I live in a HOME!

"I live in a Home!"

It was not a statement but sort of a question.

These five words, she spoke casually, but with a stress on the word 'home'. There was a pregnant pause. Her eyes wide open, were questioning everyone sitting across the dining table. She was trying to gauge our understanding. She wanted to know if we were able to grasp what she wanted to convey.

She resumed her story only after scanning the eyes of each one of us and assuring herself of our understanding.

The expression of her face, the quizzing eyes and the confused lips that didn't know whether to spread in a smile or quiver to cry - it was a moment that is going to stay in my mind for long, if not forever.

Her wide questioning eyes brought back so many feelings in a flash of a second. They dragged me down memory lane when I was an adolescent and living a carefree life in my 'home', protected by loving parents and siblings. That was the best time of my life - no worries, no tension only eat, play and study. I never tried to analyse or dig deep into the meeting of the word 'home'. For me, it was simply a place where my parents were and which gave me happiness and where I felt safe, protected, loved, happy and carefree.  

However, this young girl changed my perspective and compelled me to look at the other side of the coin as well. Her 'home' was different to my 'home'. Her experiences of living in a 'home' are different to my experiences of living in a 'home'. 

She is 15 and lives in a Shelter Home. I will not name her or share her whereabouts as I respect her private space. However, I must share my feelings which have been bursting ever since, inside me.

Until I met this girl, I couldn't fathom that one simple word like 'home' can have such different connotations for different people.

The meaning of the word 'home' has changed for me, forever.

        

Pink is the New Red (Bold)

I am not a movie critic. I am not a Hindi movie buff either. I rather relish English movies simply because the acting in not loud, there are no unnecessary songs and dances, and they are a tad more realistic.

Nevertheless, I do watch Hindi cinema occasionally when there is something out of the box, such as the latest Hindi flick, Pink.

The movie overwhelmed me, and compelled me to express my emotions publicly. Being a mother of a young daughter, I could easily and very well relate to it. With each dialogue and scene, I dived deep within.

Before I start with my story, firstly, my heartfelt congratulations to the director for raising such a relevant issue that concerns every girl and every parent.

Secondly, a big thanks to the dialogue writer for not beating around the bush but calling a spade a spade. It was a treat to see people talking openly on the screen about issues that are considered a taboo in Indian society. For example, pre-marital sex, virginity, or women taking hard liquor in the company of their male friends – I don’t think the director left any issue, which needed to be raised.

And most importantly, kudos to the perfect casting. I cannot think of a better cast. Every character was well chosen and played his/her part so realistically and beautifully that I could not contain my eyes from filling up on several occasions.

As the story unfolded, I started missing my daughter sitting next to me and both of us crying together.

She recently expressed her desire to live an independent life and learn how to survive alone without the family cushion. She wants to face her own struggles in making her life instead of piggy riding someone – be her mother, brother, boyfriend or husband. She wants to feel self-reliant to deal with her own issues.

The girls shown in the movie were no different. But, they were seen as promiscuous because they live alone, go out in the evenings with friends (read boys) and drink hard liquor! My children faced all these behind-the-back gossip of neighbours and even distant family members who did not approve the way I was bringing up my children – in an open environment. 

Thank God, I don’t belong to that clan who have different rules for girls and boys. I never paid any heed to what people said and did what I thought was the best – to give my children their space, which every grown up individual needs, to evolve and flourish.

The movie refreshed the memory of a conversation I recently had with my daughter, while having a straight-from-the-heart talk. That was one of our emotional moments. She was talking about a boy who proposed to her and she refused. The boy was persistent which annoyed and irritated her. But, she remained friendly and polite to him. I asked why wasn’t she straight to him on the issue, and what she said not only shocked me but also opened my eyes to the problems of the new world. She said she was dead scared of acid attack and the ghost of that probable threat forced her to be ‘nice’ to the person, whom she could not stand, forget about loving. She didn’t want to annoy him to tthat extent where he may throw acid on her.

What Pink showed – the revenge of a hurt male ego, underlined the seriousness and the base of my daughter’s fears. I must admit that after ages I have seen a movie which really touched my core.

