Random Notes

Makki Ka Makki

Ok, fine, you saw this coming. Indian American kids have won the 9^th successive Scripps spelling bee competition. Well, this time two Indian American boys have shared it. Yaaawn…. What’s new? Actually nothing. But isn’t that amazing that how our education system has ingrained in our genes, the perfect art of rote learning, or mugging? Even when the Indian diaspora kids are born and brought up in the USA, this quality of rote learning is successfully passed down genetically from the parents. From whatever I have read, Spelling Bee competition is nothing but remembering the spellings and meanings of words (like Gesellschaft or rhinolophid-try pronouncing that!) which no one is going to use and which will be found in only one book-dictionary. Our kids are masters of mugging. Period.

This brings me to the kinds of marks the students score these days in 12^th. Anything less than 95% is ordinary now. A boy committed suicide recently before the CBSE class 10 results were announced fearing poor performance. He had scored 91 % ! When I see my children’s text books, it makes me sad that even now the emphasis is on reproduction of facts. Of course, there is a vast improvement in the text books now compared to what it was during our school days. But even then, I feel that the methodology does not engage or involve the children to make learning as something to look forward to.

Sankey Tank Walk

Sankey Tank, Malleshwaram is a walker’s delight in the mornings and lovebirds’ paradise in the evenings. The walking path is uneven and the banks of the lake are unstable at some stretches. Sign boards warn walkers not to lean against the railings. When the civil works began to address these problems, we thought that it would get over within a couple of months. But even after two long years of digging and concreting, the work is still on. Only one fourth of the total walkway length is being renovated at present and if the authorities decide to dig up the remaining stretch, Sankey would be an eyesore and walking would be hell for the next five years. I have filed two RTI applications with BBMP to know about the cost estimate, scope of the work etc but have not received any replies. So, I have focused again on walking now!

Last week, I came across a very brisk walker at the Sankey Tank. I am reasonably fast but nowhere close to this short, thin man in his forties. When I saw him walking for the first time, I too was fired up. I tried to match his strides but fell behind immediately and before I knew he almost disappeared out of sight around a corner! I also noticed that among the hundreds of walkers at Sankey Tank he had no competition. A super brisk walker friend of mine unfortunately finds the bed more tempting in the mornings than the walking track of Sankey Tank. Otherwise a race between the two would have set the Sankey lake afire.

But recently I gave a real fright to this undisputed walking champion. One morning after I had covered a hundred meters or so, I felt a flash of lightning zoom past. Then I spotted the walker in front of me, speeding as hurriedly as ever, as if he was already running very late for an important appointment. I suddenly increased my pace and almost caught up with him and he looked over his shoulders in obvious surprise. Then he got into the seventh gear and sped ahead of me. A couple of paces later, the walker was still stealthily looking behind with the corner of his eyes for competition. I allowed him to gain complacency about his lead and then smiling wickedly to myself, I softly sprinted to a distance of about five metres behind him. As I coolly walked beside him, his face showed astonishment. ‘How the …… this fellow reached me so fast’, he must have thought. Shaken, he got into the eighth gear and whizzed away from me, not failing to throw side-ward looks once in a while. Not intending to get caught, I did not continue the fun and walked at my usual pace. I hope that he realized how he almost lost the race for the first time at Sankey Tank. If he did, I am sure he had a hearty laugh.

The Deafening Silence of Bollywood

It is a no-brianer that Salman Khan does not know how to act. Allegedly an assaulter of women, a drunken driver cum murderer, a wildlife hunter and now, clearly a sickening speaker. But what is more sickening is the behaviour of Bollywood which has formed a protective shield of silence around him. Not a single actor has criticized Salman for his outrageous comment and asked for apology. His father had better sense and immediately asked for forgiveness on behalf of his son. Shah Rukh Khan ‘does not want to judge others’, Priyanka Chopra says, ‘there are so many issues pertaining to women which are much more important’ and when was the last time did anybody hear Big B taking a principled stand on any issue? What amazes me more is the fan following of Salman Khan. Is it for real?

Let There Be Love

Let There Be Love

A couple of months back, I read a devastating story about a high school girl committing suicide by jumping from the rooftop. She had been admonished the previous day by the school authorities for moving around with a boy. The boy and girl had been found to be spending time together in the school campus. They were ‘caught’, their parents summoned and advised. The girl could not bear the humiliation and a precious life was lost.

