Tale of a town, two lakes and a zoo, Tripura- Part Three, Train to Bangladesh and the huku monkey.

Kamalasagar and Sepahijhala are day trips from Agartala. And yet in a sense they linger on with you for days together.

Take for example Kamalasagar, a small man-made lake build some 25 odd kilometers away from Agartala. The lake was built in 15^th century. The lake is at the Bangladesh border and is a picnic spot for Agartalites. A small and yet widely revered Kalibari temple is nearby, raised on a hillock over looking the lake. The temple was built in 16^th century by Raja Dhanya Manikya. This place is therefore also known as Kasba Kalibari. The image of the goddess in the Kalibari temple is that of Mahishasurmardini. It is made up of sand stone. Devotees from different parts of the country and neighbouring Bangladesh offers visit to this sacred temple during festivals.

That is for the details of the place. But ask any person from Agartala and he will tell you that Kasba Kalibari is a place where people go for seeing something very commonplace and yet unusual for average Tripuri. A train. Yes a train.

Tripura due to its unusual geographical position is still not connected by railway to the rest of India. Despite, being a gentle terrain. But it wasn’t the case before partition, when it was connected to Calcutta by trains, through the Bangladeshi heartland. After the partition and the hatred that followed, the railroad connections died and were lost in the oblivion. Today from atop the Kalibari hillock one can see the Bangladeshi railway system and their trains- if one waits patiently. Kasba is only a kilometer away from Bangladeshi town of Comilla (a British misspelling for Kamala). There is another beautiful experience that one can have. Of seeing Bangladeshis on the other side of the border and seeing how porous and meaningless a border can be. People is Kasba constantly interact with people on the other side of the border. (By the way, imported cigarettes are cheaper on the other side, if one wants to buy). The extent of symbiosis can be gauged from the fact that Indian rupee is freely tradable among people on the other side too.

It made me wonder, the inanity of having borders. The nation-state model of geographical separations has existed only for a few centuries. Before that sovereignties were defined more along the lines of ethnicity and symbiosis. Perhaps that model was more humane and perhaps this model is the need of the hour. But we as a thinking creed can do better than this.

If one wants to stay back in this magical and interesting place, there is one Comilla view lodge. Run by Tripura tourism, the place is basic and yet comfortable. The caretaker of the place will arrange food and other necessities if you chose to stay back. I did.

Another reason of staying back for a day is to see the evening Pooja in the temple. It is an amazing experience. In the morning, I walked around the lake after informing the BSF guard on duty (not mandatory, but one should inform him because he knows the situation at ground, in times of tension it may be risky to stray in that area). In fact, technically speaking we strayed many a times into the Bangladeshi territory.

Going and Coming back from Kasba is very easy. From Agartala, there is a constant stream of buses going to this place. Just ask somebody, he will guide you where to catch them. The bus journey meanders through the Tripuri villages, and you can see the simplicity of life in them. And the verdant greenery all around the place.

Another daytrip from Agartala is the Sepahijhala zoo and sanctuary. Located about 30 km south of Agartala, the Sepahijhala Wildlife Sanctuary is a small reserve with a lake, zoo and botanical gardens. The place got its name from a nearby military camp in yesteryears (Sepahi being the vernacular for Soldier). And even though, this place is a small sanctuary, roughly 20 square kilometers and tucked away in a non-descript corner of the country, it is amazing well and scientifically maintained. And you will feel it for yourself after the tardiness of Delhi or Kolkata zoo.

The sanctuary has a beautiful zoo. Don’t miss the "huku" monkey of the place and the Rhinos and the spectacled monkey. The huku sound of the "huku monkey" will surely linger on with you even after years as it does with me. Then there is a botanical garden and a lake, where one can boat around. And there is a toy train, but runs only in winters. Unfortunately when I visited the place it wasn’t running. Another beautiful place to go over there is the educational centre run by the sanctuary. In fact, in retrospect I feel once can stay for weeks together in this place, seeing one place at a time. It can be a beautiful family experience. Should one intend to stay, he can stay back in a forest rest house. One can find out where to book it in Agartala.

Tale of a town, two lakes and a zoo, Tripura- Part Two, Wanderings in a dusty city

Exploring Agartala can either be a half day task or a week endeavour, depending on what one seeks.

If one seeks larger than life monuments and spectacular sceneries, then Agartala has none. Barring the not-so-imposing Ujjayanta Palace, nothing even comes close. But if one has modest ambitions (and sometimes having them is a virtue, especially when seeing new places, seeking newer vistas), then Agartala may absorb you for days to come.

Take for example roaming endlessly in the busy thoroughfares of the city, without much of an aim, eating at a roadside joint at a dirt cheap price and talking to a Bangladeshi rickshawallahs who crosses the border everyday to earn a living. It's indeed a relish to find a place where a rupee is called a taka. It's indeed a relish to visit the foreign goods market in the city, flooded by cheap Chinese imports- all smuggled from Bangladeshi side and sold at a dirt cheap price and see a casual approach of shopkeepers to sell their stuffs as against the aggressive styles of a Delhi merchant.

But when it comes to serious touring of the city, start with Purbasha and you would find reasons enough to come again and to end your Tripura visit with Purbasha. It is a hand-loom store managed by the Tripura Government, where you get wonderful things at prices that might make you blink in disbelief. I almost spent my entire money in the store and feel elated when somebody comes to my house and asks me where I purchased the bamboo lamp, the bamboo wall hangings and beautiful bed covers from. You can get all these from Purbasha's branch in Delhi or Calcutta, but the price differential may be a bit too much to digest. Remember, around Durga Puja these people give a whopping 25 percent discount, so just in case you can schedule your visit around that period, you are in for a even pleasant surprise.

