Sikkim Sojourn (Part 2)

Lachen monastery is more than 200 years old and belongs to the Nyingma sect of Buddhism. Nyingma means “ancient” and “old” in Tibetan language. Around the 8th and 9th centuries, the Esoteric Sect spread into Tibet from India; while Bon Religion had been exerting a great influence on Tibetans. Since these two religions shared some common characteristics as being mysterious, they merged gradually. This sect has a loose organization and focuses on mantra practice. It does not have systematic doctrines and complete ranking system among monks. Pemayangste Monastery in Pelling is the seat of Nyingma sect and Lachen comes under their control.

We silently toured the Monastery asking the Lama to explain their worship rituals, festivals and turning him into a curator to explain the mythology behind the paintings. Paintings were intricate, done with herbal dyes and some of them were strikingly similar to hindu mythology. We were shocked to see sexually explicit painting depicting carnal desires. The Lama says it is all about explaining desires more than experiencing and relinquishing them on the path to spirituality. I asked the Lama if I could take some pictures but sadly he denied my request. But I always found ways to take capture some interesting objects or subjects and every time I stealthily used my camera and Artur coughed heavily to mask the shutter sound. Don’t blame me…I want to share every bit on the trip with you.

Chortens are seen in very monastery. They are beautifully crafted Tibetan stupa with a chamber inside to house relics and empowered objects. We came out and asked the Lama to explain all about Chortens. It is believed that Buddha was kept in one after his death. Chortens are similar to Brindavans built for hindu monks after their death. A Chorten is a stabalizing force in any environ, it anchors the positive energy of enlightenment in an area.

I looked around and Steven was the only one missing from the gang. He was busy standing outside the monastery trying to explore if he can get a bird for dinner. We gathered some knowledge, left enlightenment from next part of life and started the journey towards Lachung.

The morning was cold and misty; we were buried in our jackets with windows rolled up. Steven was busy hydrating himself all through the journey while the rest of us were conversing louder to bury the noisy bollywood music in the car. On the way down we stopped at an Army post and spoke to few of the Jawans, who were guarding the borders.

The 3 hour drive finally got us to Lachung and it was around lunch time when we landed. We had no planned accommodation and we went driving around the town and asking people if they had 4 bedrooms to spare. We preferred doing homestays to resorts or lodges. Homestays are basic, but comes with more warmth, care and at a cheaper price (Rs 100/bed/day).

Finally we found a homestay with 4 rooms on the first floor. That was a perfect place for the 8 of us to stay close and cozy. For 200rs a room we even had a view from our bathroom. When you are surrounded by forest, mountains and waterfalls where is the chance to have any other view? There was a nice 4 feet by 8 feet walkway outside the rooms which we had ideas for.

So far in the journey we were playing it safe - rice, dal, subzi and occasionally momos, but local cuisine was yet to be tasted. The hosts prepared an elaborate lunch since we had maggi for breakfast. After the Indian lunch we walked around the town with filled bellies and no agenda. Feels like wandering cattle huh?

Lachung is beautiful village at 9000 ft surrounded by nature and peace. Winters add a white blanket to this beautiful town. But this time of the year was green and wet at times, but mountains higher up was blanketed in snow.

We were in no race to cover the touristy places or pose for pictures, just a happy walk flapping our flip flops, wagging our tongue and observing people. Soaking and sinking with the local people, tradition and culture is the best way to understand any place or country.

Residents of this town radiate peace that you see in the nature around you. Life is slow, clam, respectful, peaceful, simple and soulful. Quite a contrast to what we see in the cities! Houses were small, but hearts were large. We made contact with passerby to understand the life, lifestyle and peripheries of the village.

During our walk we explored the local monastery, a school and a primary health care centre (PHC). Never have I appreciated a PHC, but now living with them and looking at the minimal medical facilities, I felt the need more doctors to work/volunteer here. Who would not want to serve in the palms of nature for a year? Is there a need for a big hospital? Nope. People look healthy, trim and fit and PHC would not have much work unlike swelling hospitals in cities. I saw many old people fit and active.

Food, fun and friends.…
While I was engaged and ravaged in thoughts, Steven and rest of the gang were planning the evening during the walk. A long list of items got on the to-do list and everybody had Thumba…thumba…thumba on their list.

One picked up a pack of cards, another picked up a guitar, one picked up the bottle of pleasure, one picked up the dhoop stick and all I had was a thick blanket to keep myself warm that evening. We got into the large kitchen area of the house and saw the lady of the house was filling the wooden cylinder with fermented millet and there was hot water boiling on the stove.

The groups sat around the table strumming the guitar, reeling out popular songs and Carol taught the group a new card game. Soon smoke filled the room and finally thumb was brought to the table and hot water was poured from top and a bamboo straw was dropped in.

The beer was freshly brewed. Plates of momos and chips came to the table along with personal stories and there was background score to go with it. The room was little empty without Steven. Where is Steven? Every now and then I stepped out to catch a whiff of fresh air and looking out for Steven The sky was clearing up and moon was ready to illuminate the snow capped peaks. At around 8 PM nature turned the stars on and beetles were composing their symphony in the wild.

Nobody sat around the kitchen and ordered food off the menu card. What a boring way to do a vacation! Steven came back with the bird and his homecoming was welcomed with cheer .The group had been on a vegetarian diet and rest of the gang was salivating for the bird.

Which hotel would allow you to walk into their kitchen and make your own thingy or help the host, but that is what some homestays do to you. And if you speak the local language you get more access.

Bijay took control of the bird and took the cleaver in his hands to chop the chicken. While the bird was spicing up Bijay emptied a can of Mackeral and cooked it with eggs to add spirit to the evening. Henrietta helped to make some tea and the room was buzzing with activity.

It was over 9 pm when the dinner was finished and we had to move out of the kitchen and give the owners their space and personal time. Where do we go next?

We remembered the 8 feet by 4 feet space outside our rooms, yes the hallway. Candles were lit, blankets were put on the floor, glasses and bottles were brought and the crowd was gearing up for a ritual. I borrowed pen and paper from Henrietta and found myself a chair in the corner of the room, to observe and make notes on the trip. Sounds like chemistry lab without a lab coat?

Artur put some brown stuff in his hand and powdered it with his fingers. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment paper and made a thin cylinder out of it. He packed it with the stuff and sealed it with saliva and finally packed one end of the cylinder with a cigarette filter. The2inch happiness stick was ready and sorrow was burning at the other end!

