Four rivers- the tear offering place for Gods.

Part3 Bhagirathi 

We bid adieu to Yamuna the next morning at the town of Barkot and immediately got on the road running along Bhagirathi. And immediately came the loud chant,
" Bhagirathi maiyya ki Jai!" -  Long live mother Bhagirathi
That was Chaudhariji, our super driver. I immediately turned my attention to Bhagirathi, flowing alongside. And the first thing I noticed about her was how levelled she was. We all know that water is one element which finds it's own level. Always. (That Physics classroom-nostalgia!) Same could be said about the Bhagirathi. At every step of her journey she seems to find her level and maybe this makes her more approachable by humans. This gentle disposition, deep glens and an open valley with tiers of cultivation complete a picture of  Bhagirathi. Thus where Yamuna had her riverbed barren full of boulders, stones and pebbles, Bhagirathi had her gentle slope filled with fertile soil and a way, albeit imaginary to approach her. Her bank was lined with small temples all the way. A Goddess more approachable?
This is a unique feature of Hinduism. We or more more precisely our ancestors, those genius philosophers humanised all the abstract concepts of the universe and created as such a parallel world of Gods. Here each God is a stakeholder in nature. And their inter-relations further explain the phenomenons in nature. Here Shiva is matter and his consort Shakti is energy. And they intermingle to teach us the concept of energy and matter. Hence in the next step Shakti becomes the earth(matter) and Shiva her all encompassing atmosphere(energy). Isn't it more beautiful to learn about these so called scientific concepts in those poetic lines? And today we call this 'mythology'. Myth is it? Coming back to the Bhagirathi, we were passing many tiny hamlets one after the other. At such a tiny hamlet Chaudhriji called out to us to look out at a plaque. This was Nakuri. Nothing special, except that this is where Bachindri Pal comes from. The first Indian women to climb Mount Everest. Awe. Respect. Admiration. It would be futile to say anything further. We moved ahead. Crossing the densely habituated valley we reached the town of 'Uttar' Kashi. Or Benares of the north. It even has its own 'Vishwanath' temple. This is also home to Nehru Mountaineering Institute, the alma mater of Bachindri Pal. But more about it later. Past Uttarkashi, our destination for the day was Harsil. A place famous for it's natural beauty, and these days an important defence establishment. On the way we passed an 'ashram'. This belonged to a self appointed seer, Pilot baba. I was told he was a fighter pilot with the Indian Air Force before turning to spirituality and has many followers all over the world. Good for them. Or him? I was half listening to all this as it would have been a crime to even miss a moment of the passing scenery. We had now reached what is called the higher reaches of the Himalayas, the deciduous had given way to the Deodhars, Silver firs, Spruce, Birch and Pencil Cedars. The Bhagirathi had started undergoing a subtle change. Gone was the motherly look, here she had started inspiring awe. Her gorge had started to form. And in this state we reached Harsil. A place which still has slate roofs. Though housing modern telecommunications network under it. The facia is still intricately hand carved. And the enclosure is still a beautiful mix of two textures- wooden pillars and stone walls. We moved to our nth GMVNL guest house of the trip. As usual these government properties are at the pick of the locations. We dumped our luggage and moved out to the garden just besides the Bhagirathi. The garden was beautifully maintained with well placed gazebos. Beyond the fence was the Bhagirathi  running with force and beyond her was the dark green of the Deodhars. We all assembled in one of the gazebo with tea and pakodas, the natural beauty and the atmosphere to surround us. There was jest and gossip, laughter and smirks, stories and personal narratives, essentially everything fun. Later I moved out. For a one to one conversation. With Bhagirathi. It was informative to hear something from her, to share something with her. She assured of her presence here and now. There and then too! And true to her promise her sounds could be heard throughout the night, her presence was omnipresent.
The early morning short ride next day from Harsil to Gangotri through the dense forests of Deodhars is one of the very best I have experienced. It had an atmosphere to bring goosebumps. And the mystic, eeriness increased when we reached Asia's second highest bridge. It is built over the most terrific sight I've ever seen. The gorge of Bhagirathi. Gorges have always inspired awe in me. Their sheer depths represent the timeline of the relationship between the mountain and the river. Thousands of years of the river's perseverance. And to take all this in a moment of time overwhelms me. Where the heart goes dhak- dhak, at the speed of Rajdhani, as they say in India. ( Rajdhani is the fastest train in India.) With this settings we entered what is called the 'Bhairav' Ghati ahead. Bhairav is the most aggressive form of Lord Shiva, the god of destruction. And accordingly the nature here had moulded itself. With treacherous cliffs hanging on both sides, and the slopes covered with dense Deodhar forests, it was difficult to guess the time of the day. In between a speck of sunlight used to steal through the dense foliage above. It brought more of a shock than relief at the presence of light. But everything passes. Always. And we were out of this valley to land in the chaos of a typical Indian temple town. Tourist buses and jeeps, along with heckling pilgrims and shouting hawkers, everyone at once jumps on you. As if to present extreme obstacles which would make the God's sighting even more sweeter. Here Gangaotri is touched by motorable roads even under extreme geographical features. This brings more and more pilgrims in the absence of any trek by foot. More of the types who put out a bejewelled hand of their SUVs to throw away a wrapper on the roads. ( a la Arvind Adiga) 
The way leading to the temple and the bathing ghats was lined with the usual memorabilia. Outside the temple premises offerings comprising of a rose, and petals were being sold. Only two of the all had a white rose. I had to have it, my white Rose! I pounced on it. And it was mine. Victorious we moved towards the ghats- those purposefully created 'approach' ways to the river. A pilgrim takes these steps down, in all humility, towards that flowing stream of life. He offers his prayers to the God. Yes the God and not the river. It is this 'flow' that carries all his prayers to the God. The river messenger. The different platforms were abuzz with pilgrims. Offerings were stacked along the platform along with prayers. Ofcourse because this is a special river. The river that descended from heaven and the one which ascends back. What better way to send your prayers to the Gods residing there? Your own 'registered' Speed Post. Direct to Home, DTH service! I too posted my 'baggage'. Feeling light, I hopped on up towards the walking platform.  With that spring in step we decided to explore the place. 
