Sehnsucht

Sehnsucht [ˈzeːnzʊxt]:the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what

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Some things I knew. Like I wanted to get away from all these for a while. Like I wanted to go to a cold place. Like I wanted to travel in a train and not take a flight. A lot of things I didn't - especially in their exactitude.

I had miraculously secured two days leave and I wanted to get away from Hyderabad at any cost. My half-sorted out plan - whose execution rested sorely on getting an emergency ticket -was to get a ticket to New Delhi and from there to go and check out Tirthan Valley. And, I didn't get that ticket.

“You should just go to a railway station, check which trains are leaving and get on anyone of them which catches your fancy”, Jiddu Sir had once remarked during Rajmachi Trek. It kept coming back to me that day. I spent 2 hrs. in kfc explaining(in vain)to di, why I needed to travel and travel by train and that I didn't want her buying me a flight ticket to Delhi. Sometimes when you argue things out, you end up convincing yourself so when we left that place I knew that I was going. So, I went home, packed a few bare essentials and went to Secunderabad station. Now, only the How part remained to be figured out.

I spent two-third of the trip travelling. So, this travelogue has three parts: Rail Trip, Road Trip and Tirthan Valley.

Rail Trip

The only train available to Delhi by the time I reached Sec’bad station – which was around 4 pm – was HazratNizamuddin at 11 pm. I got a general ticket till Delhi on that train and I waited. The train was full, and I was just going to give up when I found that there was a compartment reserved for ladies and it wasn't that stuffed. So, I got in and after some initial coaxing with a woman, got myself a place in upper berth – to sit and not to sleep. It was long back since I had last traveled in a general, but I wasn't in my usual whining/cribbing mode, so I found it interesting. There are so many moods, so many incidents in that small running space; a sort of repository on human nature.

They were mostly women from lower working class and their conversations and concerns were identical/communal yet simultaneously personal. The young woman sitting in front of me with her young daughter was beautiful. She would have been younger than me and she still had that innocence, her face wasn't exactly calm, but a sort of contentment gleamed in her eyes, as if the vicissitudes of life had passed through her and left her untouched. She was narrating the story of her three sisters, one whose husband beat her continuously and thankfully was now dead (the husband not her sister). The old crone sitting beside me agreed and narrated a similar story and the discussion took a turn towards religion. They had practical yet fanatic views on religion and religious practices in general.

After an hour or two in some station there was a sudden infusion into the compartment and in a span of two minutes it was completely full. My place was established, owing to the fact that the women hesitated getting on the upper berth. So, children were pushed into upper berths and there was scarcely any place to stand on the floor. The train resumed its pace and there were heated arguments full of expletives, fighting for places, there was the usual taking sides and more shouting, more rallying, cursing each other’s entire generations, making literally brutal appeals to humanities of those who were somewhat comfortably sleeping, and so on. But just like one more handful of grain will go into that container, if you tap it or give it a slight shake, similarly after sometime they all settled down, finding a corner here, displacing some luggage there.

There was some animated discussion on religion, politics (upcoming elections), communities, kids etc. Then on subsequent stations people were getting down, some were getting in. Few men tried to get in, in one of the stations and there was a general resounding uproar from the whole compartment, and no one was let into; the men pushed their wives and children into the compartment. Somehow the children always come under the woman’s responsibility and I was wondering that at times like this it’s an extra burden and how the men are conveniently free from it. I remembered that line from Mary Collier’s poem, “Were you, like us, encumber'd thus with Care”

The crone besides me was another interesting specimen I ran into; she was thin in a strange way – she had reed thin thighs.She had all sorts of trinkets on her; one big Cat’sEye gemstone adorned her wrinkling neck, a watch with a broken dial on her right wrist along with few bracelets and unmatched bangles, and fading golden anklets on her feet. She appeared to be in her late forties, neither young nor old, neither over-bearing nor hostile. Just like each one of us she had her opinion on everything, and like most of us she voiced them.She speculated and considered my marriage prospects, gave me consolatory warnings and advices. She took up a discussion with the aloovada vendor, suggesting that next time he should be carrying pav, as the vadas felt incomplete without them. All this time I was just taking it all in. “It’s always easier for a woman to travel alone, somehow or other you’ll always manage to find a place”, remarked my know-it-all travel mate. So, it was she who finally coaxed me into checking with TTE and I managed to get a 3^rd AC seat from Itarsi Jn.

