Sandakphu - The Journey of a life-time

I

Sandakphu was my first trek in the Himalayas and one of the things that struck me was the difficult lives of the people who live in these mountains, where the wind and the cold turn you older, faster.

I remember one specific instance when we were walking downhill on a moderately steep slope and saw a young woman coming uphill with her 2 children carrying a load of fire-wood. The first on the two children was a girl, maybe 10 years old, also carrying a load of fire-wood on her head and the younger boy, about 4, carrying a long piece of wood on his tiny head, held firmly into place with his tiny hands.

My heart ached to see this little family lumbering up the steep hill with the fuel that will help make their dinner tonight and I thought about our easy city lives, where at a flick of a knob we have all the fire we need.

Amongst all the things that travel has given me, I think that perspective is the most important. The perspective that all people are different and everyone is fighting their own battles, so it is important to be kind and patient with people, the perspective that everything happens for a reason and sometimes when we can’t do anything about a situation, we just have to let it go and move on and the perspective (rather, wisdom) to have gratitude for what I have.

II

The Mt. Sandakphu trek in May 2015 was my first trek in the Himalayas, but will definitely not be the last.

The highest mountain in West Bengal, Mt. Sandakphu is located inside Nepal’s Singalila National Park and stands tall at 11929 ft. on the border of Nepal and India. The road to this Mountain is flaked with dense forest, winding mountain roads and daunting climbs to its summit. The single-digit temperature just adds to the woes of trekkers.

But at the end of the road, when you reach the summit with swollen feet, chocked breath and near frost-bitten fingers, Mt. Sandakphu will reward you with the magnificent view of 4 of the 5 highest mountains in the world, viz., Mt. Everest, Mt. Kanchenjunga, Mt. Lhotse and Mt. Makalu.

III

When you go to Sandakphu, you have to be prepared for a cultural difference.

As we arrived in the mountains in the cab from Bagdogra Airport, we were suddenly thrust into a different kind of world. The world of the North-East. The people whom, we in the rest of India call “kancha” or “chinki”, were suddenly all around us. Exceedingly warm and beautiful people, who have adapted the harsh life in the mountains with a smile. You will never find any person here who seems sad or unhappy. They are always smiling and laughing and joking, their eyes light up with a mischievous, innocent light, like a child who is about to play a trick on you. 

Their houses are small, their bodies are fit and their food, although simple, tastes great.

IV

The other thing to be prepared for is the cold weather; and at the time we went, we found incessant rain throughout the 5 days of the trek. Due to the rain, the temperature of the already cold air was down by atleast a couple of more degrees.

The first day of our trip, when we reached the trekkers lodge at Dhotrey (the trek starting point), I opened the door of the Innova to get out and the cold wind hit me like a brick wall. I immediately closed the door and decided that I was never getting out in that kind of cold.

But after travelling for 2500 kilometers from Bangalore to Dhotrey, “not getting out” was not an option. So with gritted teeth and clenched jaws, I got out of the car and ran inside the trekkers lodge, only to find that it was maybe one degree warmer than outside and that’s when the realization dawned that the cold was here to stay, I had to get adjusted to it (of course, with a little help from the thermals, sweater and jacket).

That night after having a dinner of rice, dal and potato sabzi, we slept in the darkness (as there was no electricity in the village) inside our small brick-walled hut. The air grew cooler outside, but we were tired and slept fitfully in the warm, cozy beds.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up and heard a howling sound outside. My fatigued Hollywood-movies infested mind promptly imagined a pack of hungry wolves. As I waited for sleep to come, I wondered how many wolves there were in that pack and what were they hunting for. What would happen if anyone of us got out of the house to attend to nature’s call? The wolves will surely have a mighty feast.

Suddenly, the howl sounded closer and I imagined one of the wolves right outside the hut. Maybe he can smell my blood, feel my fear and read my thoughts. Maybe his eyes are glowing red in the darkness and he is lusting for prey. Any moment now, he will peep through the glass window next to my bed. How difficult will it be for him to break the fragile glass and pounce inside?

I prayed that I will survive this godforsaken cold place, this isolation, away from all my family, surrounded by these friends of mine, these adventure-loving maniacs.

I coaxed myself, 'Nah, it is no wolf. It was just the wind. Al Izz Well, Mamu, Al Izz Well!!!'

Closer to nature, closer to the elements, the excitement of adventure brewing just under the surface, surely, the air in the mountain and the jungle was playing tricks on my mind. With these final thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.

V

Fortunately, we never encountered wolves or any other animals throughout our trek. What we encountered were the fierce elements – the damp, never-ending rain; the bone-chilling cold and the winding, steep, mountain road.

The rain fell eternally throughout the first 4 days of our trek. Although, it was not heavy rain, it was continuous and it thoroughly drenched me inside the rain-wear, ponchos and jackets, to the point where on the third day (in Phalut), I did not have any dry clothes to wear and sat shivering in my wet clothes near the kitchen fireplace.

Due to the rain, my gloves would get wet and the cold felt worse to the fingers – first it felt excruciatingly painful and after sometime all sensation in the finger-tips was lost. Was I getting frost-bite?