A serpentine path along the river was the only one in sight and we followed it.Just after a few meters and a couple of bends the madness of religion was left behind to enter that world of Himalayas and his rivers. There were a few Ashrams or monasteries sprinkled here and there but they were inhabited by ascetics endorsing seclusion. Hence the world around right now only consisted of the path, the pilgrim and the pines. They,on one side trying to reach the heights of Himalayas and the Ganges on the other side running away. It was tempting to sit here, philosophise, contemplate. Even doubt and investigate. But instead of that passivity we moved ahead. Ahead, much ahead, beyond many turns the path opened up into a small, regular platform. A ghat actually, I came to knew later. Here, feeling like one has left the world and it's inhabitants behind, and arrived at it's edge, where the seas open up into the space, Sudha and I halted. Stopped. Settled. As Sudha took her place on a boulder, I moved towards the pebble trodden river bed. I had a task. To collect pebbles, not just any but ones submerged in the flowing river, and bring them back for my mom. I started collecting them, one after another. Selecting one here. Rejecting another there. Selection, rejection. Again. And again. Repetitive. After a while it became meditative, like going into a trance. I looked back, to see what Sudha was doing. Instead my eyes fell on 'the writing on the wall'. Krandan Ghat- the tears offering place for God. Zapped, I re-read again. I never cease to amaze at discovering the ingenuity of those unknown forefathers and their thought process. Their philosophies. And their provisions to 'connect'. To God, to nature, to fellow living beings,and to our inner selves. I collected my stones together and went back to sit on the boulder at the Ghat. I wanted to cry. Those tears of joy. And those of sorrow. To flow. Into this river, herself in flow. A very different emotional state came over me. That intoxicating state where one clings to pain. Everything internal. Reasoning with one self, of victimhood, suffering, injustice, loss. Anything external. Here I became melancholic. Saratchandra reasons in 'Srikanta' that when pain is devoid of fear it becomes pleasurable. I feel this is a state humans find more comfort in, and are actually addicted to. Happiness, is fleeting. It is that horizon, which one constantly aims for. And pain that continuous companion on this journey of life. After a while it becomes a habit and then a friend. I was thinking of all those moments of pain, when I lost something, someone I loved. Even if devoid of tears, I wanted to offer all that pain here. To god? At what purpose was this offering? To create that ideal state of mind, devoid of any thoughts?
Amongst all these questions walked a old, wrinkled lady on the ghat. Sudha and I were both observing her. She was wearing old, faded clothes; carrying rosary beads, a tumbler for water, some Basil leaves and a rugged shawl. There was also a square, woven, sitting mat. She went near the river, placed all her belongings down and folding her hands started her prayers. Who was she? What was she doing here? As she finished her ablutions and prayers Sudha went besides her and started a conversation. The lady lived the life of a migratory bird. She had a full and happy family somewhere at the foothills. She played her role of a loving grandmother, a disciplined mother and responsible head of the family during half of the year. Then she has made a conscious decision to spend half her year here at Gangotri.
Far away from loved one's. 
Minus 'moha'. 
Without any belongings, other than her clothes. 
Minus 'dikhava'. 
Without money to sustain herself. 
Minus 'maya'. 
Living on the goodwill of others.
Minus 'aham'.
By this time she had finished her ablutions and prayers. She blessed us both, giving the Tulsi patta and prasad. And with that she went away leaving me behind, here on the Krandan Ghat with so many varied thoughts. In the spontaneity of the moment I loved her way of life. Enough to maybe even emulate it in time. Thinking about this experimentation I wondered if Hinduism isn't a chemists lab, to discover that route towards one's spirit whether through lifestyle experiments or through the Krandan Ghats. Collecting the memories of this place to construct a Krandan Ghat within me, to visit whenever those tears would want to find a place to God I started back towards the world.
Tracing our way back along the same route we arrived in Uttarkashi by evening. I checked and was told that the Nehru Mountaineering Institute was closed for the day. With nothing to do Sudha and I went in search of some chai and samosa. Having had our fill with some converstaion with the locals we were back at the rest house where everyone was ready to make a visit to the temple dedicated to Shiva. A twin of the famed Kashi Vishwanath in Benares. Finding our way through narrow lanes, dodging cows and cars alike we reached the premises. Religion not being on the top of the group's priorities every one made their way back to the rest house after the darshan. Except me and Ananda. We decided to attend the 'aarti' or the evening prayer about to start. Taking our place inside the Sanctum Sanctorum I began to observe the other participants. About ten to twelve locals were already gathered. The women were sitting on one side and the men on another but the whole place was buzzing like a community hall. One person, maybe a local lawyer was discussing a civic issue with two ladies and they inturn prodding him to take it up seriously. On the other side. Three men discussing about some pavement on the banks of the Bhagirathi which had come off. And then on some common topic everyone used to join in. Even the priest with his preparations of the prayer ongoing contributed. And amidst all this buzz and discussions, conversations and cacophony there was Shiva. Sitting in the middle, serene as ever, taking in all that was said. The whole scene was so contradictory that it took me a while to take it in. The contemporary and the ancient, the dialogue and the rituals all gliding hand in hand...  And then the prayers started and as if there never existed this plurality- all melded into one. That one chant in his praise. To the accompaniment of the prayer bells. Everything became singular.  Me, my thoughts, God, the others, their thoughts, the chants, their sounds. Ek omkara.
Back at the rest house Sudha and I contemplated about the day, watched some old Hindi movie songs, had lots of fruits for dinner. And a good, naughty laugh over the 'warm Lenin' provided to us. A perfect travelling day.

