tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38871988597567291412023-11-16T00:01:16.583-08:00SnippetsOne often feels the need to share a piece of thought that may lead nowhere.... like the thoughts of a tramp as he trudges forward picking up or discarding what he has picked up...Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-21799693087443162302023-03-20T09:07:00.001-07:002023-03-20T09:07:32.665-07:00Cheers!(hic!!!)<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Waking up early this morning I curiously opened the messages.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A video of girls being interviewed popped up. They were proudly declaring their choice of drinks. I was struck by the casual manner in which they were projected in the media without hiding their identity. During the discussions that ensued in the group several issues came up starting with gender issues, parental control, drugs not to speak of political parties taking mileage of such issues etc.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Elders seem to feel that today’s youngsters are a confused lot with no idea of their priorities. Many parents forget to live, sacrificing their time and money to their duties of bringing up the next generation, imposing their hopes and desires on them. To justify the need for parental control another video showing girls gorging on food and drinks in a toddy shop was also circulated. It could be such videos are fake, circulated to instigate ire against girls in general in a society where men feel they are losing control or politicians feel it’s a topic they can create enough havoc to gather votes during the next elections. Whatever be it, the surprising fact is the reaction of a section of society comprised of educated women. “The girls in the video have become the norm and they should be punished for trying to bring gender parity in this manner!” It is definitely not the way to get one up on the men if that is the intention of the girls. However it set me thinking of their reaction if the same videos were made with boys.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Drinks and drugs are a menace no doubt in today’s Kerala. Handling these issues in such patriarchal manner does not solve the problem. Maturity, and wisdom that comes with it, are necessary ingredients. A society that lives with blinkers on their eyes will only be a retrograde society. Women have to come forward and occupy their rightful place on the table on all occasions. They have a right to be heard on issues concerning them or on issues in which they have the expertise. They have a right to expect respect for their career and time and space to pursue their interests. Society has to come forward for this. We, in Kerala, have more women than men. It is time we made this our strength.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-81862183395407220722022-11-24T16:23:00.001-08:002022-11-24T16:23:25.430-08:00Thoughts from life<p> </p><p><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="Theraphy conceptual illustration An illustration of a hand unravelling tangled string inside of woman's head unravel string stock illustrations" height="130" src="https://media.istockphoto.com/id/1278593556/vector/theraphy-conceptual-illustration.jpg?s=612x612&w=0&k=20&c=GeJAEYaAatApU4ymTXsgUSgn84qary3zZKcR7kfalG8=" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: -apple-system-font; font-size: 12px; max-width: 100%; text-size-adjust: auto; vertical-align: top;" width="184" /></span></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When doing simple things in life one comes across solutions for complex problems - </span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Like for example; unravelling a line of stitching. It is only with guidance one comes to know that this is a simple task if done from the right side but can get awfully complicated from the wrong side. Also when doing it the right way if one faces difficulties try from another spot. Choose a spot away from a point where one desires it to be unravelled, insert the hook and pull, not too hard that it will break. One gets the clear picture of the line of stitching, making sure that what is being pulled is the stitch and not the warp or weft of the cloth. Now pull hard enough to break the thread and then choose the spot that is crumpled due to the pull and hook the thread and pull. In this way one can unravel the whole line in seconds. If one gets to a point of difficulty leave that after a few attempts and go to another spot to come back later when most of the line of stitching has come off from the reverse side. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In doing such a simple task with patience one can understand many things - first and foremost the love and dedication with which one does the job, as it is one’s own possession, ensures that the dress is not roughly handled and torn by mistake. Secondly if faced with a situation where a mistake has happened in a project, by taking one step backwards one realizes the similarity in the situation and can handle it in an intelligent manner instead of getting upset and loosing focus.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Often in life simple tasks are a microcosm of complex tasks as is everything else in this universe. </div></span><p></p>Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-1005205553368565532022-08-08T15:07:00.000-07:002022-08-08T19:15:22.341-07:00An evening on Centre Island, Toronto, Canada<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); text-size-adjust: auto;">Spent a wonderful evening last Friday with Elizabeth(Gina) & Thomas(Kunju) who were kind enough to travel all the way from Missisauga to downtown Toronto to pick me up. Our plan was to park the car and take the ferry to Centre Island. From Church street to the Ferry terminal was about 3-4kms but road work taken up during summer made us go up and down a few streets confusing me. I believed after my evening walks that I knew downtown Toronto like the back of my hand but it proved otherwise!!! We soon reached the place and drove into the parking lot, making our way up in the lift. The lift opened up into a beautiful area in what Gina later explained to me was a part of the PATH. </span><span style="background-color: white; text-size-adjust: auto;">The PATH is a mostly underground pedestrian walkway network in downtown Toronto that spans more than 30 kilometres of restaurants, shopping, services and entertainment.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The walkway facilitates pedestrian linkages to public transit, accommodating more than 200,000 business-day commuters as well as tourists and residents. The PATH provides an important contribution to the economic viability of the city’s downtown core. During winters this greatly helps movement of people when the city is inundated with snow I guess.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Due to the pandemic circumstances I had not been able to invite Gina & Thomas inside the apartment fearing exposure of the newborn in the house. So we used the facilities available to refresh ourselves and armed with waterbottle and light jackets we made our way to the ferry and even as we bought the tickets we were asked to board the ferry. Within no time the ferry filled up as it was a weekend crowd out to enjoy the enjoyable weather. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCOwxyLTUlAs8da80b3zHwmwUV31m6II-qPih2adYMbmDST6tUkwbsTyjmldqYAIxBGd1Dt2AR3IL6MmntLNn92V3nYU4o2xzU4SunCCNdkN3xlt_44oOE6io_tD-zdgGnkPeyDlxQVMgrBRrwZgU3wWErg17vbARpZRLKbhS6TkJJHkKcuUGkMIORQ/w640-h480/ferry.jpg" width="640"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">People seemed to be from all over the world, of every colour and race, out to have a nice time, armed with picnic gadgets and other miscellaneous items loaded onto carts and kids on strollers of every kind. As the ferry pulled out of the city shoreline the eagerness to view the buildings soaring into the sky made the crowd make a beeline to one side of the ferry. All were eager to take pictures and selfies against the outline of the city, posing at different angles. Soon the ferry arrived at the jetty designed to accommodate it and we deboarded, strollers, handcarts et al.</span></div><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We were welcomed by greenery all round and clear signages indicating the layout of the Island. There were fast food joints aplenty to choose from but we walked on after a cursory look at the directions, Gina confident in her own ability to lead us to the Carousel restaurant, the time fast approaching for Thomas & Gina’s dinner. It appeared that like everybody in the West they too had an early dinner. Our search led us through lakes where yachts were moored and ponds filled with white waterlilies. We soon came upon a black peahen and a white peacock in a coop liberally strewn with eggs which caught us wondering if the eggs were placed by the authorities or the couple have been busy only laying them as they dint seem enthusiastic about hatching them!! </span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A cackle of geese next door caught our attention and we peeped into the next coop to see the four caged domestic geese creating a racket cackling their hearts out at a line of Canadian wild geese proudly striding by flaunting their freedom. Gina was soon petting the ponies in the next pen who appeared dirty but friendly trying to wheedle us into giving them something to eat. Excited cries from some kids drew our attention to two strange four legged animals - one pitch black with a single small white dot on its side and the other brown, but both with their fur hanging from their knee to their shoes. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjad5VLQbXZ3FJTWotTNG0meEQcuv3N7fToQFPdMy0qVDssqAl33-D0CbLAjYNSUU02_e1W2ePiW5qw2uXmEOVmP3zsOMk6uqctBO0DMvAM16fhLtGShBjARUpEd0E3fxcIHMHH6xlPaRG9Km8VFsTP6roItl48Us7LANu-0NK_olBvIyA3_kqOAQ5wuQ/s2048/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-07-29%20at%2011.53.35%20PM-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjad5VLQbXZ3FJTWotTNG0meEQcuv3N7fToQFPdMy0qVDssqAl33-D0CbLAjYNSUU02_e1W2ePiW5qw2uXmEOVmP3zsOMk6uqctBO0DMvAM16fhLtGShBjARUpEd0E3fxcIHMHH6xlPaRG9Km8VFsTP6roItl48Us7LANu-0NK_olBvIyA3_kqOAQ5wuQ/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-07-29%20at%2011.53.35%20PM-2.jpeg" width="320"></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br>Gina searched in Google lens and came out with the information that they were alpacas, a relative of Ilamas, as I had erroneously identified them. Above our heads the cable cars zoomed by and we toyed with the idea of taking a ride, the other roller-coasters, though apparently mild ones for kids, still looked daunting. Our search for the ticket booth soon led us to the Carousel restaurant but unfortunately it was closed. </span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRY58SDhZYH22itQEIWQW0Q6B768hZ5XHhD418MAi2vRdsR6FXQrPLkw3harPDw94TmVd3930T-lFp50XhUY7Q29zmmrSffOjBZpXfdsewr-y5FLIydLVcxQDTgnzn_S3ELkzjUZTLKaMBSzm-C4fk0G2aA12ZY_6nZ6KlYtNsMMiSN3dI4mrw4HsPGA/s1156/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-08-08%20at%203.59.58%20PM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1156" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRY58SDhZYH22itQEIWQW0Q6B768hZ5XHhD418MAi2vRdsR6FXQrPLkw3harPDw94TmVd3930T-lFp50XhUY7Q29zmmrSffOjBZpXfdsewr-y5FLIydLVcxQDTgnzn_S3ELkzjUZTLKaMBSzm-C4fk0G2aA12ZY_6nZ6KlYtNsMMiSN3dI4mrw4HsPGA/w640-h480/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-08-08%20at%203.59.58%20PM.jpeg" width="640"></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBOhft2uItat80YemhtpWqSRf_jANx0oGJVV3dM1CuPCPr0xunMbF8Z29kTs2FO7Tyx46QCLdtutSijJb2fugNOBW9wIyLn-K0OZEbOxRjRIhTi1edspX6xxMLKsj3PijIqt8eVIO_5VlYh1KQoxcQPMRDxFs7m6qP4DIjmdLbhGlB4M3pReCBF2DgAw/s1156/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-08-08%20at%203.53.36%20PM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: arial; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="867" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBOhft2uItat80YemhtpWqSRf_jANx0oGJVV3dM1CuPCPr0xunMbF8Z29kTs2FO7Tyx46QCLdtutSijJb2fugNOBW9wIyLn-K0OZEbOxRjRIhTi1edspX6xxMLKsj3PijIqt8eVIO_5VlYh1KQoxcQPMRDxFs7m6qP4DIjmdLbhGlB4M3pReCBF2DgAw/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-08-08%20at%203.53.36%20PM.jpeg" width="240"></a></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;">We walked to the pier and watched as the skippers and yachts sailed by, enjoying the fact that we were standing at the crossroads to the Northpole or the Niagra Falls. Here buoys were stationed on shore, mute spectators to all that went around them, not being tossed and turned by the waves warning ships to stay clear of the rocks.<br></p></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Soon we started frantically searching for some edible stuff, only ice creams and other children’s stuff appeared everywhere and so finally we settled for Subway sandwiches and soft drinks followed by ice-creams. Gina named a few popular items of Canada which as expected were all heavy with sugar and so we decided against. Still we took the opportunity to see how Funnel cake was made.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt0eG3upUeV3A7Yh2Mftl2-QqNZ5zXRm_-mLWjoncgUMwVvekfXJ62OsClf3jq-K3d67ON8ZdT7n4lwEbLqoef4sSbix_-0FcVEWvptO3xKh4UhdxGK-Ldsj6H3_3LxwdZGajQdAlVKCtt1r-mC9lYm3TcPE0qDGJR68vt-YgwAFyrMKrabFk_h4q1iQ/s2048/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-07-29%20at%2011.53.35%20PM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt0eG3upUeV3A7Yh2Mftl2-QqNZ5zXRm_-mLWjoncgUMwVvekfXJ62OsClf3jq-K3d67ON8ZdT7n4lwEbLqoef4sSbix_-0FcVEWvptO3xKh4UhdxGK-Ldsj6H3_3LxwdZGajQdAlVKCtt1r-mC9lYm3TcPE0qDGJR68vt-YgwAFyrMKrabFk_h4q1iQ/w150-h200/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-07-29%20at%2011.53.35%20PM.jpeg" width="150"></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br> <b style="color: #202122;">Funnel cake</b><span style="color: #202122;"> is a regional sweet food popular in North America, found mainly at carnivals and amusement parks.</span><span style="color: #202122;">It is made by deep-frying batter.</span><span style="color: #202122;">The name “funnel” came from the technique used to make the cakes, in which the pancake-like batter is poured into hot oil through a funnel. </span><span style="color: #202122;">In India we have a similar dessert with a crystallized sugary exterior coating called jalebi</span><span style="color: #202122;">. </span></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #202122;">Another </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 34); color: #202122;">popular </span><span style="color: #202122;">dessert, <b>the Beaver tails,</b> resemble the Bhatura of North India though once again dripping with sugar. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAgnt0F8MeHiI2ZIJXrmal6edLhW7XBiqKtlg54b8GN52LL8RS76W3F2_pzHomaUhxidwuet4h5Ja7LRmCUlBiObVHVTX3I-bR6VqZoGy4dedTrWbJbvLGNgGYwpbaBJu2VWRLPOk2NoXiqpmyykqic6QZa8sDQCpFDs5p_T4ccgmAEnMaWS7LXbuDA/s1440/Beaver%20tails.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="807" data-original-width="1440" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAgnt0F8MeHiI2ZIJXrmal6edLhW7XBiqKtlg54b8GN52LL8RS76W3F2_pzHomaUhxidwuet4h5Ja7LRmCUlBiObVHVTX3I-bR6VqZoGy4dedTrWbJbvLGNgGYwpbaBJu2VWRLPOk2NoXiqpmyykqic6QZa8sDQCpFDs5p_T4ccgmAEnMaWS7LXbuDA/w200-h112/Beaver%20tails.webp" width="200"></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #121416;">The beaver is Canada’s largest rodent and symbolic mascot — it’s no wonder it’s the namesake of this sugary staple. The beginning of its history can be traced back to the 19th century, when aboriginals would cook the tails of beavers over an open fire until the skin cracked and loosened, giving way to the meat inside. Taking inspiration from the traditional methods of cooking meat over an open fire, early settlers began to cook their bread in the same way. Using a dough that requires little to no rising, it was quick and easy to cook over an open fire, stretched over one or two sticks in the shape of a beaver’s tail. This bread is referred to as bannock, similar to the dough used for BeaverTails today, and is seen by many as the beginning of the quintessential sweet treat of Canada. It wasn’t until 1978 that Beaver Tails Canada Inc.</span><span style="color: #121416;">, trademarked the dessert, laying claim to its official creation.</span></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="color: #121416;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Post dinner we walked to the shore of the lake to see the city scape in the twilight, peacefully watching as several flights landed on the runway of the Billy Bishop terminal, an airport on the island which is approached either by ferry or an 800 feet pedestrian tunnel under the lake from downtown Toronto. </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="color: #121416;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwhoIvJO36niopLTJ-EOdlsTs9bh9puf_Q7dpLrpMblWsuYs6nhl3WiE9UMtJruI3dNfx_0K9PvbQfGDaJYGQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br><br></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br>It took me back to the day when we watched the aeroplanes banging into the World Trade Centre, wondering at the psychological impact it had on the pilots, the passengers, the office goers in the building and outside, not to speak of millions of others in New York and all over the world! The twinkling lights of the buildings, the CN tower looming above all, shimmering in the reflections on the lake soon wiped the dreary thoughts off my mind and as a cool breeze started to blow. Gina said it looks like the last but one ferry will soon be arriving at the terminal. So we made our way to the dock only to find it chock a bloc with visitors like us with the sole intention of taking the last but one ferry! As the ferry wound its way back to the terminal I overheard a conversation by one of the passengers who apparently had the same thoughts as me - is there any manner of knowing if the ferry was overloaded? The security guard’s nonchalant action that the alarm would go off if the ferry starts getting overloaded set my mind at ease and we watched as the island slipped away ending a glorious day spent in each other’s company.</span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="color: #121416;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN7FoNr6zWiKkv77YBEFpyhbPxoqLeIIlZrsGdHNcc0P7lDBCo3fN6h2ix_lMQy2KNbqgkN6YefO9H5iIcyjaFQH5RDZVqwREYdcun6XBHs0-Ig_VzEO3qtzQ5jdmHs04EBekXtjAOjIlyraySX8GfgG8atuiiUVsDs56Us--0LjU8qKC0Dn4gGbzIPw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN7FoNr6zWiKkv77YBEFpyhbPxoqLeIIlZrsGdHNcc0P7lDBCo3fN6h2ix_lMQy2KNbqgkN6YefO9H5iIcyjaFQH5RDZVqwREYdcun6XBHs0-Ig_VzEO3qtzQ5jdmHs04EBekXtjAOjIlyraySX8GfgG8atuiiUVsDs56Us--0LjU8qKC0Dn4gGbzIPw=w240-h320" width="240"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><br></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br><br></span><p></p>Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-71847072606810366922022-06-01T08:43:00.003-07:002022-06-01T08:43:23.512-07:00My New York State of mind at the Columbia University commencement<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEwpqLfxXWdXcPQ8-rKGt3UlYXfdAkQJCSB14v2wb0fQpRxWfqXyHLlMphfkYqodNVtJY__53118jZy60fQvv-x31pIV5ad4RVAEqOpm86bNJ2m7rg7NgvFaiOKQvu_0pFKxW2dS3QFDrbxX_EIcM04IRaIdORywIymzEeEgTiB3j2qSGKrg5njykmA/s1600/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-05-15%20at%206.57.39%20PM.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1390" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEwpqLfxXWdXcPQ8-rKGt3UlYXfdAkQJCSB14v2wb0fQpRxWfqXyHLlMphfkYqodNVtJY__53118jZy60fQvv-x31pIV5ad4RVAEqOpm86bNJ2m7rg7NgvFaiOKQvu_0pFKxW2dS3QFDrbxX_EIcM04IRaIdORywIymzEeEgTiB3j2qSGKrg5njykmA/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-05-15%20at%206.57.39%20PM.jpeg" width="278" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847)" style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: Courier; font-size: 14px;">COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,</span><p></p><p><span color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847)" style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: Courier; font-size: 14px;">CITY OF NEW YORK</span></p><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">UNIVERITY COMMENCEMENT</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">MAY 18, 2022</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">As we waited with bated breath for the Academic Procession to start the excitement of the Graduates and their friends and families was palpable. Dressed in their Sunday best the guests peered over the hundreds of bobbing heads to see if they could identify their own progeny from among the couple of thousands gathered in their distinctive blue University academic regalia or robe, waving balloons and flags. Draped in a golden yellow traditional Saree from Kerala that was shining in the spring sunlight I watched with pride as I ruminated over the more personal departmental ceremony that was held a couple of days back where the students were called to the podium and felicitated for the good work they had done to complete their graduation. The air was mesmerising on both the days, with blue skies and white clouds and spring in the air added to the happiness all around. A batch of students who had faced the pandemic uncertainties with courage and determination, attending online and offline classes and still managing to complete with flying colours!</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"> The Commencement ceremony of the 268th academic year was being held after a gap of two years and hence the graduates were three times the usual number. The arrangement were perfect, with screens projecting the activities at the dais bringing the whole event live to each seat as well as over the internet to hundreds of friends and relatives spread all over the world. Millions of dollars were spent to sculpt the students and expand their field of knowledge so that they can independently chalk out programs and projects, to become self-sufficient and bold innovators, policy makers and leaders in their own field. The innumerable resources provided and the guidance by the luminaries from the faculty are just the top of a list of facilities provided to make the years spent at the University memorable. Columbia University, one of the eight Ivy League Universities in the US and the eleventh in the World University Ranking list 2022, is the oldest institution of higher education in New York, having been established in the year 1754 as King’s College in the grounds of the Trinity Church in Manhattan.</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">After the initial excitement died down the audience was requested to rise as the national anthem “The Star-Spangled Banner” was rendered beautifully by Cayleigh Capaldi and in sign language performed by Morgan Grant, both 2022 Graduates of the University. This was followed by the first stanza of the song (often referred to as the Black National Anthem) <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">"Lift Every Voice and Sing” - a hymn with lyrics by </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">James Weldon Johnson</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"> (1871–1938) and set to music by his brother, J. Rosamond Johnson (1873–1954). </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">The first stanza of the poem </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">focuses on singing and music</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">. The speakers of the poem say that we should all lift our voices and sing together like one big happy family in honor of liberty. The song that the speakers call on us to sing is full of hope and faith.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847);"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: Courier;">https://www.cnn.com/interactive/2020/09/us/lift-every-voice-and-sing-trnd/</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">[</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">The lyrics </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">"Stony the road we trod" signify </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">the rough, painful, and violent conditions that have often come to define the Black experience]</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">The University Chaplain Jewelnel Davis with his opening words set the ceremony going, to be soon followed by the President Mr. Lee C, Bollinger’s Commencement Address. </span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">The University Medal for Excellence was awarded to the Investigative Journalist and Pulitzer Prize for Public Service winner Jodi Kantor for her work that revealed hidden truths about power, gender, technology, politics and culture and who co-authored the book 'She Said’ with Megan Twohey igniting the #MeToo movement. The University’s 2022 Honorary Degree recipients </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"> William Kentridge(Artist), </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">James Polshek, Architect & Dean Emeritus of the Columbia School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Patti Smith, Poet and Performer, the star of the evening </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Hillary Rodham </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Clinton,67th US Secretary of State,Former US Senator from New York and Former First Lady of US, who was welcomed with roaring applause, Carla Hayden, 14th Librarian of Congress and Yo-Yo Ma, Cellist and Humanitarian with their varied stellar backgrounds indicated the effort the University had taken to identify the best models for their students to follow.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">https://commencement.columbia.edu/content/2022-honorary-degree-recipients</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">The President’s award for Outstanding Teaching was conferred to five lecturers/professors - Mariam Aly (Asst. Prof of Psychology), Matthew I.Palmer, (Senior Lecturer, Ecology, Evolution and Environmental Biology), Josef Sorett, (Prof. Of Religion and of African Americain and African Diaspora Studies) all from the Faculty of Arts and Sciences, Devon M. Rupley Asst. Prof. Of Obstretics and Gynecology, Columbia University Irving Medical Centre and Yevgeniy Yesilevskiy, Lecturer, Innovation and Design, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">The Fu Foundation School of Engineering and Applied Science.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">Faculty Mentoring Awards , Faculty Service Awards and Alumni Medals were then conferred before Michelle Estilo Kaiser, Cochair of the Columbia Alumni Association welcomed the 2022 batch of Columbia graduates as Alumni of the University assuring them of continuous support from their global network for their future ventures. This was followed by the conferring of the Course Degrees by Mary C. Boyce, Provost of the University to the Deans/ Interim Deans of the various schools. </span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">The school song (Alma Mater) “Stand Columbia!” Was belted out full-throated and the popular Billy Joels 1976 song “New York State of Mind” brought the ceremony to a befitting close leaving the audience in a New York State of mind.