The three Fs’ (food, friend and fun) came together to make that evening memorable. An hour into the party I retired for the night and all I hear at 4 AM was a knock on my door.

Yes, who else other than Henrietta? Remember she wakes up before any life in the village and she walks around and capture the beauty of the village. Walk in this village is meditation!

An hour into the walk nature displayed its next curtain; it was dark grey with intermittent drizzle. Clouds were playing hide and seek in covering the mountain peaks and waterfall. It looked like nature was drawing the curtain to do a personal pooja to the peak often. During the morning walk I captured the scenery, flowers, the drying teddy in the clothes lines and beer bottle with sweater in my camera.

We took refuge in a tea shop and fished for some more information about the place and people. People spoke Hindi and Nepalese but very little English. Over a cup of chai we found out that the law entitles only natives (born in Sikkim) to own land, property and run businesses in Sikkim, hence you got to be a Sikkim national to own or run a business. Thank god otherwise our Nairs, Biharis and Gujaratis must have set up their business and turned it into a commercial hotspot.

So many people must have visited this tiny village, so many cameras must have captured the mountains and hosts must have served so many hungry stomachs. But still the place was neat, fresh, clean and there was no sign of thrown around garbage and unhygienic lifestyle.

By the time we got back to the room rest of them were up, showered and ready for breakfast and leave to Zero point and Yumthang Valley. I didn’t have much time to freshen up and leave. 2 minutes into the shower, the pipe poured air and water droplets started to trickle. I looked helplessly at the airing pipe with foam filling my palms. Yes, it was Steven who emptied the tank in the process of emptying his hangover. I yelled for help and finally I get a bucket of hot water to complete my ablutions. Finally the marathon ended with 2 bread jam sandwiches and chai before I boarded the jeep.

While I was busy getting there was a little fight between the cab driver and the group. Since we were not able to make it to Gurudongmar Lake due to landslide (it was a part of the deal) we were asking the cab driver to take us to Zero point instead. After some serious exchange of words and haggling he agreed and reversed the car in a rage. Well what do you expect a 19 year old to do?

Within minutes into the journey the beauty and blossom of Rhododendrum quelled the temper. Music was back and so was Steven with his bottle of Cola. We were ascending altitudes beyond 5000m and the air was rarified and the winding movement made us sick. We stopped at the military check post to hand over a copy of our travel permit and a few hundred rupees to take care of the foreign tourist in our vehicle. Money goes all the way from netherworld to mountain peaks!

The vehicle passed by Yumthang Valley (kept it for later) and drove towards Zero point. Fully bloomed and colorful Rhododendrums decorated very inch on that road and we found yaks grazing with their family. Inclement weather had covered the mountains and vegetation with snow. We were excited to see Snow in the month of May in India. We stopped and captured some snowy moments for you.

We parked the car at Zero point and the place was filled with tourist and I was pained to see the petrol and diesel fumes polluting the milk white snow. Tourist was plucking the wild flowers and some rolled down their windows and abandoned empty water bottles, chips and biscuit wrapper. My friend Bijay snapped at a few of them. How can we educate people who are not willing to listen?

I walked a mile in that snow towards a quiet spot on the of the valley edge to just sit, observe and absorb the beauty of the peaks. My eyes saw just white stuff all around and every step at the altitude (17000 ft) needed more energy due to lack of oxygen. I forgot I was at that altitude and I pushed myself towards the valley. I heard my lungs and heart cry for oxygen and my head felt heavy and dizzy. A little more push could have pushed my heart into a failure mode. I realized the seriousness of the altitude and slowed down. I felt gravity was more than 9.8 and my shoes suddenly felt heavy. It took me a while to get back to my base heart rate. A few biscuits and a gulp of water induced some sugar into my blood and brain. Shortly we left for Yumthang Valley.

Yumthang valley is at 12000 feet and is filled with 24 species of Rhododendrums. By the time we got to the valley clouds covered the peaks and chill wind started to flow through the valleys. We walked to the river and the blend of flora and fauna was breathtaking. The cold wind made us feel nippy, yet we took turns and posed for a photograph. We asked the driver to bring the vehicle to a point downhill and trekked a 3km forest trail along the river.

Links to Pictures:
Lachung - http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/Lachung#
Lachen - http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/LachenMonastery#
Zero point - http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/PointZero#
Yumthang Valley - http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/YumthangValley
Coming soon…Phodong Monastery, Yuksom, Dubdi Monastery, Pelling, Budh Purnima and Saga Dawa….

Sikkim - India's Switzerland

A week before I went on this trip, I worked overtime to ensure business is as usual, I temporarily quit Facebook (don’t ask me why), I turn on my out of office and update my status message on “gtalk”. Just to make sure every knows that I am out. Yes sometimes we all have to plan for our absence and I planned my absence from the online world, but did I plan my vacation from the offline world?

I knew where I didn’t want to go – a sleepless city with congested lanes overflowing traffic and filled with exhaust fumes, skylines punctuated with skyscrapers and brimming malls, movie halls and markets.

Hmmm…

Am I asking for the India 1920s where skylines was filled with fields, greenery and birds, walking was still the way of life, mud roads with slow moving bullocks, postman the only news carrier, a finally an era where time respects and waits for you? Given our population density and rapidly westernizing India, does such a place exist? I Went through Outlook Traveler, Google Earth and lonely planet but none of them could pin point my spot.

But one afternoon I got online to book my tickets, but to where? Was it a seat on the Time Machine? Was it to the frontiers of India? Was it in search of the lofty snow capped mountain ranges and winding orchard filled valleys? Did I get the invite from the fluttering prayer flags and scared chants from the monastery? Was it a karma call?

Before I deciphered and answered all this, I was already on a 4 hour shared jeep journey from Siliguri ascending the mountains of Sikkim. Nestled between the Kanchenjunga and Nepal on the West, lofty Himalayan ranges and Tibet on the North and scenic Bhutan and gorgeous passes in the east, Sikkim is the heaven on earth. The last seat in the back of the jeep gave me a panaromic view of the lush green mountains and rugged terrain. A lot of 150 rupees!

It was little after 6PM when I reached Gangtok. Mountain terrain and lack of space turned Gangtok into vertical city and tourist made it even more noisy and fast paced. Gangtok was not exempted from commercialization and bucolic Bengali tourists!
My friend had already checked into a hotel recommended by Lonely Planet in the busy area of Deorali (Upper Gangtok). With a stroller, backpack and precariously hanging SLR I ascended five floors huffing and puffing insearch of “505”. The City gym fitness routine and lung power from yoga was tested without prior notice or warning! I scraped through!

