Saraswat traditions

Every year, during the holy month of Shravan on every Fridays and Sundays, for long as I can recollect, I have observed my mother without fail, performing the ritual of "Choodi Pujan" where a small bunch of flowers and a few strands of Durva is tied together and worshipped along with a few betel leaves, betel nut and the Tulsi plant.
I remember as a small child taking part enthusiastically in these Pujas. The preparation began early in the morning when I used to go around in our colony collecting flowers. Ratnagandhi, Shankapushpi, Jaswandi were typically a part of the Choodi. Kamakasturi, a fragrant leaf was also included wherever available. 

As she performed the Puja, I recollect waiting eagerly for it to get over so that she could serve the sweet delicacy which she had prepared for the occasion. The sweets were typically Pohas sweetened with Jaggery with grated raw coconut mixed liberally called God Pohu or a mixture of coarsely ground chana powder/Moong powder with jaggery, coconut and cardamom called Panchakajay.
Now, Marigold, Rose petals Asters and other whatever flowers our Haarwalla gets have replaced the traditional flowers. I am busy in my profession, she is too old to go out by herself to pluck the flowers from the plants and trees in the neighbourhood. But her Pujas continue religiously. The sweets are made as usual, tasting better and better with her experienced hands, but I no longer wait for them. I eat them in the evening, sometimes the next day, sometimes it’s left uneaten.

My Mountain Song

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” 
― John Muir

This blog is not about the itinerary of my trek. There are plenty of these available on the net. It's a compilation of the feelings and thoughts that drifted through my mind as I walked on braving the altitude, the extremes of day and night time temperatures, the ascent which tested my heart and lung capacities, the descent which tested my knees and toes. It is about the victory of mind over the body. It's about a dream come true. It's about visiting paradise and coming back. There may be higher and more difficult and dangerous treks, but there cannot be a more beautiful trek.

The mountains had been beckoning since long and I was yearning to visit it. The time had come to fulfill my desire. Begin a new relationship, not knowing how it will sustain the ravages of time. Nevertheless a start was made. The choice couldn't have been better. In the lap of the mighty Himalayan peaks, giving in myself willfully into the arms of one of the most beautiful places on earth - Kashmir. It was a place where civilization did not exist. I was beyond the shallow world of all things man-made. God, religion, caste, creed, boundaries and politics did not exist.

This trek had a hidden agenda. To discover the hidden lakes, the great alpine lakes of Kashmir, which would unravel themselves only to those who dared to visit them. Hidden in the valleys between the towering snow peaks of the mighty Himalayas. This was a Paradise! God, if existed probably stayed here and was everywhere and in everything. 

I will be the gladdest thing

Under the sun

I will touch a hundred flowers

And not pick one.

-Edna st. Vincent, “Afternoon on a Hill”

With every new day, every descent or ascent, or even just round the corner, new vistas unfolded in front of my eyes.This trek involved walking on snow, strolling in the meadows, crossing rivers, climbing rocky surfaces... almost everything that a trek is supposed to have. I wondered as I trekked on, could the sky be more blue, the clouds more white and the grass more green?  At places, the trails were narrow, lined by small yellow flowers. The wild Himalayan flowers were one thing that stood out in this trek. I saw them in many hues, yellow, and white, purple and blue. These small mountain flowers, some blooming in clusters like a bouquet, some growing in the midst of rocks, some by the riverside. Each flower bloomed by itself in the wilderness, spreading its fragrance, attracting the bees for self-propagation and then withering away. They looked unusually fresh in the crisp and cool mountain air. Their beauty was a sight to behold for those who dared to reach up to them. The soil and the rocks remain covered by snow for about 6 months. As temperatures rise with the advent of summer, and the snow starts melting, greenery sprouts everywhere, interspersed by swathes of yellow, white and purple. The seeds remain buried all this time, waiting patiently for their chance, their resilience making them victorious. It’s a sort of ‘Jugalbandhi’ between the snow and the flowers and both win.