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">After the ceremony there was a very disciplined scramble by the family and friends to reach their loved one, graduates, all in the iconic blue and yearning to share their joy. A few mandatory clicks from the mobile phones and soon we were off to Akhilesh's favourite Chinese restaurant. As he was still donning the blue gown during hte subway ride and walk to the restaurant he was often greeted by strangers with a smile and felicitations. A lovely day well spent - I leave you with the lilting strains of the song..... </span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.847); font-family: -apple-system-font; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;">New York State of Mind" is a song </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;">written by Billy Joel</b><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"> that initially appeared on the album Turnstiles in 1976</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div aria-level="3" class="Ss2Faf zbA8Me qLYAZd q8U8x" role="heading" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 24px; text-align: left;"><span face="Google Sans, Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><span style="font-size: 20px;">https://youtu.be/ol0dPJdzm1M</span></span></div><div aria-level="3" class="Ss2Faf zbA8Me qLYAZd q8U8x" role="heading" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 1.3; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 24px; text-align: left;">Lyrics</div><div data-hveid="CAsQAA" data-ved="2ahUKEwj83Jrgxoz4AhXEcDABHQavBlgQsEx6BAgLEAA" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><g-expandable-container aria-expanded="true" data-npd="1" data-slct="mnr-c" jsaction="C7xow:Z6bwpe;xNpQtd:Nh5q2c;U6VCqe:GsRPff;Ep2Mgc:AgioGc;BDs6B:fW2qAb;ep03Ne:AvkpRc;gvA4Rc:yELBLe" jscontroller="QE1bwd" jsshadow="" style="display: block;"><div jsname="gI9xcc" jsslot="1"><div class="Oh5wg" style="margin: 0px;"><div class="PZPZlf" data-lyricid="Musixmatch11533793"><g-expandable-content aria-hidden="false" data-ead="1" data-eb="0" data-mt="0" data-npd="1" jsaction=";rcuQ6b:npT2md" jscontroller="Ah7cLd" jsname="WbKHeb" jsshadow="" style="display: block; transition: none 0s ease 0s;"><span jsname="zXitYb" jsslot=""><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Some folks like to get away</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Take a holiday from the neighbourhood</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Hop a flight to Miami Beach</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Or to Hollywood</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But I'm taking a Greyhound</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">On the Hudson River Line</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'm in a New York state of mind</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I've seen all the movie stars</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">In their fancy cars and their limousines</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But I know what I'm needing</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And I don't want to waste more time</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'm in a New York state of mind</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">It was so easy living day by day</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Out of touch with the rhythm and blues</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But now I need a little give and take</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The New York Times, The Daily News</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">It comes down to reality</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Don't care if it's Chinatown or up on Riverside</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I don't have any reasons</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I've left them all behind</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'm in a New York state of mind</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">It was so easy living day by day</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Out of touch with the rhythm and blues</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">But now I need a little give and take</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">The New York Times, The Daily News</span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 12px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">It comes down to reality</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Don't care if it's Chinatown or up on Riverside</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I don't have any reasons</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I've left them all behind</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'm in a New York state of mind</span></div><div class="ujudUb WRZytc" jsname="U8S5sf" style="margin-bottom: 0px;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River Line</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">'Cause I'm in a New York state of mind</span></div></span></g-expandable-content></div></div></div></g-expandable-container></div></div>Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-69698873593077735022017-10-05T12:56:00.001-07:002017-10-05T13:18:27.492-07:00From the Himalayas to the Appalachian Plateau<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;">XXXI.</span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,</span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:</span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,</span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing. </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;" /></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(The Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam - Poem by Omar Khayyam</span></h1>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Translated into English in 1859 by Edward FitzGerald)</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As my plane touched down at the airport once again a tornado was brewing up along the East Coast of USA. The joy of a safe landing and the pleasure of meeting up with my daughter's family, especially my granddaughter made me feel relaxed. Soon we were winding our way home and my daughter was regaling me with her plans for the little one's vacation. "Mom" she said" don't bother to unpack for next week we are going on a drive to Poughkeepsie"!!!"Whazzat?" I said? Was it jetlag or the English accent ? I could not make out the name but I kept quiet reluctant to publicize the fact that I did not understand!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One week whizzed by and soon we were all packed into the spacious car, major part of which was occupied by the baby's car seat and away we went on a long drive. Poughkeepsie, as the signages soon indicated, was not really such a long drive being situated within the Hudson Valley in New York State itself though the constant stream of nursery rhymes were soon getting on every one's nerves. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz1ocXJJvjuFce8KPu8PEWG0tCs8WwbrZqnBT2Ghaqx-WobdyzT9EXCrX3tScHIu1FDJLZ4cq9Yed7KG-n10csRtYhNLujMUSKwvPfVjZyOsMuyumPSFGYz5H421LSL1hOXTD5Z6myzad/s1600/Vanderbilt+Mansion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz1ocXJJvjuFce8KPu8PEWG0tCs8WwbrZqnBT2Ghaqx-WobdyzT9EXCrX3tScHIu1FDJLZ4cq9Yed7KG-n10csRtYhNLujMUSKwvPfVjZyOsMuyumPSFGYz5H421LSL1hOXTD5Z6myzad/s320/Vanderbilt+Mansion.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is the largest town on River Hudson';s East bank on the way to the Catskill mountains. Hyde Park, associated with the Roosevelt family especially the Vanderbilt Mansion, a national historic site, is in the neighbourhood.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzhPIHsXygSZvEzfNOK37j5W7D6UI5uvq45URK9zaGvlQ0o_RcIKeE1jVn7cDJ9f5ONnveZrXfHdO5uPte4oqt_uyQQtx6KVG8VVBbSlGOMVGyDFoIVbXclYwQwpUDDpykAErSjB8PEWe/s1600/IMG_5546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGzhPIHsXygSZvEzfNOK37j5W7D6UI5uvq45URK9zaGvlQ0o_RcIKeE1jVn7cDJ9f5ONnveZrXfHdO5uPte4oqt_uyQQtx6KVG8VVBbSlGOMVGyDFoIVbXclYwQwpUDDpykAErSjB8PEWe/s320/IMG_5546.JPG" width="240" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">However we only looked forward to a relaxing time roaming around and hence drove towards the mountains past a quaint little town called New Paltz catering to the students from the liberal arts college and the Culinary Institute. Shops with palettes , brushes and colours, dotted the village main street indicating discounts for students. Paying guest and Bed and breakfast accomodation boards were visible everywhere. The ambience was one of total relaxation and enjoyment as the fall admissions had just been completed and the youngsters seem to look forward with hope and eagerness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRaQT-33u9cD4cVZF1QXY05uAEl2-CoqOWcGiuK9bHNcM2fmzeMXgjXSUzt1qNqws8_Os1y7SB3jMondCG0maOHWiEJOWJ1p61i1MusqmS4Oprf8h7BBkd6rgAdaCvqGpND1v0Q4j4wCT1/s1600/IMG_5564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRaQT-33u9cD4cVZF1QXY05uAEl2-CoqOWcGiuK9bHNcM2fmzeMXgjXSUzt1qNqws8_Os1y7SB3jMondCG0maOHWiEJOWJ1p61i1MusqmS4Oprf8h7BBkd6rgAdaCvqGpND1v0Q4j4wCT1/s200/IMG_5564.JPG" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a plodding through a lazy lunch served at a vegan restaurant and walk through a village market displayed with artistic works we were soon ready for more.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We drove onwards to the Minnewaska State Park preserve that was originally noticed by two Smiley brothers, Albert and Alfred, who bought land and established the Mohank Mountain House and later buiilt another resort by the Lake Minnewaska . They started hotels which were decades later destroyed by fire. Meantime the more than 6000 acres of land around it was purchased by the Nature Conservancy, New York State in 1970 and in time the now further aggrandized 2600 acres of land of the Smiley brothers, including the hotels were also included to form the Minnewaska Park. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Located on the Shawangunk Mountain ridge is one of the most unique and beautiful parks in New York State. A two hour drive from New York through scenic country sides takes one directly there. It features numerous waterfalls, lakes, and stunning cliff-edge views.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">5281 Route 44-55, </span><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kerhonkson, NY 12446</span><span style="background-color: #f8fafc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(845) 255-0752<span style="background-color: #f8fafc;">). </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVw0okaYLAa38ktQ521IdtDcPvDCTbKIKfax6hFcOOGTobHn_6z9NhysEDCnnqoZ4indwtv_d0gHze3nKIxXeJ34u7CbmBmmqs0bYur5DVD0UZa8KkLPfR2-f2A4VkGmNJE1YyZGDaUj7/s1600/IMG_5600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVw0okaYLAa38ktQ521IdtDcPvDCTbKIKfax6hFcOOGTobHn_6z9NhysEDCnnqoZ4indwtv_d0gHze3nKIxXeJ34u7CbmBmmqs0bYur5DVD0UZa8KkLPfR2-f2A4VkGmNJE1YyZGDaUj7/s320/IMG_5600.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The fantastic views from the side of the Lake urged me to go on clicking photos but I kept aside my phone to enjoy and drink in the beauty. The peace and quiet was shattered off and on only by the shrieks of children playing nearby. What surprised me was the concern of the keepers of the park requesting visitors to be sure that they do not carry seeds or grains of plants from other regions to prevent them growing in the preserve. Even the weeds growing seem to entice visitors with a smile. Conveniences for bringing and launching yachts and rowing boats close to the parking area was thoughtfully provided with clear instructions alongwith basic amenities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Shawangunk Ridge of which the Minnewaska Park is a part is situated to the southeastern edge of the Catskills mountains. It is a part of the geologically distinct Ridge and Valley Province. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The Catskills form the northeastern end of the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allegheny_Plateau" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Allegheny Plateau">Allegheny Plateau</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> (also known as the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appalachian_Plateau" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Appalachian Plateau">Appalachian Plateau</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">),</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> a once-flat region subsequently uplifted and eroded into sharp </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terrain" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Terrain">relief</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> by watercourses</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The Northern Schawagunk area consisting of mainly coniferous northern forests meet the mainly deciduous southern forests and hence it has a unique ecology. Information to enhance one's knowledge and to encourage creativity as well as pr</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">ecautions to be taken to avoid polluting the atmosphere</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> are prominently displayed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">As clouds started to gather on the horizon and it started getting colder we decided to pack up and go to the hotel booked for the night. A deep sleep in the comfortable four bedded room with a bath saw us ready to start the day afresh. Our next stop was at the Ulster County fair where live music from the 70s and 80s was being played in typical Woodstock style by the local musicians whose heydays were long gone. The quality of music however was good and well appreciated by the audience gathered to take shelter from the sudden shower. Soon they started playing country songs by audience preferences and soon the evergreen favourite "Country Road take me home... " blared through the mike to the wholehearted crooning of the main singer. The sunny afternoon soon took over and we walked through the shops displaying so-called locally made products sold at exorbitant prices at times. It appeared that they went from one fair to the other at times coming from across the country too! We did end up buying a few of the products made of wood after a long chat with the manufacturer himself who had used a saw to cut and smoothen to make replicas of bears, owls etc keeping the grains and curves of the branches intact!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">On the return drive we decided to take a walk on the longest elevated pedestrian bridge over the Hudson. originally a steel cantilever double track railbridge completed in 1889</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">https://youtu.be/oixtaw94Faw</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuE3dvv-7D39jWkQoR0w6IUHdY1g26Ep9FoXj7Q0GoV45R-NtfJjLGoflNTSkUeuBEOPY-GKzp25ZKrI1pjzVgy7QfUsrvagVLxO5pgbq2j7cocsEdj1vZP_SNuDFeQq5b8Z87ME-Y7I-/s1600/IMG_5640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuE3dvv-7D39jWkQoR0w6IUHdY1g26Ep9FoXj7Q0GoV45R-NtfJjLGoflNTSkUeuBEOPY-GKzp25ZKrI1pjzVgy7QfUsrvagVLxO5pgbq2j7cocsEdj1vZP_SNuDFeQq5b8Z87ME-Y7I-/s200/IMG_5640.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The grand finale was the drive back home at sunset.............!</span></span><br />