This is one film, I believe, every parent should go and watch with their children. It will not only help parents in understanding their children’s needs, fears, aspirations, weaknesses, and strengths, but will also help them remove their blinkers and see things in a broad spectrum, and treat their children as humans, individuals, and the grown-up, responsible citizens who have the right to choose what kind of life they want to live.

Solo Sojourn – Part Three

The Perfect End

Landour is a place set up by the British and today it is owned mostly by the army. Therefore buying and and getting new random construction done is not easy. The restrictions have increased the liveability of the place. It is not crowded. There are no touristy shopping areas, unlike places in Mussoorie or any other tourist site.

In the name of shopping, there are Chaar Dukaan (four shops which have now increased to five) and the Sisters’ Bazaar with mere three shops (which I gave the details of earlier).

Although there is a Landour market, it is the local market selling the utility stuff for the residents of the area.

What makes Landour worth visiting is its serene scenic beauty or a chance meeting with the author Ruskin Bond, albeit meeting him is next to impossible, if you lack information and are not prepared accordingly. Bond visits Cambridge Book Store every Saturday and sits there for a couple of hours. If you are lucky to be in Landour on a Saturday and you have the knowledge of him being at the shop, and you have his book, you can get his autograph.

We were there on Monday and Tuesday. So, we already lost this chance. However, being persuasive we decided to see his house, at least. For us, even that was a privilege, which made us stand apart others who have not seen the humble abode of this great writer.

The day’s agenda was fixed.

Luckily we were staying at a place which was just above his house. Walking down a few steps and we were standing in front of his house on the second floor! We spoke to the lady living on the first floor and admired or rather envied her luck to have been living at such advantageous location.

 Looking up, trying to steal a glimpse and idea struck us. We left the place and went to Chaar Dukaan for our breakfast. Whom we meet there? Our friend from the army, whom we had met the previous evening! We exchanged pleasantries and chatted for a while before it was time for him to get ready for office and for us to fill our appetite.

We decided to hog at the Tip Top Tea Stall – running from 1826 and famous for its pancakes. Today it is the fifth generation of Agarwal family from Meerut (Uttar Pradesh) that is running the shop. This is also the place visited by Sachin Tendulkar whenever he visits Landour for a leisure time at his builder friend from Mumbai, Sanjay Narang’s property.

The pancakes stood by their reputation.  We ordered two but on seeing the first one requested the young lady cooking it, to cancel the order for the other.

Now was the time to execute the idea that had struck while staring at Ruskin Bond’s house. We bought two copies of one of his books, which is a compilation of information on green (forests) by various writers, from the tea stall. Yes, the tea stall is only a name which is going for over a century. The cafe houses books, other knick-knacks besides being a full-fledged cafe.

We were ready to tap our luck. As it is said a positive mind can do wonders. We were sure that we would succeed in our endeavour and our trip would be fruitful. With bright eyes, happy faces and a positive mind we started walking back to Mr Bond’s house. 

We reached the house – painted in white with red window arches and a small roof top garden. About ten narrow steps were leading to his house and our destination. We looked at each other. It seems we both were getting strength from one another. A child-like enthusiasm had gripped us as we had decided that we would not leave the town without getting our mission accomplished.

Our hearts were beating fast when we rang the bell. There was no sound from inside. It appeared that the owner of the house had missed the bell. We waited looking anxiously at each other – keeping quiet though.  It was the same scare that we may have felt years ago in our childhood, on being spotted by our most strict teacher.

But, now our age gave us enough courage to ring the bell again. And this time, the door opened!

We saw him standing there holding each door in his each hand, calling Bina – “Bina, look who is at the door – Ruskin is not home!”

For a second our hearts sank. We melted hearing him speak but froze thinking we may have annoyed him by ringing the bell twice. There was an uncomfortable silence until Bina came down.

A nice lady with a beautiful face and a gentle smile was standing in front of us. She looked confused. Her eyes were transparent. She was thinking why these two women have come here when everyone knows that Mr Bond doesn’t meet anyone!

Before she could ask us to leave, I held her hand and told her our intention and inclination. I told her that we just wanted to get our books autographed and we had no intention of troubling Mr Bond. We were not interested in selfies with the writer and we also didn’t intend to disturb his peace.  We were just keen to have those books which we bought from the Tea Stall, autographed.

