Growing Up, Finally!!!

 

As children, we are in such a hurry to grow up, aren't we?

When a two-year-old eats her first few bites on her own and announces, "Mumma, main badi ho gayi hun!", there is so much pride in her eyes. And even more in her mother's. The little one who was in her arms only yesterday is now walking on her own, going to school, feeding herself. There's such a quiet joy in it. Haan, main badi ho gayi.

And that longing to grow up only gets stronger. Taking steps alone. Driving a car for the first time. Travelling on your own. Cooking your first meal. Every "first time" gives you a kick. And when you finally build a career or a business, you think, this is it. I'm independent now. I'm all grown up.

I felt that way too. The first time I went out of town and took the bus all by myself. Driving myself to college. Managing everything on my own after I got married. Raising my children, dropping them to school, finding my own way every single day. At every step, it felt good to be grown up.

And the best part was always telling Mummy and Papa, "Dekho, main kitni badi ho gayi."

When you become a parent, it's then that you realize for the first time that growing up doesn't mean becoming independent. It means taking on responsibility. It means badappan. And honestly, it isn't easy. But it is beautiful.

That's when you first turn around, look at your parents, and truly see how much it takes to be the grown-up. How much hard work. How much patience. How many sacrifices. How much maturity.

I see that so much more now, Papa, and suddenly being grown up doesn't feel so good.
Now I understand how the "ghar ke bade" actually do it. How they quietly keep the difficult decisions for themselves and pass the easy ones on to us, and still let us believe we've grown up.

Now I understand how they silently absorb every panic, every crisis, just so we can learn that difficulties are not so difficult after all.
How just by listening to us, they gave us security. Like an umbrella over our heads. And we simply assumed, bas, we're covered.

Now I know that this feeling doesn't come easily. You have to grow up so much for it. You have to become worthy of making someone feel safe. Feel protected. Feel unconditionally loved. Feel encouraged.

But today, as I try to do exactly what they did, as I walk through every step they took, now with wide-open eyes, I can finally see how effortlessly they walked. Even when nothing about it was effortless.

And suddenly, I don't want to grow up.
I just want to curl up next to them like a child and say, "Mujhe bada nahi hona."
But there isn't an option, is there?

P.S. I've started saying "pahunch ke phone kar dena." Every. Single. Time. I think it's official now.

The only difference? Even if they don't call, I have an app that tells me they've reached. Growing up, the AI way.😅

Till dawn showed me the other side!!!

 The river rushed through stone and stubborn hill,

and hit a wall of rock that held its ground —

she'd moved through mountains, never once stood still,

so why was this the place she couldn't get around?

She'd given everything — her depth, her might,

had worn down harder walls on harder days.

Did worthy water not deserve its right?

Did honest rivers lose themselves in maze?

She turned — unwilling, sharp, against her way,

a detour she had never stopped to choose.

The bend felt wrong, the current went astray,

like someone else had laced up all her shoes.

But every twist was teaching her the land,

each forced turn carving valleys, soft and wide

what felt like loss was quietly being planned,

a sea she simply couldn't see inside.

She met the ocean on a still, pale dawn,

not where she'd mapped, not how she'd dreamed the end,

and realised every wall she'd beaten on

was just God's way of teaching her to bend.

Hence Proved!!!

 

There is something quietly suffocating about the moment a teacher draws a ray of light on a blackbo
ard and says — this is refraction. As if light, agreed to bend itself at precise, measurable angles just so it could be plotted on graph paper. As if the sunset bleeding orange into the horizon was waiting all this time for Snell's Law to give it permission to be beautiful.

I have always suspected that the formula arrives after the wonder. That somewhere, in the first breath of it, there was a human being who simply felt something — who looked at a stick half-submerged in water and went quiet inside. Not because they wanted to measure the bend. But because the bend meant something. Something unnameable. Something that lived just past the edges of language.

And then as we always do with things we cannot hold, we tried to cage it.

Here is what no one says aloud in the classroom:
Every great scientist was, at their core, a deeply dissatisfied mystic, in awe of a hidden truth behind reality.

Einstein did not sit down one morning and deduce relativity from existing data. He imagined himself riding alongside a beam of light. He dreamed his way into it and then, almost reluctantly, dressed it in mathematics so the world would take him seriously. The poetry came first. The proof was the apology.

Newton, they say, watched an apple fall. But who amongst us truly believes the revelation was about the apple? It was about the fall itself. The helpless, inevitable surrender of everything toward everything else. And because the world asks for evidence, he gave it equations. But the equations were never the point. They were the translation and like all translations, something gorgeous was lost.

Science, does the same. It names the rainbow so thoroughly that no one has to feel it anymore. It explains the detail of a minor chord until the detail dissolves into frequency and amplitude — tidy, measurable, and completely beside the point.

The formula is the fence. Built, perhaps, not to protect the truth but to protect the people who found it first.

Ramanujan ,that strange, luminous man from Madras, said his equations came to him in dreams. A goddess wrote them on his tongue. He felt mathematics the way a poet feels a line arriving, not constructed, but received. He had no formal proof for most of what he knew. He simply knew. And the Western academy, so in love with its Hence Proved-s, spent decades catching up to what he had already seen, barefoot, in the dark.

Perhaps the they are all artists in disguise. They just wear lab coats because society doesn’t give them any other outfit for that kind of curiosity.

The deepest freedom, maybe, is this: To look at refraction and not reach for the formula. To let the bent light simply be bent. To sit with velocity not as a quotient but as a feeling, the way your stomach lifts when a car picks up speed and for one moment you are not a body with mass but just motion itself, pure and directionless and free.

Science, at its finest, points fingers at the mystery. It is only the textbook that mistakes the pointing finger for the mysterious moon. And somewhere between the discovery of the moon and the classroom only pointing at its glow, this translation gets mistaken for the original. And the original beauty of the moon is left behind.

You are more than fair!!!

There is a moment I keep returning to — walking back to the car when it was all over. Something slipping, not just from my hands, but from the very idea that hands could hold such things at all. That hard work and a sharp mind are enough. That you can will your way through anything if you just try hard enough. I believed that. And then I didn't anymore.