In the year 1989 when I was in class nine, I was in the belief that I was in love with a girl of the same school. Never mind that she was hardly aware of my existence. One weekend, I was traveling home from school with my friends and a teacher. We missed a connecting bus and had to walk six kilometres. We did it joyously along the tar road with dense forests on both sides. After sometime into the walk, my friends began pulling my leg over my love interest. The teacher overheard our conversation and asked one of my friends, ‘who is the girl’? After much prodding, my classmates let the secret out. The teacher laughed loudly, perhaps at the incredulity of the combination and then we trudged on. After that, the teacher would tease me occasionally but there was no reprimand or sermons or ‘I will tell your parents’ threat.

How come this simple act of liking another person - I don’t use the word love here because in case of youngsters it is mostly liking one another - generates such harsh reaction from the teachers these days?  Most kids pass through the stage of ‘teenage turmoil’ (remember this charming serial which used to be aired on DD in late eighties?) in which every second person of the opposite sex looks attractive and seems like a perfect future life partner. My 11 year old son is in ‘I-just-don’t-like-girls-at-all’ stage now and it is quite interesting and fascinating to see them under the thrall of each hormonal phase. When he tells about a friend of his (in the next hormonal level) liking a girl in his class, I make it a point to treat it casually and never laugh at it. Perhaps the teachers need better training and guidance on how to handle the teenagers with care, respect and more understanding.

To sum up on a positive note, my faith in humanity and love was restored recently. I had gone to my kids’ school and as I was waiting to meet the Principal, I saw a bunch of high school students - boys and girls - talking to each other. There were shy smiles on their lips and stars in their eyes. May the One bless them.

The World At Their Feet, Literally

The UPSC results are out and there is a great, deserved jubilation in more than a thousand houses. 1078 young, bright candidates have been selected by the UPSC to head various wings of the government. The son of a security guard, a rickshaw driver’s son, a Muslim boy who had to change his name to get a house on rent, a young topper in her first attempt - there are positive stories galore. We all rightly believe that in UPSC the selection process is fair and transparent and that only the deserving candidates get selected. Let us not once forget that all these hardworking candidates will be soon holding responsible positions affecting the way our country is governed. Let us hope and pray that they stay firmly grounded as they go high up the bureaucratic ladder and remain empathetic to the problems of the common man.

Another result and the same feeling of positivity! When I was at the HOPCOMS yesterday evening buying fruits and vegetables I happened to overhear a conversation. There were three people standing by the roadside-an old woman, a middle-aged man and a teenaged boy, all in soiled cloths and they looked like construction workers. The boy’s cloths were torn in places and from their attire, it was clear that they were migrant labourers from Northern parts of Karnataka.

The woman says to the man, ‘You look very happy! What happened? Where had you been?’

‘Just now returning after seeing the SSLC results. This boy has really done well. Got 62-63 percent’!

‘Ho, that’s great. He has passed the exam then, hasn’t he!?’

She pats the boy on his back and he gives away a toothy grin.

‘The marks are quite good, aren't they?’, the old woman asks again.

‘It is good. But the boy could have done better. 70-80 % is considered very good’.

‘What is the difference then?’

‘He should have scored 6-7 marks more’.

Then there is some casual chat and they disperse smiling. That definitely was one heart-warming story which made my day.

A Fervent Plea To The Foresters

Kuppalli, the birthplace of the great Kannada writer Kuvempu is a treat to the aesthetic senses. Kuvempu’s ancestral home, Kavimane, is carefully preserved and tastefully maintained. When we reach the popular tourist spot in the evening, there is a small crowd of enthusiasts going around the place. The setting is picturesque in the midst of Western Ghats. Surprisingly and thankfully, the surroundings are neat. Just outside the premises of Kavimane, a small canteen is dishing out bajjis but I don’t see any discarded plastic cups or plates. Of course, the place is not spotless but it passes the Swachch Bharat test handsomely.

Kavimane at Kuppallai

It is getting late for the sunset and we hurry to the sunset point near Agumbe town. ‘Will it be crowded’, I ask the driver. ’Of course’, he replies, ‘and today is Saturday’.  When we are five kilo metres away from the point, I see the sun dipping quickly behind a haze of mountains in a red ball. I am not disappointed as I have been to the place before, a good two decades back, just about the time when the location was popularized by the famous Rajkumar starrer ‘Aakasmika’.