I missed the lively atmosphere of general compartment when I moved out. It’s not like I was blind to the comforts of AC compartment, it was summer and I had a long journey ahead of me, I just felt a twinge of regret. Everything was hushed here and conspicuousness seeps in, how am I dressed, is my hair fixed, as if irrespective of whether people are judging you, you are seeing yourself through their eyes. There I didn't have to worry about all these; my unkempt state had gone unnoticed. I quickly slipped into the upper berth and took up my novel. Not that there were any less interesting natures here. There were a group of CRPF/navy/army guys who got into at Jhansi, and started catching up with each other; they were loud enough for the whole compartment to know who was placed where and how, what were their plans, the ways and means to climb up in their posts – whether the end justified the means and so on. A mother in a nearby seat was worried about the tantrums her adolescent kid was throwing; she was joined by another couple who narrated their incidents with their kids. They finally came to the conclusion that in earlier times four kids were easy to bring up in the world and today it’s difficult to raise one. I read parts of Austerlitz between short naps. We reached Delhi around four in the morning, and I went straight to Kashmiri Gate to take my bus for the next lap of my journey.

As one grows up, there are no more superlatives; the illusions are shattered more easily. I had it in my bucket list to travel in Rajdhani Express once, and my return trip from Delhi to Sec‘bad was in it. It was not all the heightened experience that my saved-up and longed-for expectations demanded; I have traveled in better trains with better services and better food. But, maybe it’s all a part of the act, and there had to be disillusions.

Road Trip

Changing trains would have been a headache and to reach Tirthan almost two-thirds of the journey had to be by bus – it being the only affordable means of commuting. So, I took the first available bus to Mandi (Delhi to Manali via Mandi).

I have a mild form of motion sickness and I prefer trains to busses and if it’s busses I prefer them with windows, not the AC Volvo ones. I knew we were travelling into Himachal Pradesh which had mostly hilly terrains. It was 5:00 in the morning; the bus conductor gave me a front seat and upon enquiring pointed me to a free dispensary. There was just a helper there, a very young guy who wouldn’t be more than 20, and no doctor. I told him that I might feel like vomiting during travelling and I needed some anti-emetic pills as precautionary, he fidgeted into some drawers and dished out 2 chewable tablets. I don’t know if he understood me and knew what those tabs were for, but since we both trusted each other I think the pills did work (whether inherently or as a placebo, I cannot confirm).

It was difficult to breathe in Delhi, even in those early hours one could feel that heaviness in air and as we moved along it was clearing out and I could start breathing fresh, clean air.A few miles from Chandigarh and I had my first view of mountains. Initially I didn't know if I really smelled the cold in the wind or my mind was playing tricks with me showing/feeling what I wanted to.

We changed the NH after a few more miles after Chandigarh, around Kiratpur where I saw a river, a full gushing river. The mountains which were visible sometime back were now close by and we were going into them. There was no plain road anymore.From here it started, one hill then next and after a while I lost count. We passed by Swarghat and Naina Devi Temple on our way, also the famous Bhakra Nangal dam.This route would be lusher during winters but I could still see coniferous trees, there was this one tree which bears purple flowers whose name I didn’t know, which appeared now and then and looked beautiful. The weather was becoming pleasant and the sight of dry leaves falling was picturesque. It was a long journey of 12 hrs; we passed by Bilaspur, then Sunder Nagar - both charming and noteworthy places. I was already feeling satisfied, drunk on that scenic route. And then we reached Mandi, that beautiful hamlet on the banks of river Beas. I wanted to stay back, it was like let me just stop a while here, but then again this wasn't my destination. I took a bus from Mandi to Aut. If what I had seen till now was scenic, there was more waiting for me. Meandering through the river Beas, the road crosses mountains and one 3 km long road tunnel through the Pandoh Gorge to reach Aut, I loved this stretch of tunnel too.(By the way this is on the way to Kullu, so people travelling to/from Kullu would also pass through the same route.)I have almost fallen in love with bus journeys because of this trip.