I remember being numb in the way you are numb after a film ends and the lights come on and you walk out into the parking lot and the world is just — still there. Unchanged. Indifferent. And you think, maybe if I just keep moving, it will fade into the background like scenes always do.

It doesn't.

---

They tell you to find justifications and I have tried them all. He didn't suffer. He went the way he would have wanted — active, upright, himself until the end. He wouldn't have liked to be seen diminished. My mind nods along. My heart says — "are you really going to believe all of that?"

The only justification that has ever truly held me is this: he knew. Not in the way we pretend to know things. In the quiet, unhurried way of a man who had made his peace.

Since June, he was asking to get involved in things — his business passingbon little pieces of his wisdom, his worries at work. In August he told me to idealise Gagan, because there is no better friend than your partner. I distinctly remember his call from Mansarovar. 

In September came the health lecture, serious and uncharacteristic. In October he agreed to two trips he would normally have declined, and told me he was making up for all the hours of committed time he had never quite kept. He always believed in working, not in wasting — and so he worked, right until the end, at the quiet business of leaving well.

From November he reminded me of his deadline. January 15th, he said. Again in December. So that when the 16th came, I could not say I hadn't been warned. Could not say he had been unfair. He even came back strong from that last flight, as if to say — "don't pull my leg for this. I gave you no reason to."

Life may be unfair. He never was. Not once.

There is a particular kind of love that does not announce itself. It just makes sure, quietly and without fuss, that the ones it loves will be alright. That they have been told what they need to know, held when they needed holding, prepared without knowing they were being prepared.

He gave more in his years than most could give in a longer life. That is not consolation. That is just true.

The moon has no light of its own. It reflects the sun — borrows that brightness and offers it back to the world as something softer, something that can be looked at directly. I was that moon. His belief in me was the light I worked by, the reason I wanted to do things, to be things — so he would see and feel proud.

And now the sun is gone, and I am learning — slowly, bewilderingly — what it means to shine without a source. Whether the moon can find its own light, or whether it must learn that the light was never entirely borrowed to begin with.

I don't have that answer yet.

What I do have is the memory of a hug at an airport — tight, unhurried, real. And something after that which I will not try to explain, because some things lose their truth in the telling. They are meant only for you, sealed in a place where no logic can touch them.

Papa, 'I miss you' feels too small. Language was not built for this size of feeling. So I will just say, you were more than fair. You were more than most. And somewhere in the quiet, I know you know.

---

Legacy made new!!

It was quite an exhilarating day for visit to the New Parliament House with our friends last week. A truly memorable and educational tour.

On the occasion of 75th year of Independence, Modiji unveiled the new building.  Designed and constructed by Indians, it indeed is an architectural marvel encapsulating the culture, pride, and spirit of the entire nation and looks forward to fulfilling the longstanding need of Indian democracy to have more spacious parliament.

The Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha chambers boast a digitised voting system, well-engineered acoustics, and state-of-the-art audiovisual systems. The Lok Sabha hall’s interior, inspired by India's national bird, the peacock, and the Rajya Sabha hall, representing the lotus, India's national flower, embody the rich symbolism of the nation. It also seamlessly integrates diversity of modern India - the Sangeet Gallery and the Shilp Gallery showcases distinct music, architecture and handicraft traditions of different states.

He also inaugurated and placed ‘Sengol’, a golden sceptre near the Speaker’s seat in the new Lok Sabha hall. It is known to be crafted by Vummidi Bangaru Chetty, a famous jeweller in Madras with Nandi, at the top as the beholder of “Nyaya".

The Sengol is derived from the Tamil word "Semmai" which means "Righteousness" and was carried by emperors during ceremonial occasions to represent their authority in Chola empire from the 9th to 13th century. It was a tradition to hand over from one king to another as a mark of succession and legitimacy. The same ritual was adopted at the time of Independence to symbolise transfer of power from British.

The Sengol was presented to PM Nehru by Thiruvavaduthurai Adheenam (a 500-year-old Saivaite monastery) on August 14, 1947 which was kept it at his residence in Delhi for some time before donating it to Anand Bhavan Museum in Allahabad (Prayagraj) until the government decided to revive this historical event in the new Parliament building.

The existing Parliament on the other hand , a Heritage building, built in 1927, embodies excellence in architectural style designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and Sir Herbert Baker during British colonial rule. 

However, the building's age and limited infrastructure no longer meet the current requirements in terms of space, amenities, and technology and was never designed to accommodate a bicameral legislature for a fully-fledged democracy. So, the time's tide demands a new temple of democracy. 

Lots of things changed since a century ago-  communication structures and safety benchmarks, topographical considerations, prioritizing divyang individuals  and lifestyle conveniences.

And so with the torch of progress shining bright, we decided to adieu to the venerable old Parliament building, a witness to India's tumultuous past and hard-won freedom. However, when i entered this old structure, I could feel the weight of history, the echoes of impassioned debates, and the whispers of late-night negotiations that shaped our nation's destiny. The walls, worn by time, seemed to yearn to break free from their stoic silence, to share the tales of the giants who once walked those hallowed halls.

It reminded me of how India's story would have been woven into every stone, every crevice, and every worn step. The small hall, once the epicenter of power and decision-making, seemed to hold its breath while we found it so easy to move on, to leave behind the nostalgia and the legacy on the pretext of thee pace of modern life. Did not seem fair.

A sight of relief was the brass ceiling in the heart of the new building, that shone like a celestial canvas, capturing the essence of the sky of a momentous day – January 26, 1950- the day our constitution came into being. Below this was a majestic pendulum swinging like a time keepers Waltz, a symphony of time and tradition. Seemed like it whispered secrets to the past, present, and future, bridging eras with every rhythimic swing. It took more than 24 hours to complete a circle. While it rotated, it defied the constraints of time hinting that progress is a dance between heritage and innovation. May be! 

As the sands of time slip through the hourglass, the question lingers: Can we hold on to the essence of our heritage while embracing tomorrow's dawn? Isnt it true that in our haste, do we risk losing the fragrance of our roots in pursuit of progress? Only time will tell.