The now famous sunset point is close to a forest check post. As we near the gate I see a virtual gridlock of vehicles ahead of us. The show is over and people are heading to their next destination. We are in fact caught in a traffic jam. The driver asks us to get down near a small series of steps that would lead us to a vantage point. The sunset would have looked lovely from here and I find the scenery-a panorama of forested landscape-enchanting. But distractingly, right below me is a sea of vehicles parked haphazardly all over the road. School buses, taxis, private cars, jeeps, buses with children on excursions-not less than 300-400 vehicles and a crowd of 2000-3000. And litter everywhere in all colours and forms. It is not out of place to mention here that the sunset point of Agumbe falls inside ‘Someshwara Wildlife Sanctuary’.

                     Scenes at the Sunset Point, Agumbe

People have every right to visit the places they want to and nobody should have problem with that. With increasing education, income and awareness more and more people are moving out and exploring new destinations and the tourist places are getting crowded. For the city dwellers, even a small stream or a mini-waterfall near the road in the countryside becomes a pit stop. Just like in the West, youngsters hit the roads on Saturday mornings and return to their city homes on Sunday nights with wonderful stories to share and flash drive full of pictures. Eco tourism is the in thing and you find hundreds of tour and trek organizers online. If there is one thing that is common for most of the travelling and tourism in India, that is forests. A vast majority of our treks, hikes, walks, drives, camps, visits, homestays, darshans, homages, campfires, safaris affect the forests either directly or indirectly. Sadly, the ‘eco’ part is missing in most of the tours and if we, the foresters don’t pull up our socks and brace for the challenge, we will have no place to hide when things go beyond redemption.

Kukke Subramanya, the once sleepy temple town in coastal Karnataka, now attracts hundreds of devotees every day and during weekends, thousands. While travelling from Bengaluru, after one crosses Sakleshpur, the landscape turns hilly and forested. The jungle gets denser as one nears Kukke Subramanya, after Gundya. The trail of litter too starts from Sakleshpur. It gets worse after Gundya. One can see people stopping midway for a meal break. A stream nearby comes handy. You can even see people cooking food on the roadside. When the job is done and the groups drive on, evidences in the shape of chips packets, water bottles, chocolate and biscuit wrappers, cigarette packs and not too uncommonly, liquor bottles, are left behind. Most of these areas on either side of the road happen to be reserve forests.

 In the divinely beautiful and serene Pangong lake, I have fished out an Lays packet while an army officer and his family was served juice and snacks right at the edge of the lake. In the wonderfully desolate Changthang grasslands and all along the Leh-Pangong route, one is sure to get distressed seeing the amount of litter thrown by the careless tourists. When I went to Ooty four years ago, I was heartbroken by the scene of utter carnage of filth unleashed by tourists in and around the town. The most abominable stretches of litter were to be seen in forest areas in the outskirts of Ooty. Broken beer bottles told a thousand stories of tourist hooliganism and official apathy.

While on a visit to Dehradun recently, I drove along the Mussorie road for a field exercise. Here is what I find on either side of this busy road.

                        On the Dehradun-Mussorie road

Interestingly, it is not that the foresters do not have any powers to streamline and regulate tourism and take action against the offenders using the existing laws. Section 27 (1) puts restriction on the entry of people inside a sanctuary and 27 (4) reads, “No person shall tease or molest any wild animal or litter the grounds or sanctuary”. Again, the Indian Forest Act of 1927 gives ample powers to the foresters to restrict the entry of tourists, regulate their movements and activities in reserved and protected forests. It really beats me why we are not utilizing these provisions.

I am sure that many of you might have observed that of late it has become a common practice to dump waste materials in the forest areas, especially near the towns and small cities. Lorries and mini trucks, pick-up vans silently dump the garbage into the forests, streamlets along the roadsides and speed away. I have seen this phenomenon mostly in and around Mangaluru and also in many parts of Kerala.

                                            Near Mangaluru

We, the foresters crib that the tsunami of developmental agenda is ignoring our concerns and we are easily and regularly overruled. But if we care and more importantly, if we dare, we can contribute immensely to maintain what we have within the realm of our jurisdiction. The domestic tourism industry is growing tremendously every year (the Tourism Ministry’s report for 2014 says ‘the number of Domestic Tourist Visits to all States/UTs is 1282 million and the annual growth rate is 12 % !!) and if we don’t act now to stop our forests from becoming dustbins, we will be held equally responsible just like the reckless tourists. Let us put barricades, restrict, calculate carrying capacity, monitor, educate, publish ads, punish the offenders, put CCTV cameras, shame the litterbugs, anything. Let us do something. Let us not wait for somebody else to do our jobs.

