The BackPack of Travel

Earlier people might have called them vagabonds, but today they are the esteemed ‘backpackers’. The first time I had heard of one traveling the whole of world for two years, I was instantly jiggered; the gumption, leave aside money and time, needed to do so is monumental. But that is travel - we may never understand the joy of it unless we do so.

This is not to mean that I am a big time traveler. On the contrary, I am a much laidback person, preferring a cosy day at home to a slog in the outside. But whenever I had managed to visit some places, I have been overwhelmed. Part of that comes from the sheer occasion of being present at those places, and the rest of it from the sweet and sour travails of reaching there. I can’t categorically say though whether the occasion was better or the experience. I think it has to be experience.

I believe tourist spots fall into three main categories. First, the most likable 3’S category (Sun, Sand and Sex). Go flipping around the periphery of Europe, S-E Asia, Caribbean - in fact all the exotic islands, one can find these places in plenty. The buzz of life or night-life, on beaches or discotheques, is hard to find anywhere else. But as with most things salacious, these are ephemeral. The second type of tourist places is the ‘Nature Trail’. Mountains, snow-laden hilltops, steep cliffs, deserts, water resorts etc provide enough of excitement, challenge or recreation for the hardened nature-lovers. Indeed there is nothing more soothing than natural beauty. But there is another genre which is probably more esoteric than all these, at least for some. The Historic and Religious places. Some are absolutely smitten with history and religion, so no wonders they feel truly whelmed on just being at those places. It is not uncommon for them to feel vicarious about the legends and stories –true or untrue- associated with those sites.

Not tough to judge by now, if I have to place myself in any category, then I will fit in the third slot. I do like buzz and nature, but somehow those experiences don’t last with me forever. Talking of my recent trips, I have liked Manali coolness, or Ayia Napa intoxication, or St Louis’ Six Flags topsi-turvyness, or Nile’s felucca ride or London Eye merry-go-round or Israel’s Dead Sea. But nothing can match the excitement of their historical counterparts: ‘Vaishno Devi darshan, Baths of Aphrodite, Dayton’s Air Museum, Luxor’s pharaohs’ tombs, British Museum, and the whole of Jerusalem. In fact, the most lasting image till now of my whole travel-career is walking on the alleys of Bethlehem in Palestine on the Christmas 25th Dec Night with the Palestinians and us exchanging looks, glances and also glares of many unanswered and unfathomable tenor. That is what I call experience, and that is what I always try to find: the feeling of the place.

Take whatever one may; the reasons are galore, and only one is sufficient to drive one away on a trail. I wish I too could pack my back up one day, and get oblivious to the world around. But sometimes the word ‘backpacker’ isn’t meant to become everyone, at least not to me who didn’t visit the Taj in spite of living only an hour’s drive for five straight years :)

Aais paais, you duffer

I threw my school satchel on the sofa, and ran as fast as I could, evading my mother’s calls, to my friend’s house. The sweltering summer didn’t dither me, neither did the closed window. I knocked his window, and after some earnest whisperings too, he opened it. I demanded, “Where is it?” Still rubbing off his sleep, he gave it to me disapprovingly. I had got my prized possession, and ran back, again as fast as I could, to my home. My mother had laid out my lunch, and I sat on the dining table, and opened it by the side of my plate. Ah! ‘The new comic’s release of Super Commando Dhruv’ How long had I been waiting for you, Dhruv.? You are great, better than Nagraj. My school mates are buffoons. They don’t realize that you, unlike Nagraj, do things without supernatural powers. Thus quickly granting victory to me, I got immersed into the comics, with my mother coaxing me to eat first and read it later.

I am smiling now while I write this. The professed sense of adulthood can’t approve it, but a few years back, those were my moments – each day. I was reliving these moments with my colleagues during our post-lunch walk a few days back. Following a discussion, we had somehow jaunted off to our childhood, and before long, we were throwing out similar, if not same, stories of nonchalant innocence. Each gushed out his blissful days in never-to-return mood. Remarkably we were all floating in the same zone.

There is this laid out field of cricket, the only difference being that the field is the lawn of some house. Leg side play is barred because the wall patrolling the leg side has some glass-pane windows, some already broken. There is a well in between, and whenever the ball is hit inside it, the batsman is admonished for being too perfect. Not only he is given out, but he also has to borrow the bucket to draw the ball out, from some hard-faced and hotheaded uncle of us.

Then there is this lukka chippi (hide and seek) being played among the half-raised walls of an under-construction house. Vivek has counted till ten. Hey see, Raj has swapped his yellow shirt with the brown one of Sohan. And Ram is sporting the now-borrowed blue cap of Gopi on his bald head. Gopi is walking with his scalp just peeking above the wall. To complicate matters, Raj is dangling the flaps of his yellow shirt beyond one corner. Poor Vivek! That’s you, Sohan. No idiot, aais paais. It’s me! Raj. Go and count till ten again, you duffer.

Also there is the clutter of kites flying around. Today instead of borrowing comics from my ever-sleepy friend, I had run straight to my roof, because I had an inkling of a kite landing on my roof. Even though I didn’t find the kite, I found the string which led me to its mother-kite, hopelessly suspended from the maze of electric wires. I rescued her, and now it is flying high among the skies. Hey, some other kite is coming. Shit, it is of big bully Kitu’s. Oh! It is gone. Hey, you fool Ron, why didn’t you sharpen our strings with the crushed-bulb mixed colloid.

