Srinagar notes

Apple baits,

And a fisherman 

Catches a loot

On Dal Lake.

Sliding their rifles around 

Soldiers shed tears

Gulping golgappas

Indolent with his hookah

A boatman relaxes on 

His shikara

Swatting mosquitoes.

From Neil

We live in a tiny room - enough for a bed and a little space to walk on two sides, my son and I. The walls and door are of matted reed; roof is a tin slat. On the little veranda outside, hang our two hammocks - in slate blue and ocean green. We have a mat we spread out for visitors, for yoga, painting, braiding friendship bracelets, and crafting coconut shells - into planters, bowls, jewelry. This mat is white with green parrots on green branches. All our belongings are contained in two bags that easily fit under our bed. The family here feeds us, simple fare and very well. Most vegetables and fruits are from their own garden.

For most part we lie on the hammock, that sways on its own, tuned to the sound of the waves, just beyond, and the sound of the breeze, if we listen a little more, and our own breath and heart beat if we get really tuned in.

At other times we go to the beach, scavenging for shells or driftwood, or to ride the jade and turquoise waves, or to simply wander - up and down, up and down, aimlessly but centered.

There is little to do here, and little to buy or own. Slow life, gentle smiles, purpose less, yet complete. I have everything I need.

How will I ever return?

Packing

I am headed out to the Andamans...and I am packing all the things I should not forget. Turquoise blue for the ocean,  jade at the shore, white froths, and cerulean blue for the immense sky dome. On a whim, I add in a scarlet for the flamboyant sunsets, a deep carmine for the pre-dawns. I add in emerald for the snorkelling depths, a leaf green for the giant trees, a hooker's green for the rest. I add in gold and silver for the sands to walk on and the sun and the moon - and finally lapis for the inky star sprayed nights.

I pack in a hammock and I am done. 

Malaysian Blues

Just came back from Malaysia. Had last visited it in 1984. Was a student then. Remember many things:
Gorgeous ornate boats lining the coast at Kota Bharu.
Zipping between rice fields on a scooter and an ornate reclining Buddha.
Our youth and our many excitements - new country, new people, and promise of a new love.
The silk of a chinese jade sea - floating face up - effortlessly.
My first bikini in red batik.
Strange colorful kites, amazing Indian food, many domes of masjids, my first duty free shopping. Bought many chinese silk sarees for family in India.

Went to Malaysia again with my daughter. Headed immediately to Pulau Perhentian Kecil - just off Kota Bharu. Reached by a speed boat - dense jungles framing limpid, dazzling, clear turquoise waters ; could see rocks and corals from above and also large parrot fish. Five days and nights; lots of snorkeling. Shallow turquoise became clear lapis - gold bits floated in and out of colorful reefs, also schools of brilliant fish, sharks, turtles, eels, wall of sword fish - meter long. Water so dense with salt - couldn't dive in - stayed afloat staring at all the wonder within.

I returned - floating and light, stained blue by the sea, and bits of gold in my eyes. 

Swept Away by Solar Winds

For the last seventeen days I have lived, perched on the fiords, two hundred kilometres into the arctic circle, blanketed in twenty hours of darkness and a little dusk. I have chosen to deliberately slow my spinning to a third of my tropical chase and face a numbing cold in this monochromatic world of black and white, dark and light. I am surrounded by white snow clad hills merging into dense. low, soft grey skies. Swatches of barren trees lace the lower slopes in black filigree.  An occasional red cabin dots this vast silence with colour and warmth - and a light burns within. The fiords lap five meters from my door, in jade, prussian blue, olive to navy - depending on the moment. Dashes of pale gold shine and silhouette the dark horizon - our hint of a sun that never rises. This is a strange world.

I am here chasing an old dream - to see the auroras - the colourful lights that light up the arctic skies in winter - raining down in sheets and swirls of dancing light. I remember teaching about this - three decades back - fingering in awe the colour photos in textbooks of basic astronomy.  I know that more is known than is mysterious when charged particles from the solar wind are captured by Earth's magnetosphere and are funnelled to the poles in arrays of mysterious light and awe inspiring beauty. The ancients thought these were their ancestral spirits, dancing.