Unrolling the Thangka

 

PC- Ananya & Suhaani

The great escape! We ditched Mcleodganj's chaos for Kandbari's chill vibes and landed at Dr. Sarika's place –stumbling upon a treasure trove of Thangka art I would say! Upasna from Wah Lodge played the matchmaker, introducing us to this hidden gem. Now, we were trading mobile phones for paintbrushes and soaking up the serene vibes.This museum was a window to the 2,300 years old journey of the tradition of Buddhist paintings and the evolution of art through ages and geographies.

Dr Sarika honed her skills at Norbulingka Institute in Dharamshala and created the Museum with 45 Masterpiece Paintings depicting this journey of Buddhist Paintings after a deep research of the Ancient Styles of Ajanta Caves, Tabo and Alchi Monastery.


At the workshop sitting amidst mountains, we discovered the ancient art of painting on handmade cloth with mineral colours and learnt the timeless techniques. For the first time I used the divider – a simple tool that revealed the precision of perfection, while I drew the serene face of Buddha, circle by gentle circle. In that meditative moment, I was with the divine,  but ofcourse with my paint stained fingers.

However, what got my attention was the Thangka of Dharamsala Tara announcing the Arrival of this art to the Indian Soil. The painting depicting story of Tara's return appeared like of mystique and longing.

I was so enamoured with the thought how, lost to the sands of time, it found its way back to home, though with a new Tibetan name " Thangka" which literally means "thing that one unrolls". Teachings of Gautam Buddha, unrolled through Dalai Lama rekindling a connection that transcended borders, seeking to reclaim its cultural legacy. Talk about packing light, I hear that all that Dalai lama carried on his shoulders while seeking asssylum in India was a thangka of Palden Lhamo. By carrying this sacred artwork, may be he was also seeking guidance and blessings on his own spiritual journey, I wondered.

Hmmm..believe it or not I was compelled to ponder. Life's a wild goose chase, isn't it? We're running, striving, pushing – trying to reach that elusive 'somewhere.' But in the chaos, do we forget the cosmic GPS that's always on? Are we over-riding the divine's navigation system with our own flawed maps? The Bhagavad Gita whispers secrets of surrender, of being grounded in faith, and trusting the universe's blueprint. Maybe it's time to pause, and let the divine take the wheel. After all, who needs Google Maps when you have karma's guiding light?"

Dents in History!

   

PC- Ananya Saraogi 

As we wandered to McLeodganj, while visiting the “Siddh Peeths” of Himachal, we happened to stay at Pragpur's hidden gem - a declared heritage since 1997. This enchanting manor, once Justice Sir Jai Lal's private retreat, now a heritage hotel, whispers tales of the past. Built between 1914, its Indo-European architecture mesmerizes, with red brick detailing adorning yellow structures.

We had a long tiring day after exploring Plaksha University at Chandigarh in our drive to find just the right college for Ananya (not that we were successful.Lolz); here at Paragpur, we were welcomed by tan mud walls adorned with blue doors into a residency with vintage portraits by the fireplace of the family. 

Early in the morning, strolling through the quaint rustic ambience, time was like still. A majestic mango tree, gifted by the Maharaja of Benaras, blooming majestically; jackfruits gently grasping the tree’s bark, jungle babbler’s morning concert arguing with the sun’s warmth and how the black and white bird posed like surrendering its every profile to my lens. 

The floral whispers on chairs and table ware with soothing sound of acoustic piano that Suhaani took the liberty to indulge into blended together to create an irresistibly charming symphony in the dining room. Fresh lychees tantalized the taste buds at breakfast, while authentic Himachali dal makhani delighted the senses.

Under the camphor tree's gentle shade, wind chimes serenaded, as Ananya captured the moment's essence in her art book, while Gagan explored ancient valleys on the map, Suhaani focussed on capturing every detail in her DSLR frame, and Pallavi weaved a soothing melody, I sat down here bottling it up in a few words. As we all basked in, the fast-paced din faded away.

As I was checking out, I noticed a brass tag on the wooden fireplace in my room that read "Handcrafted in 1917," with a dent on the wooden piece. The scar added character to the vintage corner like it was deliberately preserved as a testament to history. Loved it. Is it not a reminder that imperfections are a part of our authentic selves; that life’s imperfections are brushstrokes that paint our canvas. And not all dents need to be mended, for in their depths, we find the wisdom of experience, courage of resilience and without them we would only be fragile, untampered steel. Instead, we are our own kind of master pieces stronger and wiser now.

कितना मीठा सा शब्द है नानी

 कितना मीठा  सा  शब्द  है नानी 

माँ की माँ होती है  नानी 

नानी  के  किरदारों  से  बुनी  हुई  कहानी 

पता  नहीं  कैसे  याद  रहती  थी  उनको  मुँह  जुबानी I

मम्मी की डाँट पर हमसे ज़्यादा ध्यान

चुप करादे उनको खींच के उनके कान

घर में घुसते ही तैयार रहता खाने का सामान 

चेहरा देखकर तबियत का लगा लेती अनुमान I

आती सूरजगढ़ की बहुत बहुत याद 

ताज़ा है सारी बातें इतने दिनों के भी बाद

नानी की पहली रोटी बनती गऊ माता का प्रसाद

सुबह उठकर पहले सूरज की घंटी और पूजा पाठ I

अँधेरे में cosy सी कोठरी थी खास,

न समझ आया उसमे नानी  की तिजोरी का राज़

बिल्ली को रोटी और ख़तम करके  घर के काम काज

नानी रहती lantern जलाये, गोंद के लड्डू के साथ I

बगल में थी रसोई, चूल्हे की रोटी क्या कमाल!!!