But vertical city also means cloud 9. On clear days one can watch Suprabath seva of Kanchenjunga from roof top and not laptop.

The room was simple, basic and backpackers paradise. Luxury rooms come with attached toilets, basic room and dorms have common toilets in the hallway. The windows in the room were overseeing MG Road, the busy market place in Gangtok. I looked at the world below me every inch of space was concrete and it was rowdy, random and raspy, but streets were clean. Did I pick the wrong location? Where are the mountain ranges? Where is the greenery? I was out of the room in 15 minutes to validate my fear and fiction.

Sun was going down fast and the valleys glittering with lights, it looked like stars waiting to go up. On the other side the market place was filled with activity. I had no plan or clue how I was going to spend the next 10 days. I didn’t bite my nails, curse myself or fret, rather decided to go with a flow, live the moment and figure out hour by hour.

We hit the he restaurant ordered for drinks and in the meanwhile my friend introduced me to a few friends he made over the past few days in Gangtok. We shook hands and they shared their Sikkim anecdotes, travel plans and itineraries, but I had none made to share.

“North tour leaving Gangtok on May 23 at 8.30 AM, 4 days and 3 nights limited seats available, register with the manager”. I stared at the poster hanging behind the manager. I nudged my friend to enquire and sign up for it. Within minutes my friend assuaged me that he had infact put together poster and drafted the itinerary and they were going to be a part of our tour.

That news brought me closer to Henrietta. I call her the mother hen of the group. We will come to that story later. She is an Australian settled in France for the past 30 years. This was her 7th trip to India, her first was when she turned 13. She says she loves India and there is something mystical about the mountains. Soon Steven, a chef from UK joined the group. Steven is a big man and child at heart.The “Honeybee” of the group! Jack was up Steven’s A**, again we will come to that later.

Open mind and open arms was the best way to meet people and make friends. The breakfast hour at New Modern Lodge was a beehive. Spend an hour in the morning and you will know who is arriving and who is leaving town. People shared tales and anecdotes over breakfast, plans and itineraries were born over a pot of tea, and new friendships were forged. Paper napkins are used more to exchange numbers and email address than wipe and clean.

Bus service existed only between important towns and to travel to nook and corner of Sikkim one has to rent a jeep. Renting a jeep is expensive, but sharing can work out affordable and cheap. Most share jeeps leave early in the morning and you must go to the bus stand a day in advance to reserve your seats. Especially if you are headed north it is safe to rent your own jeep and have it at your disposal. We needed 8 of us hire a jeep and make the travel affordable. When we went to bed that night we had only 4 confirmed seats and we were hoping to find 4 more.

We were there at the restaurant at 7.30 am the next morning and it was yet to open. Henrietta arrived a few minutes after we arrived. She delivered the good news that 4 more had confirmed their seats. A wave of joy went through me. Yes, we were on this journey to explore North Sikkim. We repacked for the 4 days trip and made arrangements to leave our excess baggage back in the hotel. Soon Stephen and Carol (a couple from France) and Artur and Monica (couple from Spain) joined us in the restaurant.

8.30 AM and our travel buddies assembled, but Steven Gerald was missing. Where is Steven? Henrietta went back to the lodge and pounded his door. The room was locked from the inside and there was no response. We had no option but to have the manager help us. It was 9.30 when finally Steven showed up with a bad hangover from previous night. Before the jeep arrived he even made a trip down the street to get more booze for the trip. A fish never lives outside water!

Spirits were high, excitement was even higher than the mountains in North Sikkim, and we loaded our baggage and finally left for Lachen. I was in the last seat sandwiched between the chefs Stephen and Steven. Till the lunch time Steven were discussing and exchanging recipes, but sadly they were all non-vegetarian. In the front row Henrietta, Artur, Carol and Monica were talking about their travel stories and soirees. Bijay seated right besides the driver was conversing in Nepali and giving us updates on the scenery of Sikkim. Snacks and water made its round in the car to keep the chatter alive and we had ample smoke breaks and chai breaks to keep the driver awake and agile.

Roads were winding and many at times they were non-existent. Sitting in the last row I could feel the bumps in my spine, but Steven absorbed most of the shocks and made every fall feel like slow motion and jump in the bed. During one of the falls we heard the something break and very soon our hips and were going down. We looked at each other, not with an intention to blame, but how do we fix the broken support leg in the seat. How do we manage the next 4 days?

We leaned forward without loading our weight on the hind legs of the seat and managed to make it to the next break spot without further crumbling the seat.
Brilliant ideas brew over tea! The driver was resourceful, he picked up the jack and he substituted it for the broken leg. The jack was now holding 3 men and 500 pounds. Wow! And quickly before someone came up with a line I coined a line for Steven, “Jack is up Steven’s ass”. And we took some pictures to celebrate the lighter moments on the trip.

Mountains wear a lush green cloak, peaks white and pure, breeze rich in oxygen, and it was detoxify through intoxication of nature. Apart from our food breaks we also got off the vehicle to capture the spirit of nature – lush green mountains, fairy white water falls and mist. During one such break Stephen became a tourist attraction and they swarmed him for pictures. His long flowing hairstyle, long face with a calm look made him look like Jesus Christ. After Jack we now we had JC banter. There was fun, food, frolic and jack all through the journey.

There were so many villages we crossed on the way to Lachen. Most of them were small with just one street, a few houses and shops. Front portion of most of the houses were either shops or restaurants, the rear portion was their dwelling unit and first floor had accommodation for travelers. You could walk into the kitchen and place your orders and watch food being cooked right in front of you. Sometimes you can see women go to the backyard garden to pick potatoes and vegetable. Everything is offered hot, fresh and with a warm smile. This is what I call bed, breakfast and beyond experience. You get to live with the family, observe their life and be a part of it.

Sikkim in one place where both journey and the destination is beautiful. Life in these small villages is simple, self contained, self serviced but seldom sedentary. Male members in the household take care of hard muscle work - work on the fields and run around the mountains, while women take the responsibility of kitchen, kids and travelers, and kids take care of the cattle.

After intermittent breaks and loads of fun the gang finally reached Lachen at 7 PM. The sky had opened up and it was pouring rain when the jeep stopped at the home stay. We offloaded the drippy backpacks and we walked through the narrow passageway, dining area and kitchen and then finally ascended the stairs to our rooms. A warm shower was on the top of my list when I got to the room. I turned on the geyser and spread the wet clothes in the bag.

