Travelogue

Part 2 - Shikaras on Dal

If you remember, in my last post I was neatly packed into the army jeep at Srinagar airport and whisked away to our accommodation. We stayed in Army Area near the airport in Shekh Pora. We were put up in a grand bungalow set on spacious lawns dotted with apple and pomegranate trees, with neatly manicured hedges running along the edges. Stepping out of the comely lanes of handsome bungalows on to the main thoroughfare, beautiful snow-covered mountains appeared abruptly in the horizon. The air all around was crisp and clear, with the faint smell of pines. It was spectacular. 

Our first order of business, apart from lunch, was boating on Dal Lake. It is the quintessential experience of Srinagar. After a somewhat slow drive through Srinagar's traffic (nothing as bad as Mumbai or Delhi), we reached the shores of the famed lake and sought out a couple of shikaras. 

Now at this point I should mention that not two years ago, while white water rafting in Rishikesh, I had fallen into the rapids and had been swept away more than 1 km by the icy waters of the Ganges, before being pulled aboard another raft. I would like to say that I was calm and reacted with presence of mind, but that would be a lie. It didn't help that I can't swim and that the life jacket was the only thing that had kept me from drowning. 

All this was on my mind as we approached the shikaras, gently bobbing on the water. As we boarded the boats, they started swaying sideways, and I clenched my fists and butt-cheeks in fear. The boatman then pushed the shikara away from the dock and jumped on, causing the already-rocking shikara to sway more, and me to dig my fingernails further into my palms (at this point, I couldn't clench my butt-cheeks anymore). Just as the rocking started to subside and I was starting to relax, another guy jumped on and the process started again.

Ideally, it takes two people to row a shikara with 3 or more people on it, or in our case, one person to row and another to maintain a steady stream of chatter. The boatmen of Dal Lake are really quite different from those in other parts of the country. They are dressed very fashionably in jeans and tees, sporting sunglasses and sneakers, looking more like extras on the set of a Karan Johar movie about extremely good-looking college students. 

Once the boat stops rocking, you can't but marvel at the beauty of the setting. Other shikaras gently lapping over the dark surface of the lake, the waves created by the boats glinting in the sunlight, trees and mountains all around the lake, and no sound except that of the oars slicing through the water and Siddharth Malhotra Part 2 still chatting away, presumably because that's built in as part of the package. Once you tune that out, it really is the most splendid boat ride, until the floating hawkers pull up alongside your boat. 

Dal Lake is home to seemingly hundreds of men selling their trinkets and wares on shikaras. They glide all over the lake, like dragonflies hovering over water, and keep pulling up to every shikara carrying tourists. Once you manage to wave them away, your boatman takes you right into their hive, a floating market built in the middle of the lake. Here, they docked their boat alongside one of the vendors, and then said that they have to bail out water from the boats (you'd think that by now they'd have been able to build boats that don't take on water by just sailing on a calm, smooth lake). So you have no choice but to get out and politely look at the merchandise while Varun and Siddharth take a bright blue plastic pail and begin to slowly bail out water, one teaspoon at a time. 

The process back to the shore is basically the same, where you wave away the hawkers on their shikaras while they merrily bump alongside your boat and make it start rocking with gusto. 

However, one thing that shouldn't be missed is a steaming cup of kahwa on the lake. This sweet tea with spices and nuts is a real treat. The vendors who sell this delectable drink can be spotted easily by the crowd of tourist shikaras around them. 

After a refreshing cuppa, we made our way back to the shore and thence to our stately bungalow. 

None The Worse: Another contest on WC. This time, an author-less ...

None The Worse:
Another contest on WC. This time, an author-less ...: Another contest on WC. This time, an author-less flash contest. The theme - Mayhem/Mystery. Although my entry didn't win, I'm sti...

Another contest on WC. This time, an author-less flash contest. The theme - Mayhem/Mystery. Although my entry didn't win, I'm still proud of this piece.

The Cuckoo

The first explosion woke me up immediately. Suddenly an orange glow cut through the darkness, followed by a series of explosions. Immediately, it dawned on me. The invasion had started. I could already smell the black smoke.