और कोयले पे सिलगती देगची की दाल

रात को छत पे हमारे लिए माचा डाल 

लपेटती हम बच्चो को ले लोई और शॉल I

राजा की तरह हमे सर पे चढ़ाना

नज़र से बचाने के लिए झाड़ा लगवाना

मिटटी से बीड़ में छोटे छोटे घर बनाना

फिर अपने पैरो से रेत को छुड़ाना I

हर त्यौहार पर सुन्दर सी मेहँदी लगवाना

नानाजी की दुकान पे 1 रुपया रोज़ लेने जाना

पित्रों के नाम से पैंडे में पानी चढ़ाना

“नानी घर आकर बिगड़ के बारा बाँट के हो गए”

ये सुन मम्मी की डाँट खाना I

याद आता है आपका मामा को आँख दिखाना

हमे परेशान करने पर उनको धमकाना

आपका वो हमे कोने में ले जाकर समझाना 

की ये बात घर जाकर दादी को मत बताना I

ये मत कहना की पानी handpump से लाये थे

Light न होने पर हाथ वाले पंखे चलाये थे 

ये भी न बताना की कहाँ कहाँ चोट खायी थी

और नानी ने कब कब कुल्फी नहीं खिलाई थी I

सच बोलू नानी सबसे प्यारी आपकी परछाई थी

तारों के नीचे AC तो नहीं था पर नींद बहुत अच्छी आयी थी

आपसे सही मायने में सादगी सिखाई थी

किताबो से बेहतर आपके संस्कारो की पढ़ाई थी

बचपन का सबसे प्यारा हिस्सा होता है  ननिहाल 

कुछ  special ही  होती  है  देखभाल 

जब  भी  मामा मामी को  करती कॉल 

कब  आओगी  बेटा सूरत  , यही  रहता  है  सवाल ?

In a world where you can be anything, Be Kind!!!!

In the twilight of innocence, my daughter's tender self happened to encounter the enigma of unrequited kindness that met with the harsh kiss of indifference. She came home quite low. She felt underappreciated and over-criticized for her sweet nature, unfortunately, becoming a scapegoat, unfairly scrutinized. Knowing how sensitive she can be, I understood how she felt.

But I didn’t know how to comfort her. I often struggle to distinguish what's truly important, and honestly it's even harder to teach my kids.

My question was- Shall I awaken her to the cruel whispers of reality, or let her heart continue its subtle waltz with idealism, of being kind, of being compassionate? Afterall, don’t we all agree that no one ever truly learns to love without first embracing the fragility of disappointment. In this delicate balance, I ponder.  Is it not in the giving, rather than the receiving, that we find the truest expressions?

Frankly, my instincts urge me to teach them the value of empathy, to rush to the aid of those in need, and to soothe the hurt. I'm on a daily mission to drill some compassion into their heads, lest they join the #SelfLoveSquad and forget that other humans exist. Don't get me wrong, self-love is cool and all, but not when it turns into 'Self-Love-And-Forget-Everyone-Else!"

And yet, how do we protect our lil ones from the jagged edges of a world that often refuses to reciprocate? Whether I like it or not I have also learnt that unchecked kindness can invite disrespect. The world can be unforgiving.

 As their mother, I want to empower them with the wisdom to discern when thoughtfulness is valued and when it's exploited. Kindness and friendliness, though essential, has to be be tempered with assertiveness. Boundaries, not barriers are important for the world to know that one’s worth isn't measured by their accommodating nature, but by their self-respect.

Perhaps the answer lies not in shielding her from life's turbulent sea, but in teaching her to navigate its depths with courage, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to her own inner light- to grapple with the delicate balance between kindness and firmness. I will tell her that even today when I'm uncertain, I draw inspiration from my fathers, who consistently give selflessly despite facing criticism and receiving little appreciation. Their unwavering optimism and resilience keeps me believing that grace is the way to life.

As Maya Angelou once said, 'Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.' So, keep doing better my baby in every step of your way and in a world where you can be anything, Be Kind!!!!

  

Hot Air and Fairy Flair

 

Back in the Roman and Byzantine eras, Cappadocia was a secret sanctuary for Christians who built intricate underground cities. Fast forward to today, and it feels like stepping into a lunar wonderland with its fairy tale-like soft rock formations scattered across the Anatolian plains.

Our stay at the Stones Palace hotel in Göreme was like living in a honey-colored village dotted with quirky cave hotels. One evening, we ventured to Uchisar Castle, which, despite its small size compared to grand palaces in Delhi, Agra, and Mysore, was charming in its own right. Perched atop a cliff, this volcanic rock castle had once served as a fortress against invaders.

A sandstorm made strolling around a challenge, but soon enough, lightning strikes illuminated the sky (a rare sight compared to Delhi) and were followed by a refreshing downpour, setting the mood for our first day of adventures!

The next day, our guide Salman led us on a bus tour of the Göreme Open Air Museum, a UNESCO World Heritage site renowned for its stunning biblical frescoes. We then ventured to Avanos, famous for its distinctive pottery. Each piece had its own unique flaws, adding to its charm. Watching Ananya and Suhaani try their hand at crafting pottery under skilled artisans was both educational and entertaining, offering a glimpse into a craft passed down through generations.

The local tradition of adorning trees with evil eyes, lock and keys served as a poignant reminder of our own traditions of tying nazar battos, and red mauli  showing how diverse faiths share common threads.

Towards the end of our day trip, we drove around Ihlara Valley for a closer view of Mount Hassan. The real magic, however, happened at a Turkish dhaba where the lady was whipping up parathas the size of a small moon—two feet wide! Watching and helping her roll those giant golden discs was like witnessing culinary wizardry. Biting into what we thought were pancakes but turned out to be aloo parathas felt like a delicious homecoming. It was as if my taste buds were doing a happy dance, shouting, “Welcome to the desi party!” in the middle of a Turkish wonderland.

In the evening, we were buzzing with excitement for our nearly two-hour ATV adventure. But guess what? Ananya and I could barely get our ATV out of the starting position! We were third in line, hoping to cruise through stunning valley views, but ended up as the slowest tortoises in a herd of speedy hares. Everyone zoomed past us like we were standing still, and we chugged along in last place, feeling like the universe was having a laugh at our expense.

Navigating through Love Valley, Rose Valley, and Sword Valley, we got up close to those fairy chimneys—huge rock formations that looked like nature’s own abstract art project. Dusted from head to toe, with dirt invading my eyes and nose, I kept my cool, pretending I was a seasoned ATV pro while inwardly panicking.

Striking my best “cool rider” poses for photos, swaying forward like a model on a runway, I was more of a ‘wobble on wheels’ kind of girl. As the day ended, we watched the sunset at Rose Valley—a glorious view with a cool breeze painting the sky crimson. It was the perfect way to bid farewell to the day, hoping that the morning would bring a hot air balloon ride that was, hopefully, less of a comedy show and more of a smooth, soaring adventure.

