My sins have been washed away. Thanks to a rafting trip on the river Ganges. Seek adventure, get religion free.
The road trip to Rishikesh was like any other trip out of the capital. But I forgive Delhi. Its relative proximity to the Himalayas is reason enough. Thankfully, the trip was spent in a stupor. Partly asleep, the mind was unaware of time passing, but the body remained fatigued. Not a bad deal.
My first waking glimpse of Rishikesh was of a deserted ghat at 3 AM, and the Ganga flowing. My first steps on that hallowed ground were in the knowledge that a walk to the hotel was ahead of me. In the incipient winter. With piles of winter clothing in my luggage.
I was not sure how long the walk would be. Any distance between 500 meters to five kilometers is described as “just up ahead” here. Thankfully, the walk was just long enough to get the sleep out of my eyes. Just before our programme allowed a couple of hours to catch some shut-eye. Suffering builds character.
The town is quite clean, no informal toilets at street corners. The place becomes too crowded during the day for such responses to nature’s calls. And during the night, being less adventurous, most people keep off the streets. Explains the absence of pictures of Gods and Goddesses at waist height on boundary walls. But then, there is no dearth of reminders of the Almighty. There are temples everywhere. Advertisements proclaim spiritual sermons and yoga classes. There are a good number of resident cows.
It is surprising that the cows don’t all run away. This is where the Sacred Cow is a scared cow, true story below:
Crowd of holy men and onlookers (trying to force a cow to enter a confined prayer area, pushing and pulling): Go on, go on.
Petrified cow loses bowel control.
Holy men (in unison, folding their hands in prayer and bowing to the cow): This is a wonderful omen! The Gods have showered their blessings on the ritual.
Cow bolts. Maybe the treats the cows get at the end of the rituals keep them motivated.
Curiously, I spot a yuppie crowd thronging the parking lot of a temple complex. They do not seem in the least religious. A closer look reveals a spanking new, powder blue TATA NANO.The owner arrives and tries to get closer to his car, in vain. The crowd is oblivious, tapping and peering through the windows. One onlooker even begs for a ride as the owner manages to get the door open. Ticket to heaven and everlasting life?
Time to raft. Our guide is a spunky young Ladakhi. He shows us all the don’ts before demonstrating the do’s. It is far too late for me to learn from his hilarious mimicry of common mistakes.
I hoist myself onto the raft in a hurry. A rafting trip is most fun in the front seat. My life-jacket is strangling the life out of me. The guide says it is best that way. They say the safety equipment leaves the river no chance to get you. I concur.
The Ganga is a safe river. The rapids are separated by stretches of calm water. The guides encourage rafters to jump into the river at the appropriate places. The rafters happily oblige. The experience of a lifetime, it is faith that makes this the holiest river. Maano to Ganga Maiyya, na maano to behta paani. Heard that on some loudspeaker somewhere.
Lunch is at the rafting camp by the side of the river. I discover that the sunburn on the Ganga is just as bad as on the Zanskar- the frostbite is missing, though. Thank God for the small mercies.
Rafting complete. I come away sinless, with a sunburn. Hopefully lighter by a kilo or two. The bus takes us back to Delhi. I pray that I make my flight the next morning.
A sigh of relief. I reach the airport on time, or so I think. Lethargy makes me move slowly towards boarding. I have lost count of the muscles that are aching. Rafting has made sure I cannot sit anywhere for too long.
On reaching the boarding gate, the staff tell me I can’t make this flight. Just as the public announcement system belts out the “last and final boarding call” for this very flight. The airline gives me a full refund, and I get myself another ticket home. It is all karma, or maybe it is maya. Only He knows.
I forgot I had a blog! And so did you. It’s been a while and below is why it’s been a while.
27th August 09, Day 1 Could not complete all that I had planned to before leaving. Left office with passing words from the Boss “We will try not to call you”. Was informed that Wifeji is running behind schedule, but inspite of the commitment to her work, we managed to get to the airport in time. Even the hail and the resultant traffic jam couldn’t stop us.
From the posh HIAL we hurtled into the ‘all cattle class’ aircraft. In the excitement of facing all that we thought the impending future held, I forgot to ask for the emergency row seats. Two reasons why emergency row seats are my all time favourite airline seats 1. Easy to slouch into for tall men (hint) 2. They can be handy during emergencies, especially when all the loos are occupied or when you are flying the national carrier with austere politicos in economy.
28th August 09, Day 2 Reached Delhi past midnight. We had decided to wait for the connecting 5 am flight at the historical Terminal 1A (Delhi is dangerous enough during the day). For those who don’t know, this is the terminal through which rulers like Babar and Sonia Gandhi entered India. The Archeological survey has declared it a heritage building and thus the Airport Authority/GMR can’t do any renovations here. Bureaucrats!
