A Sojourn to Hills

MUNSIYARI

Munsiyari! As musical as it sounds is the place and its people. A paradise far away from the maddening crowds and cities! Located in Pithoragarh district in Uttarakhand, a part of the Indo-Tibetan border.

As I started the journey from Delhi I had fairly less idea how the journey would be.  All I knew was that I wanted to run away to a place far away from the hustle and bustle of the city somewhere up hills in a jungle. Now the question was how far!

I knew it was very far, approximately 695 kms from Delhi but if you rely on Indian Railways chances are high that you will end up in situations which you generally would not prefer ending up. Thanks to the Indian railways, my train was 4 hours late and I ended up hiring at least four shared taxis to finally reach the place.

Shared taxis! Travelling in a shared taxi from Haldwani to Munsiyari is virtually a lifetime experience. 12 hours in a 10 seater Bolero shared taxi; which is always jam-packed with nearly 15 people. You can imagine three average people squeezed in the front seat with the driver. Unfortunately I became the scapegoat to be seated near the driver with my legs spread and the gear in between my legs. Rest is history! 

The tarred road ends as you reach Thal. Rustic nature prepares you for what awaits in Munsiyari. The Gori Ganga on one side and the majestic Himalayas on the other side! To top it all the folk songs played in the shared taxi. People of Munsiyari cannot drive without the songs playing loud, in fact deafening your ears. But quite a collection of rustic love songs. 

HOME STAY

Kamla! A simple village bred woman who lives down the hill in Munsiyari, but with excellent

Kamla's Kitchen

Kamla

cullinery skills. At a time when the maddening crowd in cities runs behind Maggi and pizza, she cooks some lip-smacking homely food fresh from her backyard vegetable garden. I never knew that you even make chutney out of Bhang. I only knew the Banaras Bhang! It is a treat which tickles your taste buds to a variety of sensations…! 3 nights at her place was bliss even though I felt that they charge you a little over the board but worth the hospitality which goes beyond all such material aspects.

If you are allergic to the four walls of a luxurious hotel then give it a shot. Home Stays are the best in Munsiyari. It is well organized by a group of village women. And the tariff goes entirely to these village women except 10% which goes to the Trust that they have formed.

MEHSAR KUND

"Up above the hills stays Yakshi and Gandharvan...the all powering majestic Yakshi and ever romantic Gandharvan"! 

Narcissus awaiting Yaksha

It was as if the Yaksha popped out of my granny's unending list of stories. Kamla said there lived a Yaksha up there in Mehsar Kund. Mehsar Kund was actually 'Maheswar Kund'...later on with time locals started calling it Mehsar Kund. So the Yaksha fell in love with the village head's daughter who used to come to the lake every day to collect water. Who can escape the Yaksha's spell? The poor little girl fell in love with the Yaksha. Setting the whole villagers furious, Yaksha took her along with him to the Lake. Next day the angry villagers along with the girl's father went up to the lake and asked Yaksha to return the girl. But all in vain! Yaksha was madly in love with the girl. How could he give back his love? Furious villagers drained up the lake in revenge. Yakha's wrath knew no bounds. He cast a spell on the village. All wells dried up. All water resources drained up. What followed was an endless drought. Ultimately the villagers had no other option but to relent. They did several pooja and prayers to please the Yaksha and finally the spell was lifted and villagers were happy. And the Yakha and his love lived happily ever after. 

Mehsar Kund

Pushpa

That night when Kamla served us the dinner, I asked her, why were the villagers angry if they both were in love? Kamla retorted, "Mujhe kya pata...ye kahani hai. Sawal nahi poochna chahiye"!

Kamla took our plates away after the dinner only to go back to her sleep. And I could see the Yaksha and his love sitting near the lake counting stars in the sky in solace.  