Another explosion, much closer than the others, shook the house. Startled, I leapt out of bed and ran toward my mom’s room, my path illuminated by the dancing flames outside. I pushed open her bedroom door and stopped short. She was seated calmly on her bed. The fires raging outside threw enough light to illuminate the sneer on her face.

Just as I was about to open my mouth to say something (surely, she had to have noticed the bombings), she got up. As she rose, I saw the red and green insignia of the enemy embossed on her ring, a ring that I had never seen her wear before. She took out a gun from her waistband and, without hesitation, pointed it at my heart where the gold and white emblem of our nation was patched on my nightshirt, and pulled the trigger.

I gasped and woke up with a start, just as the first bomb of the invasion fell. 

None The Worse: Another writing challenge on Writer's Carnival. A ...

None The Worse: Another writing challenge on Writer's Carnival. A ...: Another writing challenge on Writer's Carnival. A winter-themed story in 200 words or less. The results aren't out yet, but here&#3...

Another writing challenge on Writer's Carnival. A winter-themed story in 200 words or less. The results aren't out yet, but here's my story:

He had moved north a few full moons ago. Winter here was harsher than he had expected. In the land of his ancestors, were coconut palms and rice fields ruled the landscape, winter was but a cooler summer. But here, the wind chilled him to his bones and stung his face. The mist enshrouded the landscape till noon, and left glittering dewdrops on every surface, like diamonds scattered carelessly. This winter, it had even snowed.

He had left home for a reason – to forget the memories of his wife who was unjustly killed by the villagers. She had been accused of witchcraft and had been beheaded and burnt by the frenzied mob. The last sound he heard was of her anklets, the little bells tinkling merrily.

Before the villagers could turn on him, he had fled, and after several months, had finally reached the last outpost of civilization before the snowcapped Himalayas. He had hoped a new beginning would help him forget the painful memories of his wife. He would have buried the memories of that night, if it weren’t for the merry tinkling of her anklets every night. 

None The Worse: Contest Winner!!I'm so excited! I had entered in ...

None The Worse: Contest Winner!!
I'm so excited! I had entered in ...: Contest Winner!! I'm so excited! I had entered in a blind poetry contest on Writer's Carnival. The theme was love poems. Conte...

Contest Winner!!

I'm so excited! I had entered in a blind poetry contest on Writer's Carnival. The theme was love poems. Contestants are supposed to write in a way that they normally wouldn't write in. I spent all of 15 minutes on mine, and didn't really think I had a chance at winning. But I did!! Tied for first place! :D

Link: http://www.writerscarnival.ca/poet-less-poetry-contest-winners/

My poem below:

When It Dawns

Polished boots in the corner

Bags packed and zipped shut

The cell phone charged and alarm set

You wish time would stop instead

For when it dawns, he will be gone

Slow conversations over dinner

Unhurried nibbles and unsavory sips

Glad for the present, sad for the future

But time marches on, though you wish otherwise

For when it dawns, he will be gone

Dishes done, counters wiped, lights turned out

Doors locked and nocturnal ablutions done

You’ve tarried all you can, get in bed

You snuggle with him under the covers and worry

For when it dawns, he will be gone

Whispered conversations during the night

Your breaths align and sync with time

You feel his warmth suffuse your soul

And smell his scent to commit it to memory

For when it dawns, he will be gone

Eventually the kisses cease, and the murmurs stop

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms

A deafening silence only you can hear

You count his heartbeats and hear your own

For when it dawns, he will be gone

Soon enough comes the dreaded dawn

Both of you sad about his departure

He picks up his stuff and you kiss one last time

Off he goes to fight wars under foreign skies

For it has dawned, and he is gone

None The Worse: TraveloguePart 1 - Pune to SrinagarIt occurred to...

None The Worse: TraveloguePart 1 - Pune to Srinagar
It occurred to...: Travelogue Part 1 - Pune to Srinagar It occurred to me that while I had one of the best vacations earlier this year in the gloriousl...

Travelogue

Part 1 - Pune to Srinagar

It occurred to me that while I had one of the best vacations earlier this year in the gloriously rugged terrains of Ladakh, I have never written about it. So I have decided to jot down my travels in a multi-part series imaginatively titled Travelogue. 