Near Purbasha is another small little place worth visiting and spending time. The Maharaja Bir Bikram College is known not only for its educational standards in the region but also for its idyllic setting. It is situated on a verdant hillock besides a lake in the eastern part of the city. There is a good sports stadium, a good library and a wonderful cafeteria, even though a tad mis-managed. This is a place where you can see young couples hanging around and the usual energy levels of youth. The College was made by Maharaja Bir Bikram Kishore Manikya and the sheer setting of the place makes it a must visit, though not on usual tourist circuit.

Then there is the beautiful Ujjayanta Palace, which stands elegantly in the heart of the city. It has been converted into the legislative assembly for the state. And to me it is an under-usage of the building that exudes grandeur. It should have been first and foremost a tourist place. But you need special permission to visit the place. Though, if the assembly is not in session, you can coax a guard to let you see the place without that special permission... tell him you are a tourist and might be flying out in a day or two, usually they oblige. The palace was built by Radha Kishore Manikya Bahadur in 1901. It has a beautiful Mughal styled garden with a musical fountain and wonderful tiles, probably of Chinese origin procured from Burma.

Then nearby is the government museum, not very big or even well-managed and yet worth visiting. It has a good collection of terracotta images, archeological findings from in and around the place, "kantha" art works. And if one doesn’t try to find the grandeur of an cosmopolitan museum in it, the place is a wonderful peep through the Bengali and Tripuri culture.

Then there is the famous Kunjaban Palace, nowadays the official residence of Tripura's Governor. This beautiful building was constructed by Maharaja Birendra Kishore Manikya Bahadur as his private retreat. It is famous for its association with Rabindra Nath Thakur. I couldn’t visit the place, so I believe that this place is out of bounds.

Then there is a Chaturdash Devata Badi or the house of fourteen deity, people tell me that it is a beautiful place. Again I couldn’t visit the place.

Once exhausted with the city, I hit for even pleasant place in the hinterlands of Tripura.

A fiction- Episode One

I have always been trying to write a fiction and this is my nth attempt at it... though could never take it to the conclusion because of my inherent inertia. May be the onus of updating the blog may keep on reminding me to finish it and thus drive me into doing the impossible. Comments and suggestions are solicited.

1
Her breathing was getting harder with every passing second.

Initially she felt an enormous pain, but with time, her body got accustomed to it. Her body was crushed by tons of wreckage and heaps of dead bodies or bodies waiting for death.

At times, like every other individual, she had fantasized about the idea of death, but she had never imagined that the reality would be like this- stark and naked- even in her worst nightmares.

Help, she knew will take a lot of time to arrive. By that time she may not be able to live. Her senses were getting numb. The cries and the whimpers had faded, the sight of the gore was hazy, and the feel of the iron piercing her body was mellower. But her mind was working overtime.

With a responsibility comes this ability.

She started thinking.

Prithvi is his last hope, but how he comes to know, that he is.

Trails of evidences!
Not any she remembers.

Can Prithvi meet him?
Difficult without a clue or a motive. And he was lost for years.

Chetan received a letter from him, seven years ago, when he was in Rishikesh. Chetan tried tracing him, even went there met Paramarthaji, but all he could tell him was a trail too confused. Three years ago, Chetan and Ma also died in a mysterious accident. And since then she has been waiting for the same, a mysterious accident. After all, she was a mere human, when compared to "that" enormous power.

Why didn’t she ever tell Prithvi?

Why she always behaved as she is a common person?...With a common family- a father who died eight years ago when his boat capsized in Kolkata and a mother and a brother, who met an accident on their way to Ujjain. In fact a whole bus did.

They don’t stop at anything; human lives are just incidental for them and can be sacrificed at the altars of their beliefs, especially if it is to sacrifice a member of the "Clan".

But Prithvi was not from the clan, he married her, coincidentally and telling him about them would have endangered him, too. He would have been crestfallen to know they exist, and make or mar our lives so extensively, and yet we don't know.

**************************************

The rescue team arrived after seven hours, by the time she was dead.

2
Excel Technologies Ltd.…

A name which is readily recognized throughout the world for churning out the best softwares and software professional.

This has been my proxy home for last few years. To be precise, ever since Sneha's demise.

I am often dubbed as a genius over here, a fast track employee. Someone who graduated from being a Junior Software Engineer straight out of an Indian Institute of Technology into heading a Strategic Business Unit in a short span of seven years. Such wonders, according to the grapevine aren’t repeated time and again. The last time Excel saw such a star was in Romesh Mukhopadhyay. Romesh incidentally, is our Chief Executive Officer.

I got married to Sneha five years ago. She was my batch mate in Bombay. Our love emanated in the confines of those hallowed portals, which house perhaps the best of Indian brains, arguably though. It thrived alongside the Powai and Vihar Lake and reached its logical conclusion two years after both of us were selected by Excel Corporation through a campus interview. And then the tragedy occurred … Sneha died in a train accident

Something snapped in me, I lost all my rationales to live and yet had to live for the cowardice of other options. Since then I have tried finding solace in the confines of an artificial world, where I meet clients, often virtually, plan an execute software projects, almost worldwide- travel between timezones, for a modicum of peace of mind, but do not find it. Peace of mind is a mirage, as Sneha always said- for humans have a motive to exist, often unacknowledged- and the motive doesn't let you find that, peace of mind.