It was getting dark and I took a cab from Aut to Tirthan Valley, the beauty of this route was waiting for me on my return trip. This was the best of the three, if I take Delhi-Mandi, Mandi-Aut, Aut-Tirthan. I envied those people their proximity to nature, nature in its unadulterated forms. It didn't feel like summer. From Tirthan to Aut, the river Tirthan passes through the towns and at Larji there is the confluence of Sainj and Tirthan. While returning one can visibly see the difference between the two waters, the clear and clean waters of Tirthan was very different from that of the water downstream. It’s some 30 odd kms from Aut to Tirthan via Banjar, but it took more than 2 hrs. because of the hilly road. Not that I was complaining, I almost wished the road wouldn't end. It seemed like belonging to some other part of the world. I was sitting on the front seat and had an awesome view. I passed through trees with leaves in shades of green, yellow and red. The driver was chatty;we talked on driving/managing those narrow roads and bends and he was remarking that someone who learns and manages driving in the maze of Himachal roads can drive through anything, and I can feel the truth in that. He was telling me about the apple orchards, the road feasibility, the pros and cons etc., all these in the background of those 70’s hindi songs playing.He dropped me at Aut and waited till I got a bus to Mandi.

From Mandi I started at 6:30 in the evening towards Delhi. We came through an alternate route this time, and I have to mention this ride. We didn't get a blink of sleep that night. There was literally no road, or barely patches of it and this was the condition for a stretch of five whole hours. Initially I tried to nap but then I gave up that idea when I saw that every 5 minutes or so there would be a jerk, that screeching brake, next a bend and so on. I had still managed a front row seat in the bus, so I opened my windows wide and I concentrated on the roads and the way the driver maneuvered. There used to be these Maut ka kuan (Wall of death) in circus/carnivals which we used to go and watch. So, I felt like the bus driver was trying such a feat, taking the passengers along. After a few complains you give up, so I started enjoying it after the first hour I guess. It was almost like a joy(read death) ride, and one got a fair share of adrenaline rush so it was tiring but fun.

Tirthan Valley

As I was travelling I was feeling as if I was being pulled into something; and just when you think it’s enough, it pulls you further in. Like that fairy tale in which one has to cross seven seas and seven chests to retrieve a key. When you've reached this far, crossing everything, to the other side of mountains, do you want to go back? As if all these mountains are physical barriers, shielding you from that outside world and you want to stay back – here forever – ensconced within these mountains. That is how this place was.

When I reached it was night, the cab parked on the other side of the flowing river and it was through a cable car that I reached the hotel other side. The people were warm and welcoming. It was a small place; they lent out some five or less rooms to tourists. The room was clean and warm, they got me hot tea, dinner sometime after and I happily went to sleep.

I didn't want to go anywhere; I just wanted to spend some time away from my cubicle, away from the cacophony of Hyderabad, away from everyday work, from obligations, and just for 2-3 days.

The water in the stream was cold so I couldn't stay in it for long, but it was so calm and tranquil. There were high mountains wherever you turned your head. There were small flowers on shrubs, multi-colored flowers; there were a bunch of cat tails at some distance. I was sitting under a fir tree; and I saw a spider’s web, one straight filament connecting one tree to the next. It wasn't always visible, only when the sun’s ray fell on it and you leaned to a certain angle you could see it. I wished I had that Whitman’s poem,“A Noiseless Patient Spider” and I could read it aloud. But then I thought would I ever have read it aloud just to myself? I’d have done it if there was someone to hear me, but then again I didn't want anyone there as in I’d never take anyone there, just like I wouldn't suggest anyone that they should read Maugham. Ya, few things we keep to ourselves, not like others are forbidden but more like I won’t impose these on anyone. You are free to discover if you feel like.

So, this is what I did for 3 days, got up in the morning, had tea, went out, sat by the river and read novels or watched spider nets or collected stones or just lied down. I walked here and there, nearby, just following the stream, searching for some rock to sit in so that I can dip my feet in water. There was no one to disturb, I used to sit in water for a while and when tired of that used to laze in the sun.  There were chair and table and I used to prop my feet up, recline and go back to my reading. I had taken Thoreau’s Walden and I was somewhat comparing notes. Whenever I felt like why I exactly came all this way to sit and read, all I had to do was browse through few pages of Walden and it made sense or at least his arguments were satisfactory. Also, I actually wanted to do just that and I cannot reason myself to anyone.