The original plan was hatched by my sister and brother-in-law (English really ought to come up with better kinship terms! Someone-in-law is such a mouthful.) which somehow evolved to include my mother and I. Dad, of course, had office and couldn't make it. So I applied for leave at my office and joined with full gusto in launching a reconnaissance of the region we were to visit. Planes were booked, hotels and home stays identified, places of interest marked and bags were packed. To my surprise, my leaves were granted by my boss (I was getting ready to grovel if needed). 

Planning the trip is often more fun than the actual trip. Your mind goes places, imagining the various sights to be beheld, the aromas of the local food, the sounds and smells of the locales amongst other experiences. Of course, there is the vague, niggling worry that the hotel room may only have a single 10 watt bulb to light the gloom and bed bugs that'll glut on your blood, that it'll rain orange-sized hailstones on the day you plan to see the beautiful, snow-covered peaks at Gulmarg, and that at any moment, protests would paralyse the transport industry which'll leave you stuck at the glorified bus terminus called Pune airport. So for several days before the trip, we diligently viewed hotel reviews online, checked the weather report for the region and followed the news regularly to put our minds at ease. 

I guess we spent most of the week before our departure in an orgy of buying stuff for the trip, while packing and unpacking items several times trying to decide if we'd need it during the trip. In any case, we departed for the airport with the entire winter wear section of Shopper's Stop and half a pharmacy's worth of medicines for every possible medical emergency we might face, from apoplexy and incontinence, to nausea and zits.

We took an early morning flight from Pune to Delhi, where we picked up my brother-in-law's parents. At the security check for our onward flight to Srinagar, I espied the team from AIB (if you haven't seen AIB's channel on YouTube yet, you should). 

The approach to Srinagar is splendid. The bird's eye view of the snow-capped mountains around the city, the verdant farms below, and spots of colour indicating houses was simply beautiful! It all looked very clean and fresh. We had a wobbly landing, but halted neatly at the terminal, which prompted a round of applause amongst the passengers.

We were greeted at the airport by our contact from the military, who picked up our bags from the conveyor belt and whisked us to the two military jeeps waiting for us outside. Most of our luggage and my bro-in-law were loaded in one of the vehicles, while the rest of us squeezed in the other. I had the unfortunate honour of being seated in the rear compartment of the vehicle, with the rest of our luggage. With military precision, they neatly folded me in the available 8 inches of space , and I spent the journey to our accommodation with my face pressed against the window, my breath fogging up the glass. 

But never mind, we had reached Srinagar! My holidays had begun.

None The Worse: Bejewelled SkiesThe inky darkness explodedWith mo...

None The Worse: Bejewelled Skies
The inky darkness explodedWith mo...: Bejewelled Skies The inky darkness exploded With more hues than could be counted As fireworks rent the sky in hues That sparkled...

Bejewelled Skies

The inky darkness exploded

With more hues than could be counted

As fireworks rent the sky in hues

That sparkled and glittered and died

And still more followed suit

And lit the heavens with lustre

The glow reflected on the upturned faces

Looking up with awe and delight

Their young faces reflecting

Both happiness and envy

For though they made the fireworks

Crafted, packed and boxed them

Inhaling noxious fumes

And ingesting toxic colours

Someone else would burst them

And exhausted, sleep in warm beds

While the young hands that laboured

To gift that joy to the privileged

Would return to their shanties

Cold, sick and dying

And return to that cesspool

To help bedeck the heavens

None The Worse: HorrorvilleIt's Not In My HeadI saw Annabelle a c...

None The Worse: HorrorvilleIt's Not In My Head
I saw Annabelle a c...: Horrorville It's Not In My Head I saw Annabelle a couple of nights ago. It was the last show of the day at 10.20 PM. Not that I ...

Horrorville

It's Not In My Head

I saw Annabelle a couple of nights ago. It was the last show of the day at 10.20 PM. Not that I wanted to see it, but my friends insisted, nay ordered. I had no choice. 

They - "We're going to see Annabelle tonight, last show."

Me - "I can't. I have something else I need to do"

"Like what?"