I always felt, that my motive is out there somewhere, but invisible- how am I to decipher it. I have an ability to read through the codes and data, but why life itself is so translucent for me. I am unsure

I am sure of only one thing, I am Prithvi, Prithvi Verma

Spirit of sheer excellence

As I child… I remember

I waited for the rains, watched it from verandah

Tried to steal away into the showers

But for those watchful granny’s eyes

And when it stopped

I darted to the nearest puddle

With a newspaper… Papa was so keen to read

And a burning ambition

To make a boat

Bigger and better than the previous

Child’s play

One might say

But for me it was a spirit

Spirit of sheer excellence

*************************************

It was my first date

I shaved for the umpteenth time and showered

Showered until what seemed like eternity

That bottle of scent…coming straight form America

And preserved so keenly… half emptied

The wardrobe dugged like a quarry, everything tried

From Safaris to three pieces, Jackets and Pullovers

But as I was … far from satisfied

And then all of a sudden … a combination struck the senses

Faded jeans and stained T-shirt

Youth’s energy

One might say

But for me it was a spirit

Spirit of sheer excellence

*************************************

The news was out

She was nurturing a part of me

The days started to seem too small

To hunt down all the toy stores in town

Followed by nights to wake and to care

And then the days arrived

When I stood there

Chewing my nails

It happened

I heard a baby’s cry from inside the room

Father’s Enthusiasm

One might say

But for me it was a spirit

Spirit of sheer excellence

**********************************************

Bombay- My City of Dreams, and Resilience

Around the same time when I was writing my last blog, yesterday, Bombay was rocked by series of blasts, which butchered about 200 people to death.

I was numb. It could have been me among those 200s. I have lived in Bombay for three years and have used those ill-fated suburban trains, nearly everyday of my living- many times a day. I do not have to stretch my imagination to see myself as a torn piece of flesh, lifeless and sacrificed on the altars of a stupid notion of political reasoning.

A few days ago, on the eve of Deepawali- New Delhi was rocked by another series of bomb blast, one of them in the crowded market of Sarojini nagar- this time I left the place ten minutes before the blast- and no sooner I had crossed the road. I heard a loud thud and then within minutes sirens of Police vans and ambulances. Again, I could have been ten minutes late in the market.

But, despite this hide and seek, of death- I am not shuddered. Not that I am not afraid of death. At times, I imagine what will befall on my seven-month-old kid if I am killed in a car-crash or if I accidently fall from the balcony of my flat on the ninth floor of my building. For me that is fate, a scheme that is divine – which I cannot question. However, I am not afraid of a stray bomb of an even strayed individual, because that is not fate- it is a murder, a well-planned murder- to subdue me, to terrorize me- and by not subduing myself, by not getting terrorized, I defeat him even in the laps of death. I am not murdered, I am a true martyr. And I am not alone; I know out there every Indian shares the same feeling. Every Indian is a living martyr, living to embrace death anytime for the country.

I heard a few experts saying that perhaps, the Islamic militants were behind it. ‘Islamic Militant’ is a word that is an invention to simplify and generalize our understanding of global terrorism as a phenomenon. I have a very serious reservation to this invention. By inventing this nomenclature- for the sake of simplifying and generalizing our academic database on global terrorism, we do not only demean the religion of Islam, but also create an idea of significance for an otherwise peaceful adherent of Islam, and a majority belongs to them- despite the prevalent notions, elsewhere.

First and foremost, no religion teaches this mindless violence- when targets are not even remotely connected to the perceived grievance. I have read the Holy Koran- and am yet to find a verse, which propagates such a heinous idea. On the contrary I feel, that it is a message, if followed- will lead to nothing else but peace, tolerance, compassion and universal brotherhood, same as a Bible would, a Guru Granth Sahib would, as a Ramayana would. The message of every religion is the same. Therefore, those who perpetrate such an evil cannot derive their doctrine from the holy book. And they are least Muslim. I claim to be a better Muslim than them, despite being a Hindu, despite praying in front of an idol. The truth lies not in rituals but in the spirit; I have a spirit that is more innocent, more humble, and more compassionate than anyone of them may ever dream to have despite their rituals.

Secondly, those who claim to fight for a just Islamic cause- would do nothing but disfavour to the same community for which they claim to wage a war. What are the chances that a blast in suburban train would kill their own brother, 1 in 5 or even larger. It is not as if Muslims do not use the suburban trains, it is not as if they do not shop at sarojini nagar. They do, and the perpetrators know it rather too well. And yet they choose to ignore them because they are not fighting for Islamic cause, they are just fighting a political battle, where they will be the beneficiary- where they will convert their listless existence into an elitist one, of power owners. And simply to camouflage their narrow interest and a teething inferiority complex, they claim to derive their ideology from a noble and compassionate religion, thus demeaning it.

Their idea is far too simple- create terror, so that a normal man lives in its shadow, and two severe the centuries old bond between Hindus and Muslim, largely secular in spirit and create grounds for proliferating themselves. They may choose to ignore it, but my best friend is a Muslim, her parents were the happiest person when I was blessed with a baby. They may never like to believe, that in India a Hindu marriage is not completed without specific rituals by Muslim barbers, and mine had the same ritual. They may fret and frown, but Sarojini nagar returned (and not limped) back to normalcy in a matter of hours. They may bang their heads against wall, but no communal riot broke out, when the holy city of Varanasi was targeted by them. They may cry in despair but Bombay will be normal by now, the suburban railway system was back into chugging in seven hours.

And I saw images people helping people, people solacing people.