The second day I started Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping, I had it with me since last year and now I came to finally read it. So, the second day flew by quickly with me being engrossed in the novel. The kitchen was near my room, I had a room downstairs, they grew their vegetables there, and they used to lay my table on the outside, on time breakfast, lunch and dinner and teas in between. The stuffed paranthas for breakfast were heavenly, so were the hot phulkas with butter. It was authentic north Indian ghar ka khana, neither too oily nor too spicy, and just perfect. To top it off there was halwa or kheer for desert. I loved every moment of it.

I left with a heavy heart, that last day I was thinking you should come here to benumb your senses, to forget, to be indifferent to everything for a while, to let go of everyone and everything – just temporarily.

If you are looking for something slightly calmer then you can visit the place. There’s a Jalori pass for trekkers and there was a waterfall and Great Himalayan National Park among nearby places or you can just walk around. I didn't check out all these as they weren't in my itinerary. So, travel enthusiasts, please google. Some people will love this place.

I don’t know what I left there or what I took from that place. Would the sound of that river or those views stay with me or it’d all become a part of some dream? Was it worth the arduous journey and my stubbornness? What did I run from? What was I returning to? And what did I loose in between? Did I want to stay? Did I want to return? Did I have to go and return? I won’t know these answers. So many places to return to, so many books to re-read, things undone, words unsaid, excuses made, explanations evaded - I want to go back, someday soon. I don’t know when.

Dudhsagar(Goa) Falls

To leave your gender behind while leaving for a trek is something I understood on my very first trek. So, it was a contented ‘me’, with a smile plastered on my face , as I trekked the last kilometer fresh out of Turvi river, dripping happiness and bliss. An account of Railway Line Trek to Dudhsagar falls organized by Hydventura, is penned below.

We started from Hyderabad, twenty-two of us, for Castle Rock station (As they mentioned in the itinerary, the name has a nice ring to it!). We reached around 12 noon the next day and embarked on the 14 km long Railway line trek. Now, 14 km might not seem a heavy number for a plain road, instead it was a stone/rock bed lining the tracks, and after sometime the peripatetic nerve endings began mouthing profanities, communicating their displeasure to the other end, making you wish like hell that your shoes had an extra padding. It was a 6 hour long trek and the rain gods’ betrayal made it no easier. Even as the few streams we encountered on the way did their best to infuse energy and refresh us.

We reached our destination around 6 pm, crossing tunnels and bridges, a ‘welcome to Goa’ signboard… and the first sight of the falls was (pause...) as always - mesmerizing. The visibility was decreasing so we postponed further exploration till morning. The Railway line, running parallel, divides the fall into two halves and adjoining the railway bridge, is an elevation-a view point with two or three benches, some fifty feet across the fall. It was here that we decided to pitch in for the night. We made a to-do tent out of tarpaulin sheets, and with a childish enthusiasm we grabbed the places to sleep. We had our usual dinner of chapatti and priya pickles and after being allotted sentry duties, went to sleep in our respective sleeping bags under the blue roof. Our previous sentries woke me and Ashu up at exactly 00:00 hours. And in all conscience, I dare not describe the beauty that I witnessed during that pitch-dark hour.

The blackness of the night instead of concealing highlighted the milky white falls, whose aggression was, it won’t be wrong to say, literally visible. The sky was full of stars, clusters of them trying to outwit the clouds. Reclined on a stone bench under a star-lit sky, with jugnus (fireflies) atop mountain bushes and the sound of waterfall – music to our ears, we failed to comprehend the fog’s setting in and then thinning out the very next minute and now and then a passing train’s light which transformed the entire place. This one image will stay with me, for days to come, till sanity shall make its long overdue departure.

With much persuasion and mild admonitions did we finally leave our warm sleeping bags the next morning and started downhill via a forest path to reach below. I didn’t waste a minute to get into the water. The force was something to reckon with, the pressure had the ability to numb your whole body in the span of a few minutes; one false step and the water would take you along with it. Sunil (when he saw Ashu coming with a rope) came up with the idea of river crossing and somehow they managed to cross to the other side (the crazy four who left me) and then tied the rope to a tree on that end. We did a similar knot on this side and then started, on what would be, the most exciting and somewhat-risky adventure. We had to cross the river using the rope as a hand-line, and owing to depth there was no footing in the middle, the flow being at its violent best. We had to float and cross it, never letting go of the rope, and it was one hell of an experience.

