees one would imagine that birds would vanish from cities forever but it is not so. Even now I come across birds everyday and see how they have adapted themselves to changing conditions. Will write more about them the next time.