The Left and Right Of A Debate

A book written by a well-known journalist Rahul Pandita ‘Our Moon Has Blood Clots’ which I read last week, has impacted me deeply. Pandita has also published another popular work ‘Hello Bastar’ which introduces the reader to the naxal movement in Central India. Amidst the heated debate on intolerance in India, the book by Pandita on the plight of Kashimiri Pandits bears great significance. We all have read that lakhs of Pandits were persecuted and hounded out of their own homeland of centuries-Kashmir-by the majority Muslim population. This is perhaps the only case in the recent past where a large number of people have become internal refugees in their own country. The book by Rahul Pandita opens bare the trauma and the angst of a helpless people who have been largely shunned by the ‘secular’ politicians and media. It is only by their sheer grit, hard work and perseverance that many Pandits have found a new life and freedom in various climes across the world. But several thousand still live the life of a refugee in Delhi.

If I say that the on the night of January 19, 1990, Muslims in the Valley went into a mob frenzy and through hundreds of mosques across the State, threatened the ‘kafir’ Pandits to leave Kashmir or convert to Islam, with blood-curdling slogans like “We will turn Kashmir into Pakistan along with Kashmiri Pandit women, but without their men”, will I be called a right-winger? On the other hand, if I say that the lynching of a hapless Muslim man in Dadri for what he alleged to have eaten, must be condemned unequivocally, does that qualify me as a leftist? And whom do we call a centrist? A person who walks the tightrope to keep both sides happy, may be!?

In this melee of the left versus right, we seem to have forgotten that what is right is always right, whether left or right. Today I read a statement of P Chidambaram who conceded that banning of Satanic Verses was wrong. We understand the timing, don’t we? In the twilight of his career, one knows that he is not going to lose much by accepting the truth. When credibility was the measuring jar for politics anyway? I am also waiting for the day when some  secular leaders accept that the amendment to our constitution to deny justice to Ms Shah Bano was also wrong. Denying justice to fifty percent of the Muslim community still continues in the form of triple talaq and polygamy but if there is a murmur of protest, why it is brushed aside as ‘right-wing propaganda’? Many Muslim countries have banned these two tenets of Muslim Personal Law followed so religiously in India. But in the garb of upholding secularism, a section of the polity in India mollycoddles and cultivates the religious far right among the Muslims. Ironically, the Muslim religious leaders have no qualms in accepting criminalization of triple talaq and polygamy in Western Countries and the US. But here in India, when 70,000 Muslim women give a representation to the Prime Minister demanding equal rights as their men, mullahs and some politicians question the credentials of the petitioners. They smell a right-wing conspiracy, again.

Take the case of alleged sexual harassment in Madrasas as revealed by a female journalist and a male film maker in Kerala. I am sure you have noticed that Arnab is not shouting, ‘the nation wants to know’, Barkha Dutt is not conducting any panel discussion on the issue. But one statement from a right-wing political leader will send these media people into a frenzy.

If someone criticizes the demolition of Babri Masjid as a criminal act which led to the death of thousands of innocents in its aftermath, permanently driving a wedge between two communities, do we have to call that person an apologist for the left? Similarly, will the persons who are demanding an overhaul of the Madrasa system of education with a thorough investigation into sexual harassment angle be hauled over the coals as communal?

Being secular is essential for the growth of a healthy democracy but we cannot be selective in this. It is time we realized that what is right will always remain so, whether we paint it with hues of saffron or green.

PS: Curious to know the origin of these two words, I went to Wikipedia and here is what I found. Even though we understand the concepts broadly, the clear definitions below give a proper perspective.

Right-wing politics are political positions or activities that view some forms of social stratification or social inequality as either inevitable, natural, normal, or desirable, typically defending this position on the basis of natural law, economics or tradition. Hierarchy and inequality may be viewed as natural results of traditional social differences and/or from competition in market economies.

Left-wing politics are political positions or activities that accept or support social equality, often in opposition to social hierarchy and social inequality. They typically involve concern for those in society who are perceived as disadvantaged relative to others and a belief that there are unjustified inequalities that need to be reduced or abolished.