We boarded the train from Dudhsagar to Londa and having some three hours to spare, decided to take a dip in the Turvi River which was nearby the station. The last shreds of un-fulfillment (if any), was washed away when Sunil managed to repeat the rope-river-crossing here. With borrowing kid’s cycles and trying to cycle over water, Kishore trying to catch fishes and people taking pics, we never realized when it was time to return. It was a fully satiated group that boarded the train back to Hyderabad from Londa.

Now, for the highlights of the trek… Gopal being christened Pappu (@Gopal – change your callout name in Infy Telephone directory!), guess-the-personality games in train, fighting over sentry-duty slots (Praneeth missing one), conversing with monkeys on Dudhsagar station, the laughs and falls…I can’t list them all. There’s one person though, who deserves a mention, Sunil didn’t have to make us a tent there, he didn’t have to take us down, he didn’t have to hold the rope while we all crossed, he didn’t have to take us to Turvi…but he did all this and sometimes I wonder, what separates some people from others is this. @ Sunil: I’ll stand on the table (In your case a mountain or a boulder) and say ‘O Captain! My Captain!’(People who’ve watched ‘Dead Poet’s Society’ will get this).

The intro section made us remember the names of all 22 of us. I hardly knew anyone this time, there were just some five or six from previous treks, but now I’ll get some more smiles in passing, and perhaps at the end of the day, that’s all which matters.

Jog - Gokarna - Apsarakonda

The 'if only' conjectures stay with you after a certain misadventure. But in certain cases as in this trek, they were verily nullified by what-was-about-to-come. For me it was Hydventura -> Take 2.

This trek couldn't have started more ominously with the two of us missing the train and the then deliberating decision to take a cab and catch the train halfway. I didn't hesitate taking the cab; the hesitations came later...sitting in that cab with eyes alternating between speedometer and watch, it was more than once that I wished we hadn't come. It was a long night, without a wink of sleep, for us and ya, you all guys too, who kept on the correspondence with us via cell (but then that is because none out of 23 pulled the damn chain!). We missed Kurnool by 20 min (imagine that, after travelling at 90 mph for 3 hrs!). That morning, seeing the train arrive at Guntakkal (which was where we finally caught up) and the sight of familiar faces, stirred in me an emotion akin to homecoming. I was so happy and relieved that I wanted to cry and shout at once. I did none.

We reached Hubli in the morning and took a bus to Jog Falls. At the view point the sight of four cascading waterfalls - King, Queen, Roarer and Rocket, was definitely a treat to the eyes. There was a momentary disappointment, kept at abeyance though, of viewing the waterfalls from a distance. But of all the things the one thing I was sure was this: even if there wouldn't have been any steps to reach the bottom, these guys would have found some or other way to take us near it (Thank God for those steps, otherwise you never know!). This much I can vouch based on past experiences. And we did go to the very bottom of the falls. There at the base, the boulders were dangerous temptation-one we didn't resist. To me they appeared less of an obstacle and more of an invitation and we kept on crossing each one of those huge boulders till the farthest one, where from we could see the water hitting the earth. We raised our eyes, opening them with much difficulty to see all the way to the top. And I know no words or pictures would do justice to either the view or the feel of those cold waters hitting/lashing us.
One feels completely alive and numb at the same time. And there's this spirit within you which kinda demands liberation and that's the only reason or excuse I've for climbing up that last boulder. When it comes to Nature you allow the tour-de-force to 'take' you as if submission's the only way of worship.

Night halt in a Youth hostel (luxury) and a sumptuous banquet for dinner in the form of Butter Nan (alias chapatti) and Butter Chicken (alias Priya Cut-Mango Pickle) and/or Paneer Butter Masala (alias Priya Thoku Pickle). The orders kept on pouring and it’s kinda strange how we all loved that. There was Dumb charade after dinner, and I'm just refraining from writing the names of movies you gave us...