The heavy rucksack weighing almost 7-10 kgs added to the discomfort and sometime caused painful shoulders and back. Last but not the least was the continuous walking, kilometer upon kilometer, the steady upward climb that would leave me breathless after every 100 paces or so. But I could not afford to stop, because once you stop, starting again is double the effort.

But it was not all bad. The views (whenever the fog lifted) were magnificent, the air in the forest was refreshing and sweet, the company of friends was exhilarating, we encountered forest birds singing their ancient songs and the topography kept changing, never getting monotonous. Also, our guide Pemba was an expert and a very nice guy, on a couple of occasions we got to taste the Rusky - Rhododendron flower wine and everywhere we went the people were friendly, hospitable and warm.

And on the second day of our trek when we reached the summit of Mt. Sandakphu, I had a mystical experience that I will never forget.

After keeping our luggage in our room, Pemba, our guide, led us to the summit, which was a small sloping hillock of mud, not more than 50 feet high. But because of the rain, it had turned muddy and slippery. Cautiously, taking one step at a time, we climbed the hillock and reached the summit. Because of the fog the visibility was zero, but it felt good to have achieved the landmark. 12000 feet above sea level, the words grit, determination, perseverance and will-power had ceased to be mere words for us. We had transcended mental boundaries (and some physical too). Like Theseus’ ship, something had changed inside all of us.

It was an overwhelming feeling.

In Hindu mythology, the Gods are considered to reside in heaven - the sky directly about our heads. So, on this summit, we were obviously very near to God. We burnt some incense sticks and said a silent prayer, before getting down from the hillock.

On the way back to the lodge, Pemba suggested a re-route via the village temple and we slowly walked towards it. The village temple was really a site with multiple little temples, with idols of different gods. The customary prayer flags were hanging all over the place and as twilight approached on the foggy, cold evening, the entire area got an enchanted, surreal feel to it.

Appu and I went to one of the small temple where a lady was chanting some prayers in a mix of Hindi, Sanskrit and Nepali.

Appu promptly removed his Iphone to video-graph the entire prayer of the woman, while I stood aside listening.

In her prayer, the lady invoked the Goddess of the temple and described the omnipresent, omnipotent, nature of God. God as the master of all creatures - living and non-living. God present everywhere and us humans, the mere insignificant figments in the grand scheme of the universe.

The twilight had deepened now and darkness had almost overtaken the daylight. I stood on a slope of the mountain, before me the valley slowly creeping into darkness and to my right the temple of the goddess, with the woman praying within.

The entire surrealism of the evening shadows, the atmosphere and her voice invoking God transported me to a different plane. For a few seconds, I felt like I was lighter than air, I was filled with immense happiness and an extraordinary calm. In that moment, I felt my present. I felt alive. I felt lost and intoxicated. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. There was no truth, no reality and no physical state of being. There was only an immense space of nothingness.

While I was floating in this state of bliss, I suddenly felt the ground beneath my feet shake. And the next moment, I heard Appu’s cellphone creating a vibrating sound, as it rattled against the aluminum sheet of the temple wall against which Appu had held it while he was recording the video.

Appu looked at me. “Earthquake” he said.

I nodded my head in agreement, but somewhere in my heart, I thought that I had been touched by the hand of God.

That night after we had our dinner and were just getting ready to tuck in, Pemba, our guide come excitedly into our room and asked us to come out with him quickly. The thought of stepping out in the bitter cold night was not too enticing, but we were curious to know what he wanted to show us.

We walked some distance with him and from a high place at the end of the walk, he pointed out to the horizon to what looked like a high cloud. As the moon came out, we saw that it was not really a cloud but a huge white mountain, covering the horizon from one end to the other.

It was the Sleeping Buddha, Mt. Kanchenjunga, bathed in moonlight in all its majesty.

The sight of the mountain invigorated us and filled us with hope. I even declared to everyone that the next day, we will definitely see the 4 Mountains and so filled with hope, we went back to the lodge and went to sleep.

On that day we had walked to toughest 15 kms of our journey. It had been a cold, wet, exhausting day. We had strained ourselves to the point of collapse and the next day we were supposed to walk to Phalut, which was a 19 km trek. While we were dreading the thought of the walk, we were also filled with hope and excitement.

Sleep came quick to our exhausted bodies and quicker came the morning, again wet and cold.

VI

The 19 kms walk on the next day was not as bad as we had expected. Or maybe we had mentally prepared ourselves so well, that it did not feel too difficult. But the cold in Phalut was a different animal. It was chilly, biting cold. The kind of cold that numbs your skin, turns your finger-tips blue and makes your joints ache. The kind of cold where you want to find a fire and not budge from it and even when you are turned to the fire, your back is becoming colder and number.  

But the biggest disappointment was that we had not yet had a chance to witness the 4 mountains. The day had been rainy and foggy with no visibility beyond a few meters.

After dinner that night, Pemba suggested that on the next morning, if it’s not raining, we could trek a couple of kilometers to a higher point on the Phalut Mountain and take our chances with the sighting of the Big 4.

So, at 4 AM, we woke up and set out to catch a glimpse of the mighty mountains. The short trek to the top of Mt. Phalut was brilliant (albeit steep and difficult) and the air was clear (albeit chilly to the bones) and once we reached the top, the view all around was incredible.

But the clouds were still playing spoilsport and we did not have much to do except wait.

So, while we waited the sun came up slowly from the east and the colors of the clouds began to change. At one point, we saw a soft sun ray escape the clouds and cast a spell on the valley below.

For a moment, we thought that the clouds would clear up and we will get a tiny glimpse of the 4 Mountains, but it was not meant to be. Although we were disappointed at having missed the mountains, we realized that this was one of those things in life when we could not do anything except let go and move on.

VII

After Phalut, the trek got easier, as we started the descent. It also got prettier, as we walked through dense bamboo forests with a variety of trees, flowers and shoots, streams flowing here and there, bumping into other trekkers and even spotting a leopard pug-mark.

And so it was, that on the fourth day of the trek, we had walked into Sikkim from West Bengal, into a charming little village called Gorkhey.

Gorkhey is a little piece of heaven nestled in the middle of the valley with tall mountains on all four sides. Untouched by civilization, it’s got terraced farms growing green peas, a stream that rushes in from the mountains with a couple of quaint little bridges built on it and a small temple with a round pond of crystal clear water.

The rain had stopped when we reached Gorkhey and we had a good time exploring around the village until nightfall.

On the next day, the sun finally came out and we passed through some of the most picturesque paths that I have ever been. Everywhere we looked there was bright green grass and pale blue skies, with white fluffy clouds. Huge, ancient pine trees dotted the landscape and two horses grazed quietly, down below, the bell around their necks making a jingling sound which could be heard from far. Small brick and wood huts were scattered here and there like toy houses. It was the most beautiful scene I had ever witnessed and in hindsight, I wish we had spent a day or two in this village.

As we walked on, the morning turned to afternoon and afternoon to evening. And in the evening we reached Rimbik, where a car was waiting to pick us up and take us back to the city (actually, back to Darjeeling. But believe me, it’s as good as a city, with a mall, a movie theater and great hustle and bustle of tourists and locals alike).

VIII

We came to Darjeeling, where we metamorphosed from trekkers to tourists and spent 2 days doing touristy things like riding the Darjeeling Hill Railway, going to the zoo (special mention of the Red Panda or Shifu), visiting the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute (this was the highlight for us and we wished we had come here when we were younger and enrolled in some of the mountaineering courses), checking out the Tibetan center and the Japanese temple (4 beautiful statues of the Buddha and scene from his life carved into wood.. marvelous!!). We even went to a nice pub for dinner, watched a movie and had breakfast in the old English “Café Keventes” (this is the place in Barfi, where Ranvir Kapoor proposes to Iliana).

While we were having a heavy duty breakfast at Café Keventes, Rama suddenly yelled and starting pointing out hysterically. We thought that he was having another one of his cold attacks and needed to find a kitchen fire to warm himself up, until we looked up and saw him pointing into the distance.

We followed his gaze and there it was finally – Mt. Kanchenjunga, the Sleeping Buddha, in broad day-light. We had finally had a glimpse of the mountain for which we covered almost 75 kms on foot through tall mountains and dense forests. And the irony of it was that it had decided to show up here in Darjeeling, in the tourist’s paradise. 

While I clicked pictures of the mountain, I was feeling a nagging in my heart about missing Mt. Everest. We never got to see him - the tallest one on earth. But it was also an opportunity to make a resolve. Mt. Everest wants me to come to visit him. It will not show himself to me without me paying the price for it. And I know I will do it. I will make that journey to him, to stand before him and pay my respect to him, someday before the pied piper arrives.

An incredible journey had come an end. A journey which was exhilarating and exhausting, beautiful and sad, adventurous and dangerous. A journey of personal growth and spirituality. A journey of gaining perspective and (trying) to leave behind prejudices.

A journey that taught me to be more compassionate. When more than 80% of the people in the world live in harsh conditions, it becomes the responsibility of the rest 20% to spread kindness and happiness, even if its through small acts. And that's what makes the world go around.

Throughout the trek, Tapan carried a handful of chocolates in his pocket, which he gave to every little child we met on the way. And when he gave the chocolates to the little girl and boy who were carrying the fire-woods, their faces lit up with 1000-watt smiles which overflowed from their beautiful "chinki" eyes. That was worth all the effort and pain we had endured during the trek. That made the whole world beautiful, irrespective of its inherent flaws.  

Finally, it was all thanks to my adventure-maniac friends (who got new nicknames) -

• Appu “The Iceman”
• Tapan “Time nahi hai”
• Rama “Tandoori”
• Babloo, the caring and sharing
• Prem “the one with the jacket”.. 
• And of course Pemba “Bhutan.. Bhutan, to jaana padega”.

PS - What these nick names mean will require a different blog post. J

Once again, thanks to you all, my crazy friends. This journey would not have been possible without you. And I am looking forward to the next one with you. 

IX

This blog post is already a mile long and probably only 5 people in the world will read it and hopefully, re-read it. So I am going to include a few other items which we will not forget about this trek. Think of it like the picture montage at the end of “The Hangover”.

Earthquake.. Mukherjee Hotel, Mirik.. Dhotrey.. Pemba.. Jai Mata Di, Lets Rock!!.. Mohit and his binoculars.. Jaobari, Nepal.. High Voltage Pickle.. Singalila National Park.. Rama is cold.. Garibas, India-Nepal Border.. Border check-post across the road..  Rusky, the Rhododendron flower wine.. Kalapokhari, the black lake.. Boiled potato and eggs breakfast.. Bhutan planning.. Wai-Wai noodles and veg momos… Strawberry field.. Going Topless..

And Tuffy, the wonder dog who followed us till the end of the journey. I am going to miss her the most. J

Dear Little Baby

Dear Little Baby, Sleep with your eyes closed

Let your body rest on the water

Let your soul wander on the wind

Sleep forever in your blissful slumber

Out of a billion and one people; and a million and one ways

You were the chosen one to disappear under the waves

My heart tears for you, Sweet Baby;

But I try to find some comfort too.

In the belief that you left this wretched place 

And this damned human race 

I pray you have gone to a better place

A place of silence, peace and eternal bliss

A place which (I pray) is much better than this

A place where there are no fights for petty reasons 

Like land and beliefs and rules and ideology

A place where children are not killed for an invented God

A place where you can smile, giggle and laugh

A place where your innocence will not be lost

Oh, how I long to be in that place with you!!

When my time comes, I am sure I will meet you.

Until then,

I have to keep walking on this unwanted planet

Living this unwanted life

Among all these unwanted strangers 

And all this for what ultimate purpose?

For 4 feet of earth, 2 feet deep


(A Tribute to Aylan Kurdi and all the other children who have been or are victims of war)

The Men in the Mirror

“What are you scared of, son? Why do you feel the need to hide? To Run?”

“Are you afraid of the demons in the dark? Something unknown lurking out far?”

“Let me tell you that’s just your imagination. It’s just your brain playing games with you.”

“I am telling you now. What you see is not real. It’s just something that your mind is showing you”

“There are only hallucinations. No Ghosts exist in this real world. These are no demons that you see.”

“So, don’t be afraid now. Don’t give in. Be brave. Hold my hand. Come back into the light with me”

“Doctor, Oh Doctor, are you my savior? Have you come here to help me? To give me your hand? And pull me out of this wretched misery”

“Well, thank you for that!!”

“But you talked about the mind, about hallucinations and about reality.”

“You talked about light, about darkness and demons.”

“It’s an interesting idea you have put into my mind. Let me contemplate it for a moment. Let me share my thoughts with you.”

“Ah, my dear Doctor, let me tell you about Darkness. You know, Darkness is darker, much darker than you think. The word DARK itself, gives me the creeps.”

“Darkness is absence of light, absence of warmth, absence of feeling, emotions, hope, bliss, tranquility, comfort.”

“Darkness is a black hole, a depressive, claustrophobic place. A place with no existence. No walls, corners, edges or boundaries.”

“The laws of Physics, mathematics and logic don’t apply in the dark. Hence, I conclude, it’s a place that is not of this earth. Would you agree?”

“In the depths of darkness, it’s like being in a well of quick sand, submerged under, with your eyes open, but with nothing to see. Suffocating. Gasping, Grasping for breath. A heaviness which is exceeded only by its nothingness.”

“Believe me doctor, the demons are the least of your worries in that dark void. In fact, they are welcome because it’s a comfort to know that someone else is there with you… even if it’s a demon.”

“But unfortunately doctor, there is no one in the dark. No one to talk, no one to feel and no one who cares. The only demon in the darkness is ME and MY Damned Soul.”

“Also, doctor you talked about reality. So, it makes me wonder now, what is the nature of this reality?”

“When I was a boy I read that reality is what your mind shows you. The light travels through the eyes and paints a picture in the brain. That is what we perceive as reality. But who is to tell if that picture is real? Can YOU definitely say it? Can I definitely say it?”

“For instance, right now, do you think all this is real? Are you sure it’s not a figment of your imagination? A vivid dream through which you might wake up with a start and find yourself in your bed?" 

"Or maybe you will wake up 20 years younger in your college dorm room, after a night of heavy binge drinking.”

“This room, this table, that clipboard in your hand? Is it all real? Are you sure of that? Are you sure it’s not a perceived reality induced by that little pill you put on your tongue at your beach party this evening?”

“These grey walls, that huge one-way mirror on the wall, this asylum. Is it real? And what about me? Am I real, doctor? Or are you just experiencing one of your schizophrenic episodes?”

“Look at yourself, doctor, in that mirror on the wall and tell me what you see.”

“I promise to listen to you. But don’t give me your hand. I might NOT be able to save you”

“Look in the mirror, doctor. In reality, I am the doctor and you are the patient. Look and accept it. That’s the first step YOU will take to save YOURSELF from the demons in YOUR head.”

“Identify the nature of reality, doctor.”

And the doctor looked.

As the first second ticked in his wrist-watch, the doctor looked into the mirror and he saw himself in the patient’s green clothes. The reflection of the man standing on the other side of the table was that of a doctor, wearing a white coat, carrying a clipboard.

As the second second ticked, the doctor felt amazed, marveling at this trick his mind had played. Why was he dressed like the patient? Was it true, everything the other man said?

In the Third second, the patient lifted his chair above his head and brought it down with a heavy crash into the doctor’s bald scalp, killing him instantly.

The doctor writhed, but he felt no pain. Only his life seeping out through his body, enveloping him in a darkness that was suffocating, submerging, weightless, yet infinitely heavy. And then he felt peace, for the first time in his life.  

The patient smiled faintly, for he had successfully accomplished his task. He had used his power to look into the doctors mind and memories and trick him into seeing what he wanted him to see. It had given him enough time to kill the wretched pig, who had been giving him those drugs that made him feel sleepy. But he was happy that the drugs had not unsharpened his gift. 

But he also knew there will be consequences for his little stunt. THEY must be racing right now to come inside this room and pin him down. THEY will put him back into solitary confinement and increase his medication. He will start getting the head-splitting migraine from using too much of his power.

But he told himself to stay sharp and concentrate. Rest a bit and start thinking of how to get out of this asylum, before THEY figure out how to use his gift as a weapon.  

लाल

रोंगटे खड़े है मेरे ,
चल रहा हूँ मैदान की ओर।
गहरी हरी जमीन, हल्का नीला आसमान ,
चारो तरफ भीड़ का प्रचण्ड शोर ।

एक-एक कत्रा पसीना बहाया ,
एक-एक बूँद लहू  जलाया,
पल-पल समेटे, पंधरह साल की
प्रैक्टिस का आज होगा हिसाब ।

हाथ में बल्ला, सीने पे तिरंगा,
टी-शर्ट की पीठ पर इंडिया,
दिमाग में सन्नाटा,
लेकिन मन में सैलाब ।

अब आ खड़ा हूँ विकेट के आगे,
कुछ नहीं दीखता सिवाए गेंद के,

दूंगा आहुति एक शतक की,
उस देवता को जिसे चढ़ाया था गुलाल,
और उस धरती माता को जिसकी मिटटी का रंग है लाल ।

हाँ, लाल है रंग मेरी मिटटी का,
लाल रंग का है वह गुलाल,
लाल है रंग मेरे खून का,
मेरे जूनून का रंग भी है लाल । 

5 Horror Short(est) Stories

Story # 1

While driving back home that night, my favorite song came on the radio and without thinking I started singing along. 

It was only when the singer started singing in a screechy voice, did I realize that I had not switched on the Radio.

Story # 2

She was walking down on a lonely road at night, when the four drunkards started following her with a malicious intent. 

The next morning only one of them was found in the dumpster, dead, his body turned blue and bite marks on his neck.

Story # 3

I always feel fresh after taking a shower, but I also feel hungry and so I decided to make a sandwich for myself. 

But then I remembered that I did not have the knife, as I had left it stuck in my wife’s neck.

Story # 4

A weirdly dressed man appeared in the middle of the expressway and met with a brutal accident and died. 

The police found a piece of clear, highly polished round glass in his pockets, with an inscription - "Google Time Machine”.

Story # 5

If you ever go to the Overlook Hotel and see little Twin Girls waving at you, don’t wave back. 

I did that yesterday and last night they killed me.




(Short Horror Stories written by me.)

The Bird and The Boy

So, Birdman won the big prize last night. And frankly, I was not expecting it. I was rooting for Boyhood and my heart sobbed when it did not win.

So I decided to do my own comparative analysis:

The Bird -

I watched Birdman with awe at the technical brilliance of its roving camera, the continuously beating drum in the back-ground like the very heart and soul of the movie, the brilliant performances by Michael Keaton, Emma Stone and my favorite, Ed Norton.

Birdman is the story of a man who was once famous and successful, but in today’s fast-paced world he is no longer “relevant” (as noted by one of the characters in the movie). He is trying to find his place and his lost glory and is trying to connect with his audience one last time, while handling other issues like insecurity about himself, his daughter and a “mad birdman” conscience continuously blabbering into his brain.

It is a brilliant premise flawlessly executed, but at the end of the day it was the story of Hollywood and of one actor trying to find his place.

Somehow, I could not relate to it. In spite of all its path-breaking brilliance, I could not connect to the Bird.

The Boy -

Boyhood on the other hand starts with that haunting Coldplay song – “Yellow”, with 6-year old Mason looking into the sky, thinking (as we know later) about how Wasps are born. In that one scene, you are instantly bonded to the movie, its premise, its story and its protagonist – Mason. Because you as a child have also done similar things.

Over the next 2.5 hours, you watch as Mason grows from that 6-year old quiet, shy boy to a young adult gone to college and on the verge of finding an identify for himself.

On the way, he has struggled with his mother’s multiple divorces, his strict step-fathers, the break-up with his girlfriend, experimenting with drugs and alcohol and finally finding his calling.

It’s a story that all of us have gone through and could easily relate to. It’s a story that is inspiring, awesome, brilliant and at the same time, commonplace.

While Mason is the focus of the movie, we also watch all the other characters grow old not just on screen, but in real life. We watch with fascination, as Mason’s real father (Ethan Hawke) grows older and matures as an individual. We watch as Patricia Arquette, Mason’s mother in the movie, grows from a single-mother with two small kids trying to make ends meet to an older lady who cries her heart out, when Mason is preparing to leave for college. 

Boyhood is a film about the sweep of time, that relentless presence in human life which is constantly changing all of us, one micro-second at a time.

The film is about the fact that nothing remains the same over the course of a life-time. People change, situations change, circumstances change and the change is always for the better.

And the final scene where Mason goes hiking in a park with his friends and they talk about how the moment seizes you, instead of you seizing the moment. That’s is the scene which stays with you far after the movie is over and the lights are turned out.

The Bird vs. the Boy

So, yes, Birdman won the Oscars, but years from now, when I grow older, I know I will be watching Boyhood for the umpteenth time.

Thoughts on a Dark Night

The city sleeps under my feet. It’s dark and unusually quiet. Only the soft night breeze makes a low, sinister, moaning sound. Like a corpse calling. It’s a humid sticky summer night, but the breeze is cool and it’s calming my frantic nerves.

It’s at nights like these that my mind tends to wander, trying to get out of my control. 

And it should. 

Because it needs sleep and it needs rest. It’s been 3 days since I have slept and there is nothing in this world that I won’t give up, right now, to be able to sleep. Just for some time.

Well, this self-inflicted torture in not new to my body or my mind. 

In the past, I have bruised myself, suffered concussions, broken my ribs, burnt myself, almost got myself killed a few times, lost my loved ones and suffered immeasurable sorrow.

So, why have I endured all this pain and suffering, you ask?

I believe it’s for a greater purpose. To save people. Save mankind from evil disguised as good and from evil menacing as evil. The world is full of sorrow, grief and madness and I believe I have to do whatever I could to help the people who are helpless.

Because there was a time when I was helpless.

The night that my parents died on the cold black streets and all I could do was watch, as the living breath escaped from my mother’s body, as the heart stopped its rhythmic beating in my father’s chest. On that dark, cold night I watched them die.

That night I felt fear, I felt shame, I felt helplessness and I never wanted to feel it again. I never wanted anyone to feel it again.

That is why I became what I am.

Often these days, I wonder if I made the wrong choice that night and chose the wrong path. Often these days, I imagine myself going back home that night and taking charge of my father’s company. Making him proud. Becoming a good man, a good businessman, maybe a cop or a senator. Help my city and my country in a different way. A different way.

But then again, my mind becomes muddled and it asks questions I cannot answer. Did I really have a choice that night? Could I really choose a path that I wanted to take? Or did the path choose me?

Writhing to have my revenge on the guy who killed my parents, I followed him down those mean streets, dark like a serpent’s hole. I came upon thousands of guys like him. Guys who felt no regret, no remorse to plunder, kill and rape. Naturally, I tried to stop them and as I did, I kept getting dragged further and further down that hole. Until, I myself became darkness.

So again, did I choose to go down that path? I guess I no longer know or care. I guess like most defeated people, I have accepted my fate. I have accepted who I am and what I have become. Like most other people, I imagine and hope that I had become someone else, but I can’t go back and change things now, for I have come too far from that fork in the road.

Whatever choices I have made, whether by free will or pre-destined, I have to live with them. No one else can understand what I am going through and no one really cares. 

I alone have to endure this pain. 

I alone will have to persevere and sacrifice. 

Perched on this rooftop on this skyscraper on this dark night, I alone will have to walk my path. Because I alone am Batman. 

A Thousand Wings

So, what are you thinking about, my dear?

What brilliant dreams these tiny eyes hold?

Are you thinking of why the trees are all different shades of green?

Or why there are so many flowers of different kinds?

Are you thinking of why water, sometimes, falls from the sky?

Or are you trying to decipher where the sun goes at night?

Why the mud and the sand feel so good in your tiny hands?

Or why the wind makes a swoosh sound when you swing on the swing?

Or why your stomach tickles in the merry-go-round?

Are you thinking why the grass smells so good in spring?

Why wet, cold water makes you squeal with laughter?

Or why the sun feels so hot on a hot summer day?

Why I always get tired, but you can keep playing in the park?

And where do I get a new story, every new night to say?

The answer, my dear, is this little thing called childhood

It’s the most precious gift from god to man

It’s the only time to be free; truly, really free

A time not bound by life, nor bogged down by routine

A time when you have a thousand wings in your little pink bag

A time your flight is not restricted, by the height of the sky

A tribute to Kishore Kumar

A friend once said that when you are happy you listen to the music, but when you are sad you listen to the lyrics/song.

This is probably most true about Kishoreda's songs.

Recently there was a lot of buzz on my Watsapp groups around Kishore Kumar and when I checked online, I found that it was the maestro's 85^th Birthday (on 4th Aug).