Bina went in. We waited with baited breath. Looking at each other weighing whether he would or he wouldn’t.  I was though confident that Mr Bond would oblige us. This confidence had emerged from our genuineness.  Meanwhile, Bina returned. Her humble face confirmed that she has succeeded in making our day.

We opened the books and jumped with joy seeing our name written in Mr Bond’s hand. We were on cloud nine. We thanked Bina from the core of our heart. She was the Lady Luck for us that day.

Now, was the time for a selfie! A well deserved selfie! Standing on those narrow steps we clicked a couple with our prized possession in our hands! We were giggling, holding each other’s hands. We couldn’t stop smiling. We had made it! That was the perfect end to our trip to Landour!  

We walked 3 km down to Mussoorie taxi stand in the bright sun. But, the happiness inside kept us cool. It was the most amazing, gratifying and rejuvenating getaway that I had ever made. 

We didn’t mind paying for the full taxi. We didn’t mind when the taxi driver detoured from the usual road. We thought it helped us see a different route to Dehradun. Exhilarated, we finished the wine leftover from the previous night. We did in two days what sometimes we are unable to do in even twenty days!

The steps leading to Mr Ruskin Bond's house

We waited for him to peep through those arched windows 

The door at the left that he opened and took our breath away

The house is as beautiful as his stories

The steps from where Bina came down as an angel for us

We were enamoured by the aesthetic house decor

Our proud, invaluable and much cherished possession

The house

Solo Sojourn - Part Two

Many people would say how much one can see in one day and they would put off their plan for brief adventures. Not me! I strongly believe in the art of zen and live every moment. For me, a day has 24 hours which are sufficient to utilise wisely and beautifully.

With this philosophy, my friend and I decided to spend a day in Landour - the less travelled part of Mussoorie - the queen of hills. We were lucky as the moment we arrived at the taxi stand, we found two boys who were waiting for two more passengers. We quickly agreed to accompany and our old driver started revving even older Ambassador on the hills.

We had just started admiring the scenery, the car stopped after a few jerks. The driver tried to fix the engine a few times before giving up. Now we are on the hilly highway with a broken engine. But when you are on an adventure trip you are ready for anything. Everything seems to add to fun. Ad when one is positive, all goes well. The driver called for another vehicle while we spotted a dhaba (roadside restaurants).

This was time for some photography/selfies over a cup of tea and an omelette-bun sandwich. Soon, the journey began again.

We reached Mussoorie while talking to the boys who were going to organise some corporate event in some hotel, using smiley balls. They got out in Mussoorie where the taxi was supposed to drop us. But, Landour was another 3 km on a steep hill. We used our elderly charm and cajoled the driver to drop us at Chaar Dukaan (Four Shops) for Rs 200 as opposed to Rs 500 what he was asking for.

Chaar Dukaan used to have four shops and hence the name. However, now there are five shops. The additional shop has emerged in the place of a post office. The place had been set up by British and it still has their touch and feel. Pancakes, waffles and hot chocolate are a few most popular items on sale.

We had some hot chocolate. Got our bearings and decide to explore the place.  It was afternoon when we reached Landour and by the time we finished admiring the natural beauty, the deodar trees and the serene and surreal beauty of the place, it was alrady evening. Since our trip was only for a day and we had to leave in the morning, we decided to walk to Sisters' Bazaar (Sisters' Market).

Walking uphill with our day packs on our backs we were mesmerised by the sounds of various birds. We were trying to recognise and differentiate one from the other. The walk was steep but the cool and fresh air, the greenery and quietness was refreshing. We saw the famous language school in Landour where students come from different countries to learn Indian languages.

Sisters' Bazaar has just three shops - two old ones - one Prakash provisions, selling homemade jams, pickles and peanut butter and the other Prakash Handicraft, selling woollens and other nick nacks at extorting prices. We had gone with an intention to pick up some. Not able to decide which one, I picked up one of each flavour of jam, along with some pickle, peanut butter and of course a bottle of wine. The stuff was so much that I had to buy a bag as well.

Carrying those 10 kgs of glass jars with jams in that jute bag, my hand was developing blisters. But I told myself that we do not do such things everyday. And the old saying - what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - was giving me strength.

We decided to take it easy while walking so that we take rest and also admire the forests, neatly paved road, and quaint houses. One such house caught our attention and we stopped.

