Sunset at Versowa
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Moment of Truth
11 years ago
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
MAYA
Maya is the apple of her parent’s eyes. The only daughter, she is doted upon by them and leads a simple but sheltered life. She goes to school; she gossips; she studies; she goes out with friends for movies; even completes her homework at times; and plays with Tasha - her litter mate and sister, the beloved golden retriever she grew up with. She argues with her mom, she sulks, throws tantrums, pouts and reluctantly goes to bed by nine.
She is a typical seventeen year old.
One morning, her father receives a call from a hospital in Bombay. They tell him that Maya’s aunt was in an accident and was rushed to the hospital, her condition critical. Her parents are required and have to leave at once. They are unable to find a chaperone for Maya at such short notice and are anxious about leaving her home alone. Maya convinces them, and they reluctantly agree. But not without laying down a few ground rules first. Her father gives her precise instructions. He insists that she reach home by five in the evening; close the doors and windows at the first hint of dusk. Once indoors, she is supposed to complete her studies, maybe watch a little television, probably play with Tasha, eat her dinner at nine, cross check all the doors and windows, test the latches and then go to bed. Her father also instructs her to keep Tasha with her at all times. Maya laughs at their anxiety and jokes that she is certainly old enough to live through one evening alone. Not convinced but beaten, her parents reluctantly leave. That evening, for the first time in her life, Maya experiences the joy of an empty house. She comes home, throws her shoes and bags in the living room, settles down in front of the television without bothering to change out of her uniform. No mom’s voice insisting that she do this or that. What bliss. Following her father’s instructions to a T, Mala locks all the doors and windows the minute the shadows darken. She prepares for her algebra test the next day, watches the strictly banned Desperate Housewives, eats her dinner, checks the locks and then calls it a night. Paranoia sets in the minute her head hits the pillow, as she replays every ghost story, murder, rape, alien abduction story she has ever heard of! Laughing at her foolishness, she seeks comfort from Tasha who is sleeping under her bed. Just to be safe, she ensures the bedroom door is locked and eventually as the hundredth sheep jumps over the picket fence, she drifts into a troubled sleep.
That night she dreams a black dream; that typical nerve-wracking dream the details of which you never remember the next morning. She tosses and turns restlessly for a couple of hours. Tasha licks her hand, reassured, she finally settles into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Maya wakes up and laughs at her foolishness. Stretching lazily, she heads to the bathroom. She opens the door and finds Tasha hanging in the shower. Across the mirror, slashed in her mother’s red lipstick, she read “IT WASN’T THE DOG THAT LICKED YOUR HAND LAST NIGHT.”
Maya is the apple of her parent’s eyes. The only daughter, she is doted upon by them and leads a simple but sheltered life. She goes to school; she gossips; she studies; she goes out with friends for movies; even completes her homework at times; and plays with Tasha - her litter mate and sister, the beloved golden retriever she grew up with. She argues with her mom, she sulks, throws tantrums, pouts and reluctantly goes to bed by nine.
She is a typical seventeen year old.
One morning, her father receives a call from a hospital in Bombay. They tell him that Maya’s aunt was in an accident and was rushed to the hospital, her condition critical. Her parents are required and have to leave at once. They are unable to find a chaperone for Maya at such short notice and are anxious about leaving her home alone. Maya convinces them, and they reluctantly agree. But not without laying down a few ground rules first. Her father gives her precise instructions. He insists that she reach home by five in the evening; close the doors and windows at the first hint of dusk. Once indoors, she is supposed to complete her studies, maybe watch a little television, probably play with Tasha, eat her dinner at nine, cross check all the doors and windows, test the latches and then go to bed. Her father also instructs her to keep Tasha with her at all times. Maya laughs at their anxiety and jokes that she is certainly old enough to live through one evening alone. Not convinced but beaten, her parents reluctantly leave. That evening, for the first time in her life, Maya experiences the joy of an empty house. She comes home, throws her shoes and bags in the living room, settles down in front of the television without bothering to change out of her uniform. No mom’s voice insisting that she do this or that. What bliss. Following her father’s instructions to a T, Mala locks all the doors and windows the minute the shadows darken. She prepares for her algebra test the next day, watches the strictly banned Desperate Housewives, eats her dinner, checks the locks and then calls it a night. Paranoia sets in the minute her head hits the pillow, as she replays every ghost story, murder, rape, alien abduction story she has ever heard of! Laughing at her foolishness, she seeks comfort from Tasha who is sleeping under her bed. Just to be safe, she ensures the bedroom door is locked and eventually as the hundredth sheep jumps over the picket fence, she drifts into a troubled sleep.