KHALIA TOP BUGYAL

“Embrace the silence as you climb, romancing with the mountains and deafening wind, one step closer to heaven…”

Pushpa

Pushpa! The first female guide with whom I ever went on a trek so far. When Mallika informed me that Pushpa will guide you to Khalia top, I was taken aback. A village woman! That too up to the hills! Pushpa proved me completely wrong. A strong built woman in her early thirties; a mother of 3 kids but an ardent bird watcher. Pushpa proudly narrated about her involvement in the Land acquisition rally in Delhi which took place just months before. She spoke volumes about Jantar Mantar and Delhi enthusiastically. But when I asked her if she would like to come to Delhi, all she had to say was a big NO. She loved the Hills. Yeah she was a true Pahadi woman. 

We started late by around 10.30 in the morning for the trek. Pushpa said that it is advisable to start early in the morning around six so that we could come back down to the valley before 6 in the evening. Chances of spotting birds are also high during early morning hours. Mallika even warned us not to climb up till the top in the fear that we might get late.

But Pushpa took the risk as we were adamant that we will climb the top; gasping heavily.

   

Khalia Top

However the mere thought of reaching the top kept us going. The sky began to rumble as we reached half way and it started to drizzle as well. But not a heavy downpour to stop us from climbing. It was snowing at the Khalia top even when the sun was boiling in Delhi. Pushpa even offered her sweater as I forgot my jacket. The typical Munsiyari sweater which made me feel one with the mountain people.A stunning view! Magnificent Panchachuli peaks on one side and endless grasslands on the other side. I saw a stone piled up there, on which I was about to sit. Pushpa stopped me saying that it is a temple of Lord Shiva. A trishul, a bell and few stones. A prospective temple in the making. Apart from the religious sentiments the breathtaking view takes you to another world.

Pushpa experimenting with camera

   

In search of Thamri Kund

“The beginning seems to be the end of the maze and we were caught in a cobweb of maze. The known is beautiful but the unknown is even more because the uncertainty of the dark and mysterious gives wing to seamless imagination.”

Rabta Tree

Only a local villager can take you through the mysterious dark jungle back from the trek. We were fortunate to have Pushpa who took us through a jungle of ‘Rabta’ trees (Rabta is the local name). A trek through the wild Rabta trees is tricky. A cobweb of endless intertwined branches and roots. The initial excitement gave way to despair as the feeling of getting lost started to trickle down. It was getting darker and we were caught in the maze; even though Pushpa was way too confident that she knows the direction. A sense of eerie sunk in. My calf muscles start pulling back even though my brains were seeking something else.

Finally the path was in sight. Smiles of relief on our faces but we still had to cross a dense jungle before 8pm. Pushpa made us a hot steaming cup of black tea. A much needed drink after being caught in a dreadful maze. After 10 minutes of halt, we started again. Suddenly we heard a moaning sound from somewhere far behind. Something which resembled a wounded animal or maybe I would have believed that it could even an apparition. Somebody was calling us; may be for help or just playing a silly prank. Such was the aura of eeriness. The moaning continued. As we stopped to look back, Pushpa warned “don’t look back. Let’s walk faster” with a sense of urgency in her voice. I didn’t dare to ask her why. We were nearing Mehsar Kund and I looked back only to see once again the lake where Yaksha met her love.

Finally it was past nine as we reached down the valley. Kamla was worried for us. And there awaits a sumptuous homely dinner for us cooked with love by Kamla.

A WALK IN THE BAZAAR

“Out in the bazaar I walked searching for something which I felt I lost but it was right inside within me”.

Bhattua

Lamb's legs for soup

There are no local buses to commute in Munsiyari. The only other option is taxi service, but they will loot you once they know that you are an outsider. So it is better to take a walk.

As we returned back listening to the folk songs in the shared taxi, I could still hear the moaning, a voice that pulls me back over and again deep into the darkness of unknown.