At that time a gentleman walking by stopped and informed us that it was the house of a Bollywood actor Victor Banerjee. Staring at the house, we saw a worker in the house and asked if we can go inside to have a look. His curt answer was: "No."

Our interest shifted to the stranger we had just met. We started talking and found out that he works in the army. He had some connection to Lucknow as well. A courteous man, he asked if we have booked a place for the night and was surprised to know that we hadn't. Remember it was an adventure trip!

Next thing - he offered us that he could arrange our stay at their guest house!

After half an hour of conversation we left the place not believing that lady luck was on our side.
  
By the time we were down at Chaar Dukaan it was dark and dinner time. Leisure and hills make one hungry and we were famished. We stopped at Ivy Bank Cafe - an aesthetically done cafe serving a wide variety of food. The cafe is run by a youngster - again who has relatives in Lucknow. Without wasting any minute we asked him to give us discount at his Ivy Bank hotel and book a room while we finish our meal.

The food (thin crust pizza and cheese & chips) was gorgeous. Weight watching and calorie counting was not in our list of things to do. We were looking forward to checking in and open the bottle of wine to celebrate our friendship and the carefree age.

It was dark and we decided to explore another road via Lal Tibba to go down to reach our hotel. It was a beautiful walk but before we arrived at a junction. Not knowing which way to go to reach our hotel we were looking for someone for directions. And there she appeared - a friendly girl from Korea. She is learning Urdu at the language school to study the Kashmir problem in future.

She not only showed us the way, she accompanied us to the hotel and also gave us a hand in carrying our shopping.

The hotel was a beautiful one and we not even for a moment regretted our decision to not accept the army officer's offer. Although being civil, we did send a text informing him that we had found a place.

It was time to open the bottle and say cheers to our adventure. I find 50 is the new 30 and feel the same. Our day was wonderful. Now we had only one thing on our minds - locate the house of the famous author Ruskin Bond, in the morning.

We finished half bottle of wine and called it a beautiful day...

Solo Sojourn - Part One

I generally do not like to plan my holidays. I feel planning is required in work. Leisure does not need any planning. Planning makes a holiday boring and regimental. The only planning I do is to tell work people not to bother me. The close ones know my whereabouts so that they can reach me if there is a need.

So keeping to my nature, I decided to join a dear friend of mine in Dehradun in Uttarakhand state for a couple of days. Both of us free birds with children settled and having crossed the actual line of middle age, i.e, 50.

One minus point of sudden getaways is finding a cheap ticket! Getting reservation in Indian trains is tougher than climbing the everest. Flights tickets are always skyrocket if you need them on an urgent basis. The only option I was left with was taking a bus.

Excited, I booked for a 12-hour journey on a volvo bus. Everyone in the family was happy for my adventure trip. Adventure, because this was the first time I decided to travel alone for leisure. I travel alone extensively for work but never for a holiday.

This was my first sojourn - solo with a backpack.

One of my friend suggested that I should have used my journalist accreditation card which give me the privilege to travel up to 3000 km in government owned buses without paying even a single paise. I refused, saying it was my personal trip.

Soon, I was thanking my decision. A man, drunk to the glory, boarded the bus. He proclaimed he was a journalist and knew all the top bosses in the government. He fought for the front seat, reserved for journalists. He scolded every vendor who entered the bus to sell their products. He shouted at the driver and the conductor for delaying the bus. However, he could not keep himself conscious for long. The moment the bus started moving, his snoring and the typical Hindi music in the bus started vying with each other for attention.

I became sure that the journey that has become with such colourful note will definitely be interesting!
I settled down with my kindle. Soon, the lights were off and everyone went off to sleep. I also tried to give my eyes some rest. But, before I could actually sleep, I felt a commotion in the bus. It was 02:00 am. Lights were on. We were at a junction in a small town and the driver did not know where he had to go! He got off the bus to ask for directions.          

The government bus and the government driver - but he did not know the way to Dehradun. Meanwhile, an over-enthusiastic youth started his GPS. With authority he asked the driver to turn left. The driver, not having a clue, turned left. Now we were on a 10-feet narrow village road with no light and not even a single soul in sight.