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”
― Lewis Caroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Every day had a destination, a place to reach and relax - the campsite. The fluorescent yellow tents, set midst the green meadows, surrounded by partially melting snow peaks, the river flowing next to it, the source of pure, genuine mineral water drunk straight from the source. I always looked forward to reaching it. It was my home for 7 days. The sight of these tents soothened my tired body and fatigued mind like an elixir. But the path was different for each one. I had to ascend sometimes, and occasionally had to descend to reach it. There was no way one could take the path for granted. It was beautiful for those who valued it. It was arduous for some, a chore for others. Every step had to be watched, every moment cherished. A wrong step and this very path could turn treacherous. As I treaded on it, I thought, ‘Isn’t it the same in our routine life too?’ We start in the morning, undertake various chores throughout the day with a result to achieve by the day’s end. Every decision is like a step taken. A wrong one and the consequences could be disastrous. I had to be aware of myself, of the steps I take and of my surroundings.  

At places, the clear, blue skies seemed to bend down and kiss the green earth. The clouds hanged as if suspended by invisible threads. Occasionally the dark rain clouds came nearer threatening to burst open, but thankfully it just remained a threat. While walking on the rocks and snow and crossing rivers I had to be careful, strolling on the meadows was a luxury. At places, grazing sheep, camouflaged by the stones, dotted the landscape. There were thousands of them, grazing blissfully taking their own sweet time. Some of them followed by their young lambs was a visual delight and brought a smile on my face, the tiredness forgotten.

I always woke up by 4. Daybreak began by then. It was always chilly in the mornings before the sun rose and covered me with its warm blanket. Sitting on the rocks, watching the gurgling brooks flow past, the early rays of the sun imparting a golden hue to the surrounding peaks and braving the chill was my morning routine. I knew that these moments won’t last forever and wanted to make the most of it. The cold numbed my body and my thought process. I couldn’t think of the past, nor contemplate on the future. I was only in the present then, savoring that moment in time, making an imprint on my mind, one that would last forever and remain a permanent memory in my mind’s eye. The water in the rivulets fed by the melting glaciers increased as more snow melted under the glare of the rising sun. The waters flowing past like time slipping away, the same waters never return. It is a one-way process.

The lakes were the highlight of this trek. Untouched, unspoilt, azure blue, alpine lakes. The Vishansar, which changed colors from morning to late evening. The adjoining Krishansar, which was still partially frozen. And both of them seen together as we ascended to a altitude of 13000ft.

The Gadsar, i.e a lake full of fish which had a turquoise hue. The 7 lakes of Satsar, of which we could see 3 lakes. And last but not the least, the twin lakes of Nandkul & Gangabal over which towered the inaccessible Harmukh peak at 16000 ft. The placid, still and peaceful waters of these lakes seemed contagious. Occasionally a breeze blew causing the surface to ripple a wee bit. The same feeling came over me as I sat on its banks gazing into the waters for long, the breeze making me shiver a bit.

 “Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” 

― R.W Emerson

The nights were as beautiful as the day albeit different in it’s own way. The moon grew bigger as the days passed and on our penultimate day it was so bright that the moonlight lit up the entire valley. The rivers sparkled and the snow peaks shone in its light. The skies were covered with a million twinkling stars. Lying on the grass, watching the stars and the few clouds floating by was a childhood fantasy come true.

“Not just beautiful, though--the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they're watching me.” 

― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

As the trek neared its end, just like all good things end, a mixed feeling overcame me. Happy at the thought of returning home to my loved ones, sad at the thought of leaving this Paradise, and going back to a materialistic world, a egocentric world, of world of ruthlessness and live and let die. But I have promised myself; I will be back, a promise I mean to fulfill soon.

PS: This trek called as "The Great Lakes of Kashmir" trek starts at Sonmarg at an altitude of 8000ft. It ends at Naranag agin at around 8000ft after 7 days and 60kms of hiking over a maximum altitude of 13500 ft. My special thanks to 'INDIA HIKES' Tour leaders Tarak, Viral and Dipesh, the guides Noorani and Javed, the support team and all my fellow trekkers who made the journey a lot more easy and full of fun.