Four Rivers- the abode of flowers

Part2 Yamuna

The Mussorie Express dropped us at Haridwar railway station and made her way ahead to Dehradoon which is the last railway station at the foothills in these parts of Himalayas. Our destination for the day was Rishikesh, around 30kms away from Haridwar. At Rishikesh we settled at the GMVNL guest house which is a perfect base in this riverside town. We had the whole day to relax and loiter around Rishikesh. The only task being walking down to the GMVNL office and complete the registration of the trip. Once that was done we moved towards the Ganges. This time our explorations took us to various ghats. After enjoying the various scenes played out and the famous 'Ganga Aarti' in the evening,we were ready to call it a day. We had a early start next day.
The trip started from Rishikesh and after crossing the beautiful forests of Rajaji National Park reached Dehradoon. Here we picked up our guide for the trip. Now we were moving towards Mussorie, that beautiful hill station, home to the delightful Mr. Ruskin Bond. But obviously we weren't    going to go calling on him! Busy man that he is! We passed bye Mussorie to reach the Kempty Falls, quite a famous tourist destination in these parts. It didn't impress me. Too artificial. And here after crossing this point the Yamuna came into view. Frankly on first sighting she was quite listless, and looking at her stream I wondered how she reaches Delhi, miles away! Now our route was all along her river bed, which started spreading out. But the stream had the same strength. Right here on the crossroad with one road going towards 'Gangotri', the source of Ganges and the other being our prescribed one taking us to 'Yamonotri', the source of Yamuna is the town of Barkot. We had a simple lunch here at the GMVNL guest house under the trellis beautifully adorned by blooming Bougainvillea. 
Pleased, we started for the next part of our journey. Our driver, Chaudharyji informed us of the schedule ahead, first a place called Phoolchhatti, then Hanumanchhatti and then the stopover for the night, Jankichhatti. So many 'chhattis'. I was wondering what they were?
By this time we were in the aura of the Himalayas. The bus was climbing, huffing and puffing at the altitude( or attitude?) of the Himalayas. The green tops were peering down at us- here comes another gang of admirers! Of ho! And me sitting on the cliff side was peering down at the Yamuna flowing along with us. As if assuring us not to worry, she will guide us to our destination. Who needs GPS and Siris here where since time immemorial nature has it's own way of guiding it's own! We crossed a quaint iron bridge, and a tiny hamlet came into view. Hardly a cluster of ten to twelve dwellings and small shops. Phoolchatti it was. We were going to take a long and relaxed tea break here as we were too ahead of schedule. The time was around four in the evening and the sun had already started to send his slanting rays towards us. We all had started glowing in it like the gold in a jeweller's display window. Really, this Mr. Sun is a charmer. As soon as we got down we rushed towards the quaint bridge to click pictures. Of us. Of the gurgling Yamuna. Of the green mountains which turned blue further and further away. Of the cow on her way back to her home and hearth. Of all of us together? Mother nature and her Bacchas! After this photography session we moved around the place. At the start itself was a small tea shop with a tiny, old man sitting beside it, giving us a smile. As we moved towards the GMVNL rest house some colourful scarves displayed outside a convenience store caught Sudha's eye. She wanted one of them, designed with the local patterns. We had encountered many local women on the way with their hair tied up in these scarves. She bought one and immediately transformed herself from a 'plains' girl to a mountain belle. All our fellow travellers had already settled themselves in the GMVNL restaurant. We thought otherwise and traced our steps back to that small tea stall. 
"Uncleji, chai milegi?" We chorused.
Before affirming our question he asked us to come and take a seat.
"Andar aa ke baitho to pehle, betaji!" That famous Indian hospitality etiquette.
We took our seats besides his stove, or rather I took my seat and the ever restless Sudha stood beside him busy taking his 'tea- recipe' down. As we started our own ' chai pe charcha' (long before it became an election campaigning methodology!) the regular tidbits came our way. Of how just a couple of days back this route was bustling with pilgrims and we were lucky to enjoy the nature in this quietude. These parts are amongst the most important of the Hindu Pilgrimage sites and see a huge rush of the faithfuls in the month of May and June. We were here in the first week of July precisely for this reason. And also now than later to avoid the heavy rains which would lash the place in a fortnight. We then came to knew about his life story, not much different from the others in these region. He comes from the foothills of the Himalayas and travels here every Pilgrimage season to earn. His family was down there and like every householder in the world who has to move away from his home and hearth to earn a living, he too was missing them badly. Now, after so much of an intimate exchange we thought it fair enough to ask his name. 
Here comes the shocker. "My name is what it is.", he replied in jest. 
Huh, now I was hooked. Why didn't he just tell his name? What was his name?
" There are millions of names in this world, what is your name?" I prodded him further. 
Not one to duck the challenge, he replied " My name is one of Lord Shiva's name. Now you can keep guessing." Well Indian Gods and Goddesses have innumerable names, enough to name the 1.2 billion population of India.
I had met my match! Really he was talking in puzzles! Sudha and I exchanged an amused glance. In what remote corner of India would one encounter an intriguing Indian, is anybody's guess. Ok, now he enquired what was my name.
 Here I come!
" My name Uncleji, is one of the many of Goddess Laxmi!" 
Aaahh! That look which passed from him to me and back, of one quirky creature to another! Two birds of the same flock.
Bliss! These episodes are the spice of the travels all around. Around such encounters I realised that I'm never an 'independent' traveller but all the brownies I gather on the way are interdependent on every person, stone, cloud, river, tree, mountain,goat I meet on the way. And ofcourse my thoughts about them.
We were ready with our next query, this 'Chatti' business was intriguing us and we asked him. 
"Why is every place called Chhatti here? What exactly does it mean?"
This he didn't return back with a puzzle but shared the story with us. He said," Just as you have come here, on this pilgrimage, you would be staying up at different GMVNL rest houses here and there. Similarly these parts are so pious that even the God's from heaven come down for pilgrimage here. Now when Hanumanji comes, he stays at 'Hanuman chhatti'. When Janaki mayya comes she takes up lodging and boarding at 'Janaki chhatti'." 
" But this place is called 'Phoolchhatti' ", why?I queried.
" Where do flowers come from? Don't they too come from heaven? This place is the abode of flowers!". Thus spoke the wise old man. 
Indeed aren't flowers with their beauty, giving pleasure to themselves and everyone coming in contact with them just heavenly? So true. I opened my eyes to this abode of flowers afresh and the place looked something else this time.
Finishing our tea and talks we started to join the gang. Here they had discovered that behind the guest house runs a path taking us down to Yamuna. Sudha and I shrieked! What are we waiting for? Thus started the walk to Yamuna. On a really narrow path. Hopping on boulders abruptly strewn in the path( this surely must be Yamuna's doing!), we reached a picture postcard. In front of us were strewn boulders and pebbles, big and small, of all colours and hues and then as if to soften this sight behind them was flowing the gushing beauty, Yamuna. She was wrapped in the golden silk, such was the shimmer on her water. All doing of that charmer, Mr. Sun. And to provide an appropriate background to her was the green mountain on the other bank. I was rooted to the spot where I experienced this scene. In a while everyone's shrieks of pleasure brought me back to my senses and I too ran towards the Yamuna.
Leaving behind the shoes, I proceeded towards her, hopping again on these beautiful stones, everyone different than the other. In looks, in feel. Did they have such distinct stories too? Maybe they shared those between each other to pass the time. The infinite time they must have been here and the infinite time they will be here. Oh! There were millions of stones, they would definitely leave the Arabian Nights behind. I left them to their occupation and slowly as I reached the bank dipped my toe in the water.
Urrrrghhh....have I ever felt something so ice cold? It was freeeeeezing! Right here with it's surface shining in the sun, it was literally freezing. Ok Vivi(that's what I call myself when feeling very French) be brave. And here I went into her. The icy cold didn't feel too bad after a while, infact it felt refreshing. Rejuvenating. I sat down on one of the protruding boulders in the middle of the surging waters. It would be an understatement to say I experienced 'Yamuna' then. This is how I will remember her and this is how I will recall her. Whenever I overhear her name in any random conversation, I hope I will be transferred in spirit to this boulder. In the middle of Yamuna. Where I see her and where I feel her. 
It was time to move on. Like always. Did I find everyone in a somber mood or was I imagining it.  Maybe imagining. Because as we reached Janki chhatti, the decibels of the group were back to normal. The temperature had started dipping and we all settled with a hot cuppa of tea and gossip. At the time of sunset we were treated with beautiful views of snow capped peaks, pink in the fading light. As the sun left for the day, we too moved indoors and got everything ready for next day's trek to the source of Yamuna. After the intro between her and me, I was quite looking forward to it.
As always trekking in the Himalayas starts at the crack of the dawn. We covered a distance of few kms by the vehicle. It is a pleasant day trek, around twelve kms in all with maximum height reached around 3292meters. The trek started through the clusters of shops and rest houses mushroomed at the foothill. After about half a km the way is cleared up with both sides lined up with deciduous trees. At this point is the GMVNL rest house where we were supposed to come back for lunch. I peeked inside to see a manicured garden and beautiful poppy fields behind, stretching almost till the continuous rocky mountain range behind. But since everyone had started going ahead of me I brought my attention back to the trek and started walking. One step ahead of other. My most favourite way of relaxation. My way of meditation. The rhythm, the surroundings, the silence. The path ahead doesn't just take you up to a higher altitude but somewhere deeper inside. We start noticing the things along the path, the ferns propping on the rocky outcrops, the wildflowers peeping from behind the intermingling vines, the patterns on the rocks making up your way. And then on the thoughts running across your mind, that strong resolve propping in the mind, some faraway belief peeping from behind the doubts. And the moment that 'doubt' comes into my mind I notice the belief. No, not inside. Outside. Ringing of bells and chanting the Goddess's name all around. At the next turn colours come into vision. A procession of a palanquin carrying an image of a Goddess and her faithfuls passed bye. Here people don't just come for a pilgrimage with tiffins and water bottles, suitcase full of clothes and beddings, parents and children. They bring along their Gods and Goddesses too. And what was I thinking about? Doubt? 
The summit had been reached. Both sides were lined with shops selling the staple of Himalayan Trekkers- tea and Maggi. I was not interested. I had to go and meet Yamuna. As I proceeded towards the source the shops selling snacks gave way to one's displaying all kind of religious fanfare. Bling. Red. Golden. The road ends at a temple dedicated to 'goddess' Yamuna. Yes. Goddess. I find it intriguing,this compulsion of Hinduism to deitfy every natural resource and then in turn humanise every deity! Queer, touching and intimate. There was the usual rush of the faithfuls and the priests, all busy in the elaborate rituals to please the Goddess. I bowed and offered my respects and made way to a path leading to Yamuna. Here she was gushing ahead at such force, it was awe inspiring. And if possible the water was more icy cold than yesterday. 
I performed my rituals for her here to show my belief,in the absence of a priest chanting mantras. To feel her, to touch her, to get lost in her sounds. And thus I bow to my own Goddess. Yamuna.

Myth: Yamuna is considered to be the daughter of the Sun god. And Yam, the God of moral law and death is her brother. Hence this pilgrimage here blesses the faithful with long life. 

Flight of pigeons: Junoon.