The road straight from a horror movie gave jitters to many. Another man started his GPS and now there were two navigators guiding a clueless driver. The first one asked all passengers to wake up: "It is not the time to sleep, but stay awake." He also ordered to the driver: "Do not stop the bus, come what may."

After two hours of adventure, everyone realised that we were on a wrong road. We should have been on a highway but we were on some village road. Anyhow, we finally found the highway. I calculated that in last seven hours we have reached only Bareilly which is only 250 km from Lucknow and should not have taken more than five hours.

Thus the bus became two hours late. In the morning I asked the driver as to why he deviated from the normal highway. His answer was: "I was sleeping and a new boy was driving. He didn't know the way but he didn't wake me up also."

The response should have come as a shock to me but it didn't. Staying in Uttar Pradesh state for long has made me immune to such nonsensical things as they are routine here.

The bus that should have been at its destination at 08:00, reached at 11:00.

I was late. My friend had already reached Dehradun. I was tired as I couldn't sleep a wink. Sitting in the bus for 15 hours all my joints had frozen.

Yet, I was not feeling frustrated at all. I feel the reason why I found everything amusing was the beautiful morning and stunning natural beauty which was there to welcome us as the day broke. I was in Devbhumi (The Land of God)!

Let your ears bleed or bleed to death

Last night, I could not sleep even a wink because of the deafening sound of some religious event taking place in the vicinity. The incessant noise stopped only in the morning when it was time for me to start my day. I am sure those who had been shouting their lungs out throughout the night were tired by now and had dozed off, after ruining the much-needed sleep of many like me.

Similar was the case two nights ago, when a party carried on in the neighbourhood, although then the blaring volume of the music was lowered around midnight, to our relief.

Indian courts have time and again issued directives for public to not use loud speakers for any reason - religious or merriment - after 22:30 hrs.

But, who gives a damn to any court directive? At least no one in Uttar Pradesh, for sure!

Many a times, we had to get out of bed in the middle of the night, changed clothes and step out in our neighbourhood to request the enthusiastic revellers to calm down. Sometimes they honour our request but often to only increase the volume again, the moment we turn our backs.

There were occasions, when we had to dial 100 (the police help) which turned out to be our bigger nightmare. The police, instead of taking the necessary action against the miscreants, started harassing us - asking us all sorts of questions - your age, profession, your neighbour's name, what time do you sleep, how far is your place from the location where the noise is coming from, etc. etc.

However, no more I will be complaining about this late night noise business - neither I will volunteer to appeal the noise makers to go quiet nor I will trouble the police to intervene. Rather, I would suffer in silence while the inconsiderate revellers and religious fanatics can go beyond all possible decibels.

Why? The reason is good enough.

This week, a family in the Badaun district of Uttar Pradesh was having a party. The euphorics had forgotten the fact that they live in a society of humans who needed to rest at night. The word courtesy was alien to them. Unable to sleep, the tortured neighbourhood complained and the poor cops reached the spot to tame the people who were causing the racket.

The ruckus-makers proved to be mightier than the police. The crowd was high on spirits of revelry and music had blocked their senses. Dancing to the rhythm of blaring noise and swaying on cheap alcohol that had numbed their sense of rationality, the revellers picked up a fight with the police force.

The fight took an ugly turn. The cop who had led the team was thrashed and beaten to death whereas his other mates were left badly injured.

Undeterred and unmoved, the party-makers were back to their noisy business leaving the cops to fend for their lives.
   
The incident has underlined the level of sensitivity and consideration such people have for their co-citizens. After this incident, any person in his or her right senses will not dare disturb their inconsiderate neighbours who live in oblivion and have no sense of their civic duties.

In future, I will never complain about loud noises at night. I will learn to live with it or learn to sleep with earplugs on.

I would rather let my ear bleed than bleed to death!

Prison - A Writer's Den

The founder of Sahara India Group of companies, Subrata Roy, who is more popular as 'Sahara Shri' has brought out his first book, 'The Life Mantras'.

With this book, the clever businessman, who started with a small chit-fund company but grew to it a multi-million rupees worth asset, has became an author. This is the first book of the trilogy, he claims.

The news of the book release forced me to put my job aside, instead jot some musings and share them with my friends and well-wishers.