A few days ago, a poll said that Bombay is the most selfish city in the world. I laughed at them. Today I pity them, for being awefully wrong in understanding the spirit of Bombay. Selflessness is not about asking how are you and saying I am fine thank you. Its about being there in times of need, like the mumbaikars.

Tale of a town, two lakes and a zoo, Tripura- Part One, Reaching Agartala

The northeastern parts of India do not evoke a pleasant feel for wanderers. Ask them, they must have visited the tiniest nook & corner of the mainland India, and yet give a pathetically deficient look when queried about the Northeast.

And I am no better; the seven sisters remain the most unexplored territory for me. I can always come up with excuses but within me I know, I do not have any. The distance has always been psychological and not geographical. And I always wanted to amend that. Therefore, when I got a chance to visit, Tripura, I jumped on to it. Many told me it is the worst off among the seven sisters, and go to Meghalaya instead. However, even if it is the worst, it is more beautiful than I could ever have imagined

Reaching Agartala, its capital is perhaps easiest among all the capitals in Northeast. It has an hour long direct air flight from Kolkata. The route hovers over the entire stretch of Bangladesh. The terrain is geographically so contiguous that after landing you second the long repeated lore as how boundaries are artificial and nature did not mean them.

A visit to Agartala starts way before you reach the place, in Kolkata. In Kolkata, there are various versions for Agartala, of admiration and of condescend, depending upon who you talk to. Some would go gaga over the ‘Hilsa’, which one may get in Agartala, and other would criticize them for incorrect usage of Bangla, so like I said, start exploring about Agartala long before you reach there.

Nevertheless, whatever critical one may say about Agartala, Tripura is always considered an extension of the West Bengal. Evident from the fact that a huge number of families in Kolkata have linkages in Tripura. At times, it is next to impossible to get a seat in the Kolkata-Agartala flight. The cuisine is alike, the fervour for ‘Durga Puja’ is alike and an attitude to live life positively even in the adversity is alike

A piece of advice, even before you proceed to the destination, spend some time in Swabhumi. This place is a small complex, where lots of handicrafts are exhibited and sold. This place has nothing to do with Tripura as such, but has many stalls, which would display beautiful handicrafts from Tripura. The sheer sight of these handicrafts, builds in a natural excitement to rush towards the place. (In hindsight, I feel that because this place displays handicrafts from most of the northeast and because route to northeast mostly is via a flight from Kolkata, it may be a nice idea to visit swabhumi, before proceeding to any place in northeast). This place is close to the famous Salt-Lake stadium, so if it is your lucky day, you may catch up a match over here, or rub your eyes in disbelief that attendance in football matches over here, at times, far exceeds that of a World Cup match.

Upon reaching Agartala, I stayed in ONGC guesthouse, which is outside the city, but a comfortable place to stay. The route from the airport to the ONGC township criss-crosses entire Agartala. So at one go you can see the entire cacophony of the city and after that the serenity of lush green rice fields and enticing sideway ponds at one go. And you start forming images of the place based on the two. Of a place rooted in simplicity and yet striving for a modicum of urbanity and suffering from the syndrome of neither here nor there.

The city of Agartala has some imposing architecture, but mostly pedestrian one. The beauty of the place lies majorly in the manifestation of nature outside the city. The city itself is small enough to be visited in a day. Nevertheless, a few excursions, a few hours away, would make you feel so enchanted that even weeks there may not make you blink.

Loneliness

Somewhere, far away

I see a few lights twinkling

Piercing the embryonic darkness around

Somewhere, far away

I hear a few bells tinkling

Breaking the eternal silence around

Somewhere, far away

I feel a few lovers loving

Violating the ephemeral existence around

Are they for real

For if they are

How I wish to be a part of them

Far from my loneliness

Far from my loneliness

Remembering my mother, my mother land

It was a chilly morning

On the street of delusion

Among the countless faces

Faces… stranger to me

I felt, I was all alone

I reached out for the pocket

Pocket of my overcoat

And therein lied safely

A dibbi of kumkum

And a piece of bangle

I felt a drop of moisture

Rolling down my cheek

Overlapped by diffused images

Images of days bygone

And of my mother, my motherland

With my hands holding her pallu

I used to roam around

From one place to another

And often… I played with her hairs

And her bunch of keys

And when the approaching night

Brought slumber to my eyes

I used to lie on her laps

Trying to hear the Lori

Greek to me, yet sweet

I grew up hearing the tales

Of Ram and Ravana

Of Bapu and Gautama

Of India, my motherland

Where spirits are free forever

I wiped the tears from my eyes

When someone patted my back

I turned around and there she was

Calling me back

Back to my motherland

Beggar

(Phil Collins once said, Think twice its another day for you and me in paradise. This poetry is dedicated to millions of homeless all arond the world- when people talk about supercomputers, nuclear technology, double digit growth and tucked away in a desert an ice skating rink)

There she was…

Sitting in the darkest corner...

Of the shabbiest of lane.

Alone…

Possibly, waiting for the inevitable

I passed by her, everyday

Everyday

I saw a litter of coin, beside

Untouched

Though

She hardly ever asked for

Sometimes

In the scorching fire of summers

She dragged herself to a nearby tap

And as if, she punished herself

She returned back

Back to the fold of the scorch, thirsty

Sometimes

In the torrential showers of monsoon

She rushed herself to a nearby shade

And as if, she despised herself

She stepped out

Out to the fold of the pierce, wetted

Sometimes

In the eternal gloom of nights

She moved herself to away from the squalor

And as if, she loathed herself

She returned back

Back to the fold of the dark, engulfed

And one day

When I passed that corner

I did not see her

But noticed a faint foul smell

And very far away

A municipal truck going away

About Lansdowne, the cute little hill station Part 4, A few steps more

The more you stay in Lansdowne, more you are bewitched by its beauty. At one point of time, I coyly whispered in my wife’s ear- could we plan a retirement out here. And to think that we were barely in our late twenties.