In the meantime rest of the gang had assembled in the dining room filling it with smoke and cheer. In the meantime my 30 minute wait proved futile. The geyser was not working and I had to settle for a cold shower instead. Life is simple, but unpredictable in the mountains. The weather makes it really hard for the travelers, but for locals that is the way of life.

When I came down the gang had finished their hot cup of chai and were ready to share their stories over Smirnoff and Honey Bee. Glasses were waiting to be filled, spirits were waiting to be transported and in the meantime Bijay was busy discussing the dinner menu with women in the house. Nothing elaborate or fancy but just hot and homemade was the menu for the night.

Tobacco mist engulfed the room and at times the flavor of spices made its way into the dining area. We met 24 hours ago and by then the group had bonded completely over food, drink and smoke and we were in that house an hour ago and Bijay was already helping the women cook. What is with this group?

Dinner table was turned into a bar and conversations were wild, weird, intriguing, intellectual, funny, and candid. Once the bottles were opened some turned sober while Bijay went back and forth between the glass and knife and he was also putting together Stephen and Monica’s itinerary in Delhi.

Watching people drink is no fun! I was looking at the kitchen with a hope for hot food. The cold rainy evening and long journey made all of us hungry. Soon the bar was closed and the first dinner of the day was brought out with cheer and fanfare. Hot potato subzi, bindi, dal tadka, rice, spicy pickles and salad decorated the table. Guess what happened next? The decibel level in the room dropped to a minimum and all one could hear were the clamor of silverware and the raindrops hitting the jeep roof. We were at 9000 ft, gravity made raindrops hard and heavy. I went wrapped myself in a razai that night with a hope that the rains would stop and we would ascend another 9000 ft towards Guru-Dongmar lake and Thangu.

At 4 am I woke up and looked through the hexagonal glass window surveying the landscape and sky. The peak was covered with snow and mist, the sky was dark from the clouds, it was still raining heavy and didn’t hear a bird. Instead I heard the locals talking about rain and landslide. I didn’t believe my hearing and went back into the warm blanket. 7 am I come down for a tea and Henrietta confirms landslide, but is not sure if we can make to it Thangu. By then the entire group gathers for a smoke and a makes a quick decision to send Steven and Henrietta survey the landslide.

Will we make to higher altitudes or will it be a wash out? That was the question in our minds. We waited for the survey crew to return and in the meantime we decided safety was more important than scenery. The trip to Thangu and Lake was a day trip and there are no places to stay at that altitude. Army had their presence, but nothing for travelers. It is pretty to watch the peak but not pretty to get stuck at 17,000 feet for days and waiting for the army to come and clear the road.

Finally the team came back and announced that landslide had cut off access to Thangu and higher regions. We swallowed hot Maggie noodles with disappointment and left Lachen.

How about a visit to the local monastery before we leave the town? Our disappointment disappeared the moment we stepped in the monastery. When you step in the kingdom of God both desire and disappointments vanish. Breathe taking view of Kanchenjunga from the steps of the monastery, magenta and yellow tapestry, sound of chants, smell of incense, and vivid, bright and intricate paintings on the walls of the monastery changed the mood of the group. We did a little prayer for the journey before we set on our day 2 of travel.

GangtokGangtok – http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/Gangtok#
Palace Monastery -http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/PalaceMonastery#

LachenLachen - http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/Lachen#
Lachen Monastery - http://picasaweb.google.com/Chandrasekaranduraiswamy/LachenMonastery#

A Requiem - Facebook

Dear Facebook:
I don’t know if I must say you were the puppy love in my adult life, but I know I can be a bitch! Nope I didn’t say Rakhi Sawant. But I don’t think I miss you today, I never did fall in love with you to miss you now and ever. But before I say why I hated you, here is why I liked you (I didn’t say loved yewww!)

Honestly and sincerely you were a bridge that connected me with my friends and colleagues miles away. I could have connected with them through emails, phone calls and letter, but then you were cool and instant to announce their mood swings, flings, week day brouhaha and weekend knock out parties. Those pokes, messages, and writings on walls and status messages were simple outstanding. But everything came with a price!

Were you friendly to interact and play? Hell no…you were cumbersome, you had lunar cycles apart from your PMS days and remember you also brought in malicious virus and obscenity to my page. Nevertheless I held you in esteem just to stay in touch with my friends.

Did you bring in the right play mates? I declared schools I attended, colleges I bunked, and pricks I worked with on your portal brought me more trouble. They assaulted me with their friendship request without giving a second thought. It was an online karma chase!

I was naïve and I blurted that I was here to network and make friends and hence I had to oblige many (stranger) requests that came my way. Over a period of time I found my Facebook infested with people who I never knew or I never wanted to see again in my life. Now what do I do with them?

Redemption…redemption….redemption…is it possible to redeem bad karmas on FB? I didn’t know how to escape or redeem and the only way I found was to deactivate my account on FB. I was happy with my decision and didn’t have any cravings and withdrawal symptoms. I didn’t receive any emails from my friends why I went missing on FB.

But then millions were on FB like it was oxygen for their online life and within six months I was again sucked into the horrible world of Facebook. By then there was news about improved privacy features and protection against malicious virus, but none against strangers and friend stealers.

But still a few features remained as perils. I real life I run away from people in Amway and other pyramidal marketing schemes but today it was Mafia war and Farmville request. How frivolous and juvenile can you be? Your entertainment application sucks.

You gave suggestions for friendships and kept incessantly dropping them on my page like relief packets of Kandahar. Suggestions were horrible and useless. Rather you could have educated your users on privacy, how to choose friends, difference between friendship and acquaintance, what to publish, what kind of requests to entertain and how to avoid befriending and solicitation. Remember so many have lost their jobs and lost friendships because of you!

You brought people to my page without my consent and then you make me look like a henchman when I execute them. Yes, that is one appreciative feature in FB. I can do a mass burial or silent execution without any hue and cry. Nobody knows about their burial until they miss my quirky status updates and decide to investigate why they are not part of it anymore. Now those who get executed feel even more humiliated and miserable. With more fumes guzzling than the active volcano in Iceland they go around bitching and deriding me in our friends circle.

You worked 24 by 7 and filled my mailbox with alerts from my friends and friend’s friends. You made me wake up in the night and check for updates. I was getting hooked on to you like marijuana and morphine.