Jails, I conclude, create a conducive environment for writing. It started in the mid-1940s when Jawahar Lal Nehru wrote 'The Discovery of India', sitting inside the four walls of a prison. The book became an epic.

The reason maybe the isolation in prison that provides ample time to go on an inward journey and introspect.

With nothing much to do - provided you are a VIP prisoner and enjoy some privileges that the ordinary prisoners cannot even dream of, as they are supposed to be involved in hard manual labour, which leaves them dead tired to even indulge in any fantasy, leave aside writing), jail throws at prisoners the opportunity to mull over their deeds - good or bad and judgements - right or wrong.

The silence gives enough concentration to think about the future course of life. The person can formulate his strategies for the time when he or she will be able to breath the fresh air.

The jail surroundings, it seems, assist the prisoners - of course the ones who have in them at least some traces of creative intelligence, to find their muse. Sitting alone in the dark and damp corners of their cells, with no distraction, they let their imagination take a flight.

One need not be Nehru to pen a book from jail, anyone can do it.

Babloo Srivastava, a noted criminal from Uttar Pradesh wrote a book from jail. Once he completed the book, Babloo proudly came out for its release. Dressed in his usual smart attire, hiding behind his RayBan Aviators, he appeared as cool and fresh as summer breeze.

And now, Sahara Shri has turned into an author. Knowing his chances of coming out in the free world are dismal, he has already decided to write a trilogy.

The prison exposing the latent talent of people is an intriguing issue that served as fuel for my curiosity. I spent a few hours on Google to enlighten me on the issue and what I laid my hands on baffled me.

Amazon has a dedicated section LINK on books written in prison.

Wikipedia has a separate page on prison literature LINK

If nothing else, at least this Subrata Roy's Life Mantras has done one thing - it has inspired me to read the books that have been authored behind bars.

Tame Your Drivers First!

Indian film actress and the Member Parliament (MP) from Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP) Hema Malini met with serious accidents on the Yamuna Expressway (between Greater NOIDA and Agra) twice in less than six months. The MP expressed her concern for increasing accidents. First time her car was reported to have been going at 150 km per hour.

Concern is being expressed by traffic police and the Uttar Pradesh (UP) Government as well. The government in this backward state is struggling to control the chaotic traffic, especially on Lucknow (the state capital) roads.

Unfortunately, one fact that neither Hema Malini nor the UP Government understood is the reality that accidents or traffic cannot be controlled unless the people on the road are well aware of the traffic rules and abide by them; and at the same time the executing authorities implement them strictly and impartially.

What I have noticed - and I am sure others would also have - is that the biggest violators of traffic rules are those who use powerful machines - MUVs and SUVs - which, I have no qualms in pointing out, in most cases belong to either politicians or their henchmen, relatives, other distant family members or acquaintances.

Other vehicles, which top in flouting the traffic rules, generally bear the signs, such as, 'Government of India' or 'Uttar Pradesh Government' - prominently displayed on the registration number plate - nonchalantly staring at every other vehicle belonging to lesser mortals, called 'law-abiding Indian citizen'.

These powerful vehicles are normally decorated with tiaras on their heads in the form of blue or red beacon and many of them are also equipped with sirens. Their drivers, as a rule, are rude and misbehaved goons. Sitting proudly behind the powerful steering of their huge vehicles, they carry an attitude loudly proclaiming 'I am even bigger than my boss'. They behave also in the same way.

Unruly, these drivers take it their right to park the car at any place whereever they fancy. They can take a wrong turn on any one-way street and disturb the whole traffic. They take it for granted that the road belongs to them and the ones like them. They can scare to death any pedestrian with their shrill horns and zooming speed.

Daring to challenge them is calling for serious trouble. Of course, as they are surrounded by weaponed security force - that has been provided to the politician. They can use any kind of derogatory language to threaten or scare you. The traffic cops are afraid of them as they can manipulate their transfer to some godforsaken place.  

The most upsetting aspect of the issue is that many times the bureaucrat and politician keep sitting in the car when the driver is violating the traffic law. Instead of asking to driver to mend his ways, these lawmakers prefer to remain oblivious of the world outside their vehicle. They quietly become party to wrong their illiterate and uneducated driver is indulging in without foreseeing the serious repercussions of traffic violations.  
       
