Experiences

TOI calls her Nirbhaya—the Fearless One. 12 days on, she’s putting up one of the most inspiring fights I have seen in recent times. One thought, in the beginning, presumptuously, that the nation was behind her, with its prayers and encouragement. Now I feel humbled and think that perhaps the nation is drawing strength from this 23-year old girl, this epitome of indomitable spirit, who survived a bloodcurdling assault, is fighting intestinal gangrene, sepsis, breathing difficulties and psychological trauma, and who is alert enough to give statement not once, but twice. Shame on the powers-that-be that put her through this ordeal twice; for putting her in the cross fire of accusations and counter accusations that only brings the corruptness and ineptness of the establishment and administration into sharp focus. The swell of protesters in Delhi asking for justice and safety for women is heartening on a couple of accounts. As a friend put it, the tree is being shaken up. Today’s yo...

Is traveling about getting somewhere or getting away from it all? Is it about finding something or getting lost? Is it about progress or taking a detour? Or is it simply about moments—magical, gastronomical, funny, poignant or adventurous? Moments were aplenty during this winter trip to Rajasthan: Walking through the enchanted woods of Keoladeo National Park, feeling like an Alice who’s just slid down the rabbit hole; Standing stunned before the exquisite but uniquely individualistic monuments at Fatehpur Sikri, hearing a voice of an extraordinary man across 400 years;  Staring at a ceiling painted in a style that can be only described as Moghul-kitsch with horrid fascination, unable to sleep in an overwhelmingly garish hotel in Jaipur; Marveling at the effortless and steady-footed way the camel negotiated sand dunes, even with a payload such as me… And in the middle of these moments, I think I did manage to get away, get lost, get somewhere and find something. I lost the st...

Yes, I have been about this year, mostly with my glorious travel companions. From sea shore to hills to deep jungles, we went everywhere. We baked in 45-degree temperatures, squelched and waded in monsoon rains, and walked endlessly in salubrious weather. The most significant thing about this is the subtle difference that has come over me as a traveler. Traveling has become a spiritual experience, at least in parts. It could be because I stop to observe birds, wild flowers, insects, and water droplets on blades of grass from behind my camera a lot nowadays, especially after learning the basics of macro photography. The point is in every trip, there is a moment I feel I understand the world, nature, and perhaps even God better. I feel connected. I feel integrated. I feel grateful to be here. Who else to describe what I feel eloquently than Subramania Bharathi: Ethanai kodi inbam vaithai iraiva Chithinai achithudan inaithai Angu cherum iym bhoothathu viyanula chamaithai Athanai ula...

I mean very free verse. So free that you might wonder whether it is verse. But I have been writing these poems regularly for a few months now, usually in the mornings. These little spurts of creativity help me face increasingly stressful days at work and give me a reason to feel good about life, on a day-to-day basis. The Ride Outside my balcony was a fluffy cloud "Hop on, time for a ride," it said. I jumped over the rails, nimbler than I thought Fell headlong into its cushiony softness. We soared towards the orange streaked sky Cold wind swept my hair, my nose tip froze I waved at a flock of birds, they nodded at me We swerved sharply as a plane passed by (Deafening noise, btw, I am now hard of hearing) We met a minor God, rushing to an appointment We talked, my cloud and I-- Water bearing is not as easy as it looks Bombarded by hills, zapped by lightning! It talked of the trauma, the hard life I talked, about nothing in particular. Eventually, silence bef...

30 sweet seconds to enjoy a winter full moon in an inky black sky framed by the bare branches of a tree looking like a Van Gogh painting at Lonavala. 30 alone seconds to watch the tops of the 100 feet casuarina trees outside our cottage at Dive Agar erupt into a confusion of yellow as two dozen Golden Orioles rose out of it to the accompaniment of a cacophony of twitter. 30 all-too-short minutes to enjoy the biting cold of early Delhi morning at Chanakya Puri, watching school kids bundled up in woolens going to school, like so many bees. Four achingly nostalgic hours to dash from Marina Beach to Saravana Bhavan to Mount Road to Besant Nagar Beach, remembering those crucial three years of shedding small town-ness, growing wings, growing up, falling in love, being betrayed, picking up guys at a fast food restaurant on a bet, pillion riding to Mahabalipuram on a bike... Vignettes framed sharply by the strict confines of time to enjoy them--like looking through someone else’s photo albu...

You need to be in a state of preparedness to visit the Sundarbans. I suggest that you wait until you are over 30 and have experienced a few knocks, some heartbreak, and a little disappointment in life. It would help if you had ever searched for anything—God, happiness, truth, yourself. It might also be useful to believe that it is necessary to get lost to find your way. If you are the sort of person who finds music in the sound of the quiet lap of water against the tarred hull of the boat or the metaphor of life in drifting along endless waters on a little vessel, then you are ready for the magnificent mangroves. Because the Sundarbans is not for the weekend holidayers, the types who would want to drink beer, scratch their bum/crotch/head/something, throw plastic and Styrofoam into the water with impunity, and hope to get laid. I only hope that the crocodiles that eat them would not develop indigestion. It is important to find the right tour guide for the Sundarbans, as we did. Bi...

My Neighbor Totoro (1988) This is a gem of a movie—precious, joyous, enchanting and a little sad. It’s about a childhood where there are adventures to be had at every corner, spirits and creatures in the forests to frolic with, of cat buses and furry trolls, of plucking corns and driving sooty sprites away with laughter. It’s about big fat tears and wonderful giggles. It’s about breathtaking visuals and lyrical moments. It’s about two girls—short-haired and lanky Satsuki (about 10 years old) and her cuddly pig-tailed baby sister Mei (about four years old.) They move into rural post war Japan with their professor father to be near their long-term ill mother in a nearby hospital. Their house is old, rickety, falling apart in places and most importantly, allegedly haunted.  There is a giant camphor tree in the yard that looks all mysterious. The girls are excited and just a bit scared. They settle down to their new life with zest and cartwheels.  Mei follows her sist...