(It is also interesting to note that many leftists these days prefer to criticize capitalism in the cosy confines of a Ritz or a Taj or a Park Hyatt a la Arundhati Roy).

A Bengaluru Weekend

‘Wish you a wonderful weekend’, screams the DJ on FM as my car labours its way through the serpentine traffic. For the happy weekend to begin I must get home first and so must the lakhs of office-goers. But Friday evenings are not like any other. Now I am at the nerve centre of the city, ‘Majestic’ which is bursting at its seams. People are scrambling towards the KSRTC bus stand on their weekend journey towards home or ‘native’. To other parts of Karnataka, to Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Andhra, or to Telangana. Private buses are parked haphazardly along the roadside and travellers have no other option but to cross the road hither and thither. The city bus station looks the same, just how it was in 1993 when I was in college but the population has doubled. Did we hear somebody say that Bengaluru will be transformed into London or Singapore? Or is it about Mumbai? Whatever.

I drive past Majestic and head towards Malleshwaram, past the ever-ongoing Metro works (will it ever end?) and hit the Sampige road. Almost home now. After suffering another ten minutes of violent struggle of vehicles to get the better of one another, tympanum-shattering honking, I am at the pearly gates of the heavenly campus of Institute of Wood Science and Technology. I know that I am fortunate to stay in this forested part of the city which does not feel like Bengaluru one bit. So, the best part of my weekend is staying at home and when push comes to shove, driving or walking within the Malleshwaram ward boundaries.

 My children can never be put to bed before 11 on Friday nights. They have the liberty to sleep till they get bored the next day. The riotous gang of kids is late to raise dust on the cricket pitch and a hapless kitten in the neighbourhood is allowed to loll freely for a little while more. I am certain that the kitten despises the weekends when the kids are always after its life and must be welcoming Mondays with a sigh of relief.

Then it is the time for ‘special weekend classes’. Music, abacus, computers, dancing, singing, cricket coaching, painting and what not. We all are in a frenzied hurry to make our children what we are not or could not. A couple of months back when my son Adithya pestered me to allow him to join a cricket coaching centre, I was not amused. I remembered my childhood in the 1980s when one Sunday morning, me, my brother, a cousin and another friend-owner of a cricket kit, gathered at the school playground. We reverentially touched and felt the pads, gloves, leather ball, bat and then put on the gear and experienced the thrill of playing cricket just like the real players on TV! These days every fourth kid in the neighbourhood carries the hope of his parents to become the next Tendulkar which is manifest in the overcrowded grounds. It is near stampede like situation with small armies of cricket enthusiasts in whites practicing in the limited spaces of shrinking playgrounds. Incidentally, I am not entirely unhappy that Adithya’s interest in cricket is waning fast!

 Malleshwaram ground in the weekends is a sight to behold. Once I counted at least 25 cricket matches going on simultaneously which means a total of fifty teams. In such a scenario it is extremely important for the players to concentrate on their match. You blink longer and then you may end up catching a ball hit by a batsman from another match, inviting angry protests! Many a matches have been lost when an excellently executed shot has been stopped by a third party player preventing a four. Similarly, many run out have been effected due to unintentional deflection. When the ball is struck along the ground, it is highly unlikely to reach the boundary what with hundreds of pairs of legs moving in all directions! One interesting thing I observed while watching the matches here is that most of the bowlers chuck and only a few bowl the genuine way.

An evening stroll along the Sampige or Margosa road is not without its usual rewards. Benne dose at CTR is one and Vada at Veena stores is another. Now there is an excellent ‘bye two kaafi’ in front of CTR! We walk past the Adigas hotel and cross the Saibaba temple. Weekends are not the rush hours here but Thursdays. Some devotees stop their vehicles almost in the middle of the road and try to get a long-shot darshan. Never mind the pile up of vehicles behind. Bhakti comes first.

The Malleshwaram market on the 12^th cross will transport you to a perfume factory with an array of beautiful and fragrant flowers on display. The market has a diverse and exotic collection of vegetables. But the prices of greens is a scam here. I have found the rates of cauliflower, beans and okra at least twice that of what we find in Hopcoms. Of course, the vegetables look fresh, clean and shiny green but I am sure that each piece of an edible item has at least two percent of its weight of chemicals on it. I avoid them scrupulously.