Take these examples:
Being a frequent traveller to Delhi (many times by road via Yamuna Expressway) I have noticed that the speed limit for cars is 100 km/h. I maintain my speed to 100 km/h but what I witness is that many government or politicians' vehicles zoom pass me. The only sound I hear is 'vroom...' and the vehicle is out of sight. Speeding is a normal phenomenon with government or politicians' cars. The justification given by the owners of these speeding vehicles is that they are busy and are required to reach at places. So why not start early? The common man also needs to reach places in time!

Recently, the district administration in Lucknow has introduced one-way system at various places. Two days back, I was walking on one such road and a politician's vehicle tried to come on that road from the wrong side. The cop tried but not enough. The driver's big vehicle was enough to demoralise and intimidate the poor traffic cop. He let the vehicle go on the wrong side causing hazard for all the vehicles and each pedestrian.
   
Suggestions:
Each driver holding the powerful steering of today's fast machines should undergo extensive training (it is a fact that most of the government drivers and also politicians' drivers have never learnt driving in a proper way, and if a test is conducted for them, most will fail). These government drivers are more used to holding a whip generally used for steer a bullock cart rather than holding a power steering wheel of powerful 21st century machines zooming on roads. Along with driving they also need to learn the traffic rules and the meaning behind all those yellow and white lines on the road, which I am sure they have no clue about.

Hema Malini's car was also over-speeding. She is a literate woman. Being an MP, she is also expected to behave responsibly. Twice she met with accidents but the question is why didn't she ever scold her driver to drive safely, carefully and not crossing the speed limit?

Same suggestion goes for the government of Uttar Pradesh as well. First tame your own drivers and make sure that they do not flout any traffic rule, rather they follow the traffic law just like any other citizen. If a common man sees a politician's or bureaucrat's car being lifted from the non-parking area, or the driver being issued a challan for entering a one-way street from the wrong side or for over-speeding, he/she will never dare to violate the law.  

If cops are wearing helmets (in Lucknow none of the policemen uses a helmet when riding a bike) or government drivers wear seat belts, they can set precedence for others.

As it is said: 'Children imitate their parents' or 'Practice before you preach' or 'Charity begins at home' - the politicians and government servants should lead by setting examples. The rest of the traffic will automatically fall in place.


  
    

Divinity with Chilled-out Tourism

It was a four-hour train journey from Mangaluru to Gokarna - a small town in Karnataka state. It is only km away in the south of Goa - the most popular holiday destination of India among foreign tourists. 

The arrival time was 18:38 hrs. but like any other Indian train, we were running late. It was around 19:30 hrs. when our co-passengers started telling us that the next halt would be Gokarna. The train stopped for the nth time in its short journey, and we got down at a poorly-lit, small platform where a single, inconspicuous sign read 'Gokarna Road'. 

Perplexed, whether we have gotten down a bit too early in our over-enthusiasm backed by our co-passengers, we looked for any other soul on the platform for confirmation. To our utter surprise, we found out that it was the one and only station in Gokarna town.  

Our excitement to visit Gokarna was laced with apprehensions. We had been thinking it to be something on the pattern of Goa! The base of our expectation was the stories that we had heard that it was a destination popular among the backpackers. 

Outside the station were parked about half a dozen three-wheeled auto rickshaws in the wilderness. 

There was no sign of life, such as tea shops or coolies or the chaos of other passengers, which could manifest that it was a railway station. It appeared like a scene straight from some horror movie with only one family (us, in this case) in the name of passengers, stepping out of a train in the dark.

We wanted to reach the city and civilisation as quickly as possible. Luckily we had tele-booked a couple of places with exotic names like Dolphin View or Strawberry Farm. The auto rickshaw driver appeared clueless when we started mentioning these names. 

Eventually, he brought us to Sree Shakti Hotel - in the heart of the town. Painted in fluorescent green and orange the hotel rooms were basic but neat, clean and comfortable and the owner was an extremely friendly lady.    

After throwing our bags in the room, we headed straight to the beach. 

What we saw filled us with disappointment. My heart sank as the next day was the Christmas eve and we had plans to celebrate Christmas at this new exotic location named Gokarna. It was anything but exotic! 