Mind completely blank, I blurt the first thing that come to my macho mind - "It's that time of the month when..." I start protesting weakly.

"Oh shut up! You're coming and we've already booked your tickets."

"But I don't want to! Can't we see One Direction instead?"

*Disbelieving silence*

Me - "Of course I'm kidding...HA HA HA HA." I laugh maniacally. "Annabelle it is." 

Not wanting to be thought a wuss, I went along. 

Was the movie scary? I have no idea. The reviews said it was a disappointment. I wouldn't know. What I did was, I crouched low in my seat until my knees were just about level with my chin. Folding my 6'2" frame so low in the seat was a real task. Then I spent the rest of the time staring at the glowing, red exit sign just below the screen. Even now, when I close my eyes, I still see the red exit sign. And that's all I ever saw! 

Not that I'm afraid of the dark, but every time I watch a horror movie, my mind converts every single sound in the night into something scary. The creaking of my bed betrays the girl from The Ring hiding underneath it. The rustle of the curtains reveals the silhouette of the woman from The Grudge. And the shape of the bedside lamp in the dark looks like the face of Tim Curry (It makes me shudder every time).

I get over it of course, but until then I usually drink a bottle of cough syrup to knock me out, cover myself from head to toe with my blanket (taking special care to tuck it under my feet), and force myself to think of non-scary movies like Kung Fu Panda, Madagascar and Paranormal Activity (Seriously! Two hours of watching people sleep, eat, talk, watch TV and sleep some more, all with shoddy camera work is an invitation to seizure inducing boredom). 

Which is why I've decided that while it's all in my head, why put it there in the first place?

None The Worse: I Don't DanceOf all the forms of expressions that...

None The Worse: I Don't Dance
Of all the forms of expressions that...: I Don't Dance Of all the forms of expressions that humans use to express emotions, ideas and stories, none is as peculiar as dance...

I Don't Dance

Of all the forms of expressions that humans use to express emotions, ideas and stories, none is as peculiar as dance. Since the time people lived in caves and wondered if rocks were edible, dance has existed. It acts as a form of story telling, of passing down ideas through the generations. It is used to express joy, devotion, veneration and a whole lot more. It's symbolic of a people, and has emotional and cultural connotations. This ritual of swirling, side-stepping, bobbing heads and shaking tooshies is enthusiastically taken upon by boobies, tits, woodcocks (I'm talking about birds you perverts!), finches, grebes, flamingos, ostriches and other zoological species, including humans. 

No other species has so ardently evolved the art of dancing as humans have. From the time Og had a rodentosaurus run up his tiger skirt and he started flailing about to shake it off, thus inventing the first dance form known as rock dance (the predecessor to modern rock n' roll), humans have shaped, classified, codified, reinvented, borrowed, studied, copied and, in case of psychedelic trance dance, ingested LSD to make dancing a multi-billion dollar industry. (Of course I'm kidding about Og inventing the first dance form! As if I actually do any research when I blog! It could've easily been his brother Doh).

However, the art of dancing, forget dancing well, is clearly not a genetic factor. Some people have two left feet. I have no feet left. While friends all around me are dancing to the tunes of the Ultimate Part Album, featuring all the songs whose lyrics I don't know but I pretend to and make up words, I try to dance too. Honestly, I do. The only problem is, my brain cannot move all my limbs at the same time, so I end up looking like I'm having a seizure while my arms keep inadvertently brushing the family jewels of the person nearest to me. To avoid this embarrassing outcome, I often keep my hands in my pockets while dancing, but it always ends up making me look like I'm trying to discreetly scratch an itch down there.

 That's why I prefer discotheques, where it's dark enough to not be able to make out your every move, and I can do the only dance step I've perfected - The Mr. Bean. (To be honest, I haven't perfected all of Bean's moves, just his facial expressions).

The one time I did gamely try dancing, to a Punjabi tune no less, I accidentally stepped on the foot of a friend dancing next to me, enough to draw blood from her big toe. Ever since then, I've decided that in order to spare any more digits of other people from oozing blood and requiring a tetanus shot, it's best that I don't dance. 

None The Worse: The OfficeHear the trillLoud and shrillGet out of...