The 5 hours spent at Terminal 1A were as good as any night spent there could have been. Yours truly worked for a while, while a bunch of Bangalore tourists kept up an incessant yacking alternating with monstrous laughter all night. There is something about Bangalore. After several rounds of snacks and e-mails we zombied into another aircraft. Scared of the motherly stares from the hostesses on board we finished breakfast like good children. Nothing caught fire during the flight.
The sight from the window was striking and the passengers collectively took control of the aircraft and jammed their faces into the window, three per pane, with motherly hostesses finding it difficult to keep discipline.
Landed at Leh’s Bakula Rimpoche airstrip (there isn’t much of an airport there). It was bright as bright can be. We got lifted, courteously, by the Indian army and deposited at one of their guest houses next to the Indus. Overlooking the mountains on the other side and the works. Beautiful.
We got clear instructions from the army that we were not to venture out for the first 36 hours for acclimatization and for us to avoid High Altitude Sickness. (We are sickly corporate types, right?) This was followed by a visit from a qualified physician checking on us. To his great disappointment we exhibited no signs of being affected by lack of oxygen. I don’t know about wifeji, but after 5 years of working with my boss, nothing effects me anymore.
We expressed a desire-cum-request to go to Leh Market. Our hosts nipped any such ideas in the bud and then went on to uproot the plant. Surreptitiously, with assistance from a kindly souled driver from Bihar (aha!) we managed to escape to the market. While wifeji went around in her inquisitive, socially-alert economist avatar interviewing roadside vendors I too learnt a lot from this Gandhian escapade. The summary of my lessons is thus “the veggies in Leh are very green. And very fresh”.
29th August, Day 3 Still no sign of high altitude sickness. All four lungs in the household operating at capacity, leading to some very disappointed physicians. (Statutory warning to all my Kannan, Srinivasan, Venkatratnam kind of friends. Folks, the water in the taps can be bewilderingly cold; don’t put your warm South Indian souls through it).
Hiked to the Spituk monastery. Stopped for 15 minutes, precisely after every 4 steps. Gasp, gasp. There is something about Buddhist monasteries. I don’t know what it is. They are beautiful though.
30th August, Day 4 Lazy day. Perfect day. Morning spent walking along the Indus. We spotted a Rosefinch. The afternoon included a ride to the Indus-Zanskar confluence. Amazing. (More on the Zanskar later). Stopped over at the Patthar Sahib, where Guru Nanak killed/reformed a monster.
There was a kind of freedom to kill monsters before they set up the Parliament in this country.
31st August, Day 5 It rained the whole day. Uncommon, they told us, in Leh. Went to the raising day of the 14 corps. And when we can’t do much else we do one thing. Planted ourselves with our Major friend in a restaurant and ate a lovely Ladakhi meal.
1st September, Day 6 Pangong-Tso!! Went visiting Pangong Tso through Chang-La. The drive was death defying. And the driver was death defying too. Just at the time when our mighty Scorpio would be overtaking an unconcerned army truck on the single lane tight corner with an 800 metre drop, wifeji would pep up and say “Bhaiya, koi Govinda ki CD nahin hai kya”?!? And Mr. Chevang (henceforth called the Scorpion King), in his chivalry, would start changing the CD right then while driving with one hand. I almost pulled the handle off the car door, knuckles all white. Nobody paid any attention to me, looks like we have been married for a decent length of time.
We reached Pangong Tso after several such fickle genre flips. The lake is one of the most beautiful sights on the planet. Nature did the right thing by putting it at such remote a place and on the India-China Border (wherever that is) via the India China Friendship highway.
We also met some foul-mouthed Delhi kids at the sole restaurant on the banks of the lake. Wifeji gave them the looks that homo-sapiens gave the Neanderthals sometime back. Intimate discussion followed Wifeji: “Nuts from Delhi” Yours truly, speaking through the binoculars: “where? I am hungry. Do they have some walnuts?” Wifeji: “I am talking about these crazy kids sitting on the next table”. Yours truly, still staring at the lake: “How do you know they are from Delhi, you may not believe it but there are crazy people outside of Delhi too.” Wifeji, loudly: “Whoever paints so much make-up for visiting a place like this?” Yours truly, defeated: “Good Point” (This is interesting, more on this later when we found out who they were).