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Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0Minnewaska State Park Preserve, 5281 Route 44-55, Kerhonkson, NY 12446, USA41.7350279 -74.23910910000000741.7350279 -74.239109100000007 41.7350279 -74.239109100000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-89968406592675211292017-09-29T14:35:00.005-07:002017-10-01T07:08:05.566-07:00Winding down the way back home!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Life flows by faster than the waters of the Ganges, fortunately not so turbulent now possibly because it has reached the plains and called for a more mature outlook on life now that I am a grandmother. The memories of a happy childhood are once again flowering in me, thanks to my school friends in the whatsapp group! Delhi, the city I made my home, looks washed and decorated with bright green leaves, washed clean after the rains, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">with Shivamalli flowers, that used to be </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">carpeted</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> at the entrance to our home in Kerala, smiled and nodded their heads in recognition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Two winters spent mollycoddling my grandchild, while heavy snowladen trees and cold winds blew outside, took me back to the hardships natives </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">faced </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">living in the Himalayas. Central heating was probably unheard in these remote areas. Eating food that gives warmth and sharing, spreading the inborn warmth among themselves and their cattle, made these people more warm hearted, I guess. We, the four sisters, continued our journey to the Himalayas in their company.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Like young brides totally ignorant of the hardships of family life, we were led one early morning to the mules waiting for us. We were accompanied by tourists carrying heavy rucksacks that gave us a false sense of comfort and safety. The only sister, who had experience riding horses, was giving lessons on the manner in which a horse has to be managed. Bend forward when the horse climbs up and bend backwards when it climbs down, she said, but all that was soon forgotten as we struggled hard to keep ourselves seated while our movement was in total contrast to the movement of the mule. One guide for two mules being the norm each of us had - a guide either before or behind us. My guide being in front of me, the sister behind me had her guide behind her, such that she felt she had no guide at all!!! So she kept a constant tirade as to the totally irresponsible behaviour of the guides who seemed, according to her, have been paid preposterously large sums of money, for nothing at all!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On being asked how much further to the next loo stop, the prompt response was, ten minutes – dont you see that building there?....- till we soon realized that he was only trying to help us keep our sanity. After a grueling few hours of bumpy ride we reached the only spot where there seemed to be humanity and an excess at that, we soon realized! A watery meal of Maggi noodles was served as the ‘free lunch’ included in the rates and then back on to the mules for another four hours ride to nowhere – literally. The “loo” was in the open air and the less said about it the better! The foot wide path over round cobbled stones and overhanging cliff that jutted out just above our head made us hold on to the mule for life. At times the mules had to cross rivulets of which it appeared they were too scared. So they would come to a grinding halt. The guide would then leave us and go across to the other side and blow a whistle softly using his mouth. The mules would then go across and trot to the next steep climb catching us totally unaware!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> We reached a resting point where the elder sisters just collapsed and cried out that they could take no more. We were told that from that moment we could either go take a walk or return - Gaumukh or the source of Ganga being a few more kilometers up the rocky path. The area was more wide open with high mountains on all sides. The first snowflakes were falling on the peaks of the highest ones. Far away we spotted a few backpackers trekking their way to other paths. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Blue skies with puffy white clouds and water guzzling at the foot of the mountains beckoned us and I did not need another invitation to follow my sister who was keen on achieving her ambition of reaching the source of Ganga. However as we trudged along it soon appeared that my sister, trailing far behind, also gave up and signaled to me to continue. Later I was told that, on the contrary, she had signaled to me to turn back! An</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">yway here I was happily boneweary but trudging along with all my strength following the footsteps of my hometown guide.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> I concentrated on keeping one foot ahead of the next and wondered at the silence and loneliness all around me.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> I could spot a mountain deer patiently chomping away at bits of grass that hid under the round stones and the sharp screech of an eagle made me look in its direction, soaring high up in the sky. Ahead of me there was no one and behind me too I did not find anyone. I was alone on the top of the world – all alone with nothing but the white clouds floating up above in the blue ether. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Tears of joy or fear, I knew not and over which I seemed to have no control whatsoever, flowed down my cheeks. Was it tears of happiness or sadness I had no idea but my mind was full and overflowing. There did not seem to be any track – I kept tripping over round stones. I was thirsty and hungry but it did not seem to matter anymore. My mind was blank.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Then far away I spotted the figure of a hermit’s shanty with its blue sheet flapping though the still air. It seemed to wave at me beckoning me to keep coming forward. Soon I reached the zero milestone and flopped on it. My guide who had gone still further – who had travelled the full distance only on foot – soon brought me water from the source of the Ganges. The sweet taste of the clean and pure Ganga water satiated my thirst. I felt that this is how it should be. No need to move from here. It’s a lovely place to be till the end of the world. No malls, no calls, no nothing – just a long wait!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">However I soon realized that my body was protesting and with a lot of effort and a few snaps to show my achievement I uncoiled myself, each joint screaming with pain. We both slowly made our way back to the spot where we had left the rest of the group but then there was no one there and no one in the base camp down below where we planned to spend the night. Confused we looked around to see two mules and one guide coming towards us and he appeared to be boiling with anger. It seems we had delayed him so much that it would be difficult to reach back before dark he grumbled as he strapped both of us on to the mules. Ahead of me was my guide in a white jacket, which was the only thing I could see in the dark after a few minutes. The rest of the journey is a blur as we galloped on the same track, round stones falling off as the guide or the mule slipped, reaching far down after a few agonizing minutes during which I realized the depth of the valley below. Once I nearly went over the mules head as he suddenly lurched downwards but managed to keep my hold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In the pitch dark I could hear the tapping of the mule’s feet as it trot over the granite. High above me the stars were twinkling in the sky and if only I could, I would have been able to count them as the sky was clear and beautiful! Tired, sleepy and hungry my mind was numb and fearless. The white jacket ahead was all that was available to let me know that we were going on this hazardous journey. If any of the next generation had known what we were in for I am sure we would not have been anywhere near the Himalayas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="path strewn with boulders.JPG" border="0" height="240" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image019.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_12" width="320" /></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><img alt="mountain deers.JPG" border="0" height="262" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image023.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_16" width="349" /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A few hours later I suddenly heard someone shouting my name and then came across my sister, spread-eagled, held tightly by two young guys, shouting my name asking if I had reached. Our guide kept going even as I tried to make out what was happening and shouted that I am fine but whats with you???!!!! A sight I will never forget in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It transpired later that she had nearly gone for a toss and fortunately as it was the fag end of the journey there were people waiting to help them get down and I had spotted her even as she was stopped from falling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">The way back home was comparatively less adventurous though we did cut across the mountains to Tehri, passing more villages and beautiful panoramas, seeing daily life as the mountaineers faced it in a stoic manner as the few glimpses below indicate.<img alt="carshop.JPG" border="0" height="272" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image029.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_32" width="464" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">Organically grown vegetables old on the wayside caught our attention and the car was loaded with it much to the disgust of the chauffeur who could not comprehend our attraction for buying what he considered as just home grown “sabji”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">In contrast to city-bred mothers who are reluctant to carry their own babies we found buffalo babies and lambs being lovingly carried around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">School kids seems to have a tough time reaching their destination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><img alt="Going to school is a risky business.JPG" border="0" height="365" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image035.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_36" width="650" /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">And local Himalayan weeds were seen being taken over by parthenium grass, indicating how far the cancer of progress was advancing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-49504181341642203752017-09-29T08:58:00.000-07:002020-04-01T09:05:20.099-07:00Sisters' Act - Madam Log ka kahani<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="color: #2198a6; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">On the top of the world!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">"I
am on the top of the world looking down on creation......" the words of
the song kept ringing in my head as we wound our way through the steep and
curvy mountain ranges of Garwahl and Kumaon ranges of the
Himalayas. At times verdant green and inviting, at other times dark and
foreboding or reaching to heaven and the blue sky or twinkling stars! Our
journey started with an early morning rush to the New Delhi railway station to
catch the Shatabdi to Haridwar - the Sister Act or Madam Log's Travels
had started.<br />
<br />
A very comfortable journey plied with coffee, tea and breakfast helped put us
into the positive mood despite the newspapers predicting precarious landslides
on our route. A once in a while whiff of perfumed toilet air as the door opened
was the only reminder of the shit we were passing by. A Toyota Innova waited
for us at the station and we were whisked to the foot of the Mansa Devi Temple
for our cable ride to the top to get the Goddess's blessings, which only later
we realized was a very necessary part of the journey!! An urgent request for a
quick visit to the clean loo at the cable station was the start of one of the
many pit/loostops we would be making - a stark reminder of the average age of
the group, the wrong side of sixty. Spirit always willing though the flesh had
to give its best to keep up.<br />
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pC6wqUWfhSG2_j6BUH4SpjD7hwrsB74pIKGTzvBB5eAT3DcugxGcznqI8z7XenuPQfv3LyLplrSYE7727u55ey8aiXgqeuPRpQmj5ap5vTJraQ9z_MIxdu7JZ23-C514AeTg2ivDoEMw/s1600/IMG_1620.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1048"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The smooth ride to the temple at the top surrounded with the
vibrant colours of red hibiscus, pink and white lotus and yellow turmeric colours
in a mesmerizing perfume of sandalwood insence sticks and the constant hum of
prayers was enchanting. Different dieties vied for attention and adroitly we
managed to get blessed without any help. Soon we were vying with each other to
board the cable car dodging the strategically placed vendors selling enticing
fruits and sherbets(cool drinks) to the thirsty pilgrims. Zooming down smoothly
in the cable car we got a mesmerizing view of Haridwar through which River
Ganges flowed in all its glory. Soon we were strolling through the brightly
coloured bazaar (market) towards 'Chotiwala' supposedly well-known food
establishment (aka Dhaba). After a preliminary inspection and vociferous
NC(non-conformity to any standards) declaration, we hungrily sat down and
gorged on the hot and spicy Dal,Roti, Chawal & Gobi fare which was to be
the staple diet for the next ten days - of course interspersed with a steady
outpouring (literally) of so-called Maggi Noodles.(A secret : you get hardly
any food other than Maggi in the high reaches of the Himalayas). An ounce glass
of tea at another tiny teashop later we trotted gingerly towards the roaring
waters of the Ganges. As it was the start of the adventure we decided to go for
a swim later - our aim was to see the source of the Himalayas and not the
Sunderbans!!!!!<br />
<br />
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnZuIdwH6uieQCTqD7rIrX1v01qxGD-C31TFQMDfnX52-XYJJGk8XpCHWxmdG3-_uXwhX4SPjAmcC-NlQ5zgOR2V7WJDbJefAWzZFGi69btLf4zNFJg97ii3cqL07KIlGpXYqkkeqnk3u/s1600/IMG_1659.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_i1047"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnZuIdwH6uieQCTqD7rIrX1v01qxGD-C31TFQMDfnX52-XYJJGk8XpCHWxmdG3-_uXwhX4SPjAmcC-NlQ5zgOR2V7WJDbJefAWzZFGi69btLf4zNFJg97ii3cqL07KIlGpXYqkkeqnk3u/s320/IMG_1659.JPG" border="0" height="180" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image003.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_3" width="320" /><!--[endif]--></span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">After a peaceful evening on the banks of the river at Rishikesh
and a good nights sleep early next morning we piled into the Innova chattering
excitedly like a gang of schoolgirls. After nearly forty years my sisters were
going to spend time in each others company.Throughout the journey lot of
stories were exchanged, memories recalled and jokes shared. The families had
grown to include not only inlaws but children and grandchildren and their
inlaws (does that make them outlaws?). The local home trolley-made biscuits
reminded my sister of her daughter's dilemma - she had only just mastered
the art of baking and had started pulling out trays of oven-fresh biscuits and
varieties of breads when her partner was diagonized as being allergic to
gluten!!This put an effective stop to baking for a time, but necessity is the
mother of invention and now she is happily baking any and every type of flour
into breads!<br />
<br />
<br />
The conversation soon veered from breads to Ayurvedic cooking and organic food.