 

Little did we know, we were in for a hilariously bumpy adventure the next morning too! Hot air ballooning at dawn? More like at 3 a.m.! We were all pumped up, especially since the previous ride had been scrapped due to a sandstorm and bad weather. The driver showed up right on time, but of course, we were fashionably late. He practically dragged us out of the hotel, threatening to leave us behind. But we managed to pile into the vehicle for the hour-long drive to Soganli Valley, ready to take to the skies.

Hot air balloons seemed awesome—until they told us we had to jump into the baskets. I’m pretty sporty, but tripping on a flat surface is my specialty. Now, they wanted me to jump into a balloon basket with moms and dads? Hilarious!

With a lot of help (and a little bit of grace), we finally soared high above the valley just in time to catch the sunrise. The bird’s-eye view of Cappadocia and Mt. Erciyes, a snow-capped volcanic mountain, was stunning. Landing, however, was its own comedy sketch. We had to squat like we were preparing for an alien invasion, not just touching down in a field. It felt like we were rescued and delivered back to the hotel in one piece.

This hot air balloon ride wasn’t just an adventure through the skies but a metaphor for life’s journey. As we floated gently through the sky, it reminded us to slow down, appreciate each moment, and move with grace. The calmness of the ride taught us to trust the journey and enjoy the view, knowing that even if things seem uncertain, we'll eventually reach our goals- nudging us to slow down, be present, and glide gracefully, savouring each moment while trusting we’ll reach our destinations in due time.

Dialogue in the Dark

Dialogue in the Dark" was like taking a walk on the wild side of your senses. Imagine strolling through a place where even our sense of sight is on vacation! The only relief was that we had our friendly guides Nasir, Jeetendra, Pawan and Diwan and we knew we would get all the help we needed. So here we were, with your eyes wide shut off on an adventure through a world that was was dark as a black hole's backyard.

I won't say it was not a challenge for me. Dark is not my comfort zone. This event was designed not only to challenge ourselves to get out of our comforts but also as most of us would agree , it changed the way each of us perceived the world around us.

Here's a description of what typically happened. In complete absence of light, we had no choice but to rely on our other senses - touch, hearing, smell, and taste - to understand and navigate through the tunnel and further on to our tables. I was relying mostly on my teammate's four senses than mine as I tightly clutched on to her shoulder. 

You know those awkward moments when you're trying to find your way, arms flailing like a malfunctioning robot, and suddenly you encounter another lost soul doing the same goofy dance? It was indeed a spontaneous tango of confusion until our knowledgeable experts helped us settle on our seats.  

Immediately, we started to complete tasks using non-visual methods with absolute no cheating and coordinated teamwork- coordinated?? No cheating??? - we rather not discuss. We all would agree that ears were the superheroes now, working overtime to pick up every sound. We were asked to describe objects like it was a charades without the luxury of visual cues. The laughter began as our imaginative descriptions got more and more absurd. " ye aisa shape Hai jisko hum waise lagate hai" a newfound appreciation for the power of words in a world without sight. Who knew this could be so much fun?

Next, we all became scent detectives very confident of our aesthetics that we would surely crack this one with ease. What we ended up doing actually was only creative aroma analogy knowing in our hearts that we were left with a nose that's had a workout- a futile one though. And so, towards the last bit, the taste-test comedy continued, with a huge vaierty of savouries laid out in front of us. Each description more over-the-top than the last. 

And guess what? We all left with a fresh perspective, an appreciation for the world in a new light (or lack thereof), and a story to tell that starts with, "So, I once had dinner in the dark..."

It was like our senses were throwing a surprise party, and we were the guests of honor. We emerged from the dark with a newfound awareness that our friendly guides pro at handling troublesome 50 of us were visually impaired and as capable, resilient, and full of life as anyone else...or maybe more, a life with more meaning than vegging out in front of a screen and a life that values everything like a gift. 

My takeaway? A lot of patience, gratitude, value of clear communication and helping when needed, without being condescending and most importantly a break from visual stimulation.

Been there Dune that!!

 

When Ananya qualified for the Global rounds of debate to be held in June, Shikha and me decided to take this girls trip in Doha. We were excited but I won't deny i was a little stressed by my personal prejudices about visiting a dry rich country with no natural beauty and history around. Neverthless, knowing the heat, frankly we had adjusted our expectations and were prepared to limit our outdoor activities in favor of indoor attractions such as museums, malls, cafes and air conditioned cars.

But when you think of traveling to the Middle East for the first time, you cant miss recalling the desert tales of Arabian nights. Desert Safari? when temperatures were at sweltering heights and humidity is unbearable? We wondered if that was a good idea at all. We were anyways so tired after two days of non stop shopping and Ananyas's long days at Qatar National Convention Centre. However, we decided to go just because....

The guy who organized this day trip was at the hotel to pick us up. We Jumped into a luxury Land cruiser towards high sand dunes of the desert just outside the city of Doha at the Inland Sea that is an inlet of the Persian Gulf, not knowing what we were headed for.  As we drew closer to the Sea line beach, the sandy beach desert , we were taken by the stunning vistas of the natural beauty enveloping the country. On the way we stopped for a short thrilling ride over the sandy dunes of south Qatar on camel.

Post that , I wondered what our 4 x 4 professional driver, Ibrahim was doing with the tyres. He infact was deflating them to make the vehicle ready for the thrilling session of dune bashing- an authentic experience of a rollercoaster ride on the desert. Have you ever done skiing? So imagine that gliding sensation, but instead of skis, imagine you’re in a Land Cruiser, and instead of snow, imagine it’s sand. That’s what dune bashing feels like. After the camel ride which we thought was adventurous enough, we set off with seat belts. When we saw the car ahead of us, we surely assumed that the stunt went wrong as it dived down, totally naive that we are aiming directly at that dune as steep as a mountain as well. Again and again, we climbed up a dune, or roar along the side of one, and glided down a sandy slope as if it’s a run in the Golden shimmering Alps. It was absolutely exhilarating as he sped towards another crest.

Next was Sunboarding on the list. In essence, sandboarding is pretty simple but when he asked us to glide down a tall golden dune, we looked at each other in disbelief. I could recall myself preaching my kids, " Face the fear till it disappears" but at that point I wondered what that even means.  However, we did get over our fears in our own way at a pretty impressive speed while whizzing down. The speed and the glide, I am sure Shikha, Wricha and Ananya would not want me to elaborate more on it.