I saw these lights - in shades of mostly green, with an occasional hint of pink, swirling across the skies in furling-unfurling and sheets of chiffon, dancing to the solar melodies - gliding across swathe of Milky Way, reflecting on water, hills, us. People here say that they can feel the solar wind during periods of high auroral activity. We had several of these, yet I am too much of a novice to recognise the direct breath of the sun from the winds of this earth which surround me.

We stood with our faces to the skies, surrendering to this grace - knowing we have been blessed to be thus awed.

First Impressions:Images from Metz

Hunger - Up Close

I returned from Kolkata a week back. I am still haunted by the man sitting across from me, in the second class non-AC sleeper, on Yeshwantpur-Howrah Express. The train left Howrah around 8:30 pm, and I lay down on the lower berth with my newly acquired old Tanpura - in its brand new black case. I lay side by side with my instrument,  legs curled around its Lau base, comfortable and aware - to not damage this precious instrument. Three seats/berths were still empty.

When I awoke next morning, a new set of passengers had arrived to fill up all berths, and all passages and spaces between the berths; two people were sleeping in the two feet width separating berths, on the floor, sideways, comfortably and intimately, as the poor still know how. Later, I learnt that they were strangers to each other - squeezed together in their desperate need for sleep.

The man across me, at the opposite window seat must be forty - at most. He was dark, gaunt, with tight skeleton hands - all veins protruding. He wore his thin dark, well oiled hair in an unusually long fashion, curling at his ears and back. His clothes were worn thin - but neat. His eyes were hollow, slanty with pronounced lids. Lips were tiny, nose small, cheekbones wide and pronounced, emphasised by hollow cheeks. He was small - and light - and yet there was physical strength of a manual laborer or even a skilled crafts person.

What shook me, internally, as the day progressed, was that the man did not eat - at all. Nor did his companion - a skinny youth 18-20 years old. The man in the top berth seemed to be their boss, younger, well fed and sleeping - he seemed to be taking them to some job near Bangalore. When the young man ordered lunch for the two of them, the man in the top berth shouted that there was no way he was spending this amount of money feeding them; he cancelled their orders and kept a single order of lunch. Breakfast happened, and then snacks, and then lunch - people had either ordered railway food or had some food packed with them. The compartment of eight typically had five additional people - all ate, chatted, dozed, slept. I enjoyed the window seat with a stiff breeze and rolling countryside, hills, trees, water bodies, birds of wide variety - lots of cranes, herons, snake birds - black, still and wings wide spread. I was also constantly bothered by my two hungry companions. The young guy had wolfed down a small bag of puffed rice that he had with him - but the older guy ate nothing. While we ate, they obstinately stared out of the windows - often times their gullets moving as they swallowed at particular enticing smells of samosas, coffee, masala moori, biryani. The guy on the top berth ate his full lunch and again slept.

I had never witnessed hunger - or this kind of starvation - in anyone, before. It shook me that this was what it looked like - tear less, anger less, hopelessly bleak and gnawing. This hunger was proud, withering and stoic. I ate with shame the theplas my mom had made for me - with love, corrainder, hing and other masalas - light, fragrant, and delicate.

Around 5pm, the young man softly asked the older guy "maybe he will atleast give us Tea?" and the man replied " but there is too much shame in asking..". They both remained engrossed in their hunger - silent and  blank.

I overcame my personal embarrassment and bought them food - for the rest of the journey. The young guy, objected, only mildly. Neither met my eyes - but took the food - turned away and ate. Next morning, I was woken up with a light pat on my arm, and a face lit by a gentle smile " don't miss your stop - we are leaving"

I am still haunted by that face - chiseled by years of hunger - of a proud and working man, with nothing to eat. That too in this - India Shining.

Murals of Bellanwila and Kelaniya :Sri Lanka

Outside Colombo, unknown and undiscovered by most (except the religious and devout), are two stunning temples - gems of homage to Sri Lankan Buddhist art and faith - at Bellanwila and Kelaniya. I came across these names by a rare chance - it was pouring in Kandy and I took shelter in a fairly obscure bookshop. Time passing, till the rains stopped, I was browsing through their collection of Sri lankan art and came across academic and rare books on these two temples. I pursued their location through the government travel desk to be magnificently rewarded by their spectacular murals - of rich, vibrant and vivid colors and art work of finest and utterly satisfying aesthetic sensibilities. The photographs below give only a little sense of the amazing visual feasts, on offer at Bellanwila and Kelaniya

Bellanwila

Kelaniya Temple: