FALLING OFF THE MAP

What do you think of if you reach a place, beyond which there is nowhere to go? You would have reached the end of the world. Literally and figuratively Werner Herzog travels to such a place in his documentary Encounters at the end of the World.

Herzog lands in Antartica, and spends time with the people living there from physicists, zoologists and lorry drivers to travellers and lost souls. A young fella in an ice-cream vendors attire, squeezes out a vanilla cone while he is credited below as being a "Filmmaker, Computer Expert". These are your professional dreamers at the end of the world.

"Where else do you find guys with Phds doing the dishes, or linguists on the one place on earth where there is no native language."

You find them in a Herzog Film.

Herzog talks to a zoologist, an expert in Penguins about certain mysteries regarding the mammal. The zoologist has spent his whole life studying the life of Penguins, so much so that he has little to talk about to humans. And it is so evident while Herzog makes conversation with him. It makes you laugh, and yet it filled me with a strange kind of sympathetic joy. Herzog's question: "Can Penguins be driven by insanity?" The answer comes in the form of some amazing footage of a lone Penguin adventurer.

There's a deep sea diver who is certain about the end of the human race and loves to show doomsday B-movies to his colleagues.

And the jellyfish are hauntingly psychedelic.

What captures my feelings for this film, is when a female scientist studying seals says, "I can't describe the sounds of the seals below me, below the frozen sea we are on. I don't know, It's Pink Floyd."

Antartica can very well be a space station. It could even be the Moon.

I'm off the Map.

BOHEMIAN EXPRESS

"I love the way this country smells. I'll never forget it. It's kind of spicy."

I'm swinging listening to the soundtrack of The Darjeeling Limited. Such an eclectic mix of The Kinks, Satyajit Ray's themes, Merchant Ivory themes, the sweet Les Champs Elysees, two classical symphonies and a hindi number by Asha Bhonsle and Kishore Kumar called 'Typerwriter tip tip tip'! It goes, "Typerwriter tip tip tip tip tip tip tip karta hai, zindagi ki har kahaani likhta hai".

Oh I am so blissful. What a film. What a gem. So random, so beautiful! I love these lyrics from The Kinks number.....

This time tomorrow where will we be

On a spaceship somewhere sailing across an empty sea

This time tomorrow what will we know

Well we still be here watching an in-flight movie show

Ill leave the sun behind me and watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by

Seven miles below ma I can see the world and it aint so big at all

This time tomorrow what will we see

Field full of houses, endless rows of crowded streets

I dont where Im going, I dont want to see

I feel the world below me looking up at me

Leave the sun behind me, and watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by

And Im in perpetual motion and the world below doesnt matter much to me

This time tomorrow where will we be

On a spaceship somewhere sailing across any empty sea

This time tomorrow, this time tomorrow

Trains can be so symbolic....they are so metaphorical. Be it in Ray's Pather Panchali----a steam engine oozing black smoke cutting across the fields of the Bengali landscape. Jamal and Salim stand aloft a train as they cross the vast stretches of the Indian landscape in Slumdog Millionaire. And Francis, Peter and Jack carry their life's baggage while junking savoury snacks and cough syrups in a luxury train with hot female attendants in Darjeeling Ltd.

I am crazy about the last shot of the film when the end credits roll-----you see a train window, and a long winding train chugs and ambles on the tracks to Shankar Jaikishen's melody; and you can imagine the sound of the tracks----jhik jhik jhik jhik------beat with the theme like gentle drums.

Makes me want to go on a train ride across the length and breadth of this country, savouring tea and lots of sweet lime!

Let's go get a drink and smoke a cigarette.

ARTHUR C. CLARKE

“Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."

LAO TSU

"The further one goes, the less one knows."

8 1/2 - FELLINI

"The truth is - I do not know... I seek... I have not yet found. Only with this in mind can I feel alive and look at you without shame."

BERTRAND RUSSEL

"Three passions have governed my life: The longings for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of humankind. Love brings ecstasy and relieves loneliness...with equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of people, I have wished to know why the stars shine. Love and knowledge led upwards to the heavens, But always pity brought me back to earth...."

