Experiences

If there was ever a metaphor for one’s spiritual journey, then this was it. The journey until Lonavala was humdrum enough to be pointless. Lonavala, as we sped past it, was distressing with its crowd, ugly buildings, and litter. Bushi dam at the outskirts of Lonavala was submerged in a sea of humanity. It was more remarkable to encounter a sea of humanity on top of the hills, scampering up the two once-scenic waterfalls. We were caught in a silly near-stationary traffic jam there caused by pedestrians, shops, unregulated parking and a mountain of litter for almost 45 minutes. As we sat fretting, fuming and ravening (it was way past our lunch time), we thought of God for the first time. Miraculously we got past what seemed like “samsara” and the road rose steadily uphill, winding its way through green slopes. Crowd thinned, although we saw another knot of people at Lion point, doing very strange things such as riding a camel! Immediately past Lion point—silence. The woods aro...

“Cha-ha-aild!” crooned the unsupportable singer. “Wooo!!” cheered 15 of her friends, family and neighbors. I made sheep eyes at the pretty, curly-haired supporting vocals and violin. T was enchanted. “This is just a jive short of a Bandra catholic gathering!” she said, misty eyed with nostalgia. P sipped her exotic cardamom-flavored-litchi-swirl-strongly-laced-with-vodka and smiled tolerantly at all and sundry. Such was Friday night at Blue Frog, the “revolutionary integrated music project in India.” Actually, I like the place. It’s eclectic, interesting and informal—I’ve attended a poetry recital program and a screening of award winning shorts from around the world there. I even won a branded mug during a promo of a movie whose name you may not have heard of, there.  I probably shouldn’t be hard on up-and-coming talent, but see that’s the problem. I didn’t see the “up” side. Her “li-hi-ve withooooutjuuuuu!” made us all reach for the fries simultaneously and fi...

My auto came to a halt atone of the dusty, grimy, grey traffic signals that dots the Mumbai suburban landscape. It was just another Mumbai road moment, the air vibrating with the restless thrum of the million engines carrying a million impatient people to their various destinations.  A dusty, grimy, grey street child was making the rounds of the waiting vehicles, begging. He was so small that any smaller, he would have been mistaken for the million bandicoots that live under the pavements and sewers. He was begging the way street children are perhaps taught in their Fagin’s academy—touching the passengers, knocking on the raised car windows, his tone whining and pitiful. He approached an auto containing two teenage girls. As he tried to touch them, one of the girls shrieked in a tone colored by disgust and fear, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” The little child, as like some of us around, was taken aback by the violence of her words. Just then the signal turned gr...

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...