Through the looking glass

Through the looking glass.
(With due apologies to Lewis Carrol)

A few weeks back, the inevitable happened. Something which I was trying to avoid all these days. The ophthalmologist declared me a Presbyopic!! And since I also couldn't read the vision chart hanging on his wall, I required glasses for distant vision too, he said! This meant wearing glasses all the time. I couldn't imagine myself with a pair of spectacles hanging from the bridge of my nose. Not that I fancy myself to be a Sharukh or Salmaan, but the thought of an appendage to my body gave me jitters.

And then began the process of choosing the right frame. What my wife liked was rejected by my daughter and vice versa. What I liked was unanimously rejected by them both. Finally we settled on a compromise frame which all 3 of us agreed looked reasonably decent on my face and made it more presentable than what it actually was.

A week passed by, I finally got my glasses from the optometrist and wore it for the first time. I got a feeling as if everyone was staring at me. I imagined mysef to be  like some extra terrestrial animal, a creature from Mars, perhaps. Then gradually as my eyes got accustomed to their new life companion, the world seemed to be a new place. Unlike ‘Alice’s looking glass’, objects and faces were brighter, sharper and clearer. I was now enjoying my new found vision. I didn't need to squint my eyes when reading the contents of medicine strip. I didn't have to hold the newspaper at an arm's length to make the words appear clear. I didn't have to wrinkle my forehead and massage my closed eyes when talking to patients. I was free from all these mannerisms which had unknowingly creeped in me over the past few months.

But over the next few days, I discovered a few hindrances of wearing glasses. The moment I stepped out my car during daytime, the glasses fogged and took some time to clear. It also happened when sipping piping hot tea or coffee. I had to open the umbrella even if it was drizzling lightly or else the water droplets on the glasses blurred my vision. Things which I had taken for granted were not the same any longer.

Weeks passed by. I realized that humans by nature as a very adaptable species and it applied to me too. It has been more than 3 weeks now since I wore my glasses for the first time. Reluctance has now given way to acceptance... and acceptance to dependence.

Driving the journey of life.

I love driving, especially long drives on roads I haven’t been on before.

A road journey is somewhat similar to the journey of life. Driving a car with steering wheel in the hand can be likened to living a life, trying to control the events, steering it in a direction of one’s choice. 
To quote William Henley from his poem Invictus, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul”. This is how I feel when I drive. My car becomes my fate. I can control it; I know where I am heading. I can accelerate and overtake, or decelerate and fall behind, watching others pass by. I can take risks or play safe. When the roads turn bad, I slow down, just as a bad patch in life holds one back. And we wait for the road to improve like we wait for the bad times to pass away and good ones to roll again. "This too shall pass away" I think and drive on towards my destination.
This quote by Norton Juster with a slight alteration sounds apt here, “The most important reason for driving from one place to another is to see what’s in between, and I took great pleasure in doing just that”
Of course just as it happens in life, things can get unpredictable, undesirable, hostile situations can crop up, circumstances beyond one’s control. It’s all about handling such situations and emerging out stronger, chastised and experienced. It not only about me and myself but observing others too, taking care not to get stepped on and not to step on. Once the journey is done and destination reached, I sit back, relax enjoy the present and reflect on the way driven. It's my game, my rules.
Nothing can epitomize the journey of our life more than a long drive to a destination. 

As Ernest Hemmingway wrote “It’s good to have an end to journey toward; but it’s the journey that matters, in the end”.

The present through the past

On a rainy and a lazy Saturday afternoon, not having much to do, I decided to revisit my postage stamp collection which I hadn't touched since a long time. Browsing through this collection which I still manage to update, a wave of nostalgia swept over me. Those carefree days of yore replayed in my mind and I couldn’t help but think of today's childhood and that of the yesteryears.

 
There were hobbies then and there are ‘probably’ hobbies now. ‘Probably’ because I hardly know anyone from the present generation who see beyond the ‘electronic world’ which has so much to offer, so much to entertain, so much to while away one’s time. In those days painting, philately, music, songs, reading etc were considered a usual way of life and one was not forced

Those were the days when radio was an important mode of entertainment. And radio meant ‘Vividh Bharati’’Bombay A’ and ‘Bombay B’. Vividh Bharati was all about ‘Bhule bisare Geet’and I recollect ‘Hawa Mahal’ (Is it still on air?). The slow, but pleasant tune of “Hawa Mahal’ still plays out in my mind occasionally. Bombay A and B was about political discussions and talks on agriculture interspersed by Indian classical music.