GEROGE HARRISON

"Try to realize it's all within yourself no one else can make you change, and to see you're only very small and life flows on within you and without you."

JOHN UPDIKE

"It is in middles that extremes clash, where ambiguity restlessly rules."

I Won!

What are awards really about?

If they are anything like what my boss likes to give to her team members from time to time, then I think they are a farce. Yes, boss gives out cookies or vouchers to people she thinks have done a great job during a certain week. I have never recieved them during my 2 and half years of working here. Does that mean my work ain't great?

I don't care. Who gives a flying fuck about cookies anyway?! When I shoot stories with people, and when they call me to say they liked something I did, or when I am satisfied, there is no better reward for me.

Boss had better not be reading this.

So, I feel like talking about awards. I used to participate in hindi elocution every year in school from the 3rd to the 10th. I never won anything in those years except one "special prize" in the 5th. I felt like this old war-horse! Yet, everyone in school knew me as this serial-elocutionist. It was heartening, when random school kids told me they liked my oration of hindi poems. But I never won any prizes.

Recognition is important in any field. But for example, Van Gogh never got recognition in his lifetime. He sold only one painting. He was clearly ahead of his times.

Does that make my elocution skills ahead of their time? I doubt that. I had fun, but I guess, I just wasn't good enough. But I like this quote:

"I'll be forty in July, and I'm glad I never got recognition. It gives me time to develop."

---Basquiat (1996)

So I feel it really doesn't matter. Sometimes we discover great films, after they get recognised by awards at film festivals. Sometimes, films that blow us away never win anything at grandiose Oscar events and the like.

So, I am very happy that Slumdog has achieved all these nominations. For an indie to get this far, gives hope to a lot of other indie projects versus big studio productions.

But can we compare different films? A Benjamin Button vs Slumdog vs The Wrestler. A film about reverse aging vs an Indian underdog vs a legendary wrestler?

What about Taare Zameen Par? Can we lament it not being selected as one of Five in the foreign film category at the Oscars, when it had films from around the world to contend with?

Maybe its a larger debate about competition and success....

......Or just about the basic craft of film-making.

But then why didn't The Dark Knight get more nominations? It's great film-making with a universal appeal and brilliant undertones making subtle comments on society. And is a movie about a gay municipal activist in "Milk" too niche?

I feel that the popular and the niche---both have a tendency to achieve a cult status. And for me, that's when a film or any art gets truly rewarded.

TRANCELUCID

I landed in Pune at 9am. Took an auto to Koregaon Park. Got off at Osho Ashram and entered German Bakery. Nothing had changed. The wooden tables, the phsychedelic flourescent wall hangings of unknown creatures, the ads by new age gurus guranteeing a peace of mind, the coffee, the cheese crosissant, the spilt sugar on the tables, the flirty tibetan owner behind the counter, the tibetan lad handing me my croissant and coffee, a foreigner buying organic tea and tofu, a traveller having his breakfast of brown toast and eggs sunny side up, the puffing osho-ites in their maroon clothes, a dubious drug pedlar with stoned eyes.

All my characters were here. Change is over-rated.

But I was alone this time around. Three years back while studying in Pune, it was one of our favourite places to be. I remember one rainy evening in Pune. Me and Anjali came over for some coffee after a sumptuous dinner at Sweet Chariot's. German Bakery or GB was dimly lit. There was a general chatter and hum drum noise, clanking of coffee cups and spoons. While we sipped our coffee, a man on a table away from us was talking animatedly about the social character of GB. The tables of GB are not divided or separated. It's a sort of community dining. You will most likely be sitting next to a stranger while having your meal. We over-heard this man explaining to his guests, the importance of this community flavour of GB.

And here I was sitting alone on a table with my backpack as my partner. Not for long. An Osho-ite dude came over holding a glass of water and asked if he could sit next to me. Well, its true, there was no place around. Ah well, sureee I said.