2nd September, Day 7 Khardung-la today. Same melodious ride with Govinda-army truck-Scorpion King thrown in. It was freezing and snowing up there but plenty of tea and maggi available. The sights on the way are seen to be believed. Each turn is a fresh painting on God’s canvas and he is the best painter yet.
The long ride was followed by a dinner at an open air restaurant in Leh Town. Dinner with Delhi Nuts: Act I Spotting the same foul mouthed kids from Delhi, wifeji exclaimed “I bet these are the same morons that we met in Pangong Tso” The Restaurant Owner, friend of our Major friend, came running and told us with a smile “did you see Minissha Lamba” Wifeji and yours truly in unison: “Who?” Yours truly, acting smart: “oh, the tennis player? He is good I tell you. Will go far” Others around the bonefire: “Gasp” The Restaurant Owner: Have “you seen that movie” (playwright’s note: name I can’t remember now) Wifeji and yours truly in unison: “Nope” Yours truly: “We grew up watching Jaya Prada” Others around the bonefire: “Gasp, she is an actress” Yours truly, Grinning: “She is an MP too. Rampur ke Sholey” Others: “SHUT-UP. Minissha Lamba is an actress. And that Delhi nut you met in Pangong Tso is Minissha Lamba.” Wifeji and yours truly in unison: “oh” Yours truly, with composure and dignity: “I don’t know why all sportspeople want to become actors”.
(Rest of the act is full of jokes about how Minissha Lamba must be saddened at the fact that people don’t recognize her and think of her as some Delhi kid who just flunked her DU-BA English paper). For those who are interested we were also informed that Farooq Abdullah’s nephew/s were part of the crew accompanying Ms. Lamba. While Rahul-Priyanka cheer for SRK’s KKR, the Abdullah scions have to make do with some obscure actress. Is this a class-divided society or what?
3rd September, Day 8 More rain. Longwinded discussions on global warming, sensitive dependence on initial conditioning. It is better to be happy than to appear to be intelligent. Visited Hemis Monastery in the afternoon.
4th September, Day 9 Long drive to Chilling. This is a beautiful drive along the Zanskar.
5th September, Day 10 Rafted the Zanskar. The Zanskar is an amazing river. It serves a heady dish of sunburn and frostbite in one. While the balding head will get burnt the river will quietly be biting off a couple of toes. Lovely though. This is a must do for Rafting enthusiasts.
6th September, Day 11 Walked around in Spituk Village. Leh town in the evening. Some shopping.
7th September, Day 12 Back to Hyderabad via Delhi. We haven’t discussed it yet, but I am sure this is not our last trip to Ladakh. If only we were younger, we could have done a road trip!
Transcriber’s note: These are the unofficial transcripts of the discussion that ensued during the selection of the awardee for the Nobel Peace Prize for this year. The housekeeper of the venue left her mobile phone in record mode prior to the commencement of the meeting, thus giving us an insight into the secret process of selecting the awardee. The original recordings of the proceedings are in the Norwegian, and are not available in the public domain.
One more note: Several side conversations pertaining to dogs (including some sample woofs), gout, hernia surgeries, home mortgages, Icelandic banks, divorce filings and 20-year-old girlfriends have been edited out to make this suitable for public consumption.
Further note: This version also does not feature (except where important for the script) significant background noises that sound curiously like snoring.
Committee Member 1 (The Family Man): Ah, ladies and gentlemen, pardon my tardiness. The grandchildren’s dog was undergoing surgery, and we needed someone to stay with him and the kids while he was under the scalpel.
The Chairman (Yes Man and Nodder): I hope he is doing well now. These times are quite traumatic for the grandchildren. Thank heavens for the advances in medical science.
Committee Member 2 (The Big Picture Economist): Indeed, I must say that the work for which the Prize was given for medicine is quite significant. I am looking forward to the prize for Economics. It is all rather interesting.
Committee Member 3 (The International Culinary Culture expert): Yes. Yes, please clear the plate. The Peking duck was quite outstanding, as was the choice of wines. Please convey my compliments to the sommelier and to the housekeeper. Yes, I would like some coffee, please. Thank you!
CM4 (The Advocate of Freedom) and CM5 (The Philosopher and Thinker): Thank you!
(Loud burping and what sounds like tipsy laughter accompany a clinking of crockery and cutlery.)
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Attention, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you have dined well. It is now time for us to commence the discussion for which we have all gathered here- awarding the Prize for Peace.
The International Culinary Culture Expert: The number of nominations for the prize keep growing each year. Statistically, I am not surprised by the number of ducks..err…Chinese on this list!