Now that the market has been razed to the ground, the sellers are completely on the footpath and also on the roads with their wares. They say that a multi-storey shopping complex is coming up soon. Hmmm, may be in a decade.

Weekends are not the best of times to walk the footpaths of Sampige road. The crowds are like ants on a candy stick. Between tenth cross and sixth cross you cannot walk without brushing against others. Occasionally during these wanderings I see a drama enacted by police with sickening regularity. Some officer is about to arrive to inspect the footpaths. There is a mad and desperate rush by the hawkers on the footpath to collect all their belongings-flowers, trinkets, bags, dresses, toys, cut fruits-and then they run towards the awning of adjoining buildings two steps away. There they wait with trepidation for the rage of the policemen to subside. The police scream at them, occasionally landing a couple of blows with their lathis on the merchandises but rarely on people. The officer arrives in a jeep-does not usually get down-and slowly drives away. Then it is business as usual for the hawkers. You discuss the problem with the hawkers and they reveal that it is all part of a drama. The ‘maamoolu’ anyway has to be paid to the police. There are no prizes for guessing the most efficient hafta collection system in the country.

A routine round of vegetable shops and a couple of provision stores and we are back home. Praneetha has the garden work and tending to her roof-top vegetable orchard to keep her busy. By the way ‘oota from your thota’ (food from your kitchen garden) feels great and is also chemical-free. Occasionally I roam around the campus with a camera. Bengaluru has grown so much over the years and so haphazardly that it is a punishment to travel from one end of the city to another, especially to meet relatives and friends. I stay at home and console myself by saying that everybody needs their break to relax after a hectic week.

The weekend is over before it even began, or so it feels.

(You can also read the blog here- 

http://bangalore.citizenmatters.in/articles/a-bengaluru-weekend)

The Jannat on earth: Trek to Tarsar-Marsar in Kashmir

The best of the journeys are the ones that are least planned. This strikes me as the mini bus we are travelling in winds through the snaky and precipitous road inside Aru National park. The drive brings back the memories of the fear I felt when I first journeyed in a recklessly driven and rickety Garhwal Mandal Vikas Nigam bus along the treacherous, hilly stretches of Uttarakhand. But what breath-taking surroundings!

Aru, the base camp of the trek, looks spectacularly beautiful and serene in the fading evening light. The orange-coloured tents are pitched in a glen, away from a small hamlet. We are a group of twenty three, mainly from Bengaluru, Pune and Delhi. Our trek leader is a passionate, bearded young man, Ankit, who is in love with the mountains. The trekkers exchange pleasantries, strike up conversations with each other and when darkness finally envelopes all by 8.30 pm, slip into the tents.

          The next morning, sky is clear and mood upbeat as we begin the trek. A slushy climb along a village track. Then we enter the deodar forests and occasional pines. A comfortable walk through the conifers. Most of us have offloaded our rucksacks and carry a light backpack. We walk in and out of the forests and the slopes are gentle. Lunch break is near a stream. Water is clear and clean and none of us have any hesitation in quenching our thirst.

          Our campsite in Lidderwat is in a large grassland. There is a government department building nearby which looks like a forest guest house. Two more groups are camping a hundred metre away from us. Lidder river gurgles downhill.  We gorge on hot bread pakodas. A cricket match is on in the backyard of our tents.  A lone woman trekker from Europe sits atop a rock and watches the proceedings with interest and occasional smiles. She is trekking alone to Kalhoi glacier which is the source of Lidder river. During an evening walk, I come across another lone Western trekker who is sitting at the mouth of his small tent, painting the vista in front of him. He doesn’t notice me or doesn’t care. I take a quick peek at the small canvas and get a glimpse of trees and snow peaks.

          The next morning is bright at five and damp and dull at six. Ankit takes the tough call of going ahead with the trek hoping that the weather would improve. It doesn’t and we walk in the constant drizzle. Ponchos and raincoats are out. The climb is a bit tedious today and there are not many trees now. A few trekkers are tired but march on bravely. The toughest part is crossing the rivers. It is not dangerous but the water level is slowly rising. The chill freezes the bones and the force almost sweeps us off. After wading through rivers and streams four times, the sole of my right shoe comes off. Nagendra lends his gaiters to me and it makes a good job of holding the sole in its place. By noon, many are exhausted and all are hungry and we invade a small Gurjar house on the way. There are several Gurjar habitations dotting the terrain. What a lovely people. Men are tall and handsome, women are exceptionally beautiful and children are angelic. The ladies serve us Kahva tea and we polish off our packed lunch savouring the warmth of the house and the hospitality. A Gurjar woman shows an abscess on her shin and pleads for medicine. A child has a gash on her leg. A man asks for stomach-ache reliever. It is a tough life up here in the mountains. What in case of an emergency?