It was not awkward. The clairvoyant senses in me knew what to expect. He introduced himself and asked me about myself. I lied about being a student from these parts. And then he asked me If I knew anything about Osho and his Philosophy or read anything written by him. Well, I admitted I was quite fascinated by him but had never read him deeply.

Did he see some disturbance on my face? Or was it simply because he saw me sitting alone, that he asked me if I was at peace with myself. He told me that Self-Love would liberate me and a person as young as me should not worry, and maybe join the ashram for a while. The man, whose name I do not remember, had left a well-paying job as an architect in Bangalore and moved to the ashram completely. Once on a visit to a friend in Pune, he was so enamoured by the movement, that he decided it was time to leave. He had long black curly greasy hair.

How true was that story, I do not know. He could either be a salesman or a mystic. It made me think. But I did not understand him and I did not bother. I was disturbed. I was agitated. Was my job worth it? What was I seeking, What did I want? Where was I going? Those were questions that haunted me then, and whose answers I still do not know. I munched the last remains of my cheese croissant, thanked him, and walked out.

I walked past the ashram. Its a beautiful green stretch where time seems to stand still. An Indian man and a foreign lady dressed in Osho robes walked past me holding hands and seemed to be on the verge of a kiss. I wanted to click them from my camera hanging in my neck. They walked past and I turned around. The moment was gone. I walked around, and saw an old woman dressed in an osho robe sitting outside the ashram. I asked her if I could click her. She refused and said no photography was allowed outside the premises. Just as well. I ambled and ambled by myself. It was so peaceful.

I think about him right now, while I attach meaning to his banter. Sometimes people leave you with prophetic words, that make sense only later, when they need to.

"A child has nothing to do with age. Childhood is a state. You can be old and yet a child. You can be a child and yet old. Childhood is a certain attitude deep inside you, of your being ready to learn; that from wherever and whatsoever source life comes, you will be ready to receive; that in your heart there is a deep welcome; that you are not afraid; that you are not yet crippled by knowledge, information; that you are still in a flow and not frozen."
----Osho

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

Ying and Yang

Beautiful Wide Unknown - Pahalgam

Somewhere in Gulmarg

Monk - Leh

Barren Flowers - Leh

Pray - Leh

Woolies - Pahalgam

Mystery in Leh

There is a God - Gulmarg

Cafe on top of the world - Leh

Sea of Poppies - Srinagar

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

Hello Nonsense!

Not everything we say needs to make sense. Nonsense can be such a profound liberator. In fact it is the exact flow of thoughts in our mind...one thought off shooting onto another and further on to tangential planes. Funny on the surface level, and deep on another.
"I am the Walrus", the 1967 song by The Beatles is one such example. Penned by John Lennon on separate acid trips, he combines three of his poems on different subjects into one. He says, "I was writing obscurely a la Dylan in those days." Thank you Johny, for this crazy song, that trips me out without the acid. A cover version by Bono for the 2007 film "Across the Universe" is a great tribute to this song as well.

I AM THE WALRUS - THE BEATLES
"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly. I'm crying."

"Semolina Pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.
Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna. Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe. I am the eggman, they are the eggmen, I am the walrus,
goo goo gajoob ga goo goo gajoob(rhythmical speaking along with juba's). Juba juba juba, juba, juba, juba, juba, juba, juba juba. Juba juba....."

Next up is that awesome dude called Beck Hansen. Where does he get all the energy into his lyrics from? The first ever song I heard of his was in the early 90's called "Loser". I never got it then. I revisited the track a few years ago, and I was struck, I was hooked! It's surrealistic nonsense. Some people refer to it as 'stoner rap'. The experimental video of the song is a mash-up of home videos. Beck says, "We weren't making anything slick – it was deliberately crude. You know? It wasn't like one of these perfect new-wave color soft-focus extravaganzas."

BECK
"In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey
Butane in my veins and Im out to cut the junkie"

"Im a loser baby, so why dont you kill me?"

"You cant write if you cant relate
Trade the cash for the beef for the body for the hate
And my time is a piece of wax fallin on a termite
Thats chokin on the splinters"

"It's only tears that I'm crying, it's only you that i'm losing. Guess I'm doing fine.
Most depressing thing ever, but it's so amazing."

