HNLU: Death and Reincarnation

That first day,
Those laugh riots,
That first song,
Those bus rides,
That hail storm,
Those silent nights,
That first crush,
Those coffee swigs,
That long walk,
Those last minutes,
That life,
That place…is no more.

While it died a painful death,
And the flames on its pyre still linger,
Another life beckons.























































































Its plunderers are still at large,
And saviours, it never had,
Yet, another life beckons.

If skullduggery succumbs to uprightness,
And hypocrisy gives in to humility,
This life could well be a better one.

The Gathering...

On that grey afternoon of the 3^rd of September, I happened to be in a congregation of people who had gathered by the Arabian Sea to witness the culmination of Ganesh Utsav. To be surrounded by a million people from different walks of life was in many ways an incomparable and yet a strange experience. The fear of a stampede breaking out or of a bomb going off only added more to the adventure. As the rains came down and I made my way out through that sea of people, taking refuge under one umbrella after another, I kept wondering about the sheer vulnerability of our existence.

Devprayag: Where Skies Meet the Earth

Devprayag is the place where Bhagirathi and Alaknanda converge to form the Ganga. I have had the good fortune of making several road trips in India, and even abroad. The trip from Rishikesh to Devprayag and back was without doubt the best I have ever had. The union of the Shivalik ranges with the forest, sky and the river cannot be described in words. The sight of two streams of different colours fusing into each other at Devprayag was also unparallel. The time spent at the point of confluence, watching the two rivers push into each other from close proximity, encapsulated in it one of the best moments of my life.

Rishikesh: The Realm of Serenity

Ever since the Beatles set foot in Rishikesh some 40 odd years ago, the place has acquired a lot of significance among spiritual seekers from across the globe. All the hype notwithstanding, there is something about this place that keeps one in very high spirits all through out. Sitting by the Ganges this evening, watching it voraciously ripple over those gigantic rocks, I was just too happy to be able to relate to the following lines from an Eddie Vedder song:

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere,
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared;
Late at night I hear the trees,
They're singing with the dead,
Overhead...

Leave it to me as I find a way to be,
Consider me a satellite forever orbiting;
I knew all the rules but the rules did not know me,
Guaranteed...

Needless to say, I missed my guitar.

Haridwar: A Celebration of Faith

Though I am Hindu, and a Brahmin at that, I haven’t really practiced the religion in textbook terms. My knowledge about the details of Hinduism is also abysmally poor. I had not come to Haridwar for a pilgrimage. I was visiting Haridwar because I liked the description of the place in a ‘Lonely Planet’ travel book on India. Nevertheless, after reaching Haridwar earlier today, and having seen nothing interesting, I was cursing ‘Lonely Planet’ for having written good things about the place. This perception was however, destined to change. For, as the evening set in and I positioned myself at the Har-Ki-Pauri ghat to witness the aarti of the Holy Ganges, I could sense that something grand was in the offing. By the time I set my camera up, the place was bustling with pilgrims from all parts of the country. Most of them had diyas in their hand. An elderly couple sitting next to me informed me that as the aarti proceeds, the diyas would be let into the river in small baskets of leaves. I also saw vendors selling milk to the pilgrims, which was also to be offered to the river. Such was the size of the gathering that it required the temple officials to supervise the actions of the crowd. Soon, the constant murmur gave way to a hymn. And what followed was a hair-raising experience. Suddenly, an assembly of priests descended to the ghat. I could now hear loud chiming of bells. The priests carried huge torches with them, which erupted fire. The next half hour was spent in taking in this mesmerizing confluence of fire and water. As the aarti drew to a close and the chiming stopped, I kept staring at the river, astounded by the power of my own religion.

Jaipur again...

This post is dedicated to Anurag, Kundan, Daal Baati and Vodka…

Bombay in dabs of colour..

P.S: People, I'm on vacation from tomorrow till the 13th of July. Watch this space for all the action!!!

Bishti...

I’ve always been allured by the rains or ‘bishti’, as we call it in Bangla. My earliest recollection of rains takes me back to my pre-primary school days. I remember standing outside the school gate in my oversized rain-coat, gawking at the downpour, frantically waiting for Dad to come. As some years passed by and I moved to a bigger school, rains started attaining more significance in my life. Given the huge number of students that my school had, to avoid commotion that heavy rains would otherwise cause, the school management would more often than not declare such days as holidays. Although one could call up the school to confirm if a given ‘rainy day’ had been declared a holiday, I took great pleasure in going to the school and find out myself. The 'rickshaw ride' to the school on such days in anticipation of a holiday being declared, and the exuberance among students on being told to return back remain deeply ingrained in my memory. As I moved on to higher classes, my mode of traveling to the school also changed. Speeding down the wet roads on my motorbike, splashing water on unassuming passers by, at least for those few moments, I felt no lesser than a superstar. My fascination for rains continued even at the law school. Standing under the façade of the law school’s archaic structure, conversing with friends, as the rains lashed down, delight is all I derived. As I write these words, I can see clouds of different shades and colours clamoring for space over the Arabian Sea. Gazing at the rains pouring down on the Sea from twenty three floors up in the sky, I can only ponder over my providence.

Bombay: Act III

A handful of joy,



















In a day full of sorrow;














An unreal smile,



















Amidst surreal thoughts;













The unsettling pace,














Of a place frozen in time;













Where the race is unending,













And life, contorted;













Where every moment counts,













And nothing goes unnoticed;











Where winners take it all,


















Bombay, an illusion in reality.


P.S.:

People, as I complete six months at work, I’m finding it more and more challenging to keep up with everything that’s happening around me. There’s so much of action on every front. Be it work place or home, no day, no moment goes eventless. There’s so much to write about and so much to share. And yet, there’s so little time to do justice to this wish.

The above is an attemp to express my understanding of Bombay and its people.

I’ve had the good fortune of spending time in Bombay even before. And those of you interested in my other pieces about Bombay, see this, and this.

I’m also looking forward to my first major break in June/July.

Shall keep you posted.

By the way, my blog turned 4 years old on May 17 :-).