Hmmmmmmm.......the last bit of a fun filled day, I wondered why sunsets are more colourful in deserts. Had I asked this question to Gagan, he would have explained that drier air means more vivid color wavelengths and blah blah blah....but to me that orange patch of cloud was as orange as a Crayola crayon with a pallette of tan and yellow ochre around-  a luminescent beauty as the sun sat beneath the desert mountains, holding its breath as night fell upon the solitude, reminding me yet again that every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn. And so, I sat there in peace watching the pink sky surrender, nudging me to let go. May be I don't have to be worried as I used to be. May be I can choose to believe that I will not miss out on what's really meant for me while I watched a sloop of amber slipping away on the banks of the Golden Yellow Sea.

In Love with History....

Only One day in Athens! You gotta be kidding me! The land of philosophers like Aristotle, Socrates, king like Alexander, poet like Homer, scientist like Archimedes......There is so much to say about the legacy of which remains the foundation of western civilisation.

 

Lots more awaited us as we first headed out to 'Manhattan of Aegean' better known for the battle between Hercules and Giants of Gaia. My first impression was a little disappointing to see such an arid and dry landscape. I wondered why the world is obsessed with Mykonos. But i was to be proven wrong -  saw the most stellar sunset by the crystal clear azure waters; partied hard at Scorpios Beach club; indulged into the delicacies; Walked down the windy cobbled streets of the downtown ‘Hora’ on the west coast ; Blissfully sat by rocks alongside the sea beaming with music at night; Relished an  amazing ice cream scoop at a tavern and of course got a rocking picture by the most photographed church Pangia. Surprisingly, the same place was a world away in terms of vibe the next afternoon - calm and serene with beautiful 16th century round windmills sitting above the harbour. Oh yes!! where Shahrukh and Rani danced to the tunes of 'Tauba tum hare.....' I got one pic too!!

 

We set out for a Ferry to yet another island in the Cyclades, Santorini. The strong Meltemi northern winds blew through the ferry deck while sailing through islands of Paros and Naxos before docking at a croissant like wonderland.  I was in awe of the multicoloured cliffs  that soared out of a sea drowned volcanic crater topped by whitewashed buildings. Walking in the rains sounds crazy but that’s what we did - in and out of villages at Fira and Oia in this “tailor-made for me weather”.  The Blue and white colours of the island made me fall in love with this jewel of nature's handiwork. Who would believe that a Minoan city destroyed by a volcanic eruption would become so?

 

The very next day we set out Sailing in Aegean on the Catamaran boat around secluded bays. It was indeed the time to switch off and appreciate the stillness of the turquoise blue waters and black sand with music and barbecue. The highlight of the evening was an engaging Zorba dance beginning with slow rhythms that got faster, bringing us all to the moment of joy and in no time we all went swirling endlessly to the beats like we were born to it.  Fortunately since you are always holding hands I did not tumble down. Lolz

 

And now to my favourite part- Athens . Acropolis Hill, the highest point of the town, Parthenon, a Temple that heaves with history and archaeology. Having seen two ancient temples of Athena and Erechtheion, it was  time to lay my eyes to this lovely stone half-moon-shaped amphitheater made by Romans where they were prepping up for  a live performance that evening. Not to be missed is the Panathenaic Stadium and the view of the Parthenon from its 21st aisle and the Hadrians Library.

 

Like they say that some of the best trips include times more spent deep inside the halls of a museum. These grand buildings which are impressive in their own right take you by their awe. It was an enriching experience though too short to have visited both Archaeological museum and Numismatic museum which houses a rich precious heritage. The inscribed stone inventories only assured a forgetful me that it's not just me who needs constant notes to keep a track of things , it was very much the  way being followed since ancient ages.  The day ended with a relaxed evening walk through the vivid streets of old neighbourhood of Plaka. You can’t help but bump into the Greek Orthodox Church with Byzantine influence, totally treasured the mosaics and frescoes.

 

Next on our list was Corinth to get a view of the 6km canal which connects the Ionian sea with the Aegean sea. This also separates the Peloponnese region from the mainland. It is is considered by many to be where you will find the ‘real Greece history’. This is where the Mycenaean king resided and from where his beautiful wife eloped leading to Trojan war with the Troys.

 

Dead tired after days of non stop fun and feast, we planned a day trip to Delphi only to fulfill my daughters checklist of seeing Temple of Apollo. I have to admit that I would have been a fool though to not have given to her wishes. Besides the incredible history of this being the centre of earth and located at a point that it makes a perfect isosceles triangle with Acropolis ( Temple of Athena) and Olympia( Temple of Zeus) this place had some inner peace n beauty about it. The serene drive along the villages was an amazing experience. On the way back we stopped for lunch at Arachova, a mountainous village nestled picturesquely at the foot of Mount paranassos. An old time village with cute little shops of olive wood stuff and gorgeous warm hosts at the tiny tabled restaurants,  we had the best gourmet experience with dishes suggested by a local. The paved walls reminded me of where snow white must have found her way into the dwarfs house and decided never to leave them and go back home.

 

It seems to me that even though there were wars, there were no phones, no entertainment, the ancients had the luxury to live in the moment and the intellect to create the times ahead that we now claim to be ours. History has some fascination to me, delving into it is like reading storybooks carved in stone. Its like falling in love with an era that I can’t experience. Only imagine an idea of how world used to be. 

Nopes & Ayes!

“Mom, I qualified for the finals of Oxford Union Debate”, called Ananya when I was at work. I told her that since it’s a second Saturday she surely could manage to participate without missing out on her school. “It’s in person, Mom! and you know what I am going to Oxford.”; she exclaimed. I was zapped with the words and also quite taken by her thrill. I obviously refuted outrightly not knowing what this debate platform meant. By the way we finally did go with her team member Ansh and her Mentor Swati, after not one but many glitches which I am sure both the kiddos don’t want me to mention. Sorry, I mean young adults. 