That night she dreams a black dream; that typical nerve-wracking dream the details of which you never remember the next morning. She tosses and turns restlessly for a couple of hours. Tasha licks her hand, reassured, she finally settles into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Maya wakes up and laughs at her foolishness. Stretching lazily, she heads to the bathroom. She opens the door and finds Tasha hanging in the shower. Across the mirror, slashed in her mother’s red lipstick, she read “IT WASN’T THE DOG THAT LICKED YOUR HAND LAST NIGHT.”
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Today I choose to be a MAN.
Rumblings of discontent have been heard. Partiality they mumble. Grumbling endlessly. WE want a day too...
Poor men. They dont wake up to special "Happy Men's day"messages.
Why, Children get days. We have Mother's Day.Father's Day. Teacher's Day. Animal Day. Towel Day ( on March 25, fellow Douglas Adams fans please note)
Transgender Remembrance Day. Nutella Day. Victory in Europe Day and Victory in Japan Day ( May 7/8 and August 14/15 for those interested) International Woman's Day.
The Day of the Dead (which interestingly enough spans two days, All Saints Day and All Souls Day) April Fools Day. The rosy (pun unintended) Valentines Day. At this point I would like to note that there is no Singles Day. A day devoted to enjoying Singledom.
This sunny sunday afternoon, my cellphone alternates between displaying "location-Versowa rd" and...(Drum rolls please) "HAPPY WOMENS DAY". Today we celebrate "womanhood". Only TODAY. The other days are reserved for beating up and assaulting women on roads, pubs,buses and trains. Oh and any other place you can think of.
and so TODAY I choose to speak up for the disgruntled males. Give the poor things a DAY too. Let them celebrate their "manhood".
p.s - Dont panic , happy thoughts will resurface once you head to http://www.towel-day.com/en/ - TOWEL DAY. Douglas Adams is the man!
Rumblings of discontent have been heard. Partiality they mumble. Grumbling endlessly. WE want a day too...
Poor men. They dont wake up to special "Happy Men's day"messages.
Why, Children get days. We have Mother's Day.Father's Day. Teacher's Day. Animal Day. Towel Day ( on March 25, fellow Douglas Adams fans please note)
Transgender Remembrance Day. Nutella Day. Victory in Europe Day and Victory in Japan Day ( May 7/8 and August 14/15 for those interested) International Woman's Day.
The Day of the Dead (which interestingly enough spans two days, All Saints Day and All Souls Day) April Fools Day. The rosy (pun unintended) Valentines Day. At this point I would like to note that there is no Singles Day. A day devoted to enjoying Singledom.
This sunny sunday afternoon, my cellphone alternates between displaying "location-Versowa rd" and...(Drum rolls please) "HAPPY WOMENS DAY". Today we celebrate "womanhood". Only TODAY. The other days are reserved for beating up and assaulting women on roads, pubs,buses and trains. Oh and any other place you can think of.
and so TODAY I choose to speak up for the disgruntled males. Give the poor things a DAY too. Let them celebrate their "manhood".
p.s - Dont panic , happy thoughts will resurface once you head to http://www.towel-day.com/en/ - TOWEL DAY. Douglas Adams is the man!
Thursday, March 05, 2009
ADVENTURE OF A DIFFERENT KIND
A few years back a whole group of us had gone on a five day trek through the lush rainforests or “sholas” of Silent Valley. The jungles of Silent Valley are less disturbed by humans than most other forests in India, vast slopes of grassland dotted with clumps of dense forest. There were flowering orchids, huge anthills taller than an average human being, giant ferns and hundred year old creepers that looked like full grown trees.
On this trek we had to carry our luggage in backpacks, covering an average distance of twenty kilometers a day on steep tracks. We trekked right across the length of the reserve, stopping only at night. The weather was freezing at night, the cold winds chilling our bones; during the day it was hot and incredibly humid.
On the third day, the unexpected happened. As darkness crept upon us, grey shadows of trees loomed around us and it seemed like millions of eyes watched our every move with curiosity. Weary and tired after a hard day’s trek, all we wanted was to reach the rest house and put up our aching feet. The children were getting cranky and their mothers harassed. Experienced as we were, having been out in the wild since the age of five, my younger brother too was also showing signs of tiring and kept asking my mother where the rest house was every few minutes. Someone ahead of us yelled with joy – they had spotted the water pipes signaling that shelter was close by. It was almost dark, and as we walked slowly, my mother spied the roof of the rest house up ahead in the distance. She turned excitedly to my brother and the next thing I heard was a loud shriek. I ran ahead, my father following closely, to see my mom holding her ankle, her face contorted in a painful grimace. “Oh god not a snake!” was the first thought running through my head. After what seemed like an hour-long second she said she had stepped into a rat hole. On reaching the rest house, my father examined the now swollen ankle in torchlight and declared that it was not a fracture.