I joined you with the objective keeping in touch with my close friends who accepted me for what I am and for what I am not. But sadly today everybody seems to have an opinion of me, even those who’ve not met in real life, but in the online world. Online world is shallow and hollow.

Today I have friends take me off their list because they don’t like my friends, some have hidden my messages from being displayed on their and some have used their privacy settings to ostracize me. The wonderful world of Facebook has turned into a world of Faceoff. Not sure if it was because of their lack of maturity or maturity of the application, but I have lost some of my friends today. You have separated couples too. You’ve made parents sleepless and snoopy. You’ve made relationships like instant noodle. I have lost more than I gained on facebook.
You need to be executed!

I have realized there is no short cut to friendship and relationship I am back into the world of emails, phone calls and hand written letters.

You are the Saddam of the online world. Sorry FB I had to kill you! I sincerely hope you don’t reincarnate.

48 hours in Phonm Phen

I was peeping through the window to get a glimpse of the city that was once called “Pearl of Asia” and was considered as one of the loveliest of French built cities in Indochina. The evening sun gave the perfect lighting to see remnants of peace and war and the confluence of Tonle Sap, Mekong, and Bassac rivers from air was a visual treat. Even at 20,000 feet the history and geography of Phnom Phen was breathtaking!

I said no to fancy hotels, air-conditioned rooms, hot water and towels and instead took the help of the tuk-tuk driver to rent me a shack in the market area. The $5/day shack gave me clean running water and a bed with clean sheets. I did the final due diligence of the toilet before I shook my head. It was slightly bigger than the one in the aircraft, and the basin and commode was stain free. I dumped my baggage and stormed into the market area. The gait in my walk reflected my energy and enthusiasm even after a 3 hour flight from Malaysia. Dressed in shorts, flip flops and the Yankees cap I set out with my camera, Lonely Planet tour guide, and passport around my neck declared my tourist status beyond any doubt. Apart from a lot of glances coming my way, the tourist tag also invited a few surreptitious looking men. They were shamelessly trying to sell me some “Ws”’ (women and white stuff). The market street in was indeed a market in every respect.

The market was no fancy and was just like our Ranganathan street market. Vendors had encroached pedestrian walk area, the same petromax and emergency lamps illuminated the tropical produce. Added to this there was chaos, dust, vehicles honking, bargaining, and heaps of garbage on the street. It was truly tropical, even the mosquitoes came free. It felt like the same artist had painted both cities. It was home away from home in every respect. But there was something different too. Heaps of fried snakes, worms, insects, crickets, scorpions and other crustaceans decorated the market street. I recorded every scene, scent and sound.

From colorful Rambutan, Durian, Lychee, Mango, Mangosteen to the intimidating Dragon fruit I starred at the inviting and colorful spread of tropical fruits on display. I flashed a smile at the shopkeeper and tried broken English to make her feel better and I captured interesting images on my camera and headed to the river side.

December kept both humidity and mercury at bay, and gentle evening breeze made dinner by Tonle Sap River an irresistible idea. I went up and down the river front and finally it was Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind” that helped me decide on the restaurant. Not sure what to order I let him get me a sandwich and cup of Irish coffee in the meantime I pulled out the guide book and scribbled my itinerary for the next day. But what do I do tonight? Should I go back to the roaches and bugs in my shack or turn into a metropolitan low life and explore the city. I drowned my apprehension in the river when Mats from Denmark and Hossien from Sweden at the restaurant. They were backpack travelers and on a journey all by themselves to explore South East Asia.

What happened that night was easy, predictable and in three words, free spirited, footloose, and seedy. All through that night Switzerland and Denmark was busy Iiquidating and at times I had to rescue duo from the Khmer candies who eyes were asking “my place or yours”? But finally it was my shack and it was 3 am when I brought them home.

The first night at Phnom Phen turned out to be salacious, strangers ended up as friends and I became their chaperon. Aren’t vacations all about doing things differently, exploring the new place, disrespecting time, trashing discipline and making new friends?
Next morning when we woke up the sun was right above our head and the market was a beehive again. They had no clue where they were, and handed over their passports and wallets. It took a while for them to come terms with the memories from the last night. They were so free spirited and didn’t care to register and recognize. Luckily they remembered me

After a quick shower we headed out for lunch together and then decided to explore the history behind the city. Every city has history and the word muse in museum says it all. It makes you wonder, ponder and may be grow fonder.

We started with Wat Phnom, a small hill crowned by an active wat (pagoda) which marked the legendary founding place of the Phnom Penh. The hill is the site of constant activity, with a steady stream of the faithful trekking to the vihear, shrines and fortune tellers on top and a constellation of vendors, visitors and motodups at the bottom. An interesting activity we engaged in during the visit to the temple was setting bids free. Vendors had cages filled with sparrows and for a dollar you get to release 2 of them. It is believed that setting birds free removes your bondage and bad karma. I held the bird in my hand, closed my eyes and uttered a short prayer and finally released the bird with a big smile on my face.

The distinctive rust-red National Museum displays over 5000 objects including Angkorian era statues, lingas and other artifacts, most notably the legendary statue of the ‘Leper King’. Another striking monument in the museum is the reclining Vishnu, the upper half remains in this museum while the lower half of the statue is in the French Museum. Without passports and travel documents statues make it all the way to France. Surprised? The Museum also has a big lotus pond at the center surrounded by tropical flowering trees make this place a heaven.

So where did the Kings live and how did they live and what did they do? We got curious to explore the Royal Palace and Pagoda. Marking the approach to the Royal Palace along Sothearos Blvd the high yellow crenellated wall and spired Chanchhaya Pavilion stand distinctively against the riverfront skyline. Inside the Palace grounds street sounds are silenced by the high walls and the royal buildings sit like ornate islands rising from the manicured gardens. The Royal Palace serves as the residence of the King, a venue for court ceremony and as a symbol of the Kingdom. Khmer and European elements as well as distinct architectural echoes of the palace in Bangkok are present in the design of the various buildings. Attached to the Palace compound, Wat Preah Keo Morokat (the 'Silver Pagoda') is unique amongst pagodas. So named for its silver tiled floor, it is where the King meets with monks, Royal ceremonies are performed and it houses a collection of priceless Buddhist and historical objects including the 'Emerald Buddha.' And, unlike most pagodas, no monks live at the pagoda.