As the largest British Parliamentary schools’ debate competition in the UK, the Oxford Schools’ Debating Competition is aimed for keen students in senior school. Contentious motions are expected to be given to the students where there is only 15 minutes preparation, with no access to the Internet or help from external parties. Students then utilise this time to structure their arguments in a cohesive manner to formulate a well-reasoned speech- clever use of word play can often come to be helpful in terms of gaining points.

The debate consists of four teams, containing two speakers each, which are divided into two sides that speak for and against the motion. Due to the style's origins in British parliamentary procedure, the two sides are called the Government and the Opposition.

When I heard the conveners explain all this to the competing teams, I suddenly looked at Ananya and Ansh, wondering as to whether they were even aware of this. And to my surprise they were. She was the Prime minister and her friend the Deputy PM in the upcoming round, and they were quite clear of their goals whether they were the opening government or closing opposition or whatever all of it was. I could only grab a chocolate to gulp it all down because I could hardly get a word of all that into my head.

Debate was well staged at the Union Poetry Room. Ananya and Ansh communicated their ideas to each other effectively. Asking the relevant POIs, giving out clear rebuttals were all keys to secure a good score in the eyes of the judges. It seemed some serious business I should tell you. I was fortunate to witness them debating seeing their cheeks fully flushed. I realized the challenge was that they were not to state their opinion. They had to position themself to win an argument, dismissing their companion’s points no matter whether they agreed or not. They were in this fight to be crowned the person most in the right.

When I saw other pro teams , I saw them talk in very militaristic language, very strong arguments- Arguments that have a lot of punch. Arguments that are right on target. The way they said ‘No, Thank you!’ to the interjections a few times and then take it up the other times, their responses made it sound like there was no possibility of negotiation on the point put forth by them. Period.

Having witnessed these budding debaters, for a moment I myself felt trapped in the bubble of feeling very right about everything.

And so at the end of it when you are not in the winning position, you do feel a level of disbelief because you feel you can just get up argue that too convincingly. Who does not want to experience the joy and delightful taste of victory after all. Winning gives us the sensation of relief after hard training for days, accompanied by the euphoria and satisfaction of proving that we are good at something.

But then like everything in life, there is also another face of the coin that we should also embrace as strongly as we do when we win…when we lose. And the fact is that You’re going to lose most of the competitions you enter. But the way to lose with style is to create possibility. To be creative... To do exemplary work that’s worth talking about.

So next time if you are losing sleep over not winning....look at the mirror and say this 

“Damn. I think that i am way too young to be getting wrinkles around my eyes." And move on to experience the next thing. Rest assured that will be only bigger than what u just did.

PS: Did I want them to win? Want- Ayes to that one but did I expect- Nopes. I expected them to experience. The whole of it and sink it down fully, engraved into their memories of formative years, never to fade out!

Benaras Diaries!!!

Hmmm, when we planned to visit with our friends, being a Shiv Bhakta, I was only keen to visit the Kashi Vishwanath temple and start my 2023 on a beautiful note, amidst other things that every tourist supposedly does as a customary thing in the city. Obviously we will take the over rated boat ride and see the Ganga aarti but whats the big deal about it? Brahmastra had only made the exaggeration even more exaggerated I thought to myself.

Anyways, when we stepped out for a late night walk to Dadhashwamedh ghat, my head did not want to believe what my heart felt. Any picture I clicked, I wondered whether it was a photograph that looked like a painting or was it a canvas that looked like a photo? Unlike the glorified movie version, the spiritual connection in this city was evident.

The entire city boasted of an ancient feel. There was a chill to the air as we walked through the colourful paved roads, dotted with rickshaw drivers, the narrow streets, peeling paint on the sandstone walls, tiny innumerable chai shops, temples in every nook and cranny, niches filled with skilled Paanwalla’s, pillared balconies with intricate jali work. At this hour the streets seemed quiet, almost serene.

Aloo-kachori, Tamatar chaat and freshly made Idlis looked super delicious. So we ventured off to find these promised tasty treats. I was impressed by how intense the operation looked at the Kaashi Chaat Bhandar, multiple hands served and even more sat behind, spooning the delicious delicacies being handed out one after the other.

Next morning, we headed to Dhamek Stupa, where Lord Buddha preached the first sermon to His five disciples after attaining enlightenment in Bodh Gaya. Veneering sandstone cylindrical structure which draws thousands of international tourists dates back to Ashokan period. Although we had more fun in being fooled by the local guide into clicking pictures with fake laughing buddha before we finally reached the aesthetically designed masterpiece.

Evening was surely much awaited. It was time to return to the waters, this time to visit Dashashwamedh Ghat for the evening Ganga aarti. Oh how could I forget! Divya would not let me move down without putting the Chandan tika with trishul on my forehead. Felt funny bigtime and yet soaked in the Varanasi charisma!!!

Anyways, we trodded down the staircases on the Ghat which lead down into the waters of the Ganga. As our boat slowly chugged along the river, stretching to around 80 odd Ghats, we were bessemerized as each ghat unfurled a different style of architecture- Old houses, Brijwasi palace, Munshi Ghat, ashrams, ornate temples, and haphazardly built homes. Our boat paused, and as the engine died down, we hovered in near silence and I sat in awe, watching on as the sky slowly turn from Prussian blue to cobalt and finally deep dark and still.

We glided back to the docks where thousands upon thousands of people were here to witness the colourful event in all its divine glory. We were near the back of the pack in our wooden boat slowly crashing into others as everyone tried to get a view of the ceremony. Thus I gave up on clicking any decent photos and settled into my seat to truly appreciate the magic of the moment. As floating candles balanced on leaves and hovered around us, I felt a clear sense of gratitude pass over me.

After the aarti, the chants and the ringing bells, before I headed back, I paused at the banks of the dark water, cool waves gently probing at my feet, and closed my eyes while I placed the leaf basket delicately into the water. I smiled contently knowing it has been more than what I had expected from this city. This was beyond magical. It was new years eve and I knew that my start had been beyond words.

Even though we missed a guided tour by Nitish at the Benaras Hindu University, I’m not going to lie; it was lot to take in. They say that traditions are age-old in this City of lights which is believed to be the centre of Earth. While for many come to bathe in The Ganga as once in a lifetime journey, for others it marks the end of their lifetime, as their ashes form on the Manikarnika Ghat and fade into the water below. If ever there was a pinch-yourself moment, this was it.