Lola and Dali, were house guests with Jaee. When she shared this pic with me I immediately fell for them. They lodged and boarded up with her for two days. All fun and frolic for two days. But Jaee's big plans for Lola and Dali were to set them free. Yes, indeed set them free! This was my friend's beautiful idea to bring these avifauna home, host them and then set them free to soar in their own sky. As much as I loved this couple, I loved the idea. Isn't there something absolutely intoxicating about these words, 'soar' 'high' 'set' 'free' 'independance'? I decided to be inspired by it and immediately went to a pet shop to do my share of work in this 'Independence movement'!
The shop had many cages arranged on the pavement outside the shop. They were stacked onto one another. All full of unimaginable riot of colours on these winged creatures. What a commotion they were creating, cackling to the top of their voice! Was this show for me? Well, I was loving it! A peep into the shop told me that the shopkeeper was busy with a customer there to buy a couple of goldfish. They were engrossed in their conversation about the art of caring and raising them. I was in the meanwhile enjoying my personal opera performance. I'm not much acquainted with the different species of birds other than what are popularly called lovebirds, parakeets, cockatiels, canaries, etc. There were the big brothers too in the form of pigeons and doves. Finally the other customer left with two tiny gold fish and a big smile. 
I started my line of inquiry to the shopkeeper.
"I want to buy a couple of birds."
Here comes a smile of appreciation from the shopkeeper to a prospective customer.
"What kind of birds do you have in mind?"
"Well, such that can sustain themselves."
An eyebrow is raised here.
"What?"
" Well you see I want to set them free once I buy them." I felt like Mother Teresa, Amelia Earhart, and a Agatha Christie adventuress all rolled into one. Haah! What immense satisfaction. A deep sigh escaped me.
Instead of some appreciative noise, I was experiencing deep silence.The shopkeeper instead wanted to confirm the idea I had just blurted out.
" yes! I want to set these birds free. Could you tell me which of them could look after themselves? Be equipped in finding food and shelter?"
"NONE"
"What?"
Now that the shopkeeper had understood the whole act he started patiently explaining to me what I later realised to be a bitter truth.
" M'am look at these birds. Look at their vibrant colours. They are easily spotted by the larger birds and that makes them easy prey."
Hmmm..what he was saying was true. But hey wait a minute....
I rebutted, " Arre! Aren't there beautifully coloured birds in the wild. If what you are saying was true the forests would be bereft of beautifully coloured birds!"
He had his reply ready. Maybe every worldly person has this reply ready. Maybe my parents had this reply ready. Maybe every 'sensible' person I've met had this reply ready.
And all these people have the same concern and patronising tone in their words.
"These birds were raised in a secure environment ( read captivity). They've grown up in these cages. They don't know the outside world. Do you understand the meaning of this M'am?"
Oh yes! I did. Very well indeed! Without a word I turned and left the shop. 
As I lie on my bed at night and look out of the window at the tiny pink flowers which only bloom once a year during the spring, I reflect on today's incident. And beauty. And the vulnerability it causes. Those words 'raised in captivity' ring in my head. Those creatures must be born and raised under protection and utmost care. Now, in their cages displaying their beauty and cackling away; how happy they looked in this secure environment. But do they know the world on the other side of that cage door? Those beautiful winged creatures who soar the sky, dip down to catch the worm, migrate to warmer climates,; do they know about their caged counterparts? It is destiny or that happy accident of birth which has placed them both where they are. So the question I ask myself is who is really HAPPY? The one privileged to experience the secure environment or the one who soars the sky in the wild...
Is it limited to these birds? Am I not in the same boat or rather on the same flight? While being blessed with a secure environment is it really possible to discover ourselves? Does one go on that self reflection trip in the routine of everyday life? Isn't one most attached to one self when experiencing that detachment to the life left behind while travelling? Would I have realised 'my' dreams? How could all this happen if I wouldn't have opened that door of the cage and stepped out in the world. There have been tremendous risks and 'unsecured situations. My heart has beat like a drum so many times! I've been scared to death too but hasn't all this actually chipped me into the person I am. I've made plain, stupid mistakes to even put myself in jeopardy but ( and this is a very important BUT) they have all made me. In the truest sense. 
But isn't it also a chance to test all the virtues and skills, and preaching learnt in that secure world? Something on these lines had happened when I was taking that step out in this world, out of the cage. Out of all protection and security. Out there to discover the world and myself. One fine day my dad had called me from Abu Dhabi. He announced that he is going to introduce me to seven best friends. I was thinking,' Wow! Really, seven friends?' Then he further said that these guys will stay with me for life. 'huh?I was confused now.' I asked, not being able to contain the suspense. 
"Papa, who are they?" 
But he wasn't letting it go so easily. He first asked me for a promise,"You have to make a promise first. Whatever the situation in life you will never take a decision without consulting these seven friends." 
Hmmm...not that difficult to follow? I wanted to know who they were. " Yes, papa. I promise." 
And then he finally said," My dear girl, they are - Mr. Who, Mr. When, Mr. What, Mr. Where, Mr. How, Mr. Which and the most important Miss. Why." 
I knew it! This was again going to be one of my dad's stupid attempt at an 'art of living' discourse. I was annoyed. I wanted real flesh and blood friends! With whom I could hang out, have fun! Not these. 
That was that. I had even forgotten about these friends later until that situation which that pet shopkeeper had described. Of predators and unsecured surroundings. And then as in many situations in life no flesh and blood friend was with me. Here these seven creatures came to me and made me realise the right solution. And after that every time I have opened this cage and stepped out I have been careful to be accompanied with my seven dearest friends! 
So I think it isn't so bad to survive in the outside world if one is really 'prepared' for it. For the sake of it, the sky is visible even through the bars of the sky but for me I want to see it from the horizon to horizon and soar high to even touch it. My sky. My wings. My spirit.


Note: The title of the piece is a book by Ruskin Bond. Which was made into an equally good film titled 'Junoon' meaning 'passion'. I hope the context gets clear after reading the above piece.

Four Rivers - The germ of an idea.

Part1 Introduction

There's a collection of travelogues by Ruskin Bond called 'Tales of the open road.' It is as delectable as his other works but what interests me in this book is his numerous trips through real India. Most of them in the Indian state of Uttarakhand where he has spent  his life in the lap of Himalayas. In one of the essays he describes this particular 'trail' of following the four major rivers of the state. 
Uttarakhand is basically a crisscross of Himalayan mountains and rivers. Out of this, all small or big rivers in the end merge to form the Ganges, before it leaves the state for the plains. The only exception is Yamuna. Ruskin Bond on this trail, travelled along these rivers, namely the Alakhnanda, the Mandakini, the Bhagirathi (all coming together to form the Ganges) and the Yamuna. He travelled along them to reach their source. All of them have their distinctive valleys, formed either by the submission of the mountain or the river.
This reading pepped me up to follow these four rivers and experience this unique, interdependent, informal, uncanny, eerie relationship between the Himalayas and it's rivers. I have to admit this also expanded the scope of my thoughts about the Himalayas. I started to also take them in context of their surroundings, namely the rivers, trees and even the living beings in their shadow. Earlier, mostly on my treks, I had been very subjective about the Himalayas. It was all about what they meant to me and in some minuscule way what I meant to them. The awe and respect they inspired in me, the humility they taught me; and the love I had for them. It was all very personal and private till now.

It was as usual, Sudha who was my partner in crime. We booked our trip with GMVNL, a branch of the state tourism who organises the transport and accommodation in this state of extremely remote destinations and difficult travel conditions. The state of Uttarakhand is on the border of India and Autonomous region of Tibet. Till the start of 1960 there was hardly any road network here to talk of. The place was as remote as end of the world with travellers crossing steep ravines and deep gorges all as an adventure either to reach a mountain peak, a pass or on a pilgrimage. Albeit even in the absence of motorable roads this state was full of walkways and paths trampled by millions of pilgrims from time immemorial to reach the numerous Hindu shrines the state is sprinkled with. Then there were the famous English Sahibs like Jim Corbett in Kumaon who used to move on foot getting rid of man-eaters or 'Pahari' Wilson who's horse's hooves are still heard on the bridge he helped built in Harsil. Then there were the daredevil surveyors of the East India Company who lived on the edge,literally and carried out the unending and crucial job of surveying and mapping the most inaccessible parts of India. This was a world of mystique and legends where very few ventured. They had to be mad adventurers or religious zealots, such were the demanding conditions of the place.
It all changed during the 1962 India-China war. The absence of a road network proved extremely disastrous as no basic support could be provided to the defence forces on the border. Even their movement till the frontiers had become difficult. Hence after 1962 there was a scurry in developing the infrastructure within the state. The Border Roads Organisation or the BRO as it is more commonly called was formed. And since it's inception the BRO has executed the job of making even the remotest corner on a steep cliff of an Himalayan peak accessible if it is strategically important for the country. The life and struggles of a BRO officer, the permanent presence of adventure and difficulties, the working itself of the organisation is a subject less explored. Shouldn't it be a study for nationalists and humanitarians? I wonder.
Coming back on the road to be travelled, the above background information was necessary to establish the story of today's tourism here. During the days of pathways and walkways and long treks on them, the British had built a network of rest houses at intervals for their Sahibs. Post Independence these were taken over by the state government tourism department who maintain them now. They are in such remote parts on various treks that one is amazed. Thus here even the most arduous and tough treks are tea house treks, i.e minus tents and with basic living conditions. At the end of the day's stretch one reaches the comforts of a rest house with a chowkidar! What bliss! With all the old world charm! Ofcourse there are trekkers who prefer tents,but I would take my tea-house trek anytime.  On the basis of these and the intricate road network the state government tourism department, the GMVNL is the best bet to organise and guide through the travels and treks here. Thus having ticked out the main thing on the list,we started our trip from Delhi.
I usually follow this plan of spending a day in Delhi before every trek. All the Himalayan trekking base camps whether in Garhwal or Kumaon or Himachal have a train,road,air connection through Delhi. I prefer to benefit by this situation by taking an early morning flight to Delhi where if one reaches by nine, the whole day opens up before me to explore my favourite historic city- the city of ruins. I then take the conveniently scheduled night trains to my trekking base camp destination thus avoiding spending a night in the infamously unsafe Delhi for girls. This time Sudha and I had decided to honour Sultan Feroz Shah to be our host. The reason being this master builder had in his time discovered and placed Emperor Ashoka's 250 B.C.E sandstone pillar in his fort-palace in Delhi. This pillar glows and gives the illusion of being made of gold. And how much did I wanted to witness this spectacle! But alas! It was the month of July and hence Delhi was sitting comfortably under a blanket of dark clouds. The pillar glows only in bright sunlight. We still visited it, remarked on the ancient 'Brahmi' script. After spending an relaxing afternoon on the beautifully maintained green lawns in the premises and an even more fun evening at Connaught place we were ready to board the Mussorie Express which would take us to Haridwar, the foothills of Himalayas in the morning. Here starts this trip- where I discovered not only the different traits of nature but myself too! As always the external exploration coinciding with the internal discoveries.