Rain relents briefly when we reach Shekwas, our camp site. Draught horses, with their fore legs tied together lazily graze in the meadows. The landscape is bewitchingly beautiful and dazzling blue Aconitum flowers are everywhere. There are many more too, of different hues. White, blood red, yellow and blue.

Cloudy skies clear by 7.30 the next morning to a collective sigh of relief. A stream hugs the trek path throughout our walk, giving us the company of its murmur. It is a moderate climb of five kilo metres and the weather gets better as the day progresses. Butterflies bask on flowers and a skink briefly mirrors sunlight on a rock. What a panorama! Green undulating grasslands interspersed with clear brooks. Mountains all around. Ground carpeted with blossoms of indescribable beauty. Now I know what Amir Khusro must have felt when he recited;

“Agar firdaus bar ru-ye zamin ast,

Hamin ast o hamin ast o hamin ast "

"If there is a paradise on earth,

It is this, it is this, it is this”.

It feels wonderful to walk slowly during a trek and more so if you walk alone. You don’t need words. There is so much to see, so much to appreciate, so much to soak in. As Ankit says, trek is about the walk and not about reaching the campsite quickly. We are at Tarsar lake before lunch time. All of us try our hands in pitching the tents and it is easier than imagined. The tranquil lake beckons. The rocks and boulders strewn around become the royal seats. The blue waters are crystal clear. This and Marsar are holy lakes for the Kashmiris. No one is supposed to touch the waters. Stone throwing and polluting in any form is prohibited. Our Kashmiri guide, the ever-affable Bilal warns of terrible weather in the event of sacrilege.

As I walk in the vicinity, I notice a trekker from another small group of youngsters, spit into the lake. I am aghast. So are my trek-mates. I confront him and sparks fly. The literate hooligan feigns ignorance and apologises. Later, the same group throws stones into the lake, plays loud music and dances at the banks. This time, I keep my counsel.

On the fourth day, we cross the Tarsar peak in the morning. This is the highest point of our trek, at around 13,400 feet. All rejoice at the successful scaling. After the ascent, the steep downhill walk is tricky. And then it is rolling grasslands all the way till we reach Sundarsar lake. The campsite is next to the waters. The weather is windy and chilly. Anup has pitched and reserved a ‘lake view’ tent for me and sanjeev. After lunch we head towards Marsar lake, a small distance and a sharp climb away. The blooms are everywhere. Delicate, creamish Saxifraga flowers with red and yellow centre cloth the lakeside rocks in all their splendour. We walk past the boulders, streams and more flower beds and begin the ascent. The hill which looked innocuous from far seems intimidating now. Once atop, it is a leisurely stroll of twenty minutes to the viewpoint. Marsar is mesmerizing and we enjoy the view from the hill overlooking the lake. The lake is supposed to be almond shaped but I am not so sure as one side is a straight line. The skies continue to disappoint the shutterbugs and clouds clear only in bits and pieces revealing a reluctant blue underneath.

Later in the evening, a game of cards in the dining hall followed by checking of blood pressure and blood oxygen level by Ankit. Then the much awaited, lip-smackingly delicious food cooked by Kushal. We wonder how this man manages to dish out gajar ka halwa, custard and cake at 13,000 feet!

In the night, I try my hand at sky photography, aided ably by Kishan. Not a bad beginning but results are not entirely satisfaying. The chill in the air brings out gloves and thermals and I snuggle cosily into the sleeping bag.

Sonmasti is our last camp and the downhill walk is easy and relaxed. Again we reach early and have lots of time to explore the area. Some people decide to take a dip in the cold and sparkling waters of the rivulet nearby. Later in the evening I spot several Himalayan mormots on the hillside. They look healthy and alert. They let out a shockingly shrill alarm call on spotting me and scurry towards their burrows. Sonmasti waterfall is not huge but charming.