It started to drizzle and then we came across the first of the landslides - an
eerie silence prevailed as the driver expertly negotiated the first hurdle. All
of us had consciously avoided paying heed to the warnings meted out by not only
near and dear ones but also the newspapers. Now we were getting a creepy
feeling that soon we may have to call the bluff and return to spend a week at
Rishikesh away from the 'I told you so ' looks of all and one (hubby of course
being the ONE). However the chauffeur's life depended on the journey I guess
and he calmly managed to instill a sense of confidence in us which was not too
difficult as soon the green folds of the Kumaon ranges of the Himalayas started
unfolding in front of our eyes. After a pit/loo stop soon we reached the
confluence of Bhagirathi and Alaknanda - 'prayag' means confluence as we made
out from the brochures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
sceneries that unfolded in front of our eyes held us spell bound but not for
too long! After all how can you make irrepressible Manjaprites(people from the
Kerala village of Manjapra, near Palghat) keep silent for more than a few
minutes? Soon the conversation veered towards the individual characteristics of
the new additions to the families and their resemblance/contradictory
characteristics to the earlier generations. Alas our luck did not last very
long and soon we found ourselves at the tail end of a long line of vehicles.
The villagers and pilgrims or tourists were all scattered under the trees and
grass nearby. Cows grazing alongside gave the sense of a lazy,
indolent atmosphere. The wait seemed to have been long but patient unlike
the usual Delhi traffic jams. This prompted us to get out and stretch our legs
a little on the side road near the grassland. The road lead to a temple with
very informative boards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">A
Ganesha was installed on the first floor from where he benignly smiled at all
and sundry. A few hurried prayers for an early end to the wait seemed to have
been heard for soon the green signal was given and all of us hurried to the
waiting vehicles. Another bumpy ride over precariously placed layers of granite
and muck soon saw us once again on the road singing songs and laughing at the
long forgotten episodes of our notorious uncles and aunties. The road kept winding
around the mountains, at times climbing up into the skies and at other times
going down to the river banks, clinging precariously to the mountain sides.
Gaping wound of mudslides and shining water falls were interspersed with green
vegetation which , as we kept going to higher altitudes soon gave way to deodar
trees.<br />
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAJGclON5LxIprF1spte_qgTgpFOCAey4kZigK4ecUQvX1OVRiKfnG8Ct3uEk1OcYXudntBAonezHMTNCDw78pnXafFpkT_WlZnIfWZZYBYmqgxDRJFrfml3le3O0ddHS_GsgNjqU6Idx/s1600/IMG_1866.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_6" o:spid="_x0000_i1044"
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By evening we reached Rudraprayag where we were warmly received by the hotel
staff with hot dinner and wide smiles. The most pleasant surprise awaited us as
they opened the rooms for us. A roaring sound nearly deafened us and on opening
the balcony door we found that we were perched right on top of the
gushing waters of the confluence of Bhagirathi and Mandakini with a picturesque
temple at the merging point. Do we need to say how we spent the rest
of the time? Of course, a quick dinner was followed by a night sitting
beneath the stars listening to the sound of music of the water. A fitful nap at
night and back to the balcony early morning to catch on the camera a colourful
line of army jawans going through their drill of climbing down the mountain on
the opposite slope. Reluctantly we got up and dressed for a breakfast of
hot parathas and sauteed vegetables. This was soon followed by a photo session
before we once again piled into the waiting car. The driver seemed eager for an
early start and the series of landslides made us realize his hurry to
reach our destination before nightfall. Local people seemed to take the hazards
as a normal part of their life.<br />
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1L_ew6ztnL6Vaa3W07ZuuuuGkiFGOA0YZvMDj9WFVsrHrU4fPp6ZFDGUPWTKI9qJdPgNh549mVDL0WjHuuvBAp2NWLl-CyRrFvRmQei9U13lFCuJZJ0AZL03J73p2MKYaLzYp1gmQ0ma/s1600/IMG_2103.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_8" o:spid="_x0000_i1042"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1L_ew6ztnL6Vaa3W07ZuuuuGkiFGOA0YZvMDj9WFVsrHrU4fPp6ZFDGUPWTKI9qJdPgNh549mVDL0WjHuuvBAp2NWLl-CyRrFvRmQei9U13lFCuJZJ0AZL03J73p2MKYaLzYp1gmQ0ma/s320/IMG_2103.JPG" border="0" height="180" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image009.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_8" width="320" /><!--[endif]--></span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Most of the places it was hard to manoeuvre but by teatime we
reached Karanprayag - another confluence naturally. The botanist among us was
eager to get the cuttings and saplings of a few plants which were
surreptitiously loaded into the car much to the irritation of the driver and
soon we were enthusiastically looking forward to an evening darshan at the
Badrinath temple. The mountains on the route were black and foreboding, shining
in the drizzle with a few wispy clouds hovering at the top. It seemed very much
like lord Shiva's lock of matted hair with the rivulets flowing in it. The
symbolic comparison seemed very apt to us as we craned our necks open-mouthed.
The discussion was circling around whether a bath needs to be taken before
visiting the temple or would it be better to have an early morning bath and
darshan? Brrr... it had started getting cold which was primarily the reason for
the reluctance to think of a bath in the evening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSJ0T5ghrokBZAiJ8PuXkJ1d_PzveSpVin9aDr4wlC9wPas6xn_y1rzCzuVTD29QSTaefooxxtxTcGF61UvC5CclQnvQEtxRSPEfiER_niPm2-QIGh4h37nk77GnLQ5suSfwo7Hrv9Hjc/s1600/IMG_2070.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_10" o:spid="_x0000_i1041"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSJ0T5ghrokBZAiJ8PuXkJ1d_PzveSpVin9aDr4wlC9wPas6xn_y1rzCzuVTD29QSTaefooxxtxTcGF61UvC5CclQnvQEtxRSPEfiER_niPm2-QIGh4h37nk77GnLQ5suSfwo7Hrv9Hjc/s200/IMG_2070.JPG" border="0" height="233" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image011.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_10" width="124" /><!--[endif]--></span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> Unfortunately another line of vehicles piled up on the
roadside put paid to our conversation and a slight drizzle having started the
smell of hot pakodas from the ramshackle stall attracted our attention. Soon we
were gingerly tasting what had smelled so good but in hand did not look very
edible. We watched the scene unroll in front of our eyes - exchanging the local
news, frustrated pilgrims easing themselves behind the </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshTAPFAWFCYZFzHxhJpBmrr67B1tg3OdrGMVvZ_D3_Uf_PdBqGa93llTuAuzpJbd95Z5Zgzs8eqOSriP6CYWjPtlqbCJpZPk9WyI6C_3YuoGOnSBiATBkJMLoIVr_4umeteja25gjmr59/s1600/IMG_2073.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_9" o:spid="_x0000_i1040"
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their stars for the windfall of customers and a few visionaries like our guide
running around in search of accommodation for the night. It slowly sank in that
we were stuck here, a few twenty kilometers away from our destination, which
was soon confirmed by our driver. Like a magician producing a rat out of the
hat, our guide came all smiling to inform us that two rooms and hot dinner
awaited us and that if we delay any longer it we may end up spending the night
in the car!!! No more urging was required and so we ended the evening having a
candle-lit dinner at 'Moonlight Restaurant' as the hotel below the rooms we had
for the night was aptly named.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWeY1c9b9BpZ0Dea6fLditIuszcUr2XlwOJ4vSKJjrQr2jtYbXtvXFdecducm_Qlv9BnzEWt1VZhZHbG5uHn4okuflodyT0xxmMRrdb1253C7_7cch9TNF1gydpLlHYY2QWdMbMzAANWW/s1600/IMG_2109.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_11" o:spid="_x0000_i1039"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWeY1c9b9BpZ0Dea6fLditIuszcUr2XlwOJ4vSKJjrQr2jtYbXtvXFdecducm_Qlv9BnzEWt1VZhZHbG5uHn4okuflodyT0xxmMRrdb1253C7_7cch9TNF1gydpLlHYY2QWdMbMzAANWW/s320/IMG_2109.JPG" border="0" height="180" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image013.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_11" width="320" /><!--[endif]--></span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Early next morning we were hurriedly packed into the waiting car
and soon after crossing another precarious route we reached Badrinath.
The mountains were rugged and beautiful with the layer of mountains folded like
pleats. The journey through the Himalayas is wonderful due to the variety that
one comes across as one crosses each range. The jagged rocks jutting out like
the teeth of a dragon, the scarce green vegetation all added to its beauty.One
could only wonder at the ascetics who roamed these mountains in search of
themselves often alone, cold and hungry to set up the CharDham temples -
Kedarnath, Badrinath, Gangotri & Yamunotri (The Four temples considered
sacred to be undertaken as a pilgrimage).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9uKKnhIC08vqJjX-F73P-byrkCGiOJRo609wDV0XGeqTdvhybSV6_YdAaUVDWXefKhl8T6VsPALOjr3sWqohjVIcHOUTLTamTCoR3dB4ifl46vKesrM4wLpKfSA2Lcsq2SafQvwR0Shj/s1600/P9150296.JPG"><span style="color: #4d469c; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1038" type="#_x0000_t75"
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Ignoring the plethora of shops selling
souvenirs we headed straight to the Badrinath temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu.