Ithaka by Cavafy

( For all the travellers who have their own Ithaka)

When you set out for Ithaka 
ask that your way be long, 
full of adventure, full of instruction. 
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops, 
angry Poseidon - do not fear them: 
such as these you will never find 
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare 
emotion touch your spirit and your body. 
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops, 
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them 
unless you carry them in your soul, 
unless your soul raise them up before you. 

Ask that your way be long. 
At many a Summer dawn to enter 
with what gratitude, what joy - 
ports seen for the first time; 
to stop at Phoenician trading centres, 
and to buy good merchandise, 
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, 
and sensuous perfumes of every kind, 
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can; 
to visit many Egyptian cities, 
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned. 

Have Ithaka always in your mind. 
Your arrival there is what you are destined for. 
But don't in the least hurry the journey. 
Better it last for years, 
so that when you reach the island you are old, 
rich with all you have gained on the way, 
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth. 
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey. 
Without her you would not have set out. 
She hasn't anything else to give you. 

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you. 
So wise you have become, of such experience, 
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean.

Feroz Shah Kotla, New Delhi

This is about the ruins and not the stadium. The place is in the shadow of the modern stadium but lends it name to it. The ruins I visited:

As we were going around the mound looking for steps to take us up to the top, couple of women came around the corner and showed us the way up. But before we could thank them and proceed, one of them stopped us and told us to immediately cover our heads. I thought it must be a religious custom and did as told. As we had entered the citadel of Feroz Shah Kotla we had encountered no. of shrines indifferent alcoves with incense sticks burning all around. Presuming this to be a sacred place we went on with our purpose of visit. It was when I read Darymple's  'City of Djinns' I came to knew the crux of the story. The place is inhabited by djinns just like the whole of Delhi. It is the djinns or the spirits, whose love for Delhi has kept the city alive through centuries. To go back to the start, the ladies were telling us to cover our heads as the djinns get entangled in a girl's long hair! Really!

 

But this myth hadn't brought me to Feroz Shah Kotla. It was much more definite, the Golden Column of Asoka. The story has two unlikely protagonists - Sultan Feroz Shah of the 14th century A.D and Emperor Asoka of 3rd century B.C.E.
Feroz Shah was Mohammed bin Tughlaq's cousin and succeeded him to become the Sultan of Delhi. This same 'eccentric' Mohammed bin Tughlaq is the one who had started one disasters after other like minting copper coins instead of gold, shifting the capital and it's population to Daulatabad (1200 kms down south) and back or building a welcome pavillion for his father which crushed and killed him. I am always amazed by his personality to manufacture disasters. Moving ahead, when he died of plague near a battlefield, his cousin Feroz Shah was put on the throne. Though Feroz Shah was a mild mannered liberal,born to a Hindu mother, he had to carry out periodical assaults on temples to satisfy the puritans. One of the temples to come under his sword is the famous Jagannath temple in Orissa. But he had many more facets than to be manipulated by the nobels around.
He was a master builder, patron to engineering and architectural works like madrases, hospitals, bridges, canals etc. He was also into restoration. On one of his outings outside Delhi, in today's Haryana he came across a marvellous sight. A pillar of gold! 42 feet in length and weighing 25 tonnes. On making inquiries he was told that it is called Bhim's lath(stick). As always in India any natural or manmade ancient site is always connected to Ramayana or Mahabharata.(Sometimes I wonder at the extent of the length and breadth covered by Ram, Sita and Lakshman. Everywhere I go they have already been there right upto the border of Tibet!) Here, Feroz Shah was so fascinated by this column that he decided to move it to the city he was building in Delhi, Ferozabad. This city was to have a fort named as FirozShah Kotla.
The transfer of this column is another fascinating read, first the column was wrapped in tonnes and tonnes of cotton. Then earth was removed from the base of the column and it gently fell on this bed of cotton. Then it was wrapped in raw so as to avoid any damage to it during transportation. Once horizontal it was carried on a carriage made with 42 wheels to the banks of Yamuna where a barge was specially made to carry this pillar to Delhi.
At Delhi, it was given the most prominent place with a huge base mound, three storied high built to place it. Here the Sultan gathered all his nobels and intellectuals to study it. What they discovered was that the column was actually made of sandstone but was so polished that in bright sunlight it shined to give an illusion of being made of gold. They also discovered that it was covered with inscriptions all over. To satisfy his curiosity about the origin and purpose of the column Feroz Shah invited Hindu pandits from all over the region. But noone could decipher the language written over it, neither was it Sanskrit  or Prakrit. This confusion was mainly because of the unknown 'script' of the inscriptions. In the end it was mutually decided that maybe it was Greek afterall and Alexander must have built it to comemorate his victory. Still FirozShah remained so fascinated with it that he even wrote poems about it calling it minara I zarin, 'column of gold'. This was around 1360 A.D.

 

 

 

Many rulers succeeded Feroz Shah and inturn built their own 'Delhi'. Large parts of Feroz Shah's city were dismantled and used as raw materials by them, only the Kotla somehow stayed in, more or less as a ruined symbol. Now in the 17th century as the British started entering India with the East India Company, many British travellers started visiting the Mughal Emperor at Delhi. They went exploring and came across this pillar of gold. There is a long story which follows but slowly and steadily the British came across more samples of the columns and the script- one at Delhi itself on the Ridge, one in the fort of Allahabad, one in northern Bihar etc. When the Asiatic Society was formed in Calcutta this matter was one of the foremost to be investigated. After a lot, and I mean it, a lot of hardwork the script was deciphered as 'brahmi'.  It was actually James Princep who deciphered it. There is a famous ghat on the Ganges named as Princep Ghat in his memory in Calcutta.
And the inscriptions were then named as 'Pillar edicts' of Emperor Asoka on the moral code for his subjects.This was around 250 B.C.E.

 

 

 

                                              

Asoka had another 'Rock edicts' too. These were inscriptions on rocks placed at strategic locations within his empire. The purpose of both these edicts was served with Asoka's officials reading out the emperor's message for his subjects. The inscription on stone gave the message permanence, and how! They have stayed with us for more than two thousand years. The content of these moral codes is another matter which fascinates me to no end. About that later.
So the pillar is precisely more than 2250 years old, still with the same shine and with same message of Asoka. It represents the feats and ingenuity of both the Emperors, one who created it and the other who brought it in public domain.
I was so fascinated by reading about all this that I was waiting with baited breath to visit Delhi and experiencing it myself. But I was there in July when the sky was cloudy and I couldnt view it in its full glory. It has to be viewed between 12-3 in bright sunlight!
Maybe I'll visit it again and this time meet the djinns too!

Further reading:
City of Djinns by William Darymple
Asoka by Charles Allen

Saheliyon ki Bari - Udaipur,Rajasthan.

Saheliyon ki Bari or friends' gathering place is a pleasure garden in Udaipur, Rajasthan. This royal garden is also the most memorable place of my childhood. On the innumerable family holidays that I've spent in Udaipur then, saheliyon ki Bari is etched in my sub conscious.
The story goes that - It was built on the assertion of a princess by her father. She loved the rain and wanted to experience it allround the year and her dad obliged with this marvellous architectural, and engineering feat. Water from the nearby lake is brought to this place in ducts. The place is divided in 3 sections on the basis of the intensity of the rain. There are sprinklers and fountains giving away the sound of rain like nowhere, from light rain to heavy downpour. It is to be experienced to be believed. The whole effect transforms the place into such a lush, luxurious and aesthetically pleasing environment. The lotus ponds and exquisitely carved marble gazebos together bring a light headedness. It transfers one to era of royalty and royal leisurely life. This princess used to come here with all her friends and they used to experience it in it's full glory.

 

 

Even today when I remember the place, that gurgling sound of rain comes back to me, transforming me back to my childhood. And not just me, it could take everyone back to the time when everything is possible. One just has to wish for it.
In the same breath I also think of that king who took up the challenge of creating rain yearlong, amidst a desert where the seasonal rain too deludes once not too often. What is that feeling where a parent or a loved one does absolutely anything to bring pleasure on the child's face. Though to gift itself is a amusing activity, to do it with a child is pure delight.
My Bha(grandpa) was one such creature. I used to adore Chocobars in my childhood so much but everyone in the family used to restraint me, a cruelty only adults are capable of. Bha had this habit of talking a leisurely stroll mid mornings. On his way back he used to make a round of the market and even do some household shopping. Every alternate day he started taking me too on these walks. We both used to enjoy our Chocobars at one of my Bha's friend's restaurant. It was kind of a secret between the three of us. But inturn everyone at home got an inkling of the happenings. To everyone's utter surprise my grandpa used to absolutely block out the subject. In time everyone came to accept the unspoken word and my outings continued. I never understood the situation as it was then but now as I look back on those moments and the delightful smiles of Bha and me it engulfs me in a warm feeling of pure, unadulterated joy.