None The Worse:
The OfficeHear the trillLoud and shrillGet out of...: The Office Hear the trill Loud and shrill Get out of bed, yawn, arise Rub the sleep from your eyes Morning ablutions and break...

None The Worse: None The Worse: Sign of ProsperityWhy I'd Rather B...

None The Worse: None The Worse: Sign of ProsperityWhy I'd Rather B...: None The Worse: Sign of ProsperityWhy I'd Rather Be Poor We all co... : Sign of Prosperity Why I'd Rather Be Poor We all con...

The Office

Hear the trill

Loud and shrill

Get out of bed, yawn, arise

Rub the sleep from your eyes

Morning ablutions and break your fast

Hasten, commute, the hour is past

Boot up, check emails and call

Meetings, ignore the inevitable pall

Lunch and tea, an eye on the watch

Quitting time, hasten back to dine and lodge

None The Worse: Sign of ProsperityWhy I'd Rather Be PoorWe all co...

None The Worse: Sign of ProsperityWhy I'd Rather Be Poor
We all co...: Sign of Prosperity Why I'd Rather Be Poor We all convince ourself that it won't happen to us. We convince ourselves that we&...

Sign of Prosperity

Why I'd Rather Be Poor

We all convince ourself that it won't happen to us. We convince ourselves that we're doing enough to keep it at bay. Then we ignore the signs that it is happening, that it has started, and unless we reign it in, it will continue to grow. Until one day, it's too late. We've ignored it too long and it's here. There's no hiding it. I'm talking of course, about a beer belly (or as teetotallers call it, lassi belly).

I admit it - I was in denial! Being a tall, lanky lad, I assumed I would never get it. After all, back then I never drank. Had enough physical activity. I may not have been healthy, but I was gloriously, marvellously, fabulously thin! Of course, I'm still thin (enough) now. Only I have a beer belly. The combination makes me look like I have kwashiorkor.   

Unlike a beer induced hangover which goes away with a Saridon, a hot shower and some food in the stomach, a beer induced fat belly unfortunately doesn't go away. Love your curves, so long as it doesn't make you look like a three month pregnant man (fast approaching the second trimester). 

Of course, as I transitioned from student to employee, my life became more sedentary. The bulk of my week now consists of slouching slack-jawed with glazed eyes in front of the computer screen, sitting up straight whenever the boss passes by and pretending to work (I believe in working as much as you're paid). My only exercise now consists of eyebrow lifts and tongue push ups (Gym?? Hah! As if!)

Now my belly has gone beyond hiding. Bulky tees just don't conceal it. The fat refuses to settle in my biceps and triceps. Whatever triceps are! Never having had any muscle worth flaunting (my derriere, unfortunately, doesn't attract any fat), I'm woefully unaware of musculature except biceps. If I try to suck in my belly, I'm unable to breathe at the same time. 

Once upon a time, a rotund friend of mine joked about his Santa belly, saying that it's a sign of prosperity. I don't know about him, but I'd sure rather be poor. 

None The Worse: Fire in the BellyThere's No Career Other Than Bein...

None The Worse: Fire in the BellyThere's No Career Other Than Bein...: Fire in the Belly There's No Career Other Than Being an Engineer  Not really the type to rant in script (I much prefer verbal di...

Fire in the Belly

There's No Career Other Than Being an Engineer 

Not really the type to rant in script (I much prefer verbal diarrhoea), but sometimes me thinks some things are better left unsaid (not unwritten). For long, the coveted career of choice for sons was engineer/doctor (still is, it seems). You'd think the vast number of new, unconventional careers popping up would have reassured the average Indian parent that your child can really become anything. But not really.

It doesn't matter what you do after you earn that engineering degree - MBA in marketing, career in law, or financial laundering, as long as you have that hallowed degree. In college, girls chose science or commerce, and boys choose only science. Wasn't that how the parochiality worked? If you don't follow convention and get that most sought after of B.Sc's, then shame on you! How will you earn lots of money? (because nothing else matters, not even doing something that you like). How will you get married? (because apparently a B.A. makes you unqualified for marriage). 