I could have seen all the places in Lansdowne all over again, but chose not to- for it was my last day over here and there were a few excursions left to be embarked upon.

On early next morning, we trekked to a place called Deoharikhal, this is a tiny hamlet of twenty odd houses on Kotdwar –Lansdowne road, but it can also be reached by a trek of about 2 hours through the surrounding jungles. The route to Deoharikhal is out of some fairy tale, you keep on stumbling upon small vantage points throughout the route, and the trek itself is least strenuous- allowing you to enjoy rather than sweat.

You start from a place called snow-view point, from where in winters you can see snow capped Himalayas. There is this rock bang adjacent to the point, which has space enough to accommodate two people- we named it lovers point. Earlier two days ago, we discovered another rock near Bhulla Lake, which has a shape of a burger; we named it Burger point- so Lansdowne is one place where you can also play a Christopher Columbus for a while.

From snow-view point the trek forks into two routes- one leading to Jaiharikhal and other to Deoharikhal. Jaiharikhal is a small market, which we stumbled upon later in the day while on our way to Bhairavgarhi. Actually, the word ‘khal’, it seems, is a generic term to denote a village. Therefore, you will encounter lots of ‘khal’ while on excursion in and around the place .

On the way to Deoharikhal, you will come across one Rathi Point, Army golf course and army warfare training ground. Nevertheless, more beautiful than all of them is the trek itself, which meanders inside the jungles and makes you enchanted and afraid at the same time. Once in Deoharikhal we savoured the delight of a hot cup of tea prepared by a roadside vendor.

A piece of advice, do carry a few parathas for breakfast, having breakfast while sitting on a roadside bench, fascinated us beyond words.

Incidentally, Deoharikhal is the same place where the toll collection station of the Cantonment Board is located, so you can get taxis to get back to Lansdowne from here, very easily.

After getting back to Lansdowne, we rested for a while and decided that we will cover Bhairavgarhi before departing from the place. We were tired; nevertheless, we just could not say no for a place, which many say, is the most beautiful excursion nearby Lansdowne. (I deliberately qualify it as nearby, because three hours away from Lansdowne is this place called Tarkeshwar, which according to everybody I consulted, is the most beautiful place in the region. Though we couldn’t go there because during monsoons, road conditions are bad and you have to hire an entire vehicle with a daring driver to get there and this would have costed us more than a thousand bucks) .

Bhairavgarhi is actually a temple on a hillock, from the foothill it is a seven to eight kilometer trek. The landscape throughout the trek is amazingly beautiful with beautiful vantages of Himalayas. Though reaching the foothill of Bhairavgarhi is a bit difficult. You have to change two vehicles to reach there.

However, I would advice that one should alight a couple of kilometers ahead of the place to see the only degree college in the area, which is located amidst of a pine tree forest. You will just fall in love with the place. And after falling in love, you can just walk down a couple of kilometers to reach the foothill of Bhairavgarhi.

The trek to the temple is a bit arduous, so ideally, it should be done in an early morning, but getting here early morning is a difficult task. Carry a lot of water and some quick bite as this is unlike any other temple trek, which are full of vendors selling tea and biscuits. All along the trek, you will find only one place that sell tea & biscuits and that too right close to the summit. However, relish the entire trek because such a beautiful trek might not be possible in this area without so little a toil.By the time we came back to the rest house, we were exhausted it was the most tiring day for us but most fulfilling also.

The next day, we said goodbye to this place and set out towards Rishikesh through an off the beaten path route. The route that took us to small Himalayan villages with a lot of innocence and charm.

About Lansdowne, the cute little hill station Part 3, Valour and a Ghost

A big reason for Lansdowne's aesthetic appeal lies in the fact that it is a cantonment. By and large, Indian cantonments are civically more appealing than their municipal counterparts.

While on our way to Lansdowne from Kotdwar, we came across many army vehicles and we came to know that Lansdowne is also the headquarters of Garwhal Regiment. Apparently we did little research on Lansdowne before embarking upon our honeymoon, in fact a non-mention of this place in the usual tourist circuit was a reason enough to form an opinion and arrange a vacation.

Not doing any research is not a perfect way of travelling, but nevertheless, its one of the most serendipitous. I have travelled extensively this way and have discovered unmentioned jewels- I wanted to go to Leh and took a wrong turn beyond the Rohtang (literally, that is) to reach Spiti !!! Similarly after trekking along the Konkans for twelve days, I just wanted to somehow get out of the place and reach Pune or Mumbai and I stumbled upon the beautiful Amboli.

So reaching Lansdowne and getting to know the tradition of valour and service, which Garwhal Regiment stands for was a sheer unanticipated delight.

The next morning, we woke up early- and tried finding our way to Kaleshwar Mahadev Temple. Local traditions say that the temple predates Lansdowne and because of this temple, Kaludanda- Lansdowne's earlier avtaar came into being. Then came the British and found the salubrious climate of the place to their liking, and Lansdowne was born. Its also said that the "Shivalinga" of the temple is swayambhu (self-formed) and was accidentally discovered by local cowherds, when their cows went missing and were found milking upon the Linga on a Mahashivratri.