By 6PM we were out of steam and we wanted to treat ourselves to a nice massage and a royal dinner. Is it the Royal hangover? We wrapped up the evening early since we decided to go out of the city to discover the gory side of Cambodia, Khmer regime and Pol Pot.
Every nation has dark side, a gory past that is recorded in the annals of history. Killing fields and Toul Sleng says more than stories. Those are tales of cruelty and horror. Visting sore spots are not really fun however informative.

The drive to Killing fields was pleasant and our figment of imagination was far away from the horror waiting at the venue. The killing fields were essentially ad hoc places of execution and dumping grounds for dead bodies during the Khmer Rouge regime. Many of the Cambodians who perished under the Khmer Rouge regime ended up dumped in one of the dozens of ‘killing fields’ that can be found scattered across the country. After the Khmer Rouge regime, memorials were set up at many of the sites, some containing the bones and remnants of victims gather from the area. They hung speakers in the tree and played loud music to muffle the cries the cries of children and women while they were beaten to death.

On the way back to the city we stopped by Toul Sleng. Toul Sleng was a high school - a set of classroom buildings in a walled compound. When the Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975 they converted into the S-21 prison and interrogation facility, administered by Kaing Guek Eav, a.k.a. ‘Duch,’ who is currently on trial for his actions at S-21. Inmates at the prison were held in tiny brick cubicles and systematically tortured, sometimes over a period of months, to extract the desired ‘confessions,’ after which the victim was inevitably executed at the killing field of Choeung Ek just outside the city. S-21 processed over 17,000 people, less than a score of whom survived.

Killing fields and Toul Sleng were quite disturbing and are contradictory to the present landscape in the country, but nevertheless it shows the horror endured by Cambodians. There is poverty in the country, and it is quite common to see people who’ve lost legs and arms in the landmines, but they don’t look for free and easy money. Today Phnom Phen is peaceful and people are extremely sweet, kind, caring and very friendly.

Kumbh Mela 2010 - Haridwar

Haridwar is one the 7 Mokshapuri’s in India and is also the entry point to the four Dhams (Badrinath, Kedarnath, Gangotri and Yamunotri) in Himalayas. No wonder scriptures refer to this place as the gateway to Hari.

Scriptures also refer to Haridwar as one among the four sites where drops of the elixir of immortality, Amrit, accidentally spilled over from the pitcher after the churning of the ocean of milk. These four spots – Ujjain, Haridwar, Nasik, and Allahabad – have today become places, where the Kumbha Mela is celebrated once every 3 years in any of these 4 places and after a period of 12 years. Astrologically the movement of Jupiter into Kumbh rasi marks Kumbh Mela at Haridwar.

Millions of pilgrims, devotees, and tourists congregate from all over the world to celebrate the event, some to watch the event, and some to wash their sins.

Who would want to miss such a rare opportunity to take a dip in Ganges to cleanse their soul and get rid of sins with just a dip in Ganges? Is it a laundromat for the soiled souls? :-)

I reached the city the day prior to Kumbh Mela and by then vehicular traffic to city was closed. The taxi driver dropped me outside the city and I set out on journey exploring the city from its limits lugging a backpack and a shoulder bag. Cars, busses and vans almost formed a wall around the city and absence of vehicle traffic also made the walk into the city an easy one.

Scores of pilgrims were walking into the holy city and there was Ganges on one side with overflowing people and tents and other makeshift housing on the other side. Thick bamboo and strong casuarinas poles were erected near the bathing ghats to contain the crowd, might and power of the crowd.

Every street had barricades at the beginning and at the end to prevent any vehicle movement. Alternate streets were made one-way to handle the movement of people in and out of the bathing ghat. For the first time I saw pedestrians given the full street to walk and there was none honking from the back or side, but though there were a few elbowing here. Orderliness in India? Do rules and regulations work in India, well they did!

There were newborns, toddlers, youngsters, and even oldies in their 80s and 90s walking around with their walking sticks in the streets of Haridwar. Sea of humanity would be an understatement. Do we call this faith? or do we call this collective faith or a walk with a purpose? I was surprised to see that we didn’t have to share space with animals. Where did the cattle in the streets of Haridwar vanish?

Some were carrying their bags like a pot of gold, some carrying it like a pot of water and some wheeling their suitcases on the tar road, did I say karma bags?

Some clad in white, some in saffron, some in tracks, some in dhotis, some in shorts and tees. Some speaking in Hindi, some in Tamil, some in Bengali, some in Malayalam, some in German, but were here earn some brownie points.

After a trek of 5kms I finally made it to my hotel room, checked in, changed into comfortable clothing and set out to explore the city. By then the every inch of space on the street was taken and from the hotel terrace the place looked like a beehive buzzing with activity. It is interesting and incredible India.

From the terrace I watched the entire parade of all the Sadhus around the town on horses, elephants and some on decorated floats. They call this “Peshwa”. There was music and dance to entertain the public and sweets were distributed to keep the kids happy and high on sugar. I have been to the Big Apple to watch the ball drop on New Year eve, been to Mardi Gras but I must tell you the mood in Haridwar was just electrifying and enthralling. More than 100 million in a small town?

It would have been a spectacle to watch all this from above, watch men, women and children move around like ants in search of salvation. I’m sure God is just sitting there with a tub of popcorn and enjoying the show. :-)

Finally I had my chance to go down the steps at Har-Ki-Pauri and felt like a tea bag emptying the flavor that I acquired during the journey to Haridwar. The water was ice cold, and I was hoping the afternoon sun and the huge congregation should considerably raise the temperature of the water. But Ganges was always remained cold. I wondered how these fishes survived and made cold waters their home.

There were no changing rooms in the ghat, women were wiggling like fishes out of water to get back into their dry clothes. Nobody seemed to have the time to look around when they have come to scrub the dirty soul.

My dip in Ganges was done, but I had another mission to accomplish. It was the Nanga Babas.
Heard of Nanga babas? They are exotic and endangered species, who live in the mountain caves, wander in their birthday suits, and cover their body with ash. They come down only during such auspicious days to take dip in the Ganges and they head back to their world. Am I making them sound like angles? There are interesting things about them. Apparently some of them smoke pot and they say it is a spectacle to watch them get high and randy. Is it Maha Kumbh or Mardi Gras?

I called up my friends in the print media to find out if any of their colleagues were around to cover Kumbh. Can there be a better way to explore the city with people who spot news for a living? And sometimes tagging along the media guy can get you access to all corners and crevices and bathing ghats. Did I make them sounds like roaches?

Well we teamed up and went around exploring the boundaries and underbelly of this city. Interestingly dhoop and dope are so easily available in this city... :-) I was up all night wandering the streets of Haridwar like a low life, while my media friend was busy smelling for news. We stopped every half hour for Chai. And it was 2 am when we finally made it back to the hotel. My feet were tired and my lungs clogged after filtering the polluted and dusty air in the streets of Haridwar. I needed a few hours of rest before the plunge and play.

The build up to the event and the finale is always a spectacle to watch. Don’t you agree? Well how long can you just be an audience, don’t we all want to plunge in and play?

We were up by 4 am and there was a light breeze, and the streets were even noisier. We hurried to join the lines that made it to the ghat didn’t want to miss the bathe on Somavati Amavasya day. The CRPF (Central Reserve Police Force) managing the lines informed us to hurry up since the ghats were made exclusive for the sadhus after 8 am. Another dip and some more sin washed away, I felt light and fresh.

We got into dry clothes and found a neat spot to stand and catch a glimpse of the finale. At around 8.00am the public were asked to leave the ghats and the lines to the ghats were stopped. Police were were on the PA system regulating traffic.

I didn’t realize the skyline of Haridwar was going to change so soon. The blue skyline was soon going to be repainted. When the Sadhus finally descended for a dip there was saffron every where. It was bright and brilliant and it appeared like 1000 suns came together.

The last lap of the Kumbh is the arrival of Nanga babas. Eyelids failed to close and camera lenses were ready to zoom and capture them in action. Not in tens, but in hundreds they arrived and took control of the Ganges flowing through Hari ki pauri. Never seen so many naked sadhus in one place. Even sadhus come in shapes and sizes. The ash smeared on their body finally dissolved and turned the flowing Ganges grey for a moment. They let their matted hair loose and washed like women who appeared in Liril and Lux advertisement. For a second I had to ask if it was Hamam or Haridwar! I stood behind the barricade and looked at them like lions in the zoo.

All religions refer to karma or action with various names, but none other than Hinduism closes the loop of karma with reincarnation. Interestingly none of us know if we are reaping the seeds of karma sown in this birth or from one of our earlier births. Though Karma and rebirth has been the black box but nevertheless our religion gives us an opportunity to earn brownie points.
Another journey began…bags were back on their head and they also had bottles and cans filled with Ganga Jal for their near and dear ones back home. Am I making it sound like some detergent or antispectic? Well Hinduism claims it is an antiseptic to the soul.

There is always something mystical about Haridwar. National Geographic cannot recreate this and you will have to be a part of it and if you were not a part of this journey wait for another 12 years.
Save the date now!
2022.
Come back with more sins to wash!

Politicians and Godmen

One says I will turn earth into heaven and other says I will take you to heaven and both promise public to wipe away their tears, vanquish their problems and make honey and milk flow in the country. Wow! What a common purpose! Do we call it symbiotic, socialistic or synergistic?

So many of them have come in this country in the past hundred years, in many forms and with names promising (alteast with names) Nithyananda, Premananda, Brahmananda, Paramananda but all disappeared like bubbles while country continues to suffer deeper in poverty, religious violence, and crime.

Both State and Church have been ruling and riling public from the medieval times (medievil?). They stood diametrically opposite and played people against each other to gain power, following and wealth, but over the years they have shed their polarity and have come closer to embrace, entice and enchant.

Sadly spirituality and politics have no barriers to entry and exit, no educational qualifications required, no pedigree or lineage, but if you have one then it becomes a USP, an IP and with just marketing/PR machinery they can get sky high cutouts, God status and speaking slots in World Economic Summit in a few months. Godmen gets access to HNIs across the globe!

Greatest common denominator (GCD) = People
Highest uniting factor (HUF) = Ignorance, Hope, Faith, One cure for all, Wealth creation
Least common denominator (LCM) = Penury, Crime, Unemployment, Peace

Have you ever looked at the Net worth of religious institutions around the world, well if you pool in all the money you can solve most the problems where money is the fuel – unemployment, hunger, infrastructure, etc. Well the Catholic Churches have paid a lot of money to suppress and settle pedophilia and abuse charges outside the court. Nirvana (Nivarana)is available both in cash or kind!

Why do Godmen need all this if they have relinquished all desires – wealth, women and wine? Where do they get this wealth from? Shouldn’t they help people with their emotional quotient? Why are they running educational institutions and hospitals and taking care of people? Isn’t that the duty of State and not Godmen? When wealth and power comes together then begins the war of ego and might. Well that is where things get murky. May be they realized the new age business model “Coopetition” as opposed to competition and cooperation. Did I say scratching each other’s underbelly?

If you wear the logical lens you will definitely see what I am seeing.

Well the business model is really simple; remember every turf comes with rules. Politicians create ashrams and make Godmen as their Binamis just to hive off illegally earned land and money. They look at ashrams as business and Godmen as CEOs to run their spiritual business. Simple business rules – bring the customer in, better if you get them young, with family are wonderful, then retain the customer, and finally rotate money and give back to the Politician when he needs.

They call themselves the king of their jungle, yet they chase the weak fawns but not an elephant or a tiger. Thrive on their weakness! Sadly lion hunting down the fawn seems like the law of nature and the world admires with awe.

One ashram takes MMS route (mantra, meditation and seva) and other takes the SYS route (Service, Yoga, Satsang) in the end most of them are quacks and suckers. Is it preying or praying at the ashrams?

Often Godmen become more popular, powerful, and persuasive than politicians, and that is where the ego war begins pushing them on opposite sides and looking at opportunity to destalibilize each other.

Then comes IT raid, followed by women scandal, rape and drug charges and finally the Godmen is dragged to prison and public is made a fool and politicians’ coffers are filled.

Sri Sris of the world become che che overnight..and public finally with lost hope, abandoned faith and violated trust, wakes up and looks up to the sky for help.

The old ones pushed into the prison – scam and scandal. A new politician emerges on the horizon, a new Godman becomes the messiah, a new USP to lure public, and then finally a new government and things start all again, public forget the past and new crimes, and coffers filled again.

Isn’t Spirituality and Politics a fake promise and a plunge in murky waters?

Farewell to the Princess of Kunniyur

When one of the neighbors came to see her for the last time she remarked at her piety and dedication. “I have watched grandma for a decade now, rain or shine she is busy praying at dawn and dusk”, said Mrs. Malini. Opinions, judgments and remarks never mattered to her now and then. The relationship she had with almighty and with herself seemed paramount and lasting till the end.