Television was just launched then and was a luxury that few could afford. And the TV programs in B/W started at 6 PM, with a soulful rendering of DDs signature tune. Chaya Geet, Phool khile hai Gulshan Gulshan, the Sunday evening feature film interspersed by ‘Marathi Batmya’ …and by 10pm it was all over, television programmes done for the day. So off to bed latest by 10 PM!

 
Telephones meant only landlines and public call booths and not every household had a phone. It was a privilege to have one! It was ‘Bombay Telephones’ back then, not MTNL and with only 6 digit telephone numbers which were easy to memorize. Electronic diaries came much later. Telephone numbers were jotted in small pocket dairies and kept carefully in wallets or shirt pockets. 

All these meant that choices were limited in the world of entertainment and hence the recourse to hobbies. An interest in classical music developed as there weren’t any alternatives to listen to apart from the film songs which were duly memorized and can be recollected with ease even today. In contrast, how many lyrics from today’s songs can be recalled? There was a lot of free time which lead to pursuit of creative hobbies like painting, knitting, embroidery etc.

As I write this, the now obsolete concept of ‘Pen Pals’ comes to my mind. Exchanging letters with people from different parts of the world, forging friendships. Exchanging cultural notes, stamps and currencies’….Oh, what fun!!! FB is probably an electronic version of the same.

And how times have changed?? The B/W now seemingly humongous idiot boxes have given way to sleek and smart LED TVs with 24 hours nonstop entertainment. Radio means FM, blurting out the latest chartbusters. Classical music can go and take a walk. Landlines are giving way to mobile phones, smart mobile phones which can do everything.

What is the outcome? Inventions which were supposed to save time have made us busier! Hardly a program is being watched to its completion. Changing channels frequently is the norm. Instant gratification is the need. Patience is the casualty. We carry 2 mobiles in the innocent misconception that it will be convenient and get more irritable when they keep ringing, sometimes simultaneously. We don’t sit peacefully any longer, There is a constant need to send messages, update statuses and check out missed calls….uff!

As I write this, I question myself, am I being cynical? I think. Am I searching for unnecessary faults in a way of life which today’s generation has taken to like a fish to water? May be, may be not! But aren’t these facts?

Looking outside my window I see the huge glass and concrete structures of BKC staring at me and I compare the grand Gothic structures of yore dotting the Fort area in Mumbai starting from the majestic CST with these. These giant glass structures – How telling are they of today’s times? Speedily constructed structures, the glass façade giving me an impression of what facades are actually supposed to do. Hide the internal faults, the ugliness, the ineptness of modern constructions; an outcome of today’s need for instant gratification. It’s a reflection of the world that we live in today. A superfluous world!

Mist in Mussoorie.

The mist in Mussoorie

It's a dead place to go for a vacation, friends said. Why Mussoorie of all the places? 

Mussoorie, a bird's eye view

It turned out to be partly true!! I visited two cemeteries during my week long stay there.  

But let me start from the beginning. After having visited most places in Uttarakhand, Mussoorie was long overdue. Having read a lot of Ruskin Bond, the call of Mussoorie was too tempting to resist any longer. This despite the fact that this quaint little hillstation, once the 'Queen of the hills' has succumbed to the lure of modernisation and is now buried under the rubble of development,like most of the hill stations in our country.

The bustling Mall Road

About an hour and half from Dehradun airport, Mussoorie has somewhat paid the price for its easy acessiblity. This was evident all around me as as my car entered its famous Mall road. The road was bustling with tourists, eateries and souvenir shops. The mountains are impossible to view from here,their sight blocked by ugly hotels and shops built hapazardly. Thankfully, driving a little further down,the road widened a bit, shops and tourists became sparse and the sight of the hills gladdened my heart.