The next day we were supposed to continue our journey through a part of the reserve that was home to the rare “lion tailed macaque”. However, my father decided to call a halt and not proceed as planned. My mother rested her injured ankle. Friends helped by feeding her the famous Chinese Gin Sing tablets and even trying pranic healing to ease the pain. We rested our aching feet, dried out our shoes, powdered our socks and got ready for the tough trek ahead of us. My dad went out and fashioned a crude but sturdy forest wood crutch for my mom.
The next morning we set out at a very slow pace as my mom had trouble trekking up the steep inclines. The group was divided; my dad and mom walked slowly and the rest of the group carried on ahead. I wanted to stay back with my mom and walk with her – so a close family friend stayed back to keep me company. Much later I found out that he did so as he understood that my dad would have found it tough to take care of both my mom and myself. We trekked through the heart of the jungle. Small rivulets with crystal clear water running over pretty moss-covered pebbles, jade coloured ferns as delicate as a feather, orchids in myriad hues in the most unexpected locations. As it grew dark we started talking about movies, old music, Pink Floyd, and shoes (!) as he attempted to take my mind off my mother’s pain. As we neared the campsite, the guide told us that a tiger lived nearby and was often heard at night. To make matters worse, the last stretch was the most harrowing for my mother, as it was a river bed full of pebbles. When we finally reached, we found the rest of the group had stayed up anxiously awaiting our arrival, and had even saved some dinner for us!
The final journey involved a half day trek leading to civilization. At the end of the trek we had to make our way across the last hurdle. We had to walk around five hundred yards on a steep, narrow goat track with a sheer fall to the river far below. On the other side and above us was a beautiful waterfall. It was an unforgettable experience, breathtaking as well as treacherous, and we carefully made our way down over slippery shale, my heart in my mouth with every step. Finally, we reached the bridge that signaled the end of this eventful journey. We had just trekked right across the length of Silent Valley.
I love the Wild and she has taught me a lot about sticks, stones, thorns, butterflies and birds ; taught me to fear, to be careful, to be happy and to be awed. But on this trek I learnt something completely new. This trek across the forest changed my definition of adventure. Adventure is not only about trying new things, living on the edge or experiencing the uncommon. It also involves exploring within oneself, getting through tough situations, moving ahead and learning from them. Most importantly, it involves discovering new emotions and our reactions to various incidents that happen to us.
I felt completely useless as I watched my mother in pain and could do nothing to help her. Helplessness was a feeling that I had never dealt with until then. All I could do was watch from the sidelines as someone I loved so dearly suffered and endured pain. It was an injury that could have happened to anyone but it had happened to my mom. What hurt was the fact that I couldn’t make the pain stop or do anything to make it less. And that I had to just stand by and watch my mom as she bore it without complaining. The despair of helplessness…
I will never forget Silent Valley for its beauty, its exquisite flora and fauna; and it will always remain one of the most beautiful forests I have ever been to. I will also never forget Silent Valley for it was here that I discovered adventure in its true sense. This is where I learned my most valuable lesson of all - something the wild taught me that the concrete jungles could not! This is where I had an unforgettable adventure – an adventure of a different kind.
A few years back a whole group of us had gone on a five day trek through the lush rainforests or “sholas” of Silent Valley. The jungles of Silent Valley are less disturbed by humans than most other forests in India, vast slopes of grassland dotted with clumps of dense forest. There were flowering orchids, huge anthills taller than an average human being, giant ferns and hundred year old creepers that looked like full grown trees.
On this trek we had to carry our luggage in backpacks, covering an average distance of twenty kilometers a day on steep tracks. We trekked right across the length of the reserve, stopping only at night. The weather was freezing at night, the cold winds chilling our bones; during the day it was hot and incredibly humid.
On the third day, the unexpected happened. As darkness crept upon us, grey shadows of trees loomed around us and it seemed like millions of eyes watched our every move with curiosity. Weary and tired after a hard day’s trek, all we wanted was to reach the rest house and put up our aching feet. The children were getting cranky and their mothers harassed. Experienced as we were, having been out in the wild since the age of five, my younger brother too was also showing signs of tiring and kept asking my mother where the rest house was every few minutes. Someone ahead of us yelled with joy – they had spotted the water pipes signaling that shelter was close by. It was almost dark, and as we walked slowly, my mother spied the roof of the rest house up ahead in the distance. She turned excitedly to my brother and the next thing I heard was a loud shriek. I ran ahead, my father following closely, to see my mom holding her ankle, her face contorted in a painful grimace. “Oh god not a snake!” was the first thought running through my head. After what seemed like an hour-long second she said she had stepped into a rat hole. On reaching the rest house, my father examined the now swollen ankle in torchlight and declared that it was not a fracture.
The next day we were supposed to continue our journey through a part of the reserve that was home to the rare “lion tailed macaque”. However, my father decided to call a halt and not proceed as planned. My mother rested her injured ankle. Friends helped by feeding her the famous Chinese Gin Sing tablets and even trying pranic healing to ease the pain. We rested our aching feet, dried out our shoes, powdered our socks and got ready for the tough trek ahead of us. My dad went out and fashioned a crude but sturdy forest wood crutch for my mom.