IN MEMORY OF "2-minutes magic pack"

IN MEMORY OF "2-minutes magic pack"

I was never a Maggi person...Yeah...You can imagine the umpteen number of friends who lift their eye brows when I say with 'not so appealing tone'... "Maggi! yeah..Once in a blue moon!" Especially at a time when Maggi has been pulled off shelves and most of my friends craving for a sumptuous bite despite its unimaginable non-edible content.

If you are trekking person, who loves heights and altitudes, then Maggi just comes across whether you like it or not. In hilly areas, when you climb down after an exciting trekk, there is always a hot steaming cup of tea and the "two-minutes magic pack" awaiting for you in a paper plate down somewhere in the valley.

So this was one such an unexpected trek. Offbeat places always find space in my bucket list. So when my friend suggested a trip to Kilbury in Uttarakhand, I just jumped out of joy. Three days out from the newsroom is like an unseasonal summer drizzle.

Kilbury is 13 kms from Nainital by road. It falls just ahead of Pangot which is a paradise for bird watchers. We drove through the meandering roads enjoying the majestic Himalayas, shying away like a newly wed bride shroud in complete mist. The visibility level was very low. Fear gave way to excitement with the freshness of cool breeze.

The unexpeceted had to happen. The twist to the whole story came when we reached the Forest Rest House were we had gone without pre-booking. Its always better to pre-book an FRH. Thanks to my ignorance, which always refuses to learn from mistakes. Crux of the story is that after much fight and dismay, we ended up downhill in some hotel in Nainital. However luxurious the hotel is, the four walls and artificiality of the hotel kill the joy.

We woke up to a fresh morning cup of tea. All we could do was a trek to China peak or the Naini Peak...which the locals over there pronounce as "Cheena peak". So our trek began with a wry smile but the sheer thought of a trek freshens your mind. There is no need for a local guide to trek to China peak. The lone chaiwala downhill asked us if we are going till the top. Even before my friend could say anything I said "yes". The chaiwala passed a sheepish smile saying "if you start now, you guys will not reach down by evening. And its going to rain". He said gazing at the dark clouds forming somewhere in the distant far sky. It was September and I coudn't see any clouds even though my friend gave me a sign of warning. I was adamant and I just had to trek come what may. So we started before mid-noon. An arduous trek it was.

We reached the top by evening. I sat on the dry grass near pine trees. An entrancing view of the snow clad Himalayas and a birds eye view of the lake city of Nainital. Calm and peaceful it was.

Meandering trekking path as we started

It was evening and we realised that all tourists had already left and we had to climb down before it gets dark. At times we become greedy as we trek, we just feel like spending a few seconds more. My friend was very thoughtful and he said its going to rain. I dismissed calling him a coward even though he is more experienced and far more closer to nature. After spending half an hour more we started from the top. It was around 5 o clock in the evening.

Few minutes of rest somewhere between

Naini Peak

View from Naini Peak

Suddenly there was a tear of lightening and flash in the sky. The rumbling sound of the sky accompanied. Ohh yeah...light travels faster than sound I giggled.  The warning signal of birds echoed in the forest...all rushing back in a hurry back to their nests. I ignored my friend's grave look in his eyes. We were all alone at the top of the China peak at an altitude of 2194 mts and 10 Kms away from the town. And we had a bus to catch back to Delhi that night. Being a South Indian, I always despised Delhi's constipated rains. And I gave a wry smile back saying its jus going to drizzle.

The inescapable conspiracy of Nature. The first drop of rain in my eyes...I was elated jumping like a frog during the onset of monsoons. What followed was obviously not in the plan...In a flicker of a second the dense forest on our both sides turned dark. The whistling sound of wind deafened our ears. Even before I could think, something hard hit on me. Little shrapnel which resembled a piece ice...I couldn't believe my eyes. Ice! I was surprised and was shouting...My friend gave me a sheepish smile...Yes its a hailstorm. My joy knew no bounds. I was seeing a hailstorm for the first time in my life. The "Manna from Heavens" according to my granny's bed time stories.