Climb to our Hotel

It was a sunny day on the 30th of May 2013 as I checked-in into the hotel which was located just off the Mall road, but at a height of about 300 meters from it. It was quite a steep drive upto the place. The view from my room was awesome. The windows opened upto the vistas of the greater Himalayas in the far distance. Unfortunately, the skies weren't clear enough that day to see the snow peaks from my window, but layers upon layers of the Himalayan hills could be seen till the eyes could see no more.

By the time lunch was done with, another 2 hours passed and suddenly I  experienced the fickleness of weather in the hills. The sun was now engulfed by dark clouds,a steady drizzle began, a cold wind blew and  the mountain chill turnied the raindrops into hail. I could see visualise this hail and wind battering the mountains which stood strong braving this onslaught. For someone who had just arrived from the humid coastal plains of western India this was a revelation!

A heavenly feel.

The next morning greeted me with another pleasant suprise. I peeered outside my window and a blank canvas stared back at me. It was a sheet of absolute white outside. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, wondering if there was something wrong with my eyesight. The hills had disappeared completely. It was as if nature had shut herself off by pulling a white veil over herself. The cool mist wafted in through the window..... Sitting on a rocking chair by the window  into my room with a cup of piping hot tea, a plate of Pakodas and a book to read...... Ahhhh... if this isn't heaven, then what is, I wondered. In some time as the mist thinned out, the clouds, the hills and the trees appeared. It seemed like I was witnessing a magician at work or was it a painter who had painted this scene on the white canvas?

During my stay in Mussoorie. I tried to look beyond the usual fare which a hill station offers, I stared unabashedly with a penetrative gaze and lo and behold, the beauty of Mussoorie unveiled it self,its mask created in the name of progress and development peeling off. I could feel its soul and palpate its pulsating heart beat. Beneath the apparently dead town I could sense a thriving, throbbing and timeless creation.

St Paul's  Church 

The Britishers should be given due credit for discovering most of the present day hill stations in India. Shimla, Darjeeling, Dalhousie, Nainital, Almora, Mussoorie etc being some of them. Mussoorie, while not being as important an administrative center as Shimla, served as a recreational and retirement home for many. The more than century old churches, some bungalows now comverted to heritage hotels stand mute witnesses to those days.

Landour - about 4kms away, the twin town of Mussoorie is as close as one can get to see how Mussoorie must have been in olden days. Being a cantonment area, it's largely untouched by the crass commercialisation that has ravaged its counterpart. Knowing that Ruskin Bond stayed in Landour, I decided to trek to the place. A left turn from 'Picture Palace' on Mall road and the road leads to Landour through the narrow lanes of Landour Bazaar with its quaint little shops. There are a couple of antique shops on the way which have authentic items for sale. Before I forget I must mention that Mussoorie doesn't have a single movie theatre at present. It used to boast of 6 theatres till recently, but unfortunately all have shut down. 'Picture Palace' which used to screen movies is now a gaming zone and has a small theatre showing 5D films.

Having snacks at 'Char Dukan'

Coming back to Landour, the best way to explore is on foot and this was no exception. A walk upto Lal Tibba, the highest point in Landour while very steep at places will pass through most places of interest. I passed Ivy cottage - Ruskin Bond' s home and on an impulse climbed upto the 1st floor where he stays in a single room, but one which commands a beautiful view of the Himalayan range. Without a prior appointment,I couldn't muster enough courage to knock on the door and turned back. Another the  1/2 hours climb and I reached 'Char Dukan, which used to be the parade ground during British days. Now about 5 shops occupy this area and provide food, groceries and other daily requirements for locals and tourists. Close to Char Dukan, is the quaint and pretty Kellog's church,established in the 1860's.

Rokeby Manor

Landour has hardly any hotels, I saw just a couple of them - Doma' s Inn at Ivy cottage and the Rokeby Manor, an old mansion, now run as heritage hotel by hotelier Sanjay Narang. Rokeby, which is more than a 150 year old structure has an interesting history and worth a look. 
Landour also has an old cemetery, which is quite well maintained, but not as big as the one in Mussoorie. It was locked when I reached and the caretaker required a little cajoling to let me in. It contains the grave of Tom Tom  Alter's  parents and many other Englishmen and women who never returned back to England, by Providence or by choice.