"I think I'm going crazy
her left eye is lazy
she looks so Israeli
Nicotine and Gravy"

"Talkin' trash to the garbage around you."

"Perfunctory idols rewriting their bibles
With magic markers running out of their ink"

"Now I'm a seasick sailor
On a ship of noise
I got my maps all backwards
And my instincts poisoned"



Then, my all time favourite is Alice. I understood her when I was old enough to. Where is that mushroom now? I wanna eat it, go down the rabbit hole, and be mad with the mad hatter at the mad tea party. Off with your Head! And I cannot wait for the movie with the DEPP man as Mad Hatter!

ALICE IN WONDERLAND - LEWIS CAROL

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

Pure gibberish requires pure genuis. And No, you don't have to "get" it all the time. It's avant-garde!
I find interesting nonsense on www.verybadpoetry.com, a place I visit on a bad day at work or when the brain is dead. Here's a gem from there:

"we're gonna be best friends forever

forever until we're not

we're gonna have the same dreams

date the same kind of dudes

until we don't

we dont even date at all

we don't have dreams

we don't have dudes

we're not even friends

not friends

not forever

oh and one more thing

i dont even like you

not even a little bit"
:)

D. It is Written

"I fly like paper, get high like planes......."

Slumdog Milionaire makes me a slumdog in my heart. In my mind I am running with the children of the slums, through the colorful riot of garbage and filth, smelling their dreams and fear. I am there afraid, waiting and watching and running for my life, running for my dreams, running to catch my love. 

This is Life. This is Cinema. 

Get on top of a train with Jamal and Salim, and feel this country at its very raw core. Feel their childhood and yours. Feel innocence and the gangster in you rising at the same time. 

Feel Hope. 

Feel complete with all the senses coming together to embalm you with joy and passion. 

Its a rush of blood to the head which flows effortlessly from the present to the past and back. While you wait in anticipation for the hints of the future in your head to come to life. 

Chaos Theory 

In my 25^th year I wrote a post, titled 25 things to do on turning 25. The way 2008 turned out - makes that list prophetic! 

My quarter-life crisis year. Crisis it sure was! But all my travels and my experiences put together make me feel fresh as the year ends. I feel, I have seen the highest high in Ladakh, and the lowest low in the plains at home. Just like the implosion in the American economy and the explosion of bombs closer home, life too had bloated and busted, and anger had reached a tip. 

But I feel pure now. As if, the trip to Rishikesh and the clear pristine waters of the Ganga cleansed and washed my soul, clearing it of all its negative energies and filling me with happiness and hope. It’s as if, I am shedding my skin and a new child is being born. Or maybe it’s just the old one, dissolving and evolving. 

With a certain radiance, I think about the times when my mind was agitated, and there were no clear answers. When nothing made sense, and there was no control. Ironically, I dwell in the same feelings in my moment of peace now. The very same mysteries are beautiful and give new hope. In the words of George Harrison, "It's all in the mind." 

All you need is Love, and a change of camera angle. :)

It’s been one heck of a tumultuous year! Like the chaos theory – random but with a pattern…

What will 2009 be like? 

Another passage……another dream….another highway! 

Awaiting winter with misty scenes of Delhi in the mind

Through my office window fog clouds an office building opposite me as sunlight trickles through it. It reflects from the windows and makes myriad patterns on the wall outside. 

Cold breeze washes over my face and others – faces known and unknown as I walk out.

It’s cold but lovely. In a strange way it makes you warm…thinking about how warm you could be right now with a cup of coffee in your hand, or the hand of a loved one.  

Cold is nice. Cold is good. Better than being warm and left out cold.

It’s the death of a year, a cycle of life. Someone dies, someone unites, someone falls in love, someone breaks up. A cycle of mist that envelopes me like this one or clears up as I move along. The end of festivities and a harbinger of new ones. 

Yes, winter is a sweet season. 