Being an eternal fan of Kishorda, I got on to Youtube and played a few of my all-time favorite Kishoreda songs,

• Kuch toh log kahenge from Amar Prem
• Chingari koi bhadke from Amar Prem again (this movie has some of the best songs EVER. Each one is a gem), and
• O Saathi Re from Mukaddar ka Sikandar

And I got thinking “What is it about Kishoreda and sad songs? We keep listening to them and loose ourselves. It seems like he has never sang any other songs except sad songs.”

Being the versatile artist that he was, he has definitely sang all kinds of songs. Who can forget the perfect melody (and the yodeling) in “Mere Sapno ki Rani kab aayegi tu”, the rain-drenched romanticism of “Ek Ladki Bheegi Bhagi si”, the hilariously funny and absolutely crazy “Ek Chatur Naar” and that old party/picnic favorite “Dekha na hai re socha na”.

But beyond all those romantic songs, the funny songs and the crazy songs, it is Kishoreda’s sad songs that have made an immense impact on me and on a lot of other fans.

In fact, some of his romantic songs sound hauntingly sad. Take for example, “Hame tumse pyaar kitna”, “Chukar mere mann ko” or my favourite “Phir wohi raat hai”. These songs touch some chord deep on the heart and although, these are romantic songs and pictured as such, they feel sad and longing.

It is some kind of a deep hurting poignancy that his voice brings to these songs and that elevates the song to a whole new level.

Listening to Kishoreda's songs makes you realize the true value of love, even if you have not lost it. These songs sometimes are about the unfairness of life and the helplessness of man in the face of circumstances. But I think THAT, exactly, is what gives us the strength to carry on too. As one song goes “Hum kyon shikwa kare jhootha, kya hua jo dil toota” or other one “Ek raah Ruk gayi, toh aur jud gayi, main muda to saath-saath raah mud gayi”.

Kishoreda lives on in our lives, minds and senses through his music. And why we can’t forget him is as much because of his versatility and genius as because, maybe, like all of us (lesser mortals) he was probably a very sad man.

Within all the despair, all the sorrow and all the heart-break, life is still wonderful. Just like Kishordas songs.

Thank you Kishoreda for the music. I know you are yodeling away into a dense forest somewhere in the minds of fans.

The Man who lived on the Hill

I knew a Man, who lived on a Hill
He lived there alone, but he was not lonely.
He had his birds and he had his trees,
He had butterflies and he had his flowers.

He lived on his hill,
Where the Grass was so green,
It hurt your Eyes.
Where the Water was so clear,
It cut your throat.

One day he invited me to his home,
Up on that hill, where he lived alone.
I ate the food of grain that sprouted from the ground.
I drank the wine of grapes that grew in the field.

I swam in the river or was it a stream?
I lazed in the crisp air, awake but in a dream.
I slept on the harsh ground on the top of the hill.
And talked into the night, watching the faraway suns.

When I woke up in the morning, I saw a miracle,
The sky had come down to meet with the ground,
The clouds floated low, as if to kiss the earth,
Far away a river shivered in the morning sun.

The wind blew softly, bringing unearthly fragrances,
Somewhere a distant bell rang, maybe it was a temple,
In that eternal moment, when the earth, the universe and I aligned,
Without knowing it, I had tears in my eyes.

Through the tears, I looked at the Man, he was My friend,
I hugged him and thanked him for asking me to come.
He looked at me and smiled and said "This is your home".

I came back to my city of stone towers and steel carriages,
To continue my life lived on the stroke of the pendulum,
To wait at the Red light, To drink damp coffee from the machine,
To worry about possessions, and what to buy next.

But sometimes as I wait for the light to turn green,
Sometimes while the paper cup is getting filled by the machine,
I remember how my heart beat inside my chest,
As it tried to match the rhythm of the universe.

Up on that hill, how I saw with open eyes,
The dream that I dreamt in broad daylight.

I think of the glittering eyes of the man,
The man who lived on the hill.

Where the Grass was so green,
It hurt your Eyes.
Where the Water was so clear,
It cut your throat.

Too late to Write

It’s probably too late to write anything now

Too late for the universe to accept all my faults

Once there was time, but now its gone

Gone forever, Into a distant Black-Sun

Its such a funny thing, this thing we call time

Sometimes we have too much of it

Sometimes we do not have enough

In either case, time keeps getting lost

So, Yes, its too late to write now

Too late in the night, too late in this life

But there is still hope..

And that’s why I write, although its late, too late

Closer to Myself

In his book the Seven Spiritual Laws, Deepak Chopra says that being close to nature is being close to oneself. I, for one, am a staunch believer of this statement as I have experienced it.

Whether it is the infinite sea, the peaking mountains or the endless valleys, nature has always attracted me towards itself. Watching in wonder at the rolling waves of the ocean and its infinite water unlocks some hidden part in my soul. The mighty peaks clouded with mist stirs some unknown internal core. The magnificent bottomless expanses of valleys always awaken something deep inside me which I don’t completely understand but am definitely moved by.

I have felt a fascination for nature from my earliest childhood. Previously, while being near to nature I used to end up thinking of larger questions like the meaning of MY life, the reason for MY existence, the fragility of reality and the worth of relationships. Nearer to nature, I used to brood on these things and loose myself in these thoughts without getting any nearer to the answers. Often times, frustrating myself.

Now, I think I have got older (and hopefully, wiser). Because, now when I am closer to nature, I don’t really care about the larger scheme of the universe. I just try to be very still, very quiet and just observe. I just try to take in the vastness of the surroundings, invariably imagining myself as nothing more than a speck of dust in the grandeur. Just a tiniest nut (or bolt) in the smallest wheel of the gigantic machinery of the entire universe. A nut so tiny, that its existence does not even matter in the overall grand design.

Oddly, this thought lightens me up. It liberates me from the pressure of everyday living. It soothes my mind and frees me from the weight of my own expectations. It adds an incredible and uncanny happiness to my being. A kind of happiness of the mind. A happiness which is not attached to material things in life. A happiness that is not transient but permanent. A happiness bought out by the purity of my experience in the natural surroundings.

The feeling of insignificance brings joy, serenity and tranquility to me and that is why I keep going back to nature. To loose myself and consequently find myself.

Short Story - The World against me.

I sit at my desk and start my laptop. It instantly connects to the internet via my super fast Wifi network. Smokin.. I click on the Chrome browser and type in www.facebook.com. Chrome’s intuitive search reads my mind and even before I complete typing the address, opens facebook. Wow!!Technology..

 I have logged in to upload a new profile picture which I clicked today. It is a selfie - me sitting at the window on the local train, aviator sunglasses reflecting the zig-zag mesh of the window, hair flying in the air, a crooked smile on my lips. I am looking menacing. I have further edited it and made it black-and-white. Gangsta style.

I select the option for uploading the picture and upload it. I also add a smart title to the picture. It says “Living the Gangsta life”.

My high speed internet connection quickly uploads the picture and almost immediately one of my friends likes it. I scroll down on the window and review what others have posted. I like some of the posts and comments on others. I see some videos and laugh and generally have a nice time.

Over the next 15 minutes, several of my friends have liked my picture. Some of them have also commented

“Go gangster”

“Looking Awesome”

“Nice pic. Cool glares”

I like all the comments posted by my friends. A smile is playing on my lips. I am on a roll. I wiggle my fingers and hover them over the keyboard as I think. I want to add some other interesting status to my wall.

After a second, I type “The train was completely empty today and I was enjoying the ride and my music. Was interrupted by a beggar kid and was so annoyed!!!”

Again, as expected, my friends start liking my comment.

 “These beggars are such a nuisance. Someone should do something about them.” first comment.

 “You were able to resist yourself? Good!! I would have just kicked his ass. Lol”

“Don’t let anything come in the way of ur music, Dude. Just take a chill pill”

I quickly “like” all the comments and check who is online on the messenger.

There is a small ping sound. Someone else has liked my status. I smile again and click on the notifications icon to see who it is and what they have written.

“Don’t you think its unfair that a poor kid was begging and was out of school while you were enjoying music and relaxing. And above that you are complaining like a kid. Grow UP!!!”

My mouth falls open. Its one of the geeks in my class and I don’t like him too much. Why is he even my friend on facbeook?

Dude, I was not the reason why the kid was begging. I was minding my own business and the little bastard distressed ME!!! For all I know, he is a drug addict using the money he collects from begging to dope. He is probably linked to a begging mafia which cuts kids limbs and makes them beg. I am not gonna encourage these kind of things by giving money to them. Neither am I supposed to do anything for these guys. They owe their existence to themselves.

I think for some time. I do not want to write all this tirade on my wall status. What will others think about me? That I am a egotistical megalomaniac? I also don’t wanna admonish the geek who has provided the “negative” comment. He is entitled to his opinion.

The safest way is to “like” the comment and leave it at that.

And that’s what I do.

I logout of facebook and login to youtube.

Some guy from somewhere has posted a short video of a film he made. I watch the film, but quickly get bored. My thoughts veer back to my facebook status and the idiot who made me look bad online. I “unlike” the video and comment on it

“What a piece of crap..where are you from ass***, Somalia??”.

I go to the news site and read an article about the search for the missing Malaysian plane. I don’t even like that geek guy. He hardly knows me. What right he has to comment on my thoughts? I scroll down and comment

“What are the idiots doing? Is it that difficult to find a plane???. Ridiculous!!”

I go to a photo upload site and watch some photos. I have to get back to Mr. Geek. what does he think of himself?? Comment “What bad photos. My sweeper can click better snaps with his Nokia Asha Phone”

Film review site comment “The film sounds pretty bad..just like all films of this director”

Every site, every where I comment “Bad” “Cant get worse” “Bull!!!” “Shit” “Crap” “Fuck” and I go on and on.

I am enjoying this. Its my way to get back to the world. I am forgetting about the FB comment and Mr. Geek.

I am grinning like a fool, but I am not realizing it. Unknown to me, my shadow cast by the light of my laptop behind me on the wall has grown horns on my head and a pointed tail.