 

                                                                 

 

Udaipur: It became the capital of the Mewar region after Chittorgarh. The palaces are hence not in ruins, infact in all their royal glory. The city palace, the main residence of the royal family is grand and beautiful. The glass palace, the mor(peacock) chowk, the Krishna paintings or simply the colours explode your senses. The intricate jalis and all, one would just wish to live here. Udaipur also has the Lake Palace Hotel, again a place of my childhood memories.
The reason for our innumerable visits here is the nearby Keshriyaji in Dungarpur, our ancestral place. We still have our temple here and it takes the whole clan here on constant pilgrimage. Dungarpur was also an erstwhile kingdom. The famous cricket administrator, Raj Sinh Dongarpur comes from that royal family and even has his palace there, though now in ruins.

 

 

 

End Part: On the way back home

August18th 2011

What was I doing yesterday? Since morning I was reflecting on it. I mean I was acting like a Roadies contestant given a task to cover as many places in a day to avoid elimination! It was so extremely tiring though not to say unenjoyable. But all the fatigue truly put me to probably the deepest sleep ever. And after the deep slumber of the night it is a miracle that I was up and ready for the Duronto at eight. 
The day though began with a while spent just viewing the Ganges and it's bridge and all the activity around it. This balcony was really an interesting place to go into a daze. And now, sitting alone here, looking out on the fast passing scenery, yesterday was playing out in my mind. First of all I had to acknowledge that my fascination for Calcutta took me to places more than the to-do list. Still I left out on as much as  I covered. That fascinating Banyan tree with its sheer expanse was where I wanted to go and sit under. I wanted to experience the slightly mystic Kalibari temple. And visit Rose Aylmer's tomb- A night of memories and of sighs! All this made me realised one can't see everything in a day, in spite of the strongest of the intents. And it isn't compulsory to do that too! A very useful insight for the future travels. But as it happens with even the most difficult of travel experiences, they trouble only when one is actually enduring them. On hindsight they are always a delight. And so I'll always cherish my day out in Cal. 
As I looked around after this reflection, I was alone. Every other fellow traveller was out sleeping somewhere. It amazes me that people use their train journeys to sleep, and sleep so more. As if covering all the lost naps in their lifetime. On the contrary for me it is this moment suspended in air where the passivity of the situation opens up our mind to anything and everything. From the immediate surroundings to the faraway world. Right now there was the Times lying around and I picked it up.
It is interesting to peep into the everyday happenings of the places one visits as a distant world. There was some main news about the apathy of citizens of Calcutta. Two youngsters, due to their own fault had come to an accident somewhere on a busy flyover. People had passed by without helping them out and it had created a furore. Isn't the hassle of helping out too small a price to pay for saving a human life. I wonder. Apart from that nothing much worth remembering.
In the meanwhile, there was a racket happening in the next compartment. They all looked like Bengalis, old couples. One moment they were playing cards, on the other they were having heated discussions and then on other sharing some jokes. The place was alive with the sound of their laughter. Listening to them I wondered what makes people share these moments?  In India 'regionalism' is quite strong, strengthened even more by a common language. Would they have included me if I was sitting with them? I can only speculate. I have often thought of learning the Bengali language, but how far will it take me in that society. Yes, I would be able to make friends with the delightful characters in their literature but would I move beyond the inanimate?
I hypothesise because though I'm born and brought up in Maharashtra, I speak the language too, I feel like an outsider, sometimes if not always. And as of being born as a Gujrati I have absolutely no connect with Gujrat. So it doesn't even matter if I'm included or not. All this weird groups in India really make me confused. Maybe I'll be known as the 'girl from nowhere'. Who went everywhere? Ha! Now that's a fab thought!
All these musings were interesting but now I was dying to talk to people. And by noon everyone was assembled around. There was one law student around, a Bengali uncle and one Sindhi aunty. This Bengali uncle really entertained us with all the gory details of the animal sacrifices at the famous Kalibari temple in Calcutta. Blood thirsty that I am I absolutely enjoyed it but I don't think that aunty liked it one bit. Gosh! What fun! So now she was again dozing off. I wondered if I should take matters in my hand and annoy her for a while. Just to liven her. But then maybe she would be just bored. Not worth the effort.
So forgetting about everyone around and everyone not around I was just happy with my thought-
The Girl from nowhere - who goes everywhere:-)

Some other corner of the world next time,if the world has corners....

Part 11: A day in Calcutta.

August 17th 2011

The train reached Howrah station in the most slow and lethargic movements as if she had run out of all her steam to transfer us here. But thankfully she made it to the end. It was about half past five. We moved out of the dimly lit station and asked for the Yatri Niwas. It was just next door and on enquiry we came to knew that passengers possessing a valid ticket can stay at the place for 48 hours. I only needed to stay twenty four hours so my problem was solved! They could keep all the remaining hours with them, ha ha ha, coz tomorrow morning I would be off in my Duronto train to Pune. Though the trip had been absolute fun it had been equally unpredictable and I was happy to go to the comforts and routine of home. Sudha came up with me to see the place. At an government run place one never knows what to expect. We inspected the room which was spic and span but somehow it gave me the ageing impression. I don't know why it was so grey, everything from the wall paint to the bedsheets to the washroom tiles. We saw a door at the other end of the room and opening came upon the stupendous sight of the Ganges. I know this river is called Hooghly and actually is a tributary of the Ganges but it's sheer size makes me call it the Ganges itself. The balcony had the famous Howrah bridge on it's left, the Ganges surging ahead and a street full of yellow taxis below.

 It was so soothing to watch that slow flow of taxis where they brought passengers from maybe different parts of Calcutta and dropped them inturn to again form a line to pick up passengers for some other part of Calcutta. I came out of my reverie and said goodbyes to Sudha. She was heading to her cousin's place somewhere south. We made a tentative plan to meet around four at Kalighat, but I was to keep her informed during the day how I'm progressing on my plan. I had a nice bath and refreshed; I was ready for  'a day in Calcutta.'
In accordance with yesterday's discussion  I had decided to start the day at Flury's. It's a cafe from the days of the British. As it is also mentioned in my favourite book by Vikram Seth I headed straight for it. It was not yet quarter past seven but Sudha had assured me it is a famous breakfast haunt so it would be open by the time I reach there. So heading out I hailed the yellowest taxi in sight and we started speeding towards Calcutta. The Howrah station in Howrah being on one side and Calcutta on the other with the Ganges flowing in between. The two sides are connected by the pre-independence Howrah bridge, a single span bridge. Because of this engineering feat it is quite famous all over India still. I too took part in this feat and our taxi crossed over to the official Calcutta. As always I came across an extremely talkative taxi driver. And we talked about everything from my hometown Pune to his hometown Dhanbad. He then informed me that I was lucky to come today as the weather was much better as it had rained earlier in the week. The guy knew everything in the world except the address I wanted to go to-the Park Street Post office. My LP map was my guide today and it showed Flury's diagonally opposite the Post Office. So we had a nice ride around the leafy lanes and asking around finally he dropped me there. Now the thing I've always noted with LP maps is if I follow it I end up in the wrong directions. I wonder if they are mirror images of the original. Here too as I started following it I sensed something wrong. I asked a lady and she said I was going in the wrong direction (as usual!) and she would walk me there as it was on her way. We started talking and she told me that she worked at an airlines office nearby. By the time I narrated a brief account of the trip we had come to a square and she pointed the pink 'Flury's board on the other side. She wished me a nice day in Calcutta and I proceeded forward.