The way to the temple is through the Sadar Bazar, in an early morning one can also catch up with the laidback activity of the bazar- having its own charm. And then walk his way down to Kaleshwar Mahadev. The setting of this temple is serene, but a dharamshala was being built bang opposite the temple, in a very unaesthetic manner. I am yet to see the end result.

While trying to find our way out of the place, and trying to avoid going to the Sadar Bazar again- we took another path and strayed into the cantonment area. A beautiful Regment's Durga Mandir is a must visit, and so is the Parade Maidan. In an early morning and around dusk, one can see the jawans doing parade in the Maidan.

Walking along the winding roads from the durga mandir to the parade grounds, you can see the jawans engaged in various activities, but the most interesting of them all is to see them practising music with the help of two wooden sticks and a wooden slab. Despite my curiosity, I was unable to find out the whys and hows of that interesting ritual.

Near the parade grounds is the Garwhal Regiment memorial and a museum, entry to the memorial is regulated, though the guards let you in on request, especially when its not very crowded. The memorial has a bronze (I am not very sure about that, though guard told me it was bronze) statue of a jawan engaged in a gun-battle. The statue is resting on a raised platform and therefore towers everything else in the vicinity, and is surrounded by a small garden.

But the Garwhal Regiment museum right infront of the memorial is absolutely wonderful, you can learn about the entire history of the regiment, its exploits in the world wars and more recently for our country- and see a lot of arms and armaments of yesteryears- its a must for anybody who is interested in weaponry, military history- and a delight for anybody who is not.

Nearby is a garden maintained by the regiment, run of the mill type. A small walk from the garden leads you to the Garwhal Mess, often considered to be the most well kept mess in Indian Army . The entry here, again is regulated but a request can get you an access to their display gallery. You can see a very good collection of armoury, weapons, trophies, awards and can also hear the story of a regimental ghost. A soldier of the regiment, who is still though to be serving the Army. The story instills patriotism and not fear

A couple of hundred metres brings you to the St.John's Church. Validating my theory on the size of Lansdowne

It was a long day, but very absorbing.

About Lansdowne, the cute little hill station Part 2, An aimless walk

There are very few places worth staying in Lansdowne.

Its a kind of chicken and egg situation.

A near absence of tourist infrastructure makes you wonder, if its worth taking all the effort to visit this place. And say, if a tourist infrastructure comes up, no sooner it would be lapped up by an entire horde of picnic seekers, who would render this place commercialized.

I stayed in the PWD rest house, a colonial beauty- but then i had my contacts in the department (Do meet the office in charge, Mr Pati, over there, if not already been transferred, I went there in 2004 - he has single-handedly created a small and beautiful botanical garden in the campus of PWD Office). There is also a Forest Department Rest House and a Cantonment Board Rest House, again you need to have your networks in the offices concerned. For ordinary souls, though the more upmarket options are GMVN Lodge, having all the creature comforts, but a concrete jungle, nevertheless. And then there is this small and beautiful cottage-like Fairydale resort, with a kind of village belle's charm- tranquil and soothing, a must to experience, I happened to make a visit only, but sometimes you can guess the book by its cover. The staff is absolutely wonderful and the atmosphere, most heartwarming.

The budget option includes a Mayur Guest house bang opposite the taxi-stand. The place may be noisy, but is having a quick access to the taxi-stand and therefore, any excursion. But the food, which the adjoining Restaurant serves is an absolute delight, and the owner is a Lansdowne veteran and therefore an encyclopedia of must-do's in Lansdowne.

So while my wife settled down in the guest house, I checked out the place- and arranged for some breakfast, for our famished souls- at Mayur Guest house. And while they prepared Gobhi Paratha and Mooli Paratha for me, I had a casual chat with the owner of the place, and filled myself with vital information of the must-do's. And the how-do's.

A trip to Lansdowne can not be complete without an aimless wandering in the cresty-troughy lanes of the place. And this is exactly what we did, after a sumptuous breakfast.

Any aimless walk, though, is a sight-seeing in itself, for the simple reason that this is a very small place.

So no matter where you go and whatever route you take, you will come across the small wayside chapel of St.Mary's, which has been taken over by the Garwhal Regiment, and converted into a small museum, you also come across the chapel of St.John's, which even today is a functional church- and conducts a mass on sundays. Both of them are fabulous, straight out of some medieval European setting. Nearby is an old cemetery- of the raj era, smaller than the one I had earlier seen in Mussoorie, but nevertheless interesting- do spend some time reading tomb-stones over there, and then there is also a Santoshi Mata temple- a less than arduous climb of more than a few steps, which is also the highest point in Lansdowne. Views from this place are spectacular

But for a more spectacular view head towards a point called Tiffin top. It is perhaps the most celebrated spot in Lansdowne. Ask anyone, and he seems to suggest that the world starts and end at Tiffin top, in Lansdowne. The views, definitely are straight out of some scenic painting. Its a panoramic vantage point, from where you can see the mighty Himalayas and the tiny mountain hamlets along its slopes. Though do carry some water and some food, this place will engage you for hours together.The way it did engage us.

Refreshed by the enchanting beauty of the place, we walked further, to a place which is the pride of Lansdowne, Bhulla Lake- a man made small lake, constructed by the jawans of Garwhal Regiment (Incidentally a jawan of the regiment is called Bhulla, and therefore the name). The place is perhaps the most beautiful place in Lansdowne. We happened to reach there when clouds were playing hide and seek, on the surface of the lake. And boating in it was an unforgetable experience, its no Nainital and yet more magical.

