I love the very idea of a book. The very fact that so many emotions, ideas,innovations, fears,thought and inspirations are nestled between the covers waiting to clear the cobwebs between our ears is a joy beyond comparison. I for one prefer the refuge that a book gives rather than any other form of entertainment for two very simple reasons; the first because I love the feeling when a book stimulates my nerves and the synapses start firing. For the uninitiated or the couldnt care less souls , try it! it is the ultimate high. The second is the cost advantage. The boundaries of realms of thought and imagination are shattered with utter disdain by a good book for a price thats next to nothing, or so I thought.
I was in for a rude shock today when I was reading 'Times of India' sunday edition of the 21 Dec 08. You are probably wondering why would any kook read a newspaper thats two days old. In the part of the country where I live, newspapers arrive two days late but are still devoured with relish. The rude shock came when I was reading the reviews of the various new books that are due for release. Any sane person with a teeny bit of desire to read any of those books would have been put off by the prices that are being quoted. Out of the collection of titles that were reviewed only two would be worth their weight in salt but somehow the cheapest of the lot was priced at Rs.775. What a truckload of crap we are being subjected to.
I have yet to understand the entire scope of the word 'globalisation' but I know for sure the one gift it has bestowed upon us, the cost of every small joy in our lives is rising beyond heights globally achieved ever before.
Tuesday 23 December 2008
Thursday 18 December 2008
Journey into Heaven
Have you ever started a journey without ever giving a thought to how and when you are going to reach your destination, or better still, without knowing what your destination is going to be? What does this thought evoke in you? Fear, cynicism, contempt, amusement or an electric ripple rising from the coccyx and searing through your spine till you involuntarily shiver with excitement. This was a question that haunted me for a long long time.
On the morning of the first day of an exceptionally long weekend, I awoke to the heartwarming blessing of a blue sky and shrieking peacocks. I decided in that instant that the next four days werent going waste. I pulled out my rucksack, stuffed in a couple of essentials, kicked my bike alive and ripped through the green, oh so lovely! green fields. I wish I could say " The wind was rushing through my hair" but I had to settle for the less exciting but safer helmet option.
The feeling of exhilaration when the mind is free of the responsibilities of making decisions, making choices or planning is one that we rarely ever experience. Dont take my word for it, feel it and you will realise that it has but one name ' True bliss'. The thumping of the heart in resonance
with the beat of the bike's engine is a rare form of music that one does not hear but feel.
A four hour ride from Jammu through Nagrota and Udhampur lands me at the mouth of a seldom appreciated engineering wonder of modern India. The Jawahar tunnel is 2540m long and bores through the heart of the lower himalayan ranges. One cannot but feel claustrophobic riding through utter darkness of the tunnel, especially since you know that you are hardly a mile and half away from blinding daylight. Roaring out of the tunnel one cant refrain from marvelling at the tenacity of those men whose made this tunnel possible. The tunnel is almost like a magical doorway which
connects to two vastly different worlds. This is the beginning of the magical valley which stretches till Srinagar and a little beyond. Another hour of a delightful ride sees me ride in to Srinagar. Steaming cups of chai and a sunset throwing out amazing colours is perhaps the wierdest and most wonderful combination all at the same time. The fishermen on the dal lake have a very strange but effective way to make sure their boats are safely moored and also form a mysterious restaurant in the parts of the lake where shadows reign. A number of shikaras are tied together and
a couple of those that are in the centre are converted to a makeshift kitchen. The meal is simple roasted fish from the lake and boiled rice with a thin but tasty dal kind of gravy. I dont dare attempt explaining what was in the drink that we had before dinner. I settled into the bottom of a
shikara open in the sides cuddled up in a blanket near a coal bukhari. I couldnt help but wonder at the way I spent the previous night in a cozy bed after a 6 course meal and compare it to what I had experienced just a little while before. I watched the dancing stars and realised the magic that
they were weaving into my heart was but a part of that day. The bike ride, the simple souls that shared their dinner and opened their makeshift home to me, the emotions in my heart that conflicted with the trepidations in my mind, all formed a part of this amazing and spontaneous day.
I pondered on for a while and realised that the answer to the conflict was staring into my face or rather was depicted on my face. The last memory of that night was the smile that played and danced on my face while I was slowly lulled into a sound sleep by the gentle bobbing of the shikaras and
the distant but haunting tunes that somebody was strumming on a sarangi. I was blessed that night by the spirits of nature and travel.
To be contd.
On the morning of the first day of an exceptionally long weekend, I awoke to the heartwarming blessing of a blue sky and shrieking peacocks. I decided in that instant that the next four days werent going waste. I pulled out my rucksack, stuffed in a couple of essentials, kicked my bike alive and ripped through the green, oh so lovely! green fields. I wish I could say " The wind was rushing through my hair" but I had to settle for the less exciting but safer helmet option.