Scaldingly hot water poured out of a natural spring and after jumping around
supposedly washing our feet we climbed to the temple door. Very auspiciously,
the doors were thrown open even as we reached the sanctum sanctorum and after
paying due respects we made our way back. People were busy immersing themselves
in the hot spring water while ice cold water flowed tumultously below the
bridge.<br />
<br />
<br />
The sturdy attitude to life made us feel that we should suggest to the
concerned people to recruit them as sportsperson and India could stand a better
chance in the coming Games.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Much water has
literally flown down the Ganges and washed out a good bit of the Himalayas
since my starting to pen down thoughts of a memorable trip. Who would have
thought that our fears of an avalanche would turn out to be true, taking with
it hundreds of villagers and pilgrims? As can be guessed, it is the Kedarnath
tragedy which brought the whole country to a standstill, that I am talking of.
The statue of Lord Shiva, who stood tall when we passed him by, had the
swirling brown waters of the Ganges around his waist at the time of the tragedy
- an image that keeps going through my mind all the time! The time, when the
calm water of the Ganges at Rishikesh turned turbulent taking with it, to the
Sunderbans probably, devotees who had trekked upto Kedarnath in the hope of
attaining bliss or nirvana in the local parlance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Often I was told to
complete my blog related to the trip but now I realize after so much events
happening in the last couple of years in my small world, that included
snorkelling (rather struggling to take a breath while floating 25km at least
above the seabed of the Atlantic Ocean) halfway between US and Cuba, the trip
to the "Do Dhams " - Badrinath and Gangotri(Gaumukh) is still the
highlight of the events in my life. Even as I try to decipher the ant-like
figures of the men in khaki trekking above the waters of the Bhagirathi in the
photos, those carefree days spent in the company of my sisters come rolling
back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Commonwealth
Games have come and gone and the organizers are spending quiet days counting
the bars in prison. The status of sports persons are no better except for
Sachin, the cricketeer, who has got the Bharat Ratna. Two years down the line,
much of the sheen of India Shining has worn off and India is still struggling
to keep its head above the waters in a world where everything seems to be going
awry. However here I am, retracing our footsteps through the Himalayas. After
one more stopover at another of Uttarakhand Tourist Homes, we carried on
through one of the most picturesque routes. These were never short of
adventures with long traffic jams enroute where travellers were fully prepared
to bathe,cook, eat, wash and dry clothes - all with the help the most basic
infrastructure. It often reminded one of the Junglebook song - "Bare
necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your
strife........." One does really forget everything and keeps praying to
get through the next second safely on the HIGHways. Literally living in the
present. Images keep flitting through my mind- an orange saree very
artistically spread out on the retaining bamboo structures, newspaper boys
frantically shifting the dailies from one truck to the other from both sides of
the road block, cooks travelling with groups spreading out gas cylinders, stove
and cookware to cook lunch....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ooCxL5RqTn8/Up8tIyVh6NI/AAAAAAAAMvI/DeV_YwGi64M/s1600/IMG_1923.JPG"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_30" o:spid="_x0000_i1036"
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A colourful funeral
procession with people carrying logs with them to the cremation ground... and
so on and so forth. Soon we reached Sreematha mandir(temple) ,Kemunda, Dhansoli
or Khansoli, ( I am not sure how it is read!!) 2300km above sea level. The view
was breathtaking. The driver got a good break while we went berserk clicking
the setting sun through the devadharu (deodar, sounds better this way!) trees.
Soon we were at Bhatwari district, Uttarkashi where we were told that traffic
was not being permitted as repair work of the road was going on and we may have
to turn back. After long discussions majority of us were against turning back
but soon we gleaned the information that there was another UTDC(Tourist
Development Centre -Toursit HOme in short) nearby. So we rushed there only to
be told that it is fully booked though there was a better one further up the
hills. With no option but to drive upto Raithal, we gave up all hope of
reaching our destination Gangotri, where we had our bookings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The totally
unplanned stopover was a pleasant surprise and "Simply Heaven" as the
Uttarkashi Tourism had advertised on their billboard. Decent accomodation
though it could be better maintained - colourful flowers, untouched and
pristine village, innocent faces of villagers, lined with hardships faced by
them, carrying the ubiquitous mobile phones and to top it all our first glimpse
of the snowcapped Himalayas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On the road once
again we came across whole families including women and children getting ready
for the winter - cutting grass, tying them up and carrying big rolls over their
small backs. The chill of winter was already upon us and even in the afternoon
sunshine we felt cold. Many of the horses and their guides were making their
way back to the plains as the season was coming to a close. The route to
Gangotri and other pilgrim centres in the hills of the Himalayas close down for
the winter. It is a wonder how the people who stay back survive .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Loharinag -Pala
Hydro power project caught our attention as my sisters, much older than me,
fondly remembered my father for whom Hydroelectric projects were dearer than
his own children. Pictures of the dams in Kerala used to adorn the walls at the
entrance to our house where normally one finds jaded photos depicting eternally
young relatives! As the talk veered towards the eminent personalities of our
family, time passed and the driver negotiated expertly the twists, turns, rocks
and slurry from landslides. Soon devatharu trees gave way to rocky granite with
fissures showing the path taken by the streams as ice melted. "There is
Gangotri " pointed the driver in the general direction of a snowcapped
peak looming large above us. All of us stared in silent awe at the grandeur as
the reality of what we achieved sank in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">At another pit/loo stop
only the flaps of the temporary toilet tents helped us maintain decorum as we
attended nature's call - once again thanks to some unknown officer of the
Uttaranchal Tourism board who probably within his meagre budget realized the
need for providing the facility at such godforsaken places on the way to
Dharali, Harshil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The mannerisms of
the mountain people never stopped surprising us. They strode down the
roads and up the mountain tracks for miles on end carrying any amount of
provisions - Shepherds chased their totally indisciplined wards up and down the
mountains - Unblemished faces untouched by the vagaries of progress took to new
ways without batting an eyelid. May earthquakes or melting rivers come and go,
shattering their lives, fields, shops or houses they painstakingly rebuild
their lives, salvaging whatever they can, into picturesque villages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Gangotri seemed to
be an anticlimax - another Uttarkashi village, another rest house- though an
environmentally conscious one I must say! - a separate storage shed for
plastic, solar collection discs - for what no idea- as it was beside some logs
of wood for burning! - the usual shops with plastic goods and water cans - for
taking Ganga water- usually given when one is drawing the last breath! After
taking the blessing of Goddess Ganga at the temple at Gangotri and attending
the arathi in front of the spot where King Bhagirath meditated, to bring the
River Ganges down to Earth so that its waters could liberate the souls of his
ancestors who were cursed by Sage Kapila, we proceeded to Gaumukh. The story is
well narrated in the following link<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="http://www.sanatansociety.org/indian_epics_and_stories/the_life_of_ganga.htm#.Up7RvsQW18E">http://www.sanatansociety.org/indian_epics_and_stories/the_life_of_ganga.htm#.Up7RvsQW18E</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">None of us could
fortunately foresee what we were in for!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Life flows by
faster than the waters of the Ganges, fortunately not so turbulent now possibly
because it has reached the plains and called for a more mature outlook on life
now that I am a grandmother. The memories of a happy childhood are once again
flowering in me thanks to my school friends in the whatsapp group! Delhi the
city I made my home looks washed and decorated with bright green leaves, washed
clean after the rains, and Shivamalli flowers that once spread out like a
carpet at the entrance to our home in Kerala.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Two winters spent mollycoddling
my grandchild while heavy snowladen trees and cold winds blew outside took me
back to the hardships faced by the natives living in the Himalayas. Central
heating was probably unheard of in those places. Eating food that gives warmth
and sharing, and spreading the inborn warmth made these people more warm hearted
than the average westerners I guess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Like young brides
totally ignorant of the hardships of family life, we sisters were led one early
morning to the mules waiting for us. We were accompanied by tourists with heavy
rucksacks that gave us a false sense of comfort and safety. The only sister who
had climbed on horseback was giving lessons on the manner in which a horse has
to be managed. Bend forward when the horse climbs up and bend backwards when it
climbs down, she said, but all that was soon forgotten as we struggled hard to
keep ourselves seated while our movement was in total contrast to the movement
of the mule. One guide for two mules being the norm each of us had, a guide
either before or behind us. My guide being in front of me, the sister behind me
had her guide behind her, such that she felt she had no guide and kept a
constant tirade as to the totally irresponsible behaviour of the guides who
seemed to, according to her, have been paid preposterously large sums of money
for nothing at all! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="Picture_x0020_12" o:spid="_x0000_i1035" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="path strewn with boulders.JPG"
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On being asked how
much further to the next loo stop the prompt response was ten minutes – dont
you see that building there?....- till we soon realized that he was only trying
to help us keep our sanity. After a grueling few hours of bumpy ride we reached
the only spot where there seemed to be humanity and an excess at that, we soon
realized! A watery meal of Maggi noodles was served as the ‘free lunch’
included in the rates and then back on to the mules for another four hours ride
to nowhere – literally. The “loo” was in the open air and the less said about
it the better! The foot wide path over round cobbled stones and overhanging
cliff that jutted out just above our head made us hold on to the mule for life.
At times the mules had to cross rivulets of which it appeared they were too
scared. So they would come to a grinding halt. The guide would then leave us
and go across to the other side and blow a whistle softly using his mouth. The
mules would then go across and trot to the next steep climb catching us totally
unaware!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> We reached a resting point where the elder
sisters just collapsed and cried out that they could take no more. We were told
that from that moment we could either go take a walk or return - Gaumukh or the
source of Ganga being a few more kilometers up the rocky path. The area was
more wide open with high mountains on all sides. The first snowflakes were
falling on the peaks of the highest ones. Far away we spotted a few backpackers
trekking their way to other paths. <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Blue skies with
puffy white clouds and water guzzling at the foot of the mountains beckoned us
and I did not need another invitation to follow my sister who was keen on
achieving her ambition of reaching the source of Ganga. However as we trudged
along it soon appeared that my sister also gave up and signaled to me to
continue. Later I was told that, on the contrary, she had signaled to me to
turn back! Anyway here I was happily boneweary but trudging along with all my
strength following the footsteps of my hometown guide. I concentrated on
keeping one foot ahead of the next and wondered at the silence and loneliness
all around me. I could spot a mountain deer patiently chomping away at bits of
grass that hid under the round stones and the sharp screech of an eagle made me
look in its direction, soaring high up in the sky. Ahead of me there was no one
and behind me too I did not find anyone. I was alone on the top of the world –
all alone with nothing but the white clouds floating up above in the blue
ether. <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_16"
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Tears, for reasons
I knew not and that I did not have any control over, flowed down my cheeks. Was
it tears of happiness or sadness I had no idea but my mind was full and
overflowing. There did not seem to be any track – I kept tripping over round
stones. I was thirsty and hungry but it did not seem to matter anymore. My mind
was blank.<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_18"
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Then far away I
spotted the figure of a hermit’s shanty with its blue sheet flapping though the
air was still. It seemed to wave at me beckoning me to keep coming forward.