Silence before the Storm

The excitement gave way to fear as we trekked down. We were stuck, all drenched and cold; shivering even while we were trying to run downhill. We had crossed have way through and there was no going back now. My fingers were numb even as I was trying to secure the mobile phones and cameras. Darkness shrouded the jungle and the heavy wind, rain and hailstorm tore through the flesh making it all the more difficult to walk or run. But the primitive instinct for survival drove us through the finely made path ahead.

Fear of a bear popping out from the darkness made me go crazy. My brains were plotting escape plans. Even while running I managed to estimate the tall pine trees which lacked any lower branches, imagining how will I climb it up if a bear attacked us. Ohh! How I wished if I had learned the art of climbing a coconut tree when I was in Kerala. My brains wished if  legs could run faster like Usain Bolt but hailstorms made it impossible.

It was overwhelming. I was overjoyed, excited at the same time scared like a kid lost in woods. Those are the times when wandering thoughts give way to ideas beyond the numbness of the body. The times when you actually start to believe in horror films and ghost tales. Every now and then I kept looking back in anticipation of somebody or something following us. I imagined huge dark eyes closely watching us from nowhere in the dense dark jungle.

We stopped in between as it was impossible to walk or run anymore. We took shelter below a tree in the direction of the wind. My friend tried to protect me as I stood behind him so that the hail wouldn't strike me. But the hailstorm refused to stop. It came down like the fire of vengeance from Heavens.
It was a jinx. I made fun of the constipated rains, and here it was a nonstop downpour...literally raining cats and dogs.

While climbing up we had spotted one small cave. Cave would be a wrong word to use, but something like a big natural hole under a root where two people can manage to get inside. Apparently a bear hideout. So our plan was to reach there by hook or crook.

We spend nearly half an hour in that "so-called-cave" waiting for the rains to come down. My shoes were all drenched and it was hard to figure out if my toes even existed as I felt even my nerves had gone numb. Only my brains were working. An hour in that dark big hole was like eternity casting a spell on us. I tried to console myself that my last breath would be amidst a forest, that too in a congested natural hole. A slimy snake bite! Or a bear attack! Or a suffocating death in a natural dark hole. I ruminated ways and means to die. But thanks to my practical friend, he lighted a cigarette lighter he was carrying. At least there was light. The rain didn't stop. Neither did the hailstorm. My first tryst with hailstorms. I remembered that day back in Kerala when I cried away to glory all because I couldn't see that magic cubes of ice which fell from heavens on our tiled roofs one day when it rained hard.

Now we just had one mission. To run, run and run! Only to reach the valley as we could barely see the disappearing trekking path. I do not remember how; but we did. And it was still raining. It was half past seven as we reached down. Only to be greeted by the chaiwala who was apparently not expecting us back as he knew it would rain. I was all drenched dripping like a wet hen. He made us  two cups of steaming black tea. As he was making tea, he made space for me to sit near the choolah to warm my hands and feet. I will never forget the enticing smell of masala maggi that he made that day with onions an tomatoes. I gorged upon the maggi noodles like a starved dog.

In memory of Late Maggi

As I boarded the bus back to Delhi, it was a hailstorm rush in my mind. And it was still raining for me and I could still hear the music, the music which only I could hear.









- N

to my distant stranger

Hi...

It pains to see my friend in agony and pain. Hence this letter after a long gap.

Perfumes were never meant for her. Nothing could beat the enigmatic raw smell of her body. All artificial things in this world seemed like dead entities with no life and energy in it. She devoured the raw with all its bitter sweetness...except one...the feeling of love - to be loved and to love...

Perfumes reminded of her first love in life. The first before all those innumerable love in her life. She always said first love was intoxicating. It was unknown and she explored the nuances of love. She said it was overpowering rather overwhelming. For the first time she talked to me shamelessly about her body and sensuality. It was pure and raw...inane feeling but she was the happiest person on earth. She was carried away with the scent of intoxicating perfumes which was never meant for her.