Thank god the place was open, though just. I entered the place and looked around to savour the atmosphere. There is  a patisserie counter  ahead just as you enter and the sit down restaurant on the left. I turned left and settled into a corner table. The waiter came along and brought the pink menu card. That colour itself was so cute, who wouldn't want to see it first thing in the morning. Anyways I selected some cheese and tomato croissant and cappuccino. And as the waiter turned and left to bring my order I took out a camera to capture the table setting. As a memory. In a while a gentleman came and the waiter welcomed him with a smile. He ordered his usual breakfast,must be some local patron. I was wondering what this 'usual' must be but by the time I was done with my yummy and choicest breakfast in a while and it was time for next destination.
The doorman pointed me in the direction of Victoria Memorial and I moved ahead. Turning left, right I wandered on to the main road. This was lined by old derelict structures, mostly office buildings. The place was abuzz with office goers and it wasn't even half past eight yet. Maybe here in the eastern part of India this is their way of daylight saving in the absence of different time zones in a huge country like India. After a while huge open spaces opened up on my right. These were the famous 'maidans'- central open spaces of Calcutta, still surviving from the British era. I moved ahead, after a while the Victoria Memorial came into view.

The structure was built to welcome Queen Victoria on her maiden visit to India and is an example of quintessentially Victorian architecture. The placed looked quite serene with it's surrounding green vista. I payed my customary ticket money to the Archeological Survey of India which it uses for the upkeep of these structures and sometimes add extremely ugly add ons to these places. The ticket vendor here was the only rude person I came across in Calcutta. Ignoring him I entered the place. There were many morning walkers inside, probably this is the Lodhi Gardens of Calcutta. After encircling the place I thought of seeing the museum it houses but it only opened at ten. So I went around and sat in peace to admire the structure from afar. It had become overcast by then and the whole place looked dream like under the diffused sun rays. As expected it started raining, the reflection of the memorial in the water body in front of it was sheer beauty. I consulted my map and the next destination was the Eden Gardens, India's biggest cricket stadium.

 

Whichever city I visit, I always make it a point to visit and click a snap of it's cricket stadium. For my mum. Yes,she's a cricket buff and always loves those pictures. And this was like the Mecca of Cricket. Now encircling the maidans I was walking back towards the city center. This was a pleasant walk to start with, under the shade of ancient tree canopies, yellow trams passing bye, the greens of the maidans sprinkled with a few people. But as time passed the pleasant walk stretched a bit too long. And there wasn't anyone other than me walking on the path. Cars were zooming past giving me strange stares. The map pointed to a point not too far but this was getting longer and longer and it wasn't that I was wearing trekking shoes. After a while I could spot the stadium but it was on the other side with a huge open space inbetween. After a while I finally reached it. The walk was worth it when I saw a picture of Rahul Dravid, my favourite cricketer.

I did what I had come to do i.e clicked some pictures. Now if I walked straight ahead I was to reach the Dalhousie/ BBD Baghdad square. It is the administrative head quarters since the British times. Now the road was lined with impressive Colonial structures all housing one or the other government offices. This another long walk culminated at the famous Writer's building which now houses the State Secretariat and I envision it with the Chief Minister, Mamta Banerjee. The place had a sprinkling of cops here and there. Here, in West Bengal the cops wear white instead of the customary Khaki all over India and it is a bit difficult to envision them as the police. I went to one of them and enquired if I could take a picture of the building. It is better to ask before clicking these days. As it is I could imagine the communist prison dungeons of Russia from different novels and movies, which must be the case here too as it was ruled by the Communist regime before Ms. Banerjee. The cop gave me a look over, thought for a while and said why not? He even suggested to click from the traffic island for a better frame. Happy, I clicked and crossed over to the other side of the square.

 

 Now I was moving towards the famous India Coffee House and the College street. I came across the State Tourism office and popped in.
The place was ancient. There were desks and chairs lined one after the other straight out of a 70's movie. I only wanted to enquire about the ferry's route and what all places I could touch if I take one. Sudha wasn't upto date on this and had suggested I ask some locals around. As I proposed my question the person attending to me passed it on the guy on the next desk. He inturn passed it on to the next desk. These Chinese whispers ended at a grey haired Official. He informed me that the ferries were available at the moment only between a ghat near the Esplanade to the other side of the Ganges,near the Howrah Station. This wasn't gud news as I could cover even lesser places if I had to travel by road. I thanked them and left after collecting some brochures. I noticed that the state tourism had some interesting trips to places like Sundarbans and even a package at the times of Durga Puja, the major festival here.
Now I had to consult my map quite often because the places had started to get confusing. There were too many narrow lanes which were at points where they were not supposed to be. Atleast according to my map. Now the sun too had come out and it was humid too. I walked along these lanes, crossed over to the other sides still the coffee house wasn't in sight. Finally I enquired at a shop but the shopkeeper was conversant only in Bengali. People in these parts aren't too fond of using Hindi, the national language. And even if they do try it is quite funny and its difficult to keep a straight face in front of them. I took a deep breath and again tried orienting myself with the help of the map, my dearest companion today. I got an inkling of the direction and only after a few meters at a small crossing, there it was- marked by a shiny steel plaque. The India Coffee House. This is one of the cafe not famous for it's coffee or snacks as much as being the place where students in the 70's discussed and brought forward new 'isms'. Once the concepts discussed here used to gather followers all over India. This was like the birth place of revolutionary thoughts of the youth then. After a while many 'India Coffee Houses' cropped up across the country, I think there's one in Delhi and one in some place in Kerala. I entered the place to taste the coffee but without any companion to brainstorm on any issue or 'ism'. There were high chairs and tables around and a self service counter in the front. I ordered a coffee and took some much needed rest after walking on since morning. But now as I looked around this place didn't look like the Coffee House I had seen in a food and travel programme on T.V. That place was much big and there was seating even on first floor where those ceiling fans were hung from double-height ceiling. This was some different place! I think I had goofed up! Well nothing could be done now. I looked around from my high chair and sipped the coffee. Just then my phone started ringing and it was Nivedita. I had met the Roy Chowdharys on a trip to Srilanka the previous year. We all had had fun on the Cook's tour and I was especially fond of their son Aditya. I had noted on the trip that at twelve itself he had developed his own thoughts and opinions on a humanitarian issue we had witnessed in Lanka. So I had informed Nivedita earlier about my trip and she had called to fix a time to meet. When I described my plan for the day she suggested I should meet them for dinner. We planned for around six in the evening as I thought then I could have around two hours with Sudha too. We decided to meet at a place called 'dakshinapan', a shopping centre in the south of the city. This place was down south than Kalighat where I was meeting Sudha so I patted myself for the smart thinking. Finishing the coffee I asked directions to the College Street.
I turned left as instructed and again started to walk. Again this turned out to be an extremely long walk, was I going to spend the day walking? Now the street was lined with kiosks full of books on both sides. Yes this   definitely looked the way I had pictured it after reading it's description. Two of my favourite literary characters Lata and Amit browse for books here selecting a few classics. But as I looked closely these were more of academic books. Now I went from one stall to another inspecting them but they were either law, medicine, engineering, or some competitive exam books. I had specially come here to buy a classic, as a memory of Lata and Amit. The place was abuzz with so many people that it was difficult to move around. I've heard there are many educational institutions on this road, hence this rush, maybe! After maybe looking around for atleast an quarter of an hour I came across a place selling secondhand paper backs. I usually don't go for them for issues of hygiene but here they were going to be a very special memorabilia. There were a few Sidney Sheldons and Daniel Steeles. That type of books. I spotted some Christies in between but they were all the one's I had already read. Finally I came across this book by Eric Newby a compilation of essays on travels, looked quite interesting. I immediately bought it. The next plan of action was to take a ferry ride on the Ganges.