 “I saw that you were perfect, and so I loved you. Then I saw that you were not perfect and I loved you even more.”

CHOPTA CALLING......

People often have a phobia about trekking and think that it is not meant for them; it is a stunt performed only by professionals. Well, that is absolutely true.- at least for an amateur like me. Nevertheless, I decided to take on the challenge and climb onto this trek from Chopta, supposedly the Mini Switzerland of India. A small tourist town located in Garhwal Region of Uttarakhand, it is also the last road ahead to Tungnath Temple & Chandrashila peak.

Tungnath is the highest Shiva Temple in the world located at an altitude of 3680m and is one among the Panch Kedar Shrines. Believed to be more than 1000 years old, the temple is closed during the winters and the deity is shifted to Mukku village.

It can be classified as a fairly easy trek – on the difficulty level and can be ideal for a first time trekker. And so I believed. Honestly, with me I would say beggars can't be choosers, I just wanted to do this. All I knew is that my end objective was to not slip down and come back triumphant in one piece after climbing up all the way to the highest temple in India. When Divya and Shashank proposed this, I was thrilled honestly and not wrongly so.

This indeed is one the most beautiful winter treks if you like snow with prettiest meadows where you see wild flowers blossoming if you visit Pre-monsoon. It was a pleasant morning with a fresh cold breeze, sun rays falling on the glittery tiny drops of water sprinkled on the grass and astonishing view of Kedarnath and Chaumukha Peaks.

The clouds were as though playing hide and seek with a little drizzle and hailstorm on and off. The trail zig-zagged steadily gaining altitude. The real challenge was the steep rise- an elevation from 2800m to 3500m in a stretch of just 3 km. However, we trekked up one step at a time falling in love with nature and letting my mind take a break amidst the pristine surroundings from the busy everyday schedule.

Though we missed spotting the state bird of Uttarakhand, colourful Monal – on the slopes near but the view from the top was totally worth the climb enhanced by snowy peaks around. I loved savouring the peace and listening to the wind that blew furiously with the sound of the bells making it a divine experience.

While writing about this exciting trip, I cannot miss to mention our deluxe campsite in exquisite location. Tents laid out in green meadows can be a beautiful experience if you want to get a real campsite feel. Thankfully we did not have to lay them out by ourselves. The website read comfortable accommodation in Swiss camps entwined with the facilities of comfy beds, attached washrooms, onsite nice dining facility  , Battery Operated lights and 24 hours hot water supply. We thought we were all set.

The stay was a unique one. We learnt how to lead a happy life with minimals. They had wood fired stoves and two people manging the whole accommodation. There was no power except for two hours at night because there was actually no need for one. No devices was the real detox we all needed. The food menu had no barbeque or appetisers but one of the most simple delicious meals I had had in ages. And the best part were our cozy tents. By cosy I mean 12 of us packed in 2 cabins with a small make shifter fireplace in the room.

The path down to the tent from our cars was no less than a trek- more like a teaser before our final expedition. But hats off to the two guys who were managing all the chores to ensure all basic necessities to us. I wonder how they could survive, enjoy and rather hop in such difficult terrain and weather.

Before heading off to Chopta, we took a one night stop over at Devprayag, a spiritual hamlet situated at confluence of Alaknanda and Bhagirati  forming the Holy Ganga. The place we stayed in offered tranquility nestled at the base of mountains on all sides with gushing riverside- A view to die for. Walking by the river side coupled with a little adventure at rafting was only adding to the excitement of this long-awaited trip.

Kudos to Apoo and Anuj who suggested and planned this trip and to Divya for such a flawless execution. Shashank and Gagan need no mention. A special mention to Ashish and Dharam without which the trip would not have been so comfortable. Who are the latter two? I guess I shall leave that to my fellow trekkers to explain. Lolz!!!

Memorable, divine and panoramic! There is something  about hills and river that intrigue me. The hills remind me to look up. That feeling of achievement when you reach the top and the weightlessness when you look down alongwith the sense of awe as you are immersed in the wilderness cannot be put in words. On the contrary, rivers remind me of the endless flow of life and the serene down to earth attitude. When I am in a place like this, its as if I am in the middle of a conversation- Like the river telling me that it too shall pass and mountains saying that it does’nt matter anyway.

 

 

 

Nevertheless, She persisted.......

 

 

A quest to climb a mountain high

With a smile but a deep sigh

Beautiful dreams written in gold

But some beliefs needed to be cajoled

A foggy vision and hands tight-fisted

Nevertheless, she persisted!!!

 

Observing and absorbing every scene

Some fights within that could not be seen

Success is failure turned Inside out

Overshadowing every cloud of doubt

Mixed feelings of distrust & hope co-existed

Nevertheless, she persisted!!!

 

Things did go wrong and knew they will

With steep curves that carted uphill

Impediments that threw out of gear

Grim and thorny to see anything clear

Sometimes weary , sapped but  encrusted

 Nevertheless, she persisted!!!

 

Every journey is queer  with its twists & turns

No matter what, one is bound to learn

Looking back on the battle afterwards

Some stories cannot be put to words

She wanted to say but resisted

Nevertheless, she persisted!!!

  

Hold a little motto, say a little prayer

Nothing is too far, you are almost there

Regardless of the time it takes

Once you have resolved, you cannot shake

Only a brief soreness that subsisted

Nevertheless, she persisted!!!

For the love of Rains.....

 

 

 

The tiny raindrops dripping silently on my face

Melting my soul as my fingertips embrace

Dwindling off the dreariness bringing solace.

Putting my heart into the right place.

 

The tiny raindrops soothingly humming down

Thawing my heart as they touch the ground

Knocking my window coming unannounced

Spreading the earthy aroma  that sticks around

 

The tiny raindrops rejoicing with no fuss

Leaving its imprints on every teeny buds

Following the rhythm of breeze that it must

With unbound joy making the two of us

 

 

The tiny raindrops  drizzling from up the sky

Resounding the keynote " Never say die"

Breathe all the solitude in with a deep sigh

Relish the  placid sound of peace dropping by.

 

The tiny raindrops that may sound more insane

Have infact come back to run by again

Nothing gets better with more & more complain

That to enjoy a rainbow, you must enjoy rain