The trip to beach on 2nd day (till 2nd day it was still trip, considering the luxuries of accommodation and commuting) was no less uneventful. Walking past the Om beach, crossing rocks to reach a somewhat nearby can-be-called-island, it was adventurous. With high tides and strong current, the waves tried their level best to curb our advances, but we did manage to reach the island and back. Then trekked on wrong route all the way to Half-Moon beach via a forest path (not wearing shoes for this particular trek-path was perhaps the stupidest thing I did on this trip). We found a fresh water stream kinda thing here (the origin of which fortunately or unfortunately we didn't know). Spent time, memorable I can say with the sea claiming T-Shirts and Goggles and floaters. In the evening the Gokarna beach was witness to the amazing energy levels and the passion with which the guys played Kabbadi and Frisbee. And the water being cleaner than Om, we spent some quality beach time. More luxurious accommodation than the first night. And real Dal Makhani and Paneer and Chicken. Still a trip : ).

The third day we crossed limits of luxuriousness by being allowed to sleep till six (On treks we usually follow military timings-wake up call max by 4 am, hence luxury!). Anyways started for Murudeshwar Temple, famous for its 18 storied gopuram as well as the offering panorama of being surrounded by sea from three sides. I bet we were mighty disappointed when we'd to take the lift to the 18th floor instead of taking the stairs (we were supposed to be on trekking, remember!).Anyways the best part here was waiting for lunch and the way we all ate the annadana prasadam. Payasam, Rice, Rasam, sambar, curry – the food served was fuming hot with liquid to solid ratio of 3:1, and we half-ate/half-drank the condiments….What should I say, that I found it tasty. I know, I'm not speaking only for myself when I say that the meager lunch called for the expression - 'chala santosham'. Post Lunch our leader was all set to give us a real trekking experience...I'll tell you, he was really pissed off, hearing us call it a trip. So we headed to a place which was kept as surprise till we reached there, and then we started trekking the Apsarakonda Mountains. Now mark here, that there were steps to top, but we didn't take that (how can we, with Sunil and Arjit being there!!). Instead they found us another way, and we went along with - slipping, climbing mountain, bouldering...I did just one rock, but believe me it was worth it. The view from top was amazing...the golden-hued evening sky, the sound of sea and the extended coastline. One always fails to hide that awe before the magnificence of Nature.

I need an extra paragraph solely to write about Apsarakonda waterfalls. It was like the perfect end to what started with the Jog Falls. For the feel of ice cold water plummeting from that height, I have only one comparison, I've never had had such beating in my entire life. The waters literally hit us. It was like stones, and standing right under it, for a while I thought my glasses will break with the sheer force. Max enjoyment at this place, with swimmers giving lessons to non-swimmers and diving and plunging and what not. I can't compare Jog Falls and Apsarakonda Falls; they left us with two different and entirely satisfying feeling.

Sometimes I wonder why I go on treks. I don't go for adventure or the kicks or making new friends, these things are extras, to be taken along, as they come and go. I have found my reason. I go so that for a moment I can feel being part of something profound, like the vast sea or the mighty waterfalls or the deep forests.

Monsoon Trek to Rajmachi

"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal."

- Lord Byron

These were the opening lines in the movie "Into the wild"; and the very lines reverberated inside me when I was returning yesterday from the Rajmachi Trek. It was my first TREK in literal sense, for those little escapades-with my friends and siblings now seem like a child's play, compared to the expedition led by Hydventura this weekend.

Neither the chaotic tribulations of our wild dreams, nor our worst expectations had prepared us for what we experienced. Similarly no amount of words and pictures can do justice to the dejections and the final elation of what the eyes saw and the soul went through. When we reached the fort, with the clouds below us, and the mist enveloping us from all sides, I asked if we were still on earth. Now, I've been to places which subdue the tempests raging within and around, but this place transcended even peace. I knew not what I felt... everything was at once so still and so calm. Even the perennial, over flooding stream of thoughts stopped, as if charmed to a halt by the overwhelming tranquility.

The return trek from Rajmachi village to Lonavla was no less eventful. I don't remember when was the last time I'd literally played in water with such abandon. The clear rippling streams were so inviting that it wooed away the last shred of resistance...it feels just wonderful to be a child again, not to think, not to be afraid. The waters didn't just wash away the mud from our clothes and shoes, it washed away the remnants (if any) of regret or futility. It washed away tiredness and exertions of the previous day. And just to see the antiques and theatrics and the poses for pics, for those laughs, for those small things in life which comes free, I really am grateful.