I have seen grandma for the past 35 years and prayers have always been a part of her routine. Infact she would drop in a few coins in my piggy bank only if I prayed with her in the morning and evening. She was not buying my devotion with money but rather teaching me to make deposits in the bank for this life and for the next life.

She was hardly 30 when the tempest of the storms turned her life upside down. Her husband was a public figure and the whole city had come to pay respects to him. She didn’t even have her private moments with the man who left her with six children, a few lakhs in debt and a few hundred acres of land to cultivate. Her mother-in-law took her share of the wealth and left the young widow with six kids. She had no choice between cry or care, she had to stop crying and start caring for her little ones immediately.

There was a blanket of peace and ocean calmness on her face as she lay in the hall surrounded by relatives and visitors and waiting for her sons and daughters to arrive. May be she felt peaceful after dispensing all her responsibilities. Even while was in the hospital she would persistently ask me about my marriage plans. It was my marriage that was in her mind more than her ailment. She was always thinking ahead of her times and her outlook was so forward. Many times she said she was okay if I brought home someone outside the caste. Well she knew more about marriage and partnership, I just had to nod my head, not to peace her, but meekly listen to her.

Today she reminded me of the huge busy banyan tree with flowing roots and filled with chirping birds on every branch of the tree. She was mother to six, grandmother to 18 of us and great grandmother to 8 of us, and many to many more. The tree never discriminates; it is birds that decide to either make it their home or just a perching ground.

Her journey of life was not that simple and straight. With six 6 children, the last one was just a few years old, no siblings to support or relatives to even offer words of wisdom and consolation she had very difficult choices to make. A few of the half dozen were sent to her father in Madurai and the remaining was sent to the newly built bungalow in Chennai with a guardian to watch them over while she decided to stay back in the village and manage 300+ acres of land. She was not educated beyond PUC and but where and how did she pick up the art of management – both people and property? When the doctor came out of the ICU at 2 AM he said the last few minutes were very peaceful, though she cried in pain when they ran the peripheral line earlier that night.

Does equanimity come as a result of experience or is it innate? I will never be able to answer this question for you. But equanimity was her companion till the end. Even in the pit of sorrow or in the pinnacle of happiness, she remained grounded. She had considerably distanced herself from outcomes of any event, but never from humanity. Daughters and daughter-in-laws meant the same to her just as sons and sons-in-law.

She had not given an opportunity for the three daughter-in-laws to raise a finger against her. More than giving someone an opportunity to complain she was just too perfect for people to ape, crib or praise. The three could never recall rebuked by their mother-in-law. Freedom was abundant in the house, but never was it misused.

Be it a festival or function at home, she would be the first one to sit down and make plans. But today we were making plans for her final journey. She was the custodian of values would guide the women in the house. Her kitchen, almirah, her room, her prayer room there was decorum and dainty. Her sense of cleanliness and hygiene was impeccable. She presented herself so well that nobody could stay away from admiring her. She kept her distance, but she always left people in awe and admiration.

I have spent so many summers with her and had an opportunity to closely observe her. Her words and thoughts were as orderly as her room and belongings. Measured, right to the context, compassionate, non-judgmental, and unassuming. She knew how to engage with elderly and children. She was both gentle and genteel. In the 35 year I have never heard her speak ill of anyone. We all have a story to say and a script to enact, but still why should we cruelly judge each other? That was her line.

She would spend half hour with the cook in the morning and give instructions on the meal plan for the day. Apart from giving her the menu, she would give her tips to make it more nutritious and tasty. Her prudence and resourcefulness can never be matched.

She spent her afternoons caring for animals and her garden and in her letters she would talk about the new born calves and varieties of hibiscus and vegetables she has planted in the garden. It didn’t matter if I was in Chennai or in Chicago, I would receive a letter from her every month.
After dinner she would spend listening to songs on AIR, talking to her children and writing letters to her grandchildren. Sometimes men from the village would come to her for advice and wisdom, she was just a friend. Those who came for her funeral narrated many incidents of her care and compassion.

When she lived in the village she would visit us alteast twice a year, once during Diwali and during April. Her visit would be like Christmas to the kids. We would have new clothes, fireworks, sweets and unlimited pampering. Every night after dinner and homeworks, we would throng around her for our story hour. Not sure if Oosi pullai story was a legend, but it was a part of the legacy in our family. Every grandchild would know this story. Since we’ve never seen our grandfather we would ask her to share anecdotes from her wedding, her interactions with my grandfather and about the halcyon days. She would still be in the house among all of us, and yet enjoy her personal space and respected ours.

A widow in her 30s, dressed in 9 yards went on the public platform and addressed the political rallies. It was unacceptable for widows to maintain hair and to go out in public with hair and in 9 yards was blasphemy. Many in the family and village criticized her; secretly many women and widows admired her courage and bravado. Her mother-in-law treated her badly, but she never disrespected even when meted with cruelty. Today I see working women struggling to strike a balance between professional and personal life, tradition and modernity, she had mastered the art then. What qualities to admire, what qualities to appreciate, we were always dumbfounded and today we were incessantly starring at her. She didn’t need her diamonds for her journey anymore, she was radiating in goodness and godliness.

She was never short of criticism, aspersions and it came from all corners, sometimes from her sons and daughters. Nothing is more cruel than being misunderstood by your own blood. She stood tall unwavering and unconcerned. Some found her perfection an eye sore, some found their imperfections in her perfection, some found her equanimity troubling, some found her cold and calculative, but yet she managed to live a life of respect and deliver her responsibilities with perfection and mettle.

She was father to six children and duly dispensed the responsibility of finding good partners and caretakers for the family legacy. She was dear grandmother to 18 children and showed us the way to live and lead our life and was a guarding angel for the 8 grand children.

She appeared asleep, but we all knew she would never wake up from this long sleep. She was lying on her right side and her eyes were intently looking at the photograph of her and my grandfather. Together grandfather and grandmother looked like Rathi and Manmathan. It was time for to end the 50 year separation from my grandfather, time to unite with him in spirits. May be my grandfather’s untimely death brought the best in her.

12 grandchildren held the torch high giving her all the respect and love for her next journey, sons got in the van to complete the final rites, while daughters-in-law for the first time felt the weight on their shoulders. They wiped the tears and got back in the house with memories and learnings of their life time. Our “Mummyma” was gone.