After boating for two hours, I looked at the watch it was five- we rushed back to our Guest House, had a wonderful cup of tea, which Bahadur- the keeper of the guest house had prepared.

After the tea, we had a stroll near the taxi stand, the sadar bazar, a nearby gurudwara and a nearby mosque- somebody told me that this is one of the few mosque, where Shia and Sunni pray together. I wondered if solutions to all the problems in the world were so simple

By now it was dark, we returned to the guest house

A wonderful day indeed.!!!!

I miss you

Standing alone

All by myself

Under the first drizzle of a monsoon.

Dripping my entire being

Standing alone

All by myself

Besides the splashing wave of a sea

Resonating the feelings within

Standing alone

All by myself

Over the shifting dunes of a desert

Displaying my painful solitude

I miss you

And then

I search

Your smile in the blooming flower

I search

Your touch in the finest satin

I search

Your voice in the chirping cuckoos

I search

Your beauty in the soothing sun

And yet

Amidst of all

I still feel incomplete

I still feel the need for your company

I miss you

About Lansdowne, the cute little hill station Part 1, The Arrival

Nestled among the hills of Himalayas is the small and beautiful hill station of Lansdowne.

Yes! People do know about it, though, they never bother to stop by, perhaps the charm of an ice-cream parlour or a roller skater in Mussoorie or Nainital is far too strong for this poor little place, and leave it for me.

Its solitude was the reason for planning our first vacation together. This vacation would be forever etched in my heart – for over here, we sang our first song drenched in torrents, together- for over here, we had our first altercation-spoiling the otherwise blemishless, courtship of eight years. And all this had nothing to do with us. Lansdowne is magical it makes you do all that, and a lot more- and by the end of it, you say alas! Could it have lasted a day more.

We arrived in Kotdwar in the early morning. The Kotdwar coach of Mussoorie Express is one of the two important trains, which terminate in Kotdwar. The otherwise sleepy railway station becomes alive with them. Not only the station but also the market nearby. Ask anyone, its almost a daily ritual. The train from Delhi are their butter, if not bread.

Trying to find a way out of the station is a delight in itself, surrounded by men, posing as coolies, of all age group, but having one thing in common- an earnest innocence, a far cry from the kind of coolies you must have seen in Delhi railway station or even while alighting from a bus in Mussoorie, Nainital or Shimla.

So we knew from this moment on, that we are in for a pleasing serendipity.

The Slopey roads of Kotdwar and the sights of an easy going life, are very apt introduction for Lansdowne. Even though, sites of unchecked and chequered development have started catching your sight so as to serve the purpose of an eye-sore, without which no tourist place worth its name exists, in India. But apparently, being absent from the tourist map and the hullabaloo thereby, shields the magic of this place, albeit transiently.

We boarded a taxi, which are mostly a Sumo or a Trax, magically compressing 10 person and goes up to Pauri, via of course, Lansdowne.

We were approached by a few taxi-owner to rent the entire taxi, for we looked like- what we were, a honeymoon couple. And aren't honeymoon couples liable to hire an entire taxi. But we chose to embark a journey on a pooled taxi with eight more people, for a simple fact- that, more than a honeymoon couple, we were a struggling couple- without a piece of furniture in our tiny abode, without a refrigerator and a television- (with time, unfortunately, it changed and the times which we used to spent together- were spent in passively viewing the inane soap operas, and choosing to hear repetitive dialogues than a conversation to share), but there seems to be an opportunity in this predicament. During the journey, we interacted with our fellow passengers who gave us good insights on what to do in Lansdowne, though- any claims of having plans to spend four days in Lansdowne made them raise their eyebrows, in surprise.

The route to Lansdowne is a treat, and for this simple reason- I will advise everybody to beg, borrow or steal a window seat. The road meanders along a river, enticing you to alight every now and then and just walk along. But then quite philosphically we said to ourselves, those famous lines-'miles to go before I sleep'.

Keep on asking your fellow passenger about the famous Siddhabali temple. The sheer setting of this temple creates an awe. I can try a rough description of it but that would hardly suffice, the beauty of it. And the lack of description may be a motive enough to go there. The temple still gives me a heartburn of not having alighted and trekked all the way up, but one day I will.

At the footsteps of Lansdowne the Taxi comes to a screeching halt and an employee from the local cantonment board comes knocking asking for an entry fee (a full one Indian rupee, approximately 2 cents for a heaven!!!!), to enter in the cantonment area. Incidentally, this place is the headquarters of the Garwhal Rifles- having a glorious tradition of valour and service, I learnt more about this later on- and that itself could have been an attraction enough for visiting this place.

The Tyranny of Majority

Democracy, sans democratic traditions, is a tyranny of majority.

Ideally speaking, I would not like to utilize my blog for any political posturing, for three reasons. First and foremost, I am most of the time an apolitical entity, because I believe that politics is just one of the tools for the betterment of humanity, and at times not even the most important, and therefore does not entice me to think much. Two, I feel that a blog is not the most appropriate forum of putting forth a political opinion, let alone building a movement around it. Third and perhaps the most important reason, I would not ever like my blog to become a political front piece, even at the cost of being labeled as lifeless.

But I am for once trying to put forth a political thought because I am perturbed by two isolated chain of events, which superficially are separated thematically and ideologically, but at the core are precursor to the same trend. The trend of tyranny, tyranny of majority. The first is one, which plagues, the oft-lofted Indian state of Gujarat and the second the Indian state itself. In one palette is the colour of non-tolerance and in the other is the colour of non-receptiveness.