Can love be so selfish? But why? Why do people have to make love tied up in a wed lock? Is it that the feeling of love cannot go beyond physicality and all man-made rules? I always wonder how does it work in the world of animals and birds...apparently they dont have weddings and pre-conditions...But he had. Her first love. He wished to own the love and her body but she was far beyond an entity. And may be there was a time when she couldn't endure the suffocative pangs of love any more. Bitter sweet it was...She didn't want to let it go. Letting go is indeed difficult and painful....

Regards

N
 

Silence...

For him spoke the words...and for me the Eternal silence...and never could we measure the distance between silence and words...

Neither could I understand his words
nor could he comprehend my silence....

And I wish if the silence could speak those zillion words I had to say....
And I wish if at least I could get entangled in his words...

LETTERS FROM PAST

to a distant stranger...

After so long I am back to my own self today...back to my own self, like when I was in my school days...in my teens...in my college days...i am back to my own uncaring self...I dont know if u ever take a portion of your time to read whatever bull shit i write...but I am happy that I can still write to an unknown person who won’t judge me for "whatever reasons!" (even though it goes unread...ultimately the god has left the human being to live with hope)...hence this letter tonight.

It’s been a "Day" for me...

It would have been great if I was hit by a BMW...It would have been my pleasure...but by an "auto rickshaw"!! That too in a city like Delhi! Kismat hi kharaab hai..!! 

Anyway being hit was alright...because I was worried about more serious things then...But my test results came negative...Hurray!! According to those complicated X-Ray machines, all machines in my body are doing their job pretty well...

"Lungs, Kidney, Heart…all well" 

And to get that X-Ray done...I had to forge a signature...

And still I am here in my rat hole unable to diagnose what exactly is happening to my body!! 

God…! Okay...if at all there is somebody out there by that nomenclature is pretty complicated man...By the way how can you say that He is a Man…That person could be a woman too...the language is also patriarchal ..Trap of words....I am scared to even utter a word...the moment a person is born...he/she falls into the trap of words first…Words I feel is a trap which you can hardly escape...but the rapture of being trapped in words always gives me a kick...

Just that I am drifting away with my thoughts...it’s been a long week and these doctors out there are not able to diagnose what's wrong with me..! Losing 6 to 7 kilo grams in a month would have been great had I been one of those typical "diet freak dudettes" over here in Delhi...

Ohh by the way, I saw one of your status updates in FB, 

"Job opportunity in India for hangmen...476 convicts on death row & after today's SC dismissal of Bhullar plea ,the gallows will be busy!”

I think that’s a damn good job...I can give it a try...to "Kill" people...I always had that killing instinct in me, the raw animal instinct and I get goose-bumps every time I watch a Quentin Tarantino movie..."Kill Bill" is my all-time favourite...and "Pulp Fiction"...What a wonderful way to kill...I think the traditional "hanging system" should be changed... The Indian government should be more innovative while killing the convicts...a more sophisticated and an easy method...may be Katju will have a better idea I guess...

This reminds me of a Malayalam movie which starts with a crisis...a police station is in need of a hangman, since all the hangmen get killed by the convict's gang on the day he is supposed to be hanged. The police and the government post pones the date of conviction just because they are unable to find a hangman...and finally they arrange a hangman from Tamil Nadu who also gets killed on his way to the police station on the day of conviction...the story goes on like that...An interesting movie....So I think, taking life and giving life is something great...in fact that is the power of the Powerful...

I think I am becoming an "absurdist" in my life…bitter truths...thank God the Truth is not singular...Your truth...My truth...mamma's truth...dad's truth...truth and truths....

Ohh...how desperately I wish I could get out, see and talk to people out there....but no...the poet still echoes in me…

“The "UNREAL CITY"....and there lie the corpses...

"That corpse you planted last year in your garden,  

Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?  

Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?  

Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,  

Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!"

...with his nails he'll dig it up again...!!!

And now the clock ticks...and my eyes are heavy...

Regards

N

LETTERS FROM PAST

to a distant stranger...

Hi...

This happened years before. But now when I look back I feel that that was just yesterday. At times there is a great need to comprehend with circumstances and a great demand to define oneself with time. Today when one of the interns in my office said that he hasn't even seen a telegram, I was wondering, "Do I belong to a different era altogether?" I felt so distanced, odd and I don’t know how to explain that feeling.

**** 

I was in 8th STD if am not wrong. It was not rainy season; still it was drizzling on that day. Physics class were always boring for me. In fact the subject was not boring but the teacher was. He was short statured with hairs like barb wires ready to snarl at anyone, the hair was as scary as that of Einstein's but without his innocence. Even when he wrote E=mc square on the black board, one could see his impish eyes protruding out through his spectacles thirsty to catch someone acting naughty during his period. I still don't understand what kind of heavenly pleasure teachers attain while throwing a piece of chalk at somebody's head! He was as thin as a stick, in fact he resembled some malnourished uncle from Somalia and who can forget the fresh droplets of saliva spraying out of his mouth every time he said his masterpiece dialogue, "whaaat is your pRobLem!!” with a strong mallu accent, with a special emphasis on pRRoBBLLem...!! Problem's BLEM came like the "BLLLUUUUM" sound when you throw a piece of stone into river just like that! So I was literally "enjoying" his class trying to solve physics proBLems..!

The physics period was about to finish and then it was lunch time. And it was my favourite day of the week- Monday...the only day when we get fish fries for lunch. I was dreaming about the yummy crispy fish fries, praying to God ardently, that I get the biggest piece of Fish. I was even wondering if I will get the middle part, head or the tail of fish. Even the memory of Fish made me forget about all pRoBLems of my Physics teacher. So there I am dreaming for the biggest chunk of fish and here comes my house master. She interrupted my physics teacher and they had some discussion after which my Physics teacher calls out my name and declares "Neethu ElDose(with special emphasis on D, again his masterpiece), you have a telegram" !! BANG!! on my ears and I woke up from my "fishy dreams" and looks up! Did he really say that I got a telegram! Or was that part of my fishy dream! Reluctantly I got up from my seat and slowly walked towards the door. My house master says, "Follow me"!

And i walked behind her with my heart pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears! I didn't know much about telegram then, but one thing was for sure. Nobody sends you a telegram for fun. Ohh! Somebody died! I had seen it in films and read a lot about that in fictions! People get telegrams when they lose their jobs or somebody is dead or critical! OMG! Who will sent me a telegram! That too to my residential school! My granddad's is still not bed-ridden and why would they sent me a telegram! They should send it to my mom and dad! Who on earth will sent me a telegram, that too to my school address! My heart pounded so loud as ever! ohhhh! my mom! my dad! who died! How could they die so fast? I have learnt in biology that human beings have a life span till 80 years or so...and they are not that old! an accident! Did they have an accident! I was reminded of Oliver Twist! Will I become an orphan! OMG! I was going mad! 

Finally I gathered all my courage and asked my house master, "Are you sure that it is for me! It might be a mistake!" She was as arrogant as ever! I felt like banging on her head! Still I controlled myself and went up to the post man. Even while I was signing on the papers my hands were shivering. And finally there it was! A telegram! Finally like all those desperate heroines in Television soaps, with all drama, I gazed on it...there was a single liner at the bottom of that printed piece of paper, all in caps,

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOLU**...! with love Papa"

A zillion emotions rushed inside me...I don't remember if was crying or smiling...And yes, It was my birthday....

****In memory of my first and last telegram to my distant stranger...also in celebration of period when mobile phone was just a figment of imagination

** MOLU in malayalam means Bitiya...Daughter...

Regards

N

LETTERS FROM PAST

To my distant stranger...