Never mind, there are a plethora of other things still. Vish amrit, buddhiya kabbadi, kho kho, denga paani ….

We were just laughing; then followed the ever-consoling sigh of the days gone by. Someone looked up his watch. It is time to go now. I have a conference call to attend. We walked back, perhaps a bit differently this time, if not with moist eyes, then at least with moist feelings.

Happy New Year 2009

There ain't a new story of New Year. If ever there is, it is strikingly similar to this one:-

The Story Of New Year

Two years later, the same resolutions and denials, the same overworked (or overslept) soul, and the same moment of sleep-bursting crackers remain :)

But one thing has changed. 2009 is now the stage. So, over to you 2009. And the mandatory, Happy New Year to all.

Story behind Print and Nature

Believe me, each week is a tale in itself. My last week too was such a story, even if trifling. My office time is generally busy, so my head doesn’t work more often than not. Even if it tries to function, it usually errs on the wrong side.

So, I was not sure whether to take print-out of one of my important mails. With all the talk of environment preservation going around in my office, a certain internal vigil has taken over my every official doing. I thought, ‘The printout is a must if I want to explain my point’. Then the next moment, ‘No, it is not. A forwarded mail to him can do.’ Yes and no, no and yes, I kept dithering. Finally, ‘No’ won. As it turned out, a forwarded mail actually did the trick. I felt righteous, actually morally king-size.

The next day, again I faced this dilemma of taking printout. Oh God! these qualms about my nature-bound duties! I kept vacillating, but I knew I would decide in the negative. I had actually made up my mind; then in a swift action, I clicked on the ‘Print’ button. Before the remorse could take over, I had swooped the papers from the printer and rushed toward the meeting room. An hour later, I was glad. I actually needed those hand-outs.

It is a stupid story, naa. But for me, it is the supposed culmination of my efforts-my efforts of being savvy in my environmental duties. Ever since I have confronted imprudence of ours towards natural resources, I have made a conscientious effort to right myself at least. So, ‘no AC if heat/cold is bearable, no Heater if the water is enjoyable, no Car if the distance is walkable, no Running Tap/Tub if the effort is doable, actually so many No’s…’- I keep reminding myself. Usually I overdo or underdo these things. So, my last week’s balanced efforts do strike as an achievement for me, and re-instills my beliefs towards resource preservation. I feel extremely proud to harness and hone such feelings, because not many have done or can do that.

Whose fight is it anyway?

I had held it for so long, but I too gave it up on that day, the day when our Mumbai was burning. Having vowed never to look unilaterally, I did get overpowered. “Damn all the Muslims in the world”, how easily it crossed my mind and senses. I have not been able to reconcile myself since then.

The terrorism wrought upon Mumbai was so ghastly that it shook my entrails out. It was the death of humanness, and this is saying a lot, considering we all have been witness to many barbaric incidents in the world. My heart died each time then, and woke up in search of peace that it ultimately found in this world. This time though, my heart has been torn asunder, and now instead of looking for some comfort, it is searching answers- some sort of re-belief from life yonder. The more it looks around, the more it gravitates to the same answer, the same belief of love. But you can’t feel it when there is hatred abound. When the terrorists are killing innocent people without remorse in front of your eyes, you can’t have any other outlook save revulsion. But the most distressing aspect of all is that you know it is not the solution for all this carnage. This vicious cycle of retribution has been created by us only, give it a dimension of country- US, UK, Israel, India, Pakistan or name it in terms of religion – Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism. All have struck in vengeance, and no surprises, the penance has been done by us only then.

I am not a moderate or a coward. I do believe that these gun-tottering sick people need to be eliminated. Not only they, but also their tutors and this whole ideology, need to be decimated. Killing is not the answer to injustice. Moreover every person has a right to live, most aptly exemplified in the movie ‘A Wednesday’ – “No motherfucker in this world is going to dictate when I am going to die”. The example here may be coarse, but it derives itself from the reality around us. And you know what; we need to change this reality, first, by fighting against the terrorists and their mythos, and second, by fighting against ourselves who create these terrorists in the first place. We can bring the prevention and cure both, which can ultimately become a panacea. But are we prepared and strong enough?

No religion for me

I don’t feel human again. I don’t feel human each time I read a horrific news like this. The Hindu outfits raped and burnt a girl suspecting her to be a Christian. Damn those bastards ... and sorry for my blasphemy, damn Hinduism too, if it advocates such methods to preach itself.

A few days ago, two motorcycle riders threw a bag at a small canteen and fled away. Out of general goodwill, a child working as a servant there picked that package to return it to them. And then boom …. An innocent life gone in this fight of honour-jihad …. What honour and prestige? Ask the Prophet.

Why ask Him, ask those persons who created these jihadis in the first place. In an attack to destroy Taliban and their base, the American aircrafts bombed the Aghani civilian settlements. What price these civilians are paying for? How can the whole world be so inert to all this going on in this part of world? Instead, in return is fomented a prejudiced view on Islam. Again, a diktat from the other God?

So will people say, who are the anointed keepers of their religion. But I don’t want to be a party to all this, by being a part of any of these religions. Oh God! I only wish there were no religion for the world, or at least for me.

It is morning, God

Today's morning was not much different: of another Tuesday, of another day of office, in fact, of another 30th of a month. But it was not any other morning. Today after waking up, I did say, "It is morning, God"

Every other morning I was saying, "Oh God, it is morning". I had longed to say it the other way. But I could never muster enough enthu to say so. But today was different. Reason: I don't know, but it felt fantastic.