Ruskin Bond at the Cambridge book store

My visit to Mussoorie could not be complete without meeting its most famous resident, Ruskin Bond. Even though I couldn't meet him at his residence, I booked an appointment with him for the next day at the local book store which he visits once a week. The owner, a very affable person arranged it for me and also for a few books to be autographed by him. 

I should also mention about a few eateries in Mussoorie. 'Chick chocolate' opposite Clark's hotel on the Mall road where we had one of the best Pizzas ever which could easily put CPK and its likes to shame. It also had some lovely shakes. Mouth watering Tibetan fare at 'Momo's' next to Chic Chocolate and also at 'Domo's Inn' in Landour shouldn't be missed.


Ivy Cottage
Pizza at Chic Chocolate
It drizzled daily, through out my stay in Mussoorie. The mist was always hanging in the air, occasionally becoming so heavy that I could hardly see beyond couple of feet during my walks. It shrouded the hills completely and at times it floated through the open windows of my room giving an ethereal look to the place. 
There was a heavy mist and a steady drizzle on the the day we ventured out to see the cemetery in Mussoorie located at Camel Back road. This one established in 1929 has some old graves dating back to 1816. I called Ms Colleen Ganzter,(she of the eminent travel writer duo of husband and wife) and sought her permission to visit the cemetery and were asked to be there by 11AM the next day.

Mussorie Cemetry

I woke up to another rainy morning. Braving the drizzle and the cool mist,the 4 (my kids are more than eager always to visit cemetries) of us reached the gates about 1/2 hour early. We all stood there patiently huddled close together trying to get the warmth of each other's bodies waiting for caretaker of the cemetry. 10 minutes past 11, out of nowhere, through the mist, Prem Singh appeared.I looked at the his feet, expecting them to face backwards. The setting was perfect for a ghost story, straight out of Ruskin Bond's book. Confiming my identity, he unlocked the gates and let us in.  

Inside the cemetry.

The tall trees in the graveyard, the heavy mist hanging in there background, the continuous splatter of raindrops falling through the leaves completed the eerie picture of a spooky cemetery.  I half expected apparitions arising from the weather beaten graves. 
Strangely, I experienced no fear, only peace. The overall experience was surreal. The weather, being more responsible for it. The mist gently floated around, a chill in the air, and a sense of serenity descended on me.  The site of this beautiful cemetery on the slopes of Mussoorie, overlooking the mighty Himalayas made death seem inviting.... If this is where I would be buried forever, then I will welcome death with open arms, I thought as I walked in between the tombstones, reading the beautifully calligraphed, sculptured epitaphs.

My stay in Mussoorie was coming to an end. A lot of places remained to be seen, many things left to be done. I hadn't expected my short stay to be so memorable. With a heavy heart and a promise to myself to return, I left for the leg leg of my journey to Kanatal. 

Deodhar forests at Kanatal.

Kanatal which is about 40kms away and about 1000feet higher than Mussoorie is still a virgin hill station with few hotels that are scattered far and in between. It has an almost 360º view of the Himalayas. The slopes on either sides of the road abound with verdant Deodhar trees. Early morning walk through these forest of Deodhars gave me an exprience to cherish for life. The branches at the top of these trees form a canopy and the slanting rays of the early moring Sun filtering through them have left an undeletable image in my mind. In the background the chirping of birds, the monsoon call of the Koel.....Some of the best things in life are surprisingly free. I felt blessed as I lay down in the woods, staring at the morning sky, through the canopy formed by these tall majestic trees and these words by Rudyard Kipling quoted aptly in a book by Ruskin Bond came to my mind....

"and the last puff of the day-wind brought from the unseen villages,the scent of  damp wood-smoke, hot cakes, dripping undergrowth,and rotting pine-cones. That is the true smell of the Himalayas,and if once it     creeps into the blood of a man, that man will at the last, forgetting  all else, return to the hills to die."