The feeling of exhilaration when the mind is free of the responsibilities of making decisions, making choices or planning is one that we rarely ever experience. Dont take my word for it, feel it and you will realise that it has but one name ' True bliss'. The thumping of the heart in resonance
with the beat of the bike's engine is a rare form of music that one does not hear but feel.
A four hour ride from Jammu through Nagrota and Udhampur lands me at the mouth of a seldom appreciated engineering wonder of modern India. The Jawahar tunnel is 2540m long and bores through the heart of the lower himalayan ranges. One cannot but feel claustrophobic riding through utter darkness of the tunnel, especially since you know that you are hardly a mile and half away from blinding daylight. Roaring out of the tunnel one cant refrain from marvelling at the tenacity of those men whose made this tunnel possible. The tunnel is almost like a magical doorway which
connects to two vastly different worlds. This is the beginning of the magical valley which stretches till Srinagar and a little beyond. Another hour of a delightful ride sees me ride in to Srinagar. Steaming cups of chai and a sunset throwing out amazing colours is perhaps the wierdest and most wonderful combination all at the same time. The fishermen on the dal lake have a very strange but effective way to make sure their boats are safely moored and also form a mysterious restaurant in the parts of the lake where shadows reign. A number of shikaras are tied together and
a couple of those that are in the centre are converted to a makeshift kitchen. The meal is simple roasted fish from the lake and boiled rice with a thin but tasty dal kind of gravy. I dont dare attempt explaining what was in the drink that we had before dinner. I settled into the bottom of a
shikara open in the sides cuddled up in a blanket near a coal bukhari. I couldnt help but wonder at the way I spent the previous night in a cozy bed after a 6 course meal and compare it to what I had experienced just a little while before. I watched the dancing stars and realised the magic that
they were weaving into my heart was but a part of that day. The bike ride, the simple souls that shared their dinner and opened their makeshift home to me, the emotions in my heart that conflicted with the trepidations in my mind, all formed a part of this amazing and spontaneous day.
I pondered on for a while and realised that the answer to the conflict was staring into my face or rather was depicted on my face. The last memory of that night was the smile that played and danced on my face while I was slowly lulled into a sound sleep by the gentle bobbing of the shikaras and
the distant but haunting tunes that somebody was strumming on a sarangi. I was blessed that night by the spirits of nature and travel.
To be contd.
Thursday 11 December 2008
An addiction I love and recommend!
Have you been to a place that personifies heaven on earth and hell on fire all at the same same time? I have and let me tell you its an addictive love affair, one thats much too difficult to let go and simultaneously much too hard to get rid of. Confusing ehh!! The contrasting points of view are because the former is an opinion of tourists and the latter of those who actually live there.
There are no words to describe the assault on senses that this place unleashes. The aroma of wonderful exotic spices and insultingly abundant apples are tantalising to say the least. Injustice ,is the word to describe the absence of recognition of this land. A land that has memoirs written in 'thoth' but has yet to be credited with the allure it projects the most , in any of its 800 official languages.
The beautiful lavender blossom hued, laden badam trees and the boughs weighed down by the bride of fruits 'the green apple', present a view thats disturbed only by the oft repeated explosion of gunpowder and the disturbing 'thwaack' of bullets into the wood of these trees. The view that I have when I have my lazy breakfast at 0700hrs is one of 6 layers of mountains , all of them snow clad and each one of them bearing a resemblance to the fantasy image of a pure and innocent
(read ignorant) bride, and I wonder how many people would be lucky enough to live in places that most others can only see in coffee table books and dream about visiting.
This post may seem like a random rambling but it is rather a pathetically incomplete review on a place that deserves much more credit for its beauty and splendour than what is claimed falsely by many of its sister states in the country. This is only an addiction I would sincerely recommend to every genuine traveller.
There are no words to describe the assault on senses that this place unleashes. The aroma of wonderful exotic spices and insultingly abundant apples are tantalising to say the least. Injustice ,is the word to describe the absence of recognition of this land. A land that has memoirs written in 'thoth' but has yet to be credited with the allure it projects the most , in any of its 800 official languages.
The beautiful lavender blossom hued, laden badam trees and the boughs weighed down by the bride of fruits 'the green apple', present a view thats disturbed only by the oft repeated explosion of gunpowder and the disturbing 'thwaack' of bullets into the wood of these trees. The view that I have when I have my lazy breakfast at 0700hrs is one of 6 layers of mountains , all of them snow clad and each one of them bearing a resemblance to the fantasy image of a pure and innocent
(read ignorant) bride, and I wonder how many people would be lucky enough to live in places that most others can only see in coffee table books and dream about visiting.
This post may seem like a random rambling but it is rather a pathetically incomplete review on a place that deserves much more credit for its beauty and splendour than what is claimed falsely by many of its sister states in the country. This is only an addiction I would sincerely recommend to every genuine traveller.
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