Although 500 meters away from our hotel, the beach was swelling with devotees who had come to visit the famous temples Mahabaleshwar and Mahaganpati, in Gokarna. The white sand had become multicoloured with a variety of litter, the devotees had carelessly thrown all over. 

There were queues of jeeps, cars, mini buses at the road adjacent to the beach, which were bringing pilgrims from faraway places. The shrill shrieks of people of all ages were competing with the high tide and bright lights at the beach had filled the night sky. It was like some mela (fair) was going on.

Tired with our long journey (we had travelled from Madikeri (Coorg) to Mangalore by an overnight bus and then spent a couple of hours at the Diesel Cafe of the Hotel Prestige for our breakfast before reaching the railway station to get the 14:35 train to Gokarna), disappointed engulfed us. The first impression of Gokarna was enough to dampen our high spirits. We went back to our room calling it a day.

Fortunately, the morning for us broke with fresh energy and a different scenario. After a bit of reading about the place, the first thing we did was to hire a scooter (a two-wheeler) and explore the godforsaken town.

What we discovered of Gokarna made us extend our stay from 5 days to 8 days!

Located at the south coast of India, Gokarna is small, but not at all a sleepy town. The life starts as early as 5 in the morning, with devotees lining up for a darshan of Mahabaleshar (Shiva) and MahaGanpati (having the statue of Ganesha in a standing form). 

The Car Street (the main road leading to the temples) remains busy the whole day with Pandits, dressed in saffron cloth wrapped around their waist. They magically balance a Puja Thalis (plates with flowers and other stuff for worshipping Gods) in one hand and a water jug in the other, while walking up and down the street - mostly barefoot, performing their business.

The whole street sells only vegetarian food and in the name of liquor there is only tea, coffee and cold drinks. 

As the day progressed the noises subsided making us curious to know what went wrong. 

What we found out was that all establishments (even temples) close after lunch for a siesta (afternoon nap) and the town wears a deserted look. Intelligent enough, as who would like to work in 30℃? 

The activities start again by 16:00 hrs. Shops and other establishments wash their front area and make rangolis (design to welcome the guests) and arrange the products they are selling. 

The evenings become more interesting when the Gods are out on a palanquin (handheld carrier). The procession goes up and down the street with 4-6 people playing the percussion instruments and some Pandits reciting some mantras. The entourage stops only at places where people are ready waiting with their Puja Thalis.

Every room or house in the vicinity belongs to these Pandits, who keep performing different kinds of special puja for the specific needs of the devotees.

The place buzzing with activities makes it quite an intriguing town and also gives it a unique character.

The place where we were staying became a smoking adda (a place where people congregate) in the evening, for many backpackers. The reason was that the place was clean and had enough space for tourists to sit in the open and sip their tea and catch up with other fellow travellers. 

The Car Street in Gokarna was the best place to stay as it had all facilities. The other 'exotic' places where we had done the booking turned out to be in the secluded areas around the beach. Ans most of them were shacks with shared bathrooms. Locating those accommodations would have been a real task on the night we had arrived. 

We made full use of the scooter and drove to other beaches named, Om, Kudle, Half Moon, Small Hell, God's Own, Belekan, Nirvana, Shiva beach and many more - the heaven for tourists, especially backpackers. 

Incidentally, Kudle beach happens to be the birthplace of Hanuman (the Indian monkey God) where, apart from two signs which say so, there is no trace of any temple or any religious activity. 

These neat and clean beaches serve a whole sky to tourists for their enjoyments - playing in water outside water, swimming, walking, jogging, yoga on the beach - one can follow one's imagination for relaxation and enjoyment. There are cafes and restaurants all around, which also offer rooms for stay. 

Slowly we discovered that the whole town can be covered by hiking and walking from one beach to the other and from one cafe to the next one. 

The restaurants serve everything - from fish, pork and chicken to beer, whiskey and rum. The plus point is that there are no taxes since all activities on any of the Gokarna beaches are illegal, yet there are no disputes and no chaos. It seemed like religious people and people involved in tourism trade have come to a pact - not to interfere with each other and let both of them earn their living through their own means. 

In our eight days of stay, I did not see even a single policemen minding either the traffic of millions of devotees who visit the place or the thousands of tourists who frequent the destination.

 It seemed like things moved in Gokarna with some divine intervention.