I won't talk about the near-death scares or the falls some of us had. Nor the misadventure of climbing the wrong mountain and sliding through mud (speaking for myself I enjoyed every minute of returning down, oh! and I hated every minute of climbing up). In this case we had our respective and fair share of wounds and fears...In fact I regret I've less no. of bruises, for almost always I had a helping hand handy and some or other encouraging voice. And the tips that came every time I stumbled, from how to balance and maintain grip to crossing mud tracks without getting your leg caught...

Who all do I thank, it'd never be enough. Still, to Hydventura for organizing, to Jiddu Sir for his anecdotes and encouragement all through the way, to Arjit for somehow managing all of us and handling everything so efficiently, to Ravneet and Shuchi for just being there and helping me out before having to ask for it, to the family in Rajmachi village who provided us with night stay and hot dinner and tasty poha for breakfast, to Hari for walking with us and for the pics, to Perry for leading us, to two Sunils, two Anujs, Shyam, Vivek, Raghav, Praneeth, Anshul, Tejas, Giridhar, Rakesh, Ravikanth, Venkatesh, two Rahuls, Aditya, Nandkishore(some people I know by name, rest by faces, hope I ain't missing anyone... yet thanks to each and every one of you). I don't even know the names of all who might have given me a hand or helped me avoid a fall, so Thank You All.

P.S. (to whosover it may concern): I'll reconsider whether I want to die near a sea or atop a hill.

village-women

I looked at the womenfolk. And each seemed to narrate a different story. And in their eyes I saw a whole life submitted to drudgery and acceptance. I fought between pitying them and respecting them.How did they ever manage?

Yet they laughed, joked and lived.Yes, lived. Despite everything they 'lived'.

...

Santu

I saw him. He is still the same.

Looked at him once or twice while I was in his house. I had a doubt if he still lived. I'd gone there with my grandmother. Gave him a smile, but it seemed I smiled at everyone so no one noticed or knew that it was different. I knew. As if in that one smile or look I was searching, crying inside for a flicker of recognition.

Does he remember me? I'll never know. It seems time never moved for him. He ain't changed a bit. But I've grown. I've changed in multitudes. I never talked with him then. I didn't talk with him today. I'll never talk with him.

Does his mind even register me? He smiled at me. And my heart gave a wrenching wail. I wanted to shake him up and ask, "Tell me you know me. Tell me that you remember me and recognize me as the fair, most sought after princess in our neighbourhood. Tell me that you remembered me as a child and that you remembered me each time I came. Tell me something. Tell me I exist. "

Who am I kidding? He was mentally disabled. I don't know what his mind registered. And yet I'll never forget him, his face, that smile. How I wish... Its so strange. I wanted him to tell me/convince me I exist.

Wish I was a kid again and I could talk with him and no one would have raised an eyebrow.

dil-e-khush feham ko hain jinse ummeidein

"meherbaan ho ke bula lo mujhe, chaho jis waqt,

main gaya waqt nahin hoon ke phir aa bhi na sakoon."

Turning kind towards me call me back anytime you want;

I'm not like the time bygone that cannot be recalled.

Ghalib, Translated by Dr.Sarfaraz K. Niazi

Hope-it fluttered for a moment or so

A drop of tear upon it fell

solidifying it into amber.

There to stay,

till it mustered enough courage

to hope again.

Belief-it died a hundred deaths

Retaining a shred each time

it was knocked flat by cruel fate.

Till the last ember burned

itself away-a thin wisp of smoke

lingered for oh so short a while

(that I doubted its very foundations)....

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Bits and pieces

The inevitability of events.

The mutability of priorities.

The forecasted consequences.

When you set to salvage

matters non existing,

matters you yourself had dispensed with.

No hope, no fear.

A hope? ah deferred now.

Drowning thy pronounced absence

or ubiquitous presence-

in the dim mechanicality

of everyday actions.

And failing. Betraying.

Was life any easier?

Solutions any cheaper?

No. And yet...

An added ardour

lent by thee,

thy mere existence.

Life goes on neverthelessly

with or without anodyne

long, unending, drifting....

____________________________

Wordsworth: "emotions recollected in tranquility"

In real: fake mimesis and exaggeration

In defence: no expectation(genuinely)

An afterthought: extending my allegiance to Wordsworth