Rescuing a cat...

It was a week-long story.
Cats getting stuck on big trees, high buildings, chimneys, and other such places that fascinate the feline creature, is a world-wide common phenomenon. First time, I was part of one such story.
We returned home after spending 4-5 days in Delhi, on the evening of 14th April. The first thing we noticed was the howling of a cat in the vicinity. Two days passed with intermittent crying. On every cry, we expressed our concern to each other, but we could not reckon the helplessness in the sound.
Eventually, we realised that the howling was not any ordinary mewing of a cat but was definitely a desperate SOS call. The Sherlock Holmes in us squirmed and we started our silent investigation.
The building we live in is three-storeyed with 12 flats. Adjacent to it, is the other block with similar set up. In total, we have 24 apartments in Block A and B. Out of these 24 flats, at least 10 were locked as its inmates were out.
The first challenge before us was to zero in as to which flats she has got stuck in. The search began. We mewed and she responded. We stood in front of every flat with our ears stuck to the locked doors. We made efforts to find out where she was locked in.
The neighbours looked at us weirdly. Their loud expressions cried hoarse that we were mad. Luckily, that did not deter us. We had our discovery of the day.
On the sixth day, we found that the poor creature was got locked in the balcony of the flat just below us.
We asked the caretaker to open the doors of that flat. Reluctantly enough, he opened the door. What happened next was expected. The hungry and irritated cat was so scared that she hid herself in the hole that contains all drain pipes.
The caretaker was not in a mood to wait outside and give the cat anytime to calm down and come out. He waited for 5 minutes by the clock and insisted that he had to lock the flat again. Our requests amused him as he refused to understand why a wild and stray cat can be so important for anyone.
At least we succeeded in motivating the man, who obviously had no compassion for animals, to leave open the doors of the grilled cage that secures the balcony.
Now, the cat was just below us. The doors of our balcony, and the balcony below us, were wide open. We could see the helpless cat, as she stepped out of the hiding minutes later the front door was locked again.
We started sending her comforting sounds, as many as we could make.
Our biggest concern was the wellbeing of the animal. Six days, or maybe more, without food or water, in scorching heat, was a serious issue.
This concern was motivating enough to make us think. We tied a small basket with a rope and put some milk in a bowl inside, and lowered the basket in the balcony below. We placed an aluminium foil in the basket the sound of which confirmed that the cat was eating the food. The basket carried water, then tinned Tuna and then some more milk and two days we kept feeding the poor creature.
Nevertheless, we needed to free the cat.
We forced the caretaker to open the doors of the flat again so that she can come out. They opened the door but stood there like police and once again the cat did not come out. She again locked herself midst drains.
The attitude of the caretaker was worse this time. He was a bit annoyed as we disturbed his siesta (of course, during duty hours). He appeared irritated and without even waiting for our advice, he announced that he was going to lock the door.
We were disappointed but we did not give up.    
Now we were sure that the onus of saving her life was on us.We racked our brain, and eureka, the bulb of idea gave us light.
The door of the balcony cage just below us proved to be a window of opportunity.
This time we used a bigger basket and kept the food inside making sure that she had to sit inside the basket, to eat.
The moment she sat in the basket, we pulled it up.
Coming to our balcony was freedom which made the cat's rescue calls to an angry growl. She jumped on walls, over the washing machine, banged her head to the door. We quietly closed the balcony door leaving her there to acclimatise with this free but strange world.
She did not take much time in calming down.
We opened the balcony door and our front door and she zipped outside. Having gained energy with milk and Tuna, the cat jumped from the second floor to the ground and found a safe hiding under a car.
We quietly gave her food there so that she is safe and strong and thus free to mew around. We were happy that she is free but also sad as she had become the centre of our attention for last one week.
Now, I am sure we will miss her and look for her and wait to see her again, roaming free and healthy.

These photos are only symbolic

While they fill their coffers, someone chokes on their dust

Knowing that one is passing through Kabrai city [LINK] is not a challenge for the ones with vision or hearing impairment. One doesn’t need to see the thick clouds of stone dust or hear the roaring of monstrous machines. Just normal breathing is enough to tell that one has entered Kabrai, as one invariably inhales the fine particles of that killing dust that comprise the air.

Kabrai is a city in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. It is part of Bundelkhand, infamous for decades of drought and frequent suicides by farmers.

On 21 February 2017, along with my colleague, I took the National Highway 76 [NH 76 - LINK] to travel from Chitrakoot to Mahoba, for work. Looking forward to viewing a beautiful countryside, we were appalled to the sight that was waiting for us.

I can vouch that the stretch of Highway in Kabrai is so far the most polluted site anywhere in the country.

My colleague is from Uttarakhand [LINK] the hill state that was carved out of Uttar Pradesh, and which is focusing on development without damaging the environment, was aghast to see the sacrilege.

I come from the state of Uttar Pradesh, even though; I was shocked to see the horrifying surroundings. I had travelled on this road in 2007, exactly 10 years ago. At that time also the environment was polluted but this time the situation was 100 times worse.

Nothing was visible on both sides of the highway as the air was filled with solid dust emerging from the horrendous stone crushers, chaotically functioning on both sides of the road.

Each leaf of every plant and big trees had a thick coating of white stone dust. We all know that plants breathe from leaves. How much the vegetation in Kabrai is thriving, that can be anyone’s guess.

The houses were covered in a thick white shroud of dust. (See pictures)

The health of the people living in this area, and most importantly those working in these crushers, is definitely at risk. There have been stories of people suffering from Asthma or Tuberculosis but the danger and threat to the lives of people has remained restricted to sporadic newspaper reports, on which no action has ever been taken.