School children wrapped from head to toe, fresh eager rosy faces rushing to make it in time. I was like that once, hating the number of clothes on me especially the stockings on my legs. Winter is about the past. Reminiscing what went by in the year and gloating in it or letting go. 

It’s a magical way of rounding up life by God. The snow, the Christmas hope, the New Year party…. 

So let's stop by the woods on a snowy evening like Robert Frost.....

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.....

THE VAGABOND

Music: Air

Singer: Beck

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9u4rh0V7Mk

Golden waves
In all directions
I could lose my soul right here

Colour lights
On the runway
Makes a stranger feel unchained

I'm running after time and I miss the sunshine
Summer days will come happiness will be mine
I'm lost in my words I don't know where I'm going
I do the best I can not to worry about things

I feel loose
I feel haggard
Don't know what I'm looking for

Something true
Something lovely
That will make me feel alive

I'm running after time and I miss the sunshine
Summer days will come happiness will be mine
I'm lost in my words I don't know where I'm going
I do the best I can not to worry about things

(Like a vagabond in the distance
Looking for a song to sing
A song that lasts all night
And for the rest of our lives)

I'm lost in my words I don't know where I'm going
I do the best I can not to worry about things

I'm running after time and I miss the sunshine
Summer days will come happiness will be mine
I'm lost in my words I don't know where I'm going
I do the best I can not to worry about things
I'm running after time and I miss the sunshine
Summer days will come happiness will be mine

(insert mad laughter here)
oh shit

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

The Dark Joker

Pleasures are always dark. And Sinful.

Admit it, you walked out of The Dark Knight with pleasure written all over you. The pleasure of confusion, the pleasure of anarchy and the pleasure of Heath Ledger dead but alive on the screen you just watched breathtakingly for the past 2 and a half hours.

I have seen this film twice now. I was awed by the whole experience the first time, with a mad rush of admiration for the Joker. Second time around, it was like understanding your lover. I have fallen in love with Mr Joker....as a whole. Character and Actor as one.

And because Heath is dead, I couldn't help but reading his performance as his alter-ego. He will forever haunt me.

The best part about the story - is when Joker says, "Do I look like a guy with a plan?" Yet, all his moves are so well planned...his actions and his lines. And his performance. There is no chaos there...but anarchy...a dare to differ attitude....yes.

Like I said...there is no greater pleasure than to do what you are not supposed to do. The Joker makes us gloat in that feeling the whole time. Does that mean we become criminals in real life?

No, but to take inspiration to upset the set up...definitely.

Joker is a genius, but his brilliance does not get recognised or appreciated by anyone in Gotham. It is only admired by us sitting in the theatre. The villains in the film keep calling him a "freak". Just as in real life, anyone would call someone a geek. He is a character on the edge who can see through society's hypocrisy and finds the rules of the established order meaningless.

The Dark Knight, Batman on the other hand is confused about the "righteousness" of his job.

This paradox....of the "good" unsure of its reasons, and the "bad" having no reason....isn't that life? Yet everything ties in and ends are still loose.

And as the audience we take refuge in the darkness of this theatre.

Angsting in Kashmir

There is something about simplicty. When the sufis sang...they sang about simple things with a depth that touched the soul. And sometimes this art of simplcity reflects from faces.
Kashmir is a land bestowed with natural beauty. No matter how long you look at the landscape, you will not have enough. No amount of pictures can capture what you feel when you look at the rivers, lakes, flora and fauna, mountains and.....the people.

Just people doing everyday things. We go to work day in and day out, follow routine after routine. But here in Srinagar, I’d look out in the morning from my car window at the people of the valley going about their daily businesses....as art. Chidlren being rushed to school....or a man smoking a morning hookah in his shop....I found something so serene and simple in these passing images.

But every image that passed by me, was intersperesed with a figure. A solitary figure. An omnipresent figure. Of a soldier. Every 2 minutes you could spot him...looking at you....alert. It’s when I realised the price of the beauty around you, the price that it was paying and has paid. The conflict hits you in the face.