The Advocate of Freedom: Indeed, It’s a bit of a pity that no one ever hears about the Chinese in the news, media coverage would have helped our decision-making considerably. I find reading these documents expounding their achievements in the face of adversity quite tiresome. Why don’t they just seek political asylum and be an activist in another country that gives them more freedom of expression? It is so much easier to get column-inches in the world’s top newspapers, not to mention hours of repetitive coverage on international media.
The Philosopher and Thinker: Indeed. Do you think we should consider giving the prize to Mr. Gandhi? Firstly, there is the minor matter that he is dead. Then, the events are too far away in the past. Of course, since India’s neighbours such as Afghanistan and Pakistan have not adhered to his principles, it does water his achievement down. Of what use is your effort if it does not wake up the neighbours?
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Quite, quite.
The International Culinary Culture Expert: I wonder how anyone can do anything for world peace amidst the shattered economy of eastern Europe, or even in south and south east Asia. The western world’s food crisis is because of them eating more, how could we even consider people from there? Sigh!
The Family Man: As for the Australians, they are simply too geographically isolated to be interested in anything but their pets, sports and indigenous people. Anything they do for their indigenous people does not count towards world peace anyway.
The Advocate of Freedom: I quite agree with you. The middle-east is full of tribals keenly intent on killing each other for political and material gain, as is most of Africa. Alas, there is not enough read, heard and broadcasted about them. In any case, what percentage of people in the world understand Zulu? Haha.
Other Committee members: Hahahaha.
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Quite, quite.
The Big Picture Economist: Indeed. It is inconcieveable how solving local problems by setting up elementary things like a commodity exchange that serves Ethiopia ….
The International Culinary Culture Expert: ….Hahaha.. What commodities would they would trade on the exchange? Nothing to eat, I am sure!
The Big Picture Economist: (continues)….Haha….or the fact that people in the Gaza have to make do with a painted-over donkey as a Zebra due to the Israeli blockade could impact world peace. We need to look for big picture thinking.
The Advocate of Freedom: I think we should reject Quaddafi. Not only because he is a military leader, but because I didn’t like his address in the United Nations recently. I wonder why the media had to spend so much time covering such an insignificant event. Did you see his costume during his appearance? Appalling!
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Another round of coffee, ladies and gentlemen? We seem to have plodded through 201 of the 205 nominees for the prize already.
The Family Man: Yes, thank you. Please give me a moment while I check up on the status of the family dog.
The Big Picture Economist: Latin America? I would have been inclined to consider Hugo Chavez for the prize, if only he had not been a military ruler. The Banco Del Sur (Bank of the South) was quite innovative- no one has thought of creating a bank that exclusively serves developing countries for some decades now. Of course, there has been no movement on the idea yet, but….
The International Culinary Culture Expert: Ah yes. I would say that Raul Castro’s idea of providing lunch allowances to workers, instead of state sponsored lunches is a big step towards providing people choices in what they eat! It seems that the world might be able to take a page out of his book. But alas, Cuba and Raul’s background make the prize impossible for him.
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Quite, quite. Ladies and gentlemen, we now have only two nominees on our list. Congratulations for coming this far after such in-depth discussions, let me tell you that this is quite uncharacteristically speedy for such decisions! Let us consider them one by one, and make our choice. Would anyone have anything to say in support of Mexico's Manuel Uribe, the most obese man in the world?
The International Culinary Culture Expert: I am a supporter of the gentleman. He has, after all, lost about 80 kilos of weight in the past few months. It must have meant a lot of cutting calories, and that is extremely painful! In addition, he has even ventured out of his house once, with a crane lifting him. That counts as an a contribution for all the obese people in the world, and for their WAGS, who can take a page out of how Mr. Uribe’s girl supports him in everything he does. Definitely a strong contender.
The Philosopher and Thinker: One minor detail, though. He is so obese that his photo will not fit in with the symmetry of our photo gallery of Nobel laureates.
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Indeed, quite a disadvantage. That leaves us with just one contender, Mr. Barack Obama!
The Big Picture Economist: I can see several advantages in choosing him. He is addressing the right problem- that of nuclear disarmament, by making all the right noises.
The Family Man: Of course, I know him personally. An outstanding gentleman, great family values, much respect for culture. Look at the way he kept his word on getting his children a dog!
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Quite, quite.
The Advocate of Freedom: He’s had enough and more coverage in the media. He is even making the right promises. He actually did something to better relations with Russia.
The Big Picture Economist: Of course, we have to shore up the US economy even though it is recovering. I am sure the cash award that goes with the prize will contribute to that cause in a strategic way.
The Philosopher and Thinker: zzzz…..
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Wonderful. Finding a picture of him will not be tough- he is all over the papers anyway! Shall I take it that we have come to a decision, gentlemen?