The indiscriminate stone crushing is also changing the topography of the area. Bundelkhand is known for its rocky hills which give it a picturesque look.

However, now these mute rocky hills are gradually turning into plane surfaces. Some rocks which the greedy industrialists are digging ruthlessly to get stones, present an obnoxious and ugly picture. The diggers have gone so deep that water has emerged from the ground (See pictures).

Once they finish with one rocky hill, they simply move on to the other, leaving the first one raped and molested brutally.

My colleague was bewildered as to why no environmentalist has ever filed a Public Interest Litigation (PIL) so a legal check could have been enforced on the stone mafia of the state.

On reaching Mahoba and talking to a different section of people answered all our queries.

The whole state of Uttar Pradesh is thriving on quarrying mafia, sand mafia, stone mafia, and many other types of mafia – all white-collared, mostly politicians or their close mates.

We were told that on that highway there are 375 stone crushers in an area of 10 kilometres.

Of these, 36 belong to Siddh Gopal Sahu. The influential man started his political career as Panchayat Chairman. Even since, he has headed the Laghu Udyog Vikas Nigam (Small Industries Development Corporation) and has been a Minister for Mining, in Uttar Pradesh. He has contested the current assembly election also this time.

Other 10 crushers belong to Raj Narain Budhaulia – another powerful politician of the state. He has been known for party hopping to stay close to the power.

The rest also belong to powerful and influential people, having major political affiliations that help them carry on with their work without any hindrance.

We were also told that tragedies are common in these crushers, obviously with no record of people dying. People who work in these stone crushers do not get any safety gears.

Moreover, the cost of ‘settling’ a labourer’s death is mere Rs 30,000 (Approximately US$ 455), that too doesn’t go to his family. This money includes payments to various stakeholders, including Police and Media to keep the matter under wraps or project it in such a way that it does not come under the purview of compensation.

Some residents with high credentials also claim that the District Magistrate is the in charge of collecting money from the crushers to carry it forward to his/her superiors in the government.

Anyone who raises a voice against the damage to the environment, or reports any casualty, the influential well-connected, ruthless industrialists cum politicians cum contractors cum mafia not only crush that voice, but even gag that throat that is causing the noise.

Even the Centre for Science & Environment (CSE) that normally dares to speak against all big-wig playing with environment, has been silent on these stone quarrying and stone crushers.

Giving CSE a benefit of doubt, I believe they are not even aware of any such thing happening on a National Highway passing through Uttar Pradesh.

Hence, there is business as usual!

When a smooth drive turned into an adventure!

When we decided to pack our bags and leave for some tempting place, for Christmas holidays, adventure was the last thing on our minds. What we had been planning was a quiet and peaceful holiday. However, as they say: Man proposes, God disposes, our journey was meant to be something else than what we had planned.

Since 302 km Lucknow-Agra expressway had been inaugurated by the Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav, and on his orders it was also to be opened for public on 23 December, our logic told us that it would be ready a day in advance, except finishing touches.

Aiming to avoid the traffic of driving enthusiasts, who, we thought, would be hitting the road when it is opened for public, we decided to leave a day in advance, on 22 December.

Soon, we realised that we were tad too optimistic, or we took the Uttar Pradesh government a bit too seriously. Whereas, when the government says open it for public, it doesn't really mean it.

So, the early morning we were set for our brief Christmas holiday sojourn. Our nearly 12-year-old humble but fiercely loyal Hyundai Santro was all decked up with new head lights, fog lamps and brand spanking tyres. Excited, we headed towards Lucknow-Agra Expressway. Getting out of Lucknow never felt like this ever before.

Our happiness knew no boundary when we spotted the first sign: "Welcome to India's longest Lucknow-Agra Expressway". The sign displayed a poked-faced Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav. The road was smooth with practically zero traffic. We were so proud of our decision to leave a day early (on 22 December) and thought the drive would be a memorable one.

But, it was too early to feel at the top of the world. Looking back, I feel we were optimistic fools!

Our's was the only car on the black tarmac road. There were no more signs, after the Chief Minister welcoming us - not even for diversions. There were workers, machines and lorries all along the way.

Yet, it didn't make us suspicious. The argument was if the road was to be opened for public a day later, it has to be complete a day before even with diversions.

The workers were either fixing the fence on the divider or erecting the railing on the sides of the road. At places, there were big machines and vehicle busy in digging and carrying construction material. We kept enquiring the workers about the condition of the road further, but got no hint of any road block.

However, our positive attitude could not take us far. The reality was soon staring us in the face. As we crossed Kannauj, there was a big machine blocking both sides of the road - a bridge was under construction. We were taken aback - especially because no worker on the highway confronted that the road was incomplete, or in a state where it would take at least 3 months for it to be useable.

Disappointed, we took a U turn, hoping to find some slip road to come off the expressway. Luckily, we spotted a lorry on a temporary road made for lorries to carry the construction material. Thanks to Hyundai technology, we dared to take our humble vehicle on that freshly-poured mud road. Driving carefully for about 200 metres, we finally touched an old and narrow but tarmac road.

Driving on this road for over 80 KM we found ourselves on the same old National Highway 2, which we usually take to drive to Delhi. There was no way that could have connected us to Expressway again.

Anyway, we were still happy that at least we have been able to avoid the traffic jam in Kanpur.

What else! we had to justify our decision and our faith in the government.

The lesson we got was "not to take government announcements on face value."

Our advice: All those who are planning to drive on Yamuna Expressway via Lucknow-Agra Expressway - Beware, the road will not be ready in at least 3 months. So, take the old tried and tested National Highway 2 to reach the Yamuna Expressway.

P.S. This was just the beginning of our journey. Watch this place for more adventures and fun which we had until reaching home safely after a fortnight.

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.