But sadly as life is - if there was no conflict...there wouldn’t be a story. Like everything else, this bittersweetness takes a character of its own in the Kashmir Valley.

Just go on.... that’s what I learnt here.

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

RUMI

Those who don't feel this Love

pulling them like a river,

those who don't drink dawn like a cup of spring water

or take in sunset like supper,

those who don't want to change,

let them sleep.

This Love is beyond the study of theology,

that old trickery and hypocrisy.

If you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.

I've given up on my brain. I've torn the cloth to shreds and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,wrap your beautiful robe of words around you,

and sleep.

--

Beyond our ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing,

there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase 'each other' doesn't make sense any more.

--

All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there.

--

Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness.

--

The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.

--

Ladakh
--

Misty mountains,
Barren crags and blades of grass,
How are you so beautiful?

Winds and snow have carved you,
Made you unique and,
Filled you with mystique
Brown mountains of Ladakh
Love owns you
And peace flows from within you

You’ve been more human
Staying still,
Watching me as I went by you
And left me drunk
Wanting more

Harsh mountains of Ladakh
Your beauty shines through
Trying to survive you

You were music to my eyes
Memories are your stage
Perform for me
The dance of life

---- Harman

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

SOUL SEARCHING IN AMRITSAR

Traveling anywhere is a pilgrimage on it’s own. But Amritsar for me wasn’t only that. It was almost a re-discovery of Punjab.

I’ve spent a good 5-6 years in Amritsar as a kid. Childhood in that city was about eating aam papads on my way back from school, falling off cycle rickshaws, running away from home to climb shehtoot and jamun trees and listening to bad 80’s disco and dancing to it.

Like then, I still love trains. I love them. I love watching the world go by…especially the fields of Punjab…an old man cycling along winding paths, electric cables giving an impression of movement as you chug past them and electric grids standing out on the landscape almost like giant people. I don’t think the childlike curiosity of looking out of a window can ever leave me.

You can see places you’ll never hear anyone talk about out of a train window.

Freak weather patterns? Climate change? Whatever the reason was for the April showers we experienced in the holy city…only made our stay holier. Stopping just in time so we could make it to the Indo-Pak border at 5 in the evening, the rain was a blessing in disguise. The border was a happy place…rain-dance…bollywood…jingoism…it was a potboiler! The people were crazy for no reason at all. Perfect. The passion for their country was visible on every Indian. The chanting, the dancing, gyrating and marching coupled with the weather converted this no man’s land into a universal dance floor.

This unreality spilled over to the Golden Temple at night. Lighted up and glowing all over – it only makes one bow down in reverence. For once I was in no mood to click. Walking barefoot till the feet froze with the cold, listening to the evening kirtans and the gentle percussion sounds of the tabla, you can only look on at this pure gold structure – with peace and love.

The nip in the air was bitter…but as we waited within a sea of humanity eager to step inside the main sanctorum, the chill felt surreal. It was quiet. People only breathed the name of God. Only the cry of a baby would break the spell once in a while.

What makes us brave everything odd to get to where we want to be? For everyone present around us then, it was an omnipresent supreme power.

Photography is prohibited inside. But you don’t need it either. For there are things that cannot be captured on any recording device but the grey matter. So we stayed as long as we could in the presence of music and mysticism admist a pool of nectar. Surrounded by the sarovar on all four sides…it could well have been a space…far away in your mind.

It was soul tripping.

Night changed to day – a sunny hot day as we stepped back inside the Golden Temple to see it packed with humanity. And as I sat in one of it's corridors watching a milieu of people go by, is when I felt my own identity…the identity of my people and a religion that I was born into and adopted.

We can shed the symbols of our identity, adopt new ones or retain old ones. Very liberally speaking when I see a Sikh woman wearing a kripan, a salwaar kameez, wearing her hair long and keeping it covered - walking past me with a sense of pride…I feel enamored and thankful that she and I co-exist.

I couldn’t capture her on film…but she’s there in my memory postcard.

Because sometimes the best pictures remain in your heart.

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

CLIMBING A NEW HIGH

I had never climbed a mountain till I climbed this one. I always thought about scaling one when I’d watch rolling ranges from inside a train, car or a bus. The peaks were inviting…but I knew the lessons lay in the journey. As I discovered when I touched the base and the peak of Triund in Mcleodganj.

You know what’s in store right in the beginning. I don’t want to give it away but I have not known steeper roads before this. Giddy up! Local kids run past you as if the road is a flat field…heightening the feeling of your own immobility and breathlessness.

But sights get prettier as you move along…trees, trees and more trees! Dense forests give way to mountain paths and soon enough we were blessed with the company of two friendly mountain dogs.

The climb is almost 5 hours long. But I want to talk about the most important aspect of this terrain – that it makes you think and leaves you blank with physical exhaustation. Here, your brain is engaged in getting past stones of all sizes, maintaining a steady pace, soaking in all the natural beauty and getting lost in your own private thoughts - all at once. It’s rigourous meditation at best.

The view from the top is always nice…but getting there is another story. It kills you. It kills you even on your way down. The body asks for a break but you cannot give it. You have to keep your mind strong and just move..move..move! Screw the scenery…move…get out of here…into civilization….a hot tub…a glass of wine!

Beauty comes at a price…but the pain is worth it all. Never will you appreciate the feeling of feeling so dead. It makes you feel alive.

[Photo Credit: Nithya Hariharan]

Kiss by Gustav Klimt

THE COLORS OF LOVE

What is the color of love?

Red, blue, green or black…

Seasons change, Does love?

Here are some of my favourite verses on love.

Listen for the stream that tells you one thing.

Die on this bank.

Begin in me the way of rivers with the sea.

Rumi

He himself aroused longing to become mad in love.

He himself became Laila to steal Majnun's heart.

Himself He wept, himself consoled himself.

0, what a game of love He plays!

What a carefree game He plays!

Himself the lover, He himself is the Beloved.

Here logic and reason have no part to play.

Bullah rejoices in his union with the Beloved.

Why does He create separation now?

What a carefree game He plays!

Bulleh Shah

You've no idea how hard I've looked for a gift to bring You.
Nothing seemed right. What's the point of bringing gold to the gold mine, or water to the Ocean.

Everything I came up with was like taking spices to the Orient.

It's no good giving my heart and my soul because you already have these.

So- I've brought you a mirror. Look at yourself and remember me.

Rumi

Longing is the core of mystery.

Longing itself brings the cure.

The only rule is, Suffer the pain.

Your desire must be disciplined,

and what you want to happen in time, sacrificed.

Rumi

NO WAY BACK FROM HERE

“Lately, I've been Livin' in my head

The rest of me is dead…
Pleased to meet you take my hand,

There is no way back from here.”

Nothing better than those lyrics by Foo Fighters can describe Mcleodganj to me right now. I long to go back…because there really is no way back from there.

Never have I appreciated people-watching more than in this Tibetan refuge of India. But in turning this old British town into a refuge for themselves away from their homeland, the Tibetans have also made it one for every traveler. There are so many different faces here speaking different languages but wearing same expressions. The world is once microcosm here.

I wish I had clicked so many more photographs and so many portraits. If only every Tibetan from babies to the youngsters and the old, every Kashmiri pedlar, every hippie, every rich old foreign couple, every lonely traveler, every Indian honeymooned couple, every Buddhist monk, every himachali woman woodcutter, every mountain guide, every mountaineer, every trekker, every Tibetan rights activist, every wandering musician, every sadhu and conman were captured on film.

No, I still wouldn’t be satisfied. I’d go back again for more.

[Photo Credit: Harmanpreet Kaur]

IN TRANSIT

Random thoughts on the New Year 2008 – I’ve survived another 12 months… and enjoyed it, cried through some of it, and more or less have vagabonded and grown. Here’s to another one filled with wishes, experiences and flights of thought.

But this year worldwide will be one of change. And so it will be I hope in my life. A year of letting loose, learning and having fun!

A year of transit…a rite of passage…to a better present and future.