The last day of the trek is a tiring, arduous downhill trudge of twelve kilo metres in searing sun. But the sights are rewarding. Again a wide array of stunning flowers, high, narrow waterfalls in the distance, bewildering variety of mushrooms. Sumbul is welcomed with a sigh of relief and vehicles are waiting to take us to Srinagar.

This has been one of the best weeks of my life. No internet, no phone, no TV and of course, no office. Absolute company of nature and new friends. Hills, brooks, lakes and above all, flowers of paradise. I can’t wait to get back to the hills again.

(Here is the link to some pictures)

Tarsar Marsar

				Tarsar Marsar Srinagar panorama from Pari Mahal.jpg 21:58
				View on drive.google.com	Preview by Yahoo

Swamped By The Screens

Like the Buddhist monks completely immersed in prayer, the heads of all five window seat passengers in the vehicle were bent. Were they meticulously observing their crotch, I wondered for a while. At the next traffic signal, I managed to closely watch the Tempo Traveller which was carrying this young bunch. Some faces were serious and some had a hint of smile playing on their lips. Ah, then I realized. They were looking at their mobile screens! As I caught a glimpse of them off and on for the next five minutes, not even once I saw anybody looking straight ahead. Two years down the line, will some of them walk with a permanent tilt to their torso? May be.

In this age of technology, I am just past the Ice Age. I discovered whatsapp about 4-5 months back and am yet to get hooked. 4G is still an option waiting to be adopted and internet is switched on in my mobile only occasionally. Ipad and imac, though enticing, seem obscenely expensive and I have refused to bite the bullet. A pocket notebook continues to be my option to jot down the grocery list though I find the reminder option in mobiles extremely useful. I enjoy music on my mobile while travelling. As I am uncomfortable with typing on a touchscreen I have shied away from tablets till now even as my kids keep telling me that a tablet would be great for games. Despite all these precautions, I feel that somehow I am failing to arrest the invasion of technology into my private life. I am being dumbed down by technology. My attempts to prevent the assault have been, I am afraid, feeble. Mobiles and laptops have thrown my schedule-if ever there was one-into complete disarray.

From morning till night, technology gives us company. Checking the facebook page sitting on the pot, sticking the plastic headphone buds up our ears during the morning walk, stealing furtive glances at the mobile screen (placed opportunely on the thighs) during office meetings, gadgets have become an extended appendage of our body. I am sure you have read about a man who took a selfie with the corpse of a relative and posted it on the facebook. Sad that there is no option to click ‘dislike’. This selfie craze completely beats me. Is there really a craze or it is just a media hype, I am not really sure. Don’t you think selfie is self-love, an unhealthy narcissistic trend among the youngsters?

If you accept that watching the screens is a normal thing to do, then there is nothing much to worry. When Wikipedia is the only source of knowledge, Arnab’s harangue genuine fount of news, PlayStation is what children call games and TV room the sole place of family assembly, all is well. No chirping of birds in the morning, no cycling or cricket for the kids, no social life with friends but for facebook and whatsapp. What really gets my goat is seeing couples in restaurants or parks busy unto themselves engrossed in their respective mobiles. What #$%^&# kind of romance is this? Thank god, mobiles were non-existent during my youth!

Nowadays I sometimes find myself involuntarily reaching to the mobile and checking for the latest whatsapp messages. Or typing ndtv.com to see the most recent news. As if CBI is going to be independent or China has relinquished its claim on Arunachal or Srinivasan has decided to dissociate himself completely from cricket in a matter of thirty minutes. What rubbish! No wonder I take twice the time to read one book these days than I used to before the onslaught of screens. My wife Praneetha who is spectacularly unimpressed by the gadgets is at peace with her Nokia qwerty mobile, rarely visited facebook page, never-opened whatsapp and only-when-necessary email account. I am not surprised that she has much more time than me for morning walk, to read, garden and to go through the kids’ schedules.

Many of us surf the internet for unnecessary knowledge which we will never use, fancy products which we will never buy and exotic locales which we will never visit. But when there is some free time, the laptop is pulled close and we type google! Though internet is a treasure-trove of necessary information, we find it difficult to put a full stop when the essential job is done. Trivial matters become important and we conveniently invent genuineness of the inevitability of the material we are seeking through the web. The gadgets definitely have their positives. But are they also making us lazy, less-active, hunch-necked, irritable, less-sociable and screen-centred? After all, there is more to life than screens and monitors. As for myself, I do not know when I will be able to wriggle myself out of this web but I believe that I am making an effort!