Soon I reached the zero milestone and flopped on it. My guide who had gone
still further – who had travelled the full distance only on foot – soon brought
me water from the source of the Ganges. The sweet taste of the clean and pure
Ganga water satiated my thirst. I felt that this is how it should be. No need
to move from here. It’s a lovely place to be till the end of the world. No
malls, no calls, no nothing – just a long wait!<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">However I soon
realized that my body was protesting and with a lot of effort and a few snaps
to show my achievement I uncoiled myself, each joint screaming with pain. We
both slowly made our way back to the spot where we had left the rest of the
group but then there was no one there and no one in the base camp down below
where we planned to spend the night. Confused we looked around to see two mules
and one guide coming towards us and he appeared to be boiling with anger. It
seems we had delayed him so much that it would be difficult to reach back
before dark he grumbled as he strapped both of us on to the mules. Ahead of me
was my guide in a white jacket, which was the only thing I could see in the
dark after a few minutes. The rest of the journey is a blur as we galloped on
the same track, round stones falling off as the guide or the mule slipped,
reaching far down after a few agonizing minutes during which I realized the
depth of the valley below. Once I nearly went over the mules head as he
suddenly lurched downwards but managed to keep my hold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In the pitch dark I
could hear the tapping of the mule’s feet as it trot over the granite. High
above me the stars were twinkling in the sky and if only I could, I would have
been able to count them as the sky was clear and beautiful! Tired, sleepy and
hungry my mind was numb and fearless. The white jacket ahead was all that was
available to let me know that we were going on this hazardous journey. If any
of the next generation had known what we were in for I am sure we would not
have been anywhere near the Himalayas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A few hours later I
suddenly heard someone shouting my name and then came across my sister, spread-eagled,
held tightly by two young guys, shouting my name asking if I had reached. Our
guide kept going even as I tried to make out what was happening and shouted
that I am fine but whats with you???!!!! A sight I will never forget in my
life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It transpired later
that she had nearly gone for a toss and fortunately as it was the fag end of
the journey there were people waiting to help them get down and I had spotted
her even as she was stopped from falling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
way back home was comparatively less adventurous though we did cut across the
mountains to Tehri, passing more villages and beautiful panoramas, seeing daily
life as the mountaineers faced it in a stoic manner as the few glimpses below
indicate.<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_32"
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Organically
grown vegetables old on the wayside caught our attention and the car was loaded
with it much to the disgust of the chauffeur who could not comprehend our attraction
for buying what he considered as just home grown “sabji”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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o:title="organic vegetables sale"/>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
contrast to city-bred mothers who are reluctant to carry their own babies we
found buffalo babies and lambs being lovingly carried around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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height:162.75pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
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o:title="Getting ready for winter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="Getting ready for winter.JPG" border="0" height="217" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image033.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_35" width="387" /><!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">School
kids seems to have a tough time reaching their destination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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type="#_x0000_t75" alt="Going to school is a risky business.JPG" style='width:487.5pt;
height:273.75pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
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o:title="Going to school is a risky business"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="Going to school is a risky business.JPG" border="0" height="365" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image035.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_36" width="650" /><!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And
local Himalayan weeds were seen being taken over by parthenium grass,
indicating how far the cancer of progress was advancing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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type="#_x0000_t75" alt="himalayan weeds.JPG" style='width:314.25pt;height:235.5pt;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\PC\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image036.jpg"
o:title="himalayan weeds"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="himalayan weeds.JPG" border="0" height="314" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image037.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_37" width="419" /><!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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type="#_x0000_t75" alt="parthenium taking over the weeds.JPG" style='width:258pt;
height:193.5pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\PC\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image038.jpg"
o:title="parthenium taking over the weeds"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img alt="parthenium taking over the weeds.JPG" border="0" height="258" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image039.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_38" width="344" /><!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-38444047696709831202013-12-04T05:41:00.000-08:002017-09-29T14:39:43.594-07:00And quiet flows the Ganges!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Much water has literally flown down the Ganges and washed out a good bit of the Himalayas since my starting to pen down thoughts of a memorable trip. Who would have thought that our fears of an avalanche would turn out to be true, taking with it hundreds of villagers and pilgrims? As can be guessed, it is the Kedarnath tragedy which brought the whole country to a standstill, that I am talking of. The statue of Lord Shiva, who stood tall when we passed him by, had the swirling brown waters of the Ganges around his waist at the time of the tragedy - an image that keeps going through my mind all the time! The time when the calm water of the Ganges at Rishikesh turned turbulent taking with it, to the Sunderbans probably, devotees who had trekked upto Kedarnath in the hope of attaining nirvana.<br />
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Often I was told to complete my blog related to the trip but now I realize after so much events happening in the last couple of years in my small world, that included snorkelling (rather struggling to take a breath while floating 25km at least above the seabed of the Atlantic Ocean) halfway between US and Cuba, the trip to the "Do Dhams " - Badrinath and Gangotri(Gaumukh) is still the highlight of the events in my life. Even as I try to decipher the ant-like figures of the men in khaki trekking above the waters of the Bhagirathi in the photos, those carefree days spent in the company of my sisters come rolling back.<br />
The Commonwealth Games have come and gone and the organizers are spending quiet days counting the bars in prison. The status of sports persons are no better except for Sachin, the cricketeer, who has got the Bharat Ratna. Two years down the line, much of the sheen of India Shining has worn off and India is still struggling to keep its head above the waters in a world where everything seems to be going awry. However here I am, retracing our footsteps through the Himalayas. After one more stopover at another of Uttarakhand Tourist Homes, we carried on through one of the most picturesque routes. These were never short of adventures with long traffic jams enroute where travellers were fully prepared to bathe,cook, eat, wash and dry clothes - all with the help the most basic infrastructure. It often reminded one of the Junglebook song - "Bare necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your strife........." One does really forget everything and keeps praying to get through the next second safely on the HIGHways. Literally living in the present. Images keep flitting through my mind- an orange saree very artistically spread out on the retaining bamboo structures, newspaper boys frantically shifting the dailies from one truck to the other from both sides of the road block, cooks travelling with groups spreading out gas cylinders, stove and cookware to cook lunch....<br />
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A colourful funeral procession with people carrying logs with them to the cremation ground... and so on and so forth. Soon we reached Sreematha mandir(temple) ,Kemunda, Dhansoli or Khansoli, ( I am not sure how it is read!!) 2300km above sea level. The view was breathtaking. The driver got a good break while we went berserk clicking the setting sun through the devadharu (deodar, sounds better this way!) trees. Soon we were at Bhatwari district, Uttarkashi where we were told that traffic was not being permitted as repair work of the road was going on and we may have to turn back. After long discussions majority of us were against turning back but soon we gleaned the information that there was another UTDC(Tourist Development Centre -Toursit HOme in short) nearby. So we rushed there only to be told that it is fully booked though there was a better one further up the hills. With no option but to drive upto Raithal, we gave up all hope of reaching our destination Gangotri, where we had our bookings.<br />
The totally unplanned stopover was a pleasant surprise and "Simply Heaven" as the Uttarkashi Tourism had advertised on their billboard. Decent accomodation though it could be better maintained - colourful flowers, untouched and pristine village, innocent faces of villagers, lined with hardships faced by them, carrying the ubiquitous mobile phones and to top it all our first glimpse of the snowcapped Himalayas.<br />
On the road once again we came across whole families including women and children getting ready for the winter - cutting grass, tying them up and carrying big rolls over their small backs. The chill of winter was already upon us and even in the afternoon sunshine we felt cold. Many of the horses and their guides were making their way back to the plains as the season was coming to a close. The route to Gangotri and other pilgrim centres in the hills of the Himalayas close down for the winter. It is a wonder how the people who stay back survive .<br />
The Loharinag -Pala Hydro power project caught our attention as my sisters, much older than me, fondly remembered my father for whom Hydroelectric projects were dearer than his own children. Pictures of the dams in Kerala used to adorn the walls at the entrance to our house where normally one finds jaded photos depicting eternally young relatives! As the talk veered towards the eminent personalities of our family, time passed and the driver negotiated expertly the twists, turns, rocks and slurry from landslides. Soon devatharu trees gave way to rocky granite with fissures showing the path taken by the streams as ice melted. "There is Gangotri " pointed the driver in the general direction of a snowcapped peak looming large above us. All of us stared in silent awe at the grandeur as the reality of what we achieved sank in.<br />
At another pit/loo stop only the flaps of the temporary toilet tents helped us maintain decorum as we attended nature's call - once again thanks to some unknown officer of the Uttaranchal Tourism board who probably within his meagre budget realized the need for providing the facility at such godforsaken places on the way to Dharali, Harshil.<br />
The mannerisms of the mountain people never stopped surprising us. They strided down the roads and up the mountain tracks for miles on end carrying any amount of provisions - Shepherds chased their totally indisciplined wards up and down the mountains - Unblemished faces untouched by the vagaries of progress took to new ways without batting an eyelid. May earthquakes or melting rivers come and go, shattering their lives, fields, shops or houses they painstakingly rebuild their lives, salvaging whatever they can, into picturesque villages.<br />
Gangotri seemed to be an anticlimax - another Uttarkashi village, another rest house- though an environmentally conscious one I must say! - a separate storage shed for plastic, solar collection discs - for what no idea- as it was beside some logs of wood for burning! - the usual shops with plastic goods and water cans - for taking Ganga water- usually given when one is drawing the last breath! After taking the blessing of Goddess Ganga at the temple at Gangotri and attending the arathi in front of the spot where King Bhagirath meditated, to bring the River Ganges down to Earth so that its waters could liberate the souls of his ancestors who were cursed by Sage Kapila, we proceeded to Gaumukh. The story is well narrated in the following link<br />
<a href="http://www.sanatansociety.org/indian_epics_and_stories/the_life_of_ganga.htm#.Up7RvsQW18E">http://www.sanatansociety.org/indian_epics_and_stories/the_life_of_ganga.htm#.Up7RvsQW18E</a><br />