Committee members: Yes. Congratulations.
The Philosopher and Thinker: err….aye aye sir!
The Chairman (Yes man and Nodder): Bring in the champagne, please. A toast to the decision. Of course, we won’t wake him up in the middle of the night, lest we be accused of racism.
Corruption is good for us commoners. I am normally a law abiding tax-paying citizen who considers it her duty to swear in disapproval at the slightest violation of a traffic rule, and I vehemently opposed corruption some time ago. However, my volte face is an unprecedented fallout of the recent elections- and all because our neighbor of the lower floor once removed was elected a Member of Parliament (MP).
On my way to office one fine day after the election, I found that I had to pick my way through a swarm of semiautomatic-toting-mean-looking guards who were milling about the staircase of my apartment block. Of course, I figured out the reason when I saw a swarm of starched-white khadi-clad men holding yellow flower garlands at the gate of our building, not to mention throngs of well wishers beating drums. And so were sowed the seeds of my change of mind, through the tiresome saga of living in the same building as an MP.
For starters, my weight loss program, consisting of repeatedly climbing up and down flights of stairs, went for a toss. The stairwell started to be full of the above mentioned guards plus a couple of police dogs, who were keeping an eagle eye, a trained ear, a wet nose and sometimes even a wagging tail out for everything that transpired in the building. These incidental additions to stairway traffic not only considerably hampered my speed of ascent by dint of making it akin to the 10,000 meter steeplechase, but also made the fear of being at the receiving end of the canines of a canine very real. In balance, I figured it was better for my figure if I lived to fight the fat another day.
Now, they set up a sandbag-protected security post outside our gate, and the entire guard changed twice daily (including on weekends, would you believe that?). Inevitably, with each change came the same questions, all delivered very politely- can we see a photo ID (I always produced my ration card, never my PAN card as this post of mine will tell you)? What flat number do you live in? How long have you been living here? And last but not the least, the veto question- Caretaker, can you verify please?For once, I thanked my propensity to inadvertently convert balances from our utility bill advances into generous tips for the caretaker. This kept us in his good books, which he demonstrated by beaming at us while answering the security questions in the affirmative.He also managed to push through a circular to the residents of the building, demanding that he be paid fifty rupees per month per house extra- apparently some kind of ‘security deposit’.
Out on the street, what was once a sleepy lane parallel to a busy road now became an unauthorized parking-lot. Aspirational sedans with darkened window glass, menacingly bright SUVs that proclaimed “Reddys” and “Vennela” in what is theweb equivalent of ‘Font size 72, Bold, Blinking red and green’, the quintessential chrome fitted white ambassadors, and of course the occasional Merc, began taking root in and around our building. I could not help wondering whether the owners of the vehicles were victims of a mortgage crisis, treating our parking lot like a camper park.
Apart from time consuming security clearance, our visitors bore the brunt of the fated election of the MP other ways. Directions to our home included an appropriate turn at a statue of a certain prominent lady leader and martyr. A visiting friend called me to confirm which statue of the lady leader I meant - the one with the Pallu flying, the one in which she stood with folded hands, the golden coloured bust, or the black one? And this confusion arose not one week after the MP took oath! Having failed to make the substantial evolutionary connection between statues and mushrooms, we spent a long time trying to identify alternate landmarks and only succeeding in getting my friend further lost. I was then forced to enlist spousal pick-up-and-drop assistance.
To be fair to the incumbent, he was apparently not responsible for most of those statues. I presume some were put up by his supporters to express….um….support. With time, we pinpointed the one statue that was commissioned by him, by dint of the fact that it was the only one that stayed relatively clean, got garlanded often, and actually grew- sprouting a wrought iron fire-escape-kind-of-appendage to facilitate easy garlanding and (possibly) cleaning. I guess this is what they mean by the phrase ‘growing in stature’. The fire exit has its merits, though. I am now sure that my friends won’t get lost on their way to our place.
So you see, as a commoner, our choice is between an accessible VIP, with all the concomitant day to day challenges, or VIPs living in ivory towers, inaccessible and surrounded by security, our interactions with them limited to the functions that they come habitually late to. It’s a no brainer, this ages-old choice between a daily struggle and more predictable inconvenience. I claim no credit for this, the decision was made when humankind moved from hunting-gathering to agriculture.
And this is why I am all for corruption - so that our MP might get rich quickly and move to the upmarket side of town, thus letting me get on with living and losing weight. The last I looked there were several empty suitcases in the corridor on his floor. Either he is shifting, or he is getting rich. Either way, praise be to God.