Sure there's doctors, but let's be honest here, they're a special breed. Unlike an International Operations Consultant or a Manager of Special Corporate Affairs or what have you not, a doctor does not need to explain what he does. A person just says (s)he's a doctor and immediately (s)he gets respect. If they say they're a surgeon, then respect overload. But to get there needs a lot of brains, hard work, dedication, perseverance, money (money, rather a lack of it, has squashed more dreams than Simon Cowell has) and most importantly, the ability to not get squeamish around blood and guts.

That's why, for squeamish people, the next best thing is to be an engineer. Unless math utterly baffles you. If you are like me, you could learn all the formulae by heart and be able to recite them backwards in morse code just as you have fallen asleep, but you just don't know how to apply them. So rather than suffer in perpetuity through engineering school and the afterlife, we chose anything else.

And thence starts the passive-aggressive communication between parent and spawn. Those not-so-subtle references to somebody else's child who did become an engineer and now, lives in Australia and earns more than the GDP of Peru. Then, while your net worth increases at the same pace as the continents slide towards each other, the not-so-subtle references turn to obvious remonstrations. So while you thought that this weekend you could slouch in front of the TV doing an uncanny imitation of rigor mortis, your procreator thinks you need to get a life. 

Which is why, before the metaphors start flying thick and fast (You don't have the fire in the belly to do something with your life!), get an engineering degree and then do what you want. 

None The Worse: The PlungeHe scanned the skies, garbed in redGot ...

None The Worse: The Plunge
He scanned the skies, garbed in redGot ...: The Plunge He scanned the skies, garbed in red Got in the flight with feet of lead The engines roared and came to life As drea...

The Plunge

He scanned the skies, garbed in red

Got in the flight with feet of lead

The engines roared and came to life

As dread impaled his heart like a knife

Up they flew toward infinite space

His heart raced and sped it's pace

Through broken clouds and pierced light

Up into the void against earth's might

All too soon came the call

To take the plunge and begin the fall 

And so he fell, back towards earth

The biggest rush for what it's worth

The roaring wind slapped his face

As he dropped with but little grace

And the rising earth curved below

The sun behind giving him a halo

And then he smiled beatific

As he thought this terrific

Time and him were in a race

As he rushed to accept earth's embrace

When all of a sudden, with a timely jolt

The chute deployed, shocking him a volt

And he pulled back, seemingly to the sky

The earth dropped below him, he let out a cry

The most fetching view he had ever seen

Sprawled below him, expressing awe's gene

He marvelled, gaped and basked in the rush

It made his eyes water and his cheeks flush

As he gently thumped back to the ground

His senses recouped, his mind all wound

He was amazed, awed and all

Because of that mighty fall

None The Worse: Ego SumHe thinks he has it all figured out. He th...

None The Worse: Ego Sum
He thinks he has it all figured out. He th...: Ego Sum He thinks he has it all figured out. He thinks he knows what he wants. He thinks his life is on track. But he knows he thinks ...

Ego Sum

He thinks he has it all figured out. He thinks he knows what he wants. He thinks his life is on track. But he knows he thinks wrong. He has his labels...son, brother, friend, colleague, classmate, cousin, nephew, grandson, uncle and mister. But these are the labels that others give him. He doesn't have a label for himself. 

He wishes he does though...he desperately searches for it. He seeks it out furtively. Secretly. Like a mouse skirting along the wall trying to go unnoticed, he tries to label himself without letting others know that he doesn't know himself. 

At times, he's terrified that he won't ever know who he is. Sure, he's a good person, but that's not his identity. He has some likes, but no passions. He has some fears, but no phobias. Some crushes, but no loves. Some traits, but nothing that puts him head and shoulders above the others. He's neither a saint, nor a sinner. He's not radical. It's hard to find your clique when you don't know what you want. 

For now, when people ask him who he is, he uses one of the labels provided to him by everyone else around him. For those who don't know him, he has a label they can use - stranger. He has quite a few of them in fact, a whole box full of labels. He has it compartmentalised according to relationship - family, friend, work, school, neighbour, acquaintance and miscellaneous. But there's one compartment that's empty - self.  

One day, he tells himself, one day I'll know who I am.