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None of us could fortunately foresee what we were in for!!!!!!!!!!<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Life flows by faster than the waters of the Ganges, fortunately not so turbulent now possibly because it has reached the plains and called for a more mature outlook on life now that I am a grandmother. The memories of a happy childhood are once again flowering in me thanks to my school friends in the whatsapp group! Delhi the city I made my home looks washed and decorated with bright green leaves, washed clean after the rains, and Shivamalli flowers that once spread out like a carpet at the entrance to our home in Kerala.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="mountain deers.JPG" border="0" height="262" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image023.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_16" width="349" /></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><img alt="path strewn with boulders.JPG" border="0" height="240" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image019.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_12" width="320" /><img alt="path strewn with boulders.JPG" border="0" height="240" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image019.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_12" width="320" /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="mountain deers.JPG" border="0" height="262" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image023.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_16" width="349" /></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3887198859756729141" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Two winters spent mollycoddling my grandchild while heavy snowladen trees and cold winds blew outside took me back to the hardships faced by the natives living in the Himalayas. Central heating was probably unheard of in those places. Eating food that gives warmth and sharing, and spreading the inborn warmth made these people more warm hearted than the average westerners I guess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Like young brides totally ignorant of the hardships of family life, we sisters were led one early morning to the mules waiting for us. We were accompanied by tourists with heavy rucksacks that gave us a false sense of comfort and safety. The only sister who had climbed on horseback was giving lessons on the manner in which a horse has to be managed. Bend forward when the horse climbs up and bend backwards when it climbs down, she said, but all that was soon forgotten as we struggled hard to keep ourselves seated while our movement was in total contrast to the movement of the mule. One guide for two mules being the norm each of us had, a guide either before or behind us. My guide being in front of me, the sister behind me had her guide behind her, such that she felt she had no guide and kept a constant tirade as to the totally irresponsible behaviour of the guides who seemed to, according to her, have been paid preposterously large sums of money for nothing at all! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><img alt="path strewn with boulders.JPG" border="0" height="154" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image019.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_12" width="205" /></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On being asked how much further to the next loo stop the prompt response was ten minutes – dont you see that building there?....- till we soon realized that he was only trying to help us keep our sanity. After a grueling few hours of bumpy ride we reached the only spot where there seemed to be humanity and an excess at that, we soon realized! A watery meal of Maggi noodles was served as the ‘free lunch’ included in the rates and then back on to the mules for another four hours ride to nowhere – literally. The “loo” was in the open air and the less said about it the better! The foot wide path over round cobbled stones and overhanging cliff that jutted out just above our head made us hold on to the mule for life. At times the mules had to cross rivulets of which it appeared they were too scared. So they would come to a grinding halt. The guide would then leave us and go across to the other side and blow a whistle softly using his mouth. The mules would then go across and trot to the next steep climb catching us totally unaware!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> We reached a resting point where the elder sisters just collapsed and cried out that they could take no more. We were told that from that moment we could either go take a walk or return - Gaumukh or the source of Ganga being a few more kilometers up the rocky path. The area was more wide open with high mountains on all sides. The first snowflakes were falling on the peaks of the highest ones. Far away we spotted a few backpackers trekking their way to other paths. <img alt="mountain peak.jpg" border="0" height="144" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image021.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_15" width="624" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Blue skies with puffy white clouds and water guzzling at the foot of the mountains beckoned us and I did not need another invitation to follow my sister who was keen on achieving her ambition of reaching the source of Ganga. However as we trudged along it soon appeared that my sister also gave up and signaled to me to continue. Later I was told that, on the contrary, she had signaled to me to turn back! Anyway here I was happily boneweary but trudging along with all my strength following the footsteps of my hometown guide. I concentrated on keeping one foot ahead of the next and wondered at the silence and loneliness all around me. I could spot a mountain deer patiently chomping away at bits of grass that hid under the round stones and the sharp screech of an eagle made me look in its direction, soaring high up in the sky. Ahead of me there was no one and behind me too I did not find anyone. I was alone on the top of the world – all alone with nothing but the white clouds floating up above in the blue ether. <img alt="mountain deers.JPG" border="0" height="262" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image023.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_16" width="349" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Tears, for reasons I knew not and that I did not have any control over, flowed down my cheeks. Was it tears of happiness or sadness I had no idea but my mind was full and overflowing. There did not seem to be any track – I kept tripping over round stones. I was thirsty and hungry but it did not seem to matter anymore. My mind was blank.<img alt="hermitage.JPG" border="0" height="240" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image025.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_18" width="319" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Then far away I spotted the figure of a hermit’s shanty with its blue sheet flapping though the air was still. It seemed to wave at me beckoning me to keep coming forward. Soon I reached the zero milestone and flopped on it. My guide who had gone still further – who had travelled the full distance only on foot – soon brought me water from the source of the Ganges. The sweet taste of the clean and pure Ganga water satiated my thirst. I felt that this is how it should be. No need to move from here. It’s a lovely place to be till the end of the world. No malls, no calls, no nothing – just a long wait!<img alt="zeropoint.JPG" border="0" height="231" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image027.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_17" width="308" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">However I soon realized that my body was protesting and with a lot of effort and a few snaps to show my achievement I uncoiled myself, each joint screaming with pain. We both slowly made our way back to the spot where we had left the rest of the group but then there was no one there and no one in the base camp down below where we planned to spend the night. Confused we looked around to see two mules and one guide coming towards us and he appeared to be boiling with anger. It seems we had delayed him so much that it would be difficult to reach back before dark he grumbled as he strapped both of us on to the mules. Ahead of me was my guide in a white jacket, which was the only thing I could see in the dark after a few minutes. The rest of the journey is a blur as we galloped on the same track, round stones falling off as the guide or the mule slipped, reaching far down after a few agonizing minutes during which I realized the depth of the valley below. Once I nearly went over the mules head as he suddenly lurched downwards but managed to keep my hold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In the pitch dark I could hear the tapping of the mule’s feet as it trot over the granite. High above me the stars were twinkling in the sky and if only I could, I would have been able to count them as the sky was clear and beautiful! Tired, sleepy and hungry my mind was numb and fearless. The white jacket ahead was all that was available to let me know that we were going on this hazardous journey. If any of the next generation had known what we were in for I am sure we would not have been anywhere near the Himalayas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A few hours later I suddenly heard someone shouting my name and then came across my sister, spread-eagled, held tightly by two young guys, shouting my name asking if I had reached. Our guide kept going even as I tried to make out what was happening and shouted that I am fine but whats with you???!!!! A sight I will never forget in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It transpired later that she had nearly gone for a toss and fortunately as it was the fag end of the journey there were people waiting to help them get down and I had spotted her even as she was stopped from falling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">The way back home was comparatively less adventurous though we did cut across the mountains to Tehri, passing more villages and beautiful panoramas, seeing daily life as the mountaineers faced it in a stoic manner as the few glimpses below indicate.<img alt="carshop.JPG" border="0" height="272" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image029.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_32" width="464" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">Organically grown vegetables old on the wayside caught our attention and the car was loaded with it much to the disgust of the chauffeur who could not comprehend our attraction for buying what he considered as just home grown “sabji”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><img alt="organic vegetables sale.JPG" border="0" height="329" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image031.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_34" width="450" /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">In contrast to city-bred mothers who are reluctant to carry their own babies we found buffalo babies and lambs being lovingly carried around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><img alt="Getting ready for winter.JPG" border="0" height="217" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image033.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_35" width="387" /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">School kids seems to have a tough time reaching their destination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><img alt="Going to school is a risky business.JPG" border="0" height="365" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image035.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_36" width="650" /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">And local Himalayan weeds were seen being taken over by parthenium grass, indicating how far the cancer of progress was advancing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><img alt="himalayan weeds.JPG" border="0" height="314" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image037.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_37" width="419" /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;"><img alt="parthenium taking over the weeds.JPG" border="0" height="258" src="file:///C:/Users/PC/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image039.jpg" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_38" width="344" /></span></div>
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Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887198859756729141.post-7840504569756289792012-06-19T23:51:00.004-07:002012-06-20T00:10:58.512-07:00My dear Vallunnichettan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Vallunnichettan, my brother – the “grand” or “big” Unni is no more. He is my ‘cousin’ but the intricacy of our relationship is lost on me though it has been told to me several times. To me he is … or was, now that he is no more…..a “rakhee” brother as they say up north, an Uncle, a guardian, a Guru.. whatever. No words can describe either our relationship or affection for each other.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqt4rE9UJQA-ef77DJvhSGkI-dYZchUzoObrkSAcGTGv6QNS6x9JbvH_4DJYnqb_0WM0vbgVzTl4EBgEWl6_vnoXqxM8jN1ip92HggZSRoOdKBjOCTQ1FmbJOZ24NUf_jB-WSFTK8Zl5P/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqt4rE9UJQA-ef77DJvhSGkI-dYZchUzoObrkSAcGTGv6QNS6x9JbvH_4DJYnqb_0WM0vbgVzTl4EBgEWl6_vnoXqxM8jN1ip92HggZSRoOdKBjOCTQ1FmbJOZ24NUf_jB-WSFTK8Zl5P/s320/002.jpg" width="320" /></a>He was the brother who indulges in all my whims and fancies, often at variance to my mother’s orders – my first, red high-heeled sandals, that I hardly ever could manage to walk on – my first tennis kit, my maroon-coloured swimsuit……………..the list is endless. A constant figure sprawled out on the cane chair with a newspaper hiding his face, Vallunnichettan “big brother Unni” as he was fondly referred to in contrast to “Kochunni” the eldest sibling in our family who was shorter, he would be a silent observer to all the madness that went around him. The caustic remarks of his observations would often surface only during the evening get-togethers of the family gathered on the veranda, enjoying the gentle, jamine–laden sea-breeze. He was a permanent fixture at Kala Vihar or the playground of Kala, aptly named, as we moved in a year after I was born. My tearful protests never stopped him from addressing my friends using nicknames.<br />
My initiation to Harold Robbins, Alister Mc Lean and many other paperbacks – an upgradation from the staple diet of Mills & Boons, was thanks to him. They were left around for us to read and later discussed in different contexts. My father held a permanent grudge against him for ‘spoiling’ the minds of us teenagers – my sister and myself!<br />
He was an unending source of information in an era when neither televisions nor computers existed – he even freely spoke (and I staunchly refused to believe) of the ‘black-dyed hair of Mrs. Gandhi’ whom my father supported even during the Emergency, despite Unnichettan divulging many of the goings-on at the time. His pet topics discussed were generally the skeletons in the closet of the ruling parties. From minute details related to even the “Crusaders” to fantastique and logical-sounding conclusions like that of Cleopatra hailing from the Konkan Coast – he had it all stored in his then –active brains.<br />
The bang of the latch on the wooden-framed metal-sheet gate accompanied by the scraping noise as his sandals dragged over the sand on the concrete steps would be my signal to be at the window near the telephone to hand over the keys to his rooms – the outhouse rented to his company. As his unofficially nominated ‘Secretary’, I would be ready with precise details related to phone calls and letters received including at times queries related to tenders floated which I was supposed to answer – the accommodation being his official office-cum-residence.<br />
An unforgettable incidence is the night when he and Kochunnichettan, the smaller brother Unni, came at mid-night and tried to wake me up without waking up my Dad who was sleeping at the other end of the room. (Woken up at an unearthly hour my father was like a wounded tiger! ) Their efforts were in vain and I woke up in the morning, body aching all over from the stones, chappals and what have you thrown on my bed and the two of them were asleep in uncomfortable positions on the veranda!<br />
He was the brother who unobstrusively kept track of me and kept an invisible barrier between me, the naïve, small-town teenager and the big bad world outside. I still hold a grudge against him for having cruelly broken off a, who knows may be, what could have been a budding romance! A vague character kept ringing up to befriend me but fortunately or unfortunately one of the calls was received by my self-appointed local “guardian”and then there were no more calls!!!! “My big-brother Unni” never knew of the umpteen teenagers I used to roam around with though I suppose, as persipicacious as he was, he must have made out that they were just innocent friendships whereas this one seemed to be a wolf on the prowl!<br />
The most touching moment in our life was the day when he came to meet me as we boarded the train after selling ‘Kala Vihar’. Holding tight on to a sandalwood Ganapathy he just sat on the bunker. Neither of us had much to say but our lack of words expressed a world of affection.<br />
Coerced by my mother to marry a charming and soft girl, petrified of him, at the late age of 36, she ended up being his sole support in all ways with the debilitating onset of Alzeihmers. Death has now brought relief to both but our loss is immeasurable.<br />
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</div>Kala Variarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17687389114239384359noreply@blogger.com0