I never miss out on a plan to be on a different element if I could. So I asked around for a tram-stop. Might as well try it till I was in Central Calcutta. Now, these tram stops are extremely difficult to spot, they are these invisible spots where all locals gather and make it a 'stop', I guess.  A girl pointed me to one and I waited to immediately catch one going to Esplanade. Oh wow, the ticket of the tram was so cute. It is a very thin strip of paper like the one's coming out of a shredder. I have no idea what was written on it but I've saved it till date. The tram was now moving back all the way on the route I had walked and I was looking at everything at a very different pace. And I liked it. What an amazing way to look at the world around, such a leisurely pace. All the buzz and activity now looked so interesting to look at, I wanted this tram ride to just go on. I could have sat there for the whole day and looked at people going about their lives. The tram came to a stop at it's final station, the Esplanade. The conductor told me to hop on a bus to the ferry terminus. And I followed his advice.
The ferry terminal wasn't what I expected. One has to go through narrow paths,coming out at an ancient ticket window. I bought a ticket for the Howrah station on the opposite side. This was a chance to view the Howrah Bridge in all it's glory and yes even click some pics. I was planning to take the same ferry back here. I hopped on and the ferry started. All the passengers were locals travelling on purpose. I clicked the Howrah Bridge to my content. This ferry instead of crossing the river was travelling parallel to the edge. The next stop to be on the same side probably so in a moment I decided to alight here as I had already seen the Howrah Bridge and I could save precious time. But as I was getting off,  the whole ferry was looking at me as if what a weird creature. Probably as I was getting off here at the wrong stop. Well I couldn't explain it to them all. I made my way towards the road. There was an old gentleman standing on the road. He was exactly like I  would have imagined a Bengali gentleman through descriptions in books and depictions in films. I asked him about the place from where I could get a bus for Dakshineswar. He immediately told me that it would be on the otherside of the block. I had gathered by now that I was somewhere near the Writer's building, a place I had passed bye in the morning. The old gentleman thought for a minute and then said to follow him. Errr.. I am very trusting type but still I followed him hesitantly. We crossed the roads, passed on through footpaths offering food to all types of office goers. Omg and suddenly I realised it was past one and I was hungry but now there was no time to eat. We passed on and came to the other side, here he stopped a bus. I couldn't see a bus stop anywhere around but the bus stopped on this guy's one shout. He asked the conductor something in Bengali, I think it was if the bus would go all the way to Dakshineswar. I boarded the maroon bus, somewhere between a bus and a mini bus. The gentleman bade me goodbye and I was struck by the person's selfless act. This is what I like about travelling in India, absolute strangers help you out without any selfish motive. The bus was full and I got the only seat in the front row. The best seat. I realised it after a while when the bus took to the maximum speed. The bus started swerving through the crazy traffic and I wanted to hoot aloud. It was super fun, like some mad ride in the fun fair. But I controlled myself, already half of Calcutta must be thinking of me as a mad girl. And there was no need to add to that numbers. This bus zoomed it's way through markets then residential areas, and markets again. Soon the busy modern metropolis surroundings started to change into actually a small town dusty streets. All in a sepia tone. We moved through winding roads with derelict houses embanking them all encompassing a sleepy neighbourhood. The bus stopped near a bridge, the last stop. I was pointed towards a lane taking me towards the Dakhshineswar temple. I reached the premises after a short walk flanked by the usual stalls selling everything from miniatures of the residing deity to garish showpieces to imitation jewellery to refreshments. The place was buzzing with people even on a weekday afternoon. I roamed around to get an idea of the place. The premise is towered by the Kali maa temple, an aggressive incarnation of Parvati, the consort of Shiva. This is where the well known mystic Ramkrishna Paramhansa. He had had his divine vision here and since then the place is flocked by pilgrims and people in spiritual quest. Besides he was also the guru of Swami Vivekananda, the nineteenth century reformist and monk. I was here too because my mother is an admirer of these teacher-student pair and their philosophy. This is actually a reason why I have such a long list of places to visit, because I travel not only for myself but for my mom, for my friends, for the literary characters and everyone else! At the entrance of the temple I came to knew that it opens only at half past three. So I would have to wait here for another half an hour to be able to go inside the sanctum sanctorum. So I retraced my steps to the bathing ghats along the river. The place was full of activity. People were taking dips, some giving offerings, and some kids just playing around with their parents keeping an eye on them. After sometime I made way to a museum in the premises. Ramkrishna Paramhansa's everyday artefacts are preserved here. By now it was time for the temple doors to open and I took my place in the queue.

After the darshan I realised that it was already quarter to four, and how in the world I'm going to reach the Kalighat at four! I called up Sudha and brought her upto date with the situation. She suggested I should directly start for Dakhshinapan as I would just have time to reach there by six. So I came back to the place where I had alighted while coming and quickly took a bus back for Calcutta. Again I got a seat parallel to the driver and why would I complain, I had the best seat in the house. And I was ready to enjoy a very very long drive through Calcutta as my map informed. I was currently at the northernmost point of Calcutta and had to go very very south. The road we were travelling was not the one taken in the noon. I had read in the LP that there is a queer practise here in Calcutta where roads turn into one ways for a particular time of the day. And then the traffic starts running the other day. What fun! I didn't witness this myself but the bus ride was enough. Though this time it was moving at a very decent, but because of the crawling traffic around. The thing I noticed on this slow ride- how poverty was extremely visible here. The scenes play out here everywhere in front of everyone's face. This is not to dismiss poverty from other cities in India but something is different here. Maybe the simplicity of even the people above poverty line ; all adds to the effect. I wondered how much of the communist principles have seeped into the psyche of the public in the thirty odd years of their rule. West Bengal along with Kerala are the states where communist ideology seeds were sown and even took a life of it's own.
This plant then took the forms of elected governments and then went on to rule for substantial periods for their ideologies to seep in. Was all this simplicity and an aversion to capitalist display of wealth coming from that legacy? There were old, derelict structures adding to the effect like some old leftover props on a stage where the actors were definitely on a different tune than the scenes played out anywhere else in India. I really could only speculate on the reasons behind this in the absence of intimate knowledge of the region.
Oye! It was past five and I was living on breakfast till now! That is why these philosophical musings. In all this running about I had skipped lunch and it wasn't going too well with me. I was passing the Sealdeh station now where Sudha and I had boarded the train on the first day of our trip. It now seemed all ages back. I called up Nivedita and updated her with my current location and she was of the opinion that I wouldn't reach Dakhshinapan till atleast quarter past six. And truly the bus was literally crawling now. We were passing the central Calcutta and it was showing. In a while I got down at some market place near the Kalighat. This supposed to be the textile shopping haven. The place had already started to buzz with all the shopping for Durga Puja, Bengal's biggest festival still a month away. Here I consulted my map and my next destination was somewhere outside the map!
This happens so many times with me. Roaming about in a city whether it's London, or Amsterdam I remember going out of the map. Evi, a friend of mine had gone crazy in Amsterdam when she realised we had walked and walked our way out of the maps. She had absolutely refused to go ahead even one step. As I smiled back on that memory I realised the best bet would be to take an autorikshaw to the place. So I stopped at a bus stop to wait but to no avail. There were many people standing there and all with a calmness with the knowledge of where they have to go and how they are going to get there. I was the only one on the verge of panic of the unknown. I so envied them. After a while a lady next to me told me taking a bus would be easier and I followed her advice. Now she told me to get down just past the flyover, she didn't mention there would be more than one! I got down at the wrong one! God would the quota of walking on this day never end? I know I had greedily lapped up everything to see but now I was so very tired after almost twelve hours of being on the move. And I wondered why does this never happen to anyone? People always get down at the right places and are never stranded in the middle of the way. I just gathered all my remaining stamina together and started walking in the direction of my destination.
After a walk of about ten minutes I came to this place, Dakhshinapan. It was now half past six and I called up Nivedita. She was already there and we met in the central open space. She was there with her office colleague, a lady who immediately made a positive impression on me. She was so quintessentially Bengali, dignified and sweet too. Nivedita was addressing her as 'didi' so I too did the same. We started to move towards the shops. The place is full of different State government's textile enterprises. I had to pick up a gift for my mum and as we entered the shops I had already started feeling good. As it is shopping is pleasure but picking up something for others is absolutely delightful.
After we finished our shopping there was a suggestion of tea and we moved towards an auditorium next door where they were serving tea outside. I wandered around to see the posters of some play based on the Nobel laureate Rabindranath's play. I think they were celebrating his 150th birth anniversary at that time. We had some nice refreshing tea and then moved to a temporary handicrafts exhibition where we shared a chaat, a salt and sweet savoury. Ohh this tasted better than it was and  it was heaven, all because of my hunger. By this time bhaiyya and Aditya were on their way to pick us up on our way for dinner.
We persuaded didi to come with us and it was fun all the way. Again I enjoyed my conversation with Aditya, so clear in his thoughts as always. We all chose our dinner from the menu and relaxed for nice, relaxed conversation bouncing from Bhutan to the local flavours and just about everything. I wanted to taste one of the many famous sweets of Bengal and we skipped dessert and moved out to a famous sweet shop. I had 'mishti doi' , a kind of sweet yoghurt served here in clay bowls. Wow, it was amazing but by now I had started feeling drowsy. I tried to persuade the Roy Chowdharys to not to come all the way to Howrah to drop me as they live down south and it would be really out of the way for them. They are too kind for that and came all the way. I actually appreciate it more than any usual situation as I was so extremely tired then. I bade my goodbye and said thanks for a enjoyable evening.

Now as I came up to my room I had energy to just about reach the bed and drop off to sleep. No thoughts, no reflections, just heavenly deep sleep.