The next morning we set out at a very slow pace as my mom had trouble trekking up the steep inclines. The group was divided; my dad and mom walked slowly and the rest of the group carried on ahead. I wanted to stay back with my mom and walk with her – so a close family friend stayed back to keep me company. Much later I found out that he did so as he understood that my dad would have found it tough to take care of both my mom and myself. We trekked through the heart of the jungle. Small rivulets with crystal clear water running over pretty moss-covered pebbles, jade coloured ferns as delicate as a feather, orchids in myriad hues in the most unexpected locations. As it grew dark we started talking about movies, old music, Pink Floyd, and shoes (!) as he attempted to take my mind off my mother’s pain. As we neared the campsite, the guide told us that a tiger lived nearby and was often heard at night. To make matters worse, the last stretch was the most harrowing for my mother, as it was a river bed full of pebbles. When we finally reached, we found the rest of the group had stayed up anxiously awaiting our arrival, and had even saved some dinner for us!
The final journey involved a half day trek leading to civilization. At the end of the trek we had to make our way across the last hurdle. We had to walk around five hundred yards on a steep, narrow goat track with a sheer fall to the river far below. On the other side and above us was a beautiful waterfall. It was an unforgettable experience, breathtaking as well as treacherous, and we carefully made our way down over slippery shale, my heart in my mouth with every step. Finally, we reached the bridge that signaled the end of this eventful journey. We had just trekked right across the length of Silent Valley.
I love the Wild and she has taught me a lot about sticks, stones, thorns, butterflies and birds ; taught me to fear, to be careful, to be happy and to be awed. But on this trek I learnt something completely new. This trek across the forest changed my definition of adventure. Adventure is not only about trying new things, living on the edge or experiencing the uncommon. It also involves exploring within oneself, getting through tough situations, moving ahead and learning from them. Most importantly, it involves discovering new emotions and our reactions to various incidents that happen to us.
I felt completely useless as I watched my mother in pain and could do nothing to help her. Helplessness was a feeling that I had never dealt with until then. All I could do was watch from the sidelines as someone I loved so dearly suffered and endured pain. It was an injury that could have happened to anyone but it had happened to my mom. What hurt was the fact that I couldn’t make the pain stop or do anything to make it less. And that I had to just stand by and watch my mom as she bore it without complaining. The despair of helplessness…
I will never forget Silent Valley for its beauty, its exquisite flora and fauna; and it will always remain one of the most beautiful forests I have ever been to. I will also never forget Silent Valley for it was here that I discovered adventure in its true sense. This is where I learned my most valuable lesson of all - something the wild taught me that the concrete jungles could not! This is where I had an unforgettable adventure – an adventure of a different kind.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
FALLING IN LOVE
I am slowly falling in love.I guess it is a feeling that grows on you. Like moss or fungus or lichen. The romance in these comparisons! I love traveling, its something that never fails to excite me and I got bitten by the bug young. My parents strapped me into a backpack at the grand age of six months and decided to take a road trip on the beloved Bullet to Ellora Ajantha from Ahmednagar and then back to Mumbai. Oh yes, insanity runs in the family. But I digress.
Like I said- I am slowly falling in love.The object of my affections this time is definitely female. She is a bundle of contradictions, elegant and stately with an old world charm; sometimes restless;sometimes calm;sleepy; young and boisterous at others. The more I see, the more hopelessly devoted I get. She can be unforgiving, cold and ruthless, or loving and lively.Definitely Complicated. And I hope she favors me. Luck favors those with pluck
( err...forgive the rhyming scheme).
Here She is in all her glory.
I am torn between two coasts. Madras or Bombay? Sunrise or Sunset?
I am slowly falling in love.I guess it is a feeling that grows on you. Like moss or fungus or lichen. The romance in these comparisons! I love traveling, its something that never fails to excite me and I got bitten by the bug young. My parents strapped me into a backpack at the grand age of six months and decided to take a road trip on the beloved Bullet to Ellora Ajantha from Ahmednagar and then back to Mumbai. Oh yes, insanity runs in the family. But I digress.
Like I said- I am slowly falling in love.The object of my affections this time is definitely female. She is a bundle of contradictions, elegant and stately with an old world charm; sometimes restless;sometimes calm;sleepy; young and boisterous at others. The more I see, the more hopelessly devoted I get. She can be unforgiving, cold and ruthless, or loving and lively.Definitely Complicated. And I hope she favors me. Luck favors those with pluck
( err...forgive the rhyming scheme).
Here She is in all her glory.
I am torn between two coasts. Madras or Bombay? Sunrise or Sunset?
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