There was a time when both the the God and man lived together. Soon after His first creation of mankind, the God gifted him a box. It was closed. And the God had only one condition. "Never open the box!" The man was happy but remained curious all the time about the box. He had an itching desire to know what was there inside that mysterious box. He couldn't resist himself from opening it. After numerous sleepless nights one day he decided to open the box when God was away. Finally he opened that mighty box....There you go...and in a wink of an eye, everything inside came out one after the other and man realized his mistake and suddenly closed it...But alas!! Suddenly there was the Voice of the God. "I warned you not to open that box"! The man stood with his head down..and the God said..."now you have lost everything. Love, Wealth, Wisdom...etc. ! And now there is only one thing left in that box...HOPE!" Rest all disappeared into thin air the moment he opened the box. God punished man by sending him to earth to live with Hope..And that's how even when the last string of Hope disappears, he still Hope's...hoping for a miracle till  the last iota of life sustaining molecules refuse to hold his life.

So what happens when the Hope refuses to Hope...What happens when even that final trump card slithers through your fingers and you are destined to watch that helplessly. What happens when you are even denied that option to Hope! What happens! What happens after that!!

My grandmother passed away when I was 7 years old. I hardly knew her since we lived separately. It was at midnight. Our land phone started was ringing endlessly. Dad picked up the phone and then there was a 'hush-hush' situation. Mom's eyes were as red as a blood. We started at midnight from Palakkad. Ernakulam was 4 hours distant. I did'nt understand what was happening but knew that something was wrong. That was when I first saw a death. I didnt know why all was crying and I was wondering why my granny is sleeping outside the home and that too with her thick black framed spectacles still fitted perfectly on her face, and tears in everyone's eyes...pin-drop silence...religious hymns in the background gave the whole scene a sober touch. After some I also started to cry, not because my granny passed away just because my mom was crying so badly...

After that I have seen so many deaths. My neighbour who used to play with me ended her life infront of a running train just because she failed in the 10th class examination. Another young girl in my neighbourhood got killed after she was hit by a truck while returning back home from her tution classes. That was not even her fault. And in my residential school,I stayed in the room where a 9th class student committed suicide. Her parents were divorced and she was traumatised with all that was happening with her in life. One of her parents came to school to meet her during parent's day(That's the d-day on which we can spend some time with our parents in the school premises for a stipulated time...sigh!!). Her voice still echoes in that room...and that room's door still remain un repaired, even after all these years...its a wooden door and the door still has the scratches which she made during her final moments of her life...when she was gasping for her last breath after the noose got tightened round her neck...did she cry? Was there tears in her eyes? Did she think of her mom? her dad? but why? why? why did she have to end her life? Had she been alive, she would have been 10 years elder than me.

I dont know why i am talking about death this time...may be I was always enchanted by the mystery of death...and I love it when Plath says..."Dying is an art...and I do it exceptionally well...."

Regards
N

LETTERS FROM PAST

tO a diStanT stRanGer...

Hello...

A good day to start writing a letter to an 'unknown' person...Locked up in my rat hole for three days...breathing and devouring antibiotics...missing all fun and busy work at RS...glued on to the internet...my only source to watch all the squinted eyed anchors throwing questions like a piece of bone to anxious tamed carnivores out there and end up leaving a trail of dust and vanish into thin air with a sigh once again! (aside: ohh that was another wilderness created by me! sigh! sigh)


Waiting for a miracle to happen...figuring out the contours on my wall which will nicely pass off as an African or an American map...thanks to the summers and all these cheap brick and mortar buildings in Delhi! 

When you said on the other day with a deep grave look..."start writing letters to me!", I was trying hard to read your eyes beyond spectacles...Did he really mean that!! or was he just kidding? Does he sound like my dad who always wanted me write letters for him every single day!! This man seems to be CRAZZY...(sorry that I am frank at times...without even thinking about the dire consequences)But I like your idea...You are not that crazy...