Even before I put forth my chain of thoughts, I would like to clarify that I am not being judgmental; the parties concerned in both the case may be right or wrong beyond my limited sensibilities and understanding of issues at stake. So I would not be passing any judgment on the issues, but would like to comment upon the way these cases are being pursued and the way the issues are precipitating. These cases could have been pursued more empathetically, in a more humane manner- whatever the political ideologies were, and yet they were not. Simply because, a more humane handling would have made them look mundane and any mundane political posturing is not considered sexy in a democracy. Is it or is it not, is something that lies in the womb of future, and sadly enough future is just a vantage point, from where we can write histories and ...... obituaries.

Firstly Gujarat. Frankly, if I have seen one Indian state, where development is a rule than an exception, then it has to be Gujarat. Yes I have seen the tribal villages of Panchmahal and more importantly of Vadodara district, without roads and more importantly without a functional primary health centre and yet I say it because at other places I have seen a bleaker India. And because I consider governance as a continuum, therefore rather than attributing it to a person or a government, I attribute it to the people therein. And therefore I consider the chain of events even worse, because I believe that education is a vital backward and forward linkage to economic development- and with education comes a degree of liberalism, and humility to see oneself from a perspective that differs. Gujarat proves me wrong.

OK! So Narmada is the lifeline of parched Gujarat and sentiments of millions is attached with it. Democratically speaking, an overwhelming majority believes in it; awaits the lifeline to be extended to their villages, to their localities and to their homes. With this belief close to their heart they can democratically make or mar anybody who chose to speak for them or against it, respectively.

So! Does it give them a right to strangulate any voice, which differs or chooses to differ from them? Just because that voice is too feeble, is not voiced by many.

Anyone, who believes in the liberty for humans and human liberty as a value, would emphatically answer a NO! And rightly so, because it's not about democracy alone, its about democratic traditions, wherein a person even in dire lack of majority has to be heard and not flooded by a cacophony, wherein a person desperately alone needs to be convinced and not outcasted.

So when a vandalizing crowd destroys the office of a dissenting voice, its damaging this democratic tradition. So when an extra-constitutional authority bans a film for an actor who chose to speak what he felt (right or wrong, is another question) it's a victory of tyranny over democracy. I heard somebody asking this actor to study the matter and then air his voice- why should he behave in this suggested manner, why shouldn’t he have a right to form an opinion on what he felt prima-facie- after all, all those who vandalized the NBA office or burnt effigies of Aamir Khan- did they study the whole issue liberally before doing that. Why all the onus of forming an informed opinion is put on a dissenting voice. The sad part of it is that the voice diametrically opposite to the party in government also did not do anything more than paying a lip service, perhaps because taking up the cause of a dissenting minority would have been suicidal on the altars of a democracy.

And secondly India, itself. Strangely, on this macroscopic level those who chose to speak against the tyranny of majority in Gujarat, were parties to this tyranny of majority at national level. The issue at stake was reservations for the socially and economically backward class (SEBC) in premier educational institution. Before anybody brands me another pro-forward caste writer, I would like to specify that I am not; my commentary is on how the issue was handled by us as a society.

OK! Our society has largely been dominated by a particular group, for thousands of year. It happens everywhere, though, in our case the social mobility available for an individual was minimal and for the namesake. The social privileges were handed over from one generation to another, in such a shrouded manner that birth and only birth became a parameter of attaining social privileges. To make matter worse, these social privileges weren’t only economic (in fact least so) but also pertaining to social acceptance, and rejection (so even a economically enterprising lower caste person remained socially unacceptable, whereas a nincompoop and therefore economically burdening higher caste person had a tremendous social currency)

Today this historically marginalized class has got politically galvanized (and rightly so) and realized the power of its brute majority in this democratic setup and therefore can win any democratic battle, perhaps too easily. And therefore forms the opinion of the majority, in-fact a too emphatic majority.

But there exists a voice, a small one which opposes this majority voice. This minority voice may have its own set of logic- not necessarily right and not necessarily wrong. The idea is not accepting or discarding it, but of giving a fair listening and not branding it as an inanity. They must be convinced and not threatened, debated and not pulverized. After all, not all of them belong to the privileged class or caste of yesteryears, not all of them have arrived in life because they had a historical right over it. Peep into their household and you will see a few families which lived in a small room, which stood for hours in a queue to have the cheap food-grains from a fair-price shop, you will see a few fathers who worked as part-time tuition teachers beyond office hours to make ends meet without compromising the education of their only hope. At least, they deserved a sympathetic hearing.

And what they got, was some real-politicking by a veteran politician, an statement rubbishing their argument by a reformist (and therefore a liberalist, perhaps) minister and threatening statements by some firebrands- accept it or else, we can further limit your pie. And yes not to forget a repressive state apparatus. Perhaps not giving them a patience hearing was sexy in the state of democracy we are living in. That’s why not even a single politician was seen touching them even by a bargepole, except a few maverick ones, who have profession other than politics to fall back upon.

But in both the cases, the dangers are not very far to be realized. In both the case the society becomes intolerant to a non conforming thinking; refrains from debate and rationally wining their battles. Gujarat has lost out an opportunity of looking into other models of watershed management and India has lost an opportunity of asking a few very relevant questions- for whom reservations were meant, whom it is accruing to, what better can be done to target the real underprivileged group and in a few states where reservations have been in force for nearly 80 years, and therefore 4 generations- is it the time to start rolling it back.

I may be wrong, but as I would accept in a democratic tradition- prove me wrong and don’t brand me one.

Please don’t be a democracy, become one. Future, as I said is just vantage point.