Okay...Now I am even trying to forget the statement that you made..."I will judge you from your letters!" I always wonder...is'nt there a predicament awaiting there when somebody make such a statement...May be..and right now I intend to forget about that too (still realizing that I am willfully falling into the trap of words) ...Because I can hardly pretend, however hard I try....I am a simple village bred girl with a trace of innocence still left in me (that's what "I" think and may be not by many of "them" out there)


Still remember those days back in my school when I used  to write compulsory letters to my mom, dad and my brother...thanks to my residential schooling...in fact 7 years of voluntary confinement,...i like to call it that way...I accidently qualified an entrance examination while I was barely 12 years old after which I ended being a part of the Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya...a place where one will be leisurely tamed and brought up with the tax payer's money... But then I used to write in post cards so that my house master could censor all 'un-parliamentary' stuffs that I wrote in that letter, before she dumped it in the common letter box in school...I cherished writing long letters to my friends and my teachers...and of course I loved receiving letters back too...So now here I am...writing letter to a person whom I have just met once and not even know him personally, writing all these horrendous stuff...in fact a verbal diarrhea...


I remember...you said I could write about butterflies...ohhh! wish I could...but butterflies are not made for this pretentious Delhi...and then I thought of a plethora of options I could write about...cigarettes, alcohol, news, politics, wine, myths, culture, yakshi, cinema, music, food...and least...my own egoistic Self! But nothing prevails now expect the predominance of medicines...i reek of antibiotics...and may be my blood reeks of antibiotics...and wish I could just pull up myself so that I could get out and get some fresh air...meet people and listen to them....I wonder whether you will have the patience and time to reply back for this letter...But I enjoyed writing this to you...

Regards

N

a long gap...but am back to my blogs :)

‘KHAN’ RULES OUT

Once again democracy rules the roost. After much hue and cry the ‘cliff hanger’ over the release of ‘My Name Is Khan’ ended on an exultant note. The whole situation exemplifies the dictum:” personal is political. ”The pot-boiler sprung out from the actor and co-owner of Kolkata Knight Riders, Sharukh Khan’s reluctance to apologize for saying Pakistani Cricketers should have been picked for the Indian Premier League. Even though the Shiv Sena activists under the leadership of Bal Thackeray triumphed in stimulating a tremor down the spines of Mumbaikars, the public walked out valiantly in order to watch their favourite star’s block-buster. Theatre owners of Inox, Fun cinema and other multiplexes in Mumbai were dwindling in their decision whether to screen the film or not. Finally the whole array of events led to a climax with a cathartic effect. The tickets were auctioned on eBay for *1000[rs.6000] and sold out in five seconds at the Berlin International Film Festival.

Mr. Khan’s obduracy in clinging on to his stand amidst the controversy extracted much support from the film industry too. Earlier Karan Johar, the director of the film was also been criticized and made to apologize to Raj Thackeray[MNS]for using ‘Bombay’ instead of ‘Mumbai’ in one of his films. Thackeray even went to the extend of calling Sharukh Khan “a traitor”. The brothers’[MNS & Shiv Sena] effort to build up a political niche by blind folding the people through ‘fake tradition’ and ‘jingoism’ by problematising narrow issues finally defunct in a quagmire; in effect the backlash helped only to blacken the image of respective parties. The protest against this kind of parochial politics is the triumph of Republic and Democracy which cuts through the subterfuge to attain the desired end.

The political and public interference; say for instance the enthusiasm shown by the Maharashtra Home Minister R.R. Patil and other ministers to promote the screening of the film has been quite appreciative. It is not a question of screening the film which matters but the profound question of ‘rights’: the right to freedom; freedom of opinions and freedom to do anything that law abides. To curtail that right is to violate the Law and Constitution. Politics is not a child’s play and no party has the right to deny public freedom and opinion in a democratic set up like India through threats and violence