Who moved my trees II ?

Take a look at the almost - Kwoi pond and guess where could I be ?


Obviously following from the last post you will guess it's yet another nook of my green,so green neighborhood.


No.


Look at the pics below and guess again.

After the neighborhood, it's time to see what a normal college in Kolkata looks like. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. Anyone who has been to Varanasi and taken the long, really long walk around the BHU campus knows what I am talking about. Fellow Podarites and sundry Mumbaikars. Colleges around the world are not always buildings with classrooms where bored students and their boring teachers saunter in and out of. Labs and libraries aren't always rooms and a garden is not a 10 feet by 25 feet plot with ugly grass and weeds interspersed with the odd flowers.If you look through colleges like the ones in the U.S. or Europe, the average college campus is the size of a small town, students cycle a kilometer to class, each subject has it's own building and group study does not mean greasy meals in the canteen but a group of students huddled together chewing on their pens in the shade of sturdy trees and well manicured gardens. Even at Benares Hindu University I was left with my jaw hanging at the well planned campus layout, the beautiful lawns and almost Boston-esque feel. 


I felt betrayed and cheated.


A die-hard romantic-quasi nature lover and pseudo intellectual, I would have died for a college experience that dripped the romance of cycling across campus, studying in the company of rose bushes and ogling crushes from behind the secure cover of trees. But just like our neighborhoods, our colleges are a real estate conspiracy. Even the older ones that could have demanded more land from the government settled for a hasty pudding because quite frankly if our homes aren't green why should our colleges be ? Why not allot the space to real estate developers who can actually squeeze every paisa's worth from every cubic millimeter. Why shoulder costs of scenic beauty and tranquility for a bunch of students ?


I pinched myself for the 10 th time as I sat strumming my Spanish Guitar under a tree next to a lotus  pond. I was let in the sprawling university campus adorned with graffiti, not so much as an ID check even as I clicked away to my hearts content. There were buildings for the Arts, Commerce and Science streams. And then when I came to the building that housed the Heat and Power Lab I felt like I had been slapped across my face. A building for experiments in heat and power, in the middle of prime South Kolkata property.


Friends, our government has made fools out of us, they have taken our basic rights and made a mockery of town and infrastructure planning. I doubt I will ever be able to look at our skyline with the same fondness now that I know I have been cheated out of simple natural beauty and space. 


Meanwhile,  I am waiting for Aamir to bring up this elephant of a fraud involving deep pockets and political mafia on his show. 


But I know the wait could be forever ......

Who moved my trees ?

Have a look at the scene above and guess where I could be ? Sample the ones below if you need more help. 


















..... Keep going at it .... No, not a hill station..... no, not a resort .... ........ Darjeeling ? Not yet, probably next month. ..... Keep going ....








This ladies and gentlemen is my .... neighborhood.













Yes, green, very green, highly oxygenated, bustling with the sounds of more than 200 bird species, my  strictly middle class neighbourhood. Lake Gardens. A planned development in the heart of South Kolkata . And literally that is what we have, two lakes and a whole lot of gardens, trees with varied colourful flowers on them that scent my morning walk. Lakes where birds take their early morning dips and meals, a rowing club where you can learn to row crew and solo...... All this at middle class property rates with a 5 minute walk to bus stops and metro stations. How did I get so lucky !!!




My fellow Mumbaiites - savour the flavour of our defrauded, oxygen deprived lives. Our land sharks and politicos have made sure we have a single row of ugly trees and plants on our roads and neighbourhoods, every other centimetre  of space is devoured to make ridiculously expensive apartments and complexes. Half the real estate in Central Mumbai is lying vacant. Our Mithi is a joke of a ecological blunder. The space these land grabbers can spare is allotted to our ugly, filthy slums a.k.a vote banks. Us, tax-paying, responsible citizens, we get a concrete jungle that we are expected to think is a thing of beauty.


 We take shallow breaths and spend the mornings in bed when we could have been strolling through gardens flushing ourselves with freshly squeezed morning oxygen.No, thats what we get when we make expensive trips to hill stations or Kerala, our cheeks flush with the pink of our deep, oxygenated breaths and we feel ... alive. That's what fresh air, low on carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide and flush with oxygen does for us. 


Only we pay a premium price for what is our right. 

Dear Kar - kam - Bol - Zyaada - NAAA

Dear Kareena, 


Please let us girls decide on our own whether we are confident with our curves, plumpiness or fattiness  and let our men decide WHAT they find sexy . Please stop being an insecure schizoid and pulling Vidya Balan down because she makes you look like a foolish stick insect. Not every women thinks confidence and success follows  skeletalism whether we are actresses or not.


We do however understand your frustration at Vidya's small budget films making more than the cost of your big - budget flops, I mean that must really hurt. And unlike you she has no Khandaan to brag, brawl and boast about in her interviews. Humble beginnings, struggle, stupendous success with a .... GASP, normal sized Indian body !!!!


And NO, you are not our role model for diet and fitness or body image even though you pay your PR to declare you as such on front page tabloids. We will decide for ourselves if we would rather be curvy, sexy, successful like Vidya doing what we believe in,  or skeletal, insecure and average, working for money and glamour, playing dumb bimbos to macho heroes. 


Yours Truly,


Not thin, not fat, just NORMAL . 

Confessions of a Single, Female Backpacker - V

Well, my plan to wake up for the 4 a.m. darshan of Ma Dakshina Kali didn't materialise. As it is with such places, I slept like an infant and at 5:30 a.m. forced myself to awake so I could be in time for the 6 a.m. darshan. Trudging sleepily down the guest house lobby, I ran into a family headed to the temple and ganged up with them. Being long time Bengali devotees of the temple they told me awe- inspiring stories of how the 2000 strong crowd I saw the day before was actually because of the heatwave. It would have been easily twice that being the weekend. Why, just last December they remember standing in line behind 25000 in the shivering winter morning. Was I grateful to have missed that one !


We purchased white gallons to fill with water from the Ganga and made our way to the ghats.

It was a moment of moments. Beginning last January I had been summoned by some mysterious force to every significant Ganga Ghat .Hrishikesh, Varanasi and now as it makes it's way to the ocean, at Dakshineshwar. That familiar sight of pre-morning rituals on the ghat, families bathing and praying, filling white gallons of the holy water to take home ... I hope to decode the design behind this someday. As I took the 3 customary dips in the freezing January winter at Varanasi, it was half-belief and half- curiosity at exploring this ancient ritual.  Then in the even more freezing November waters at Hrishikesh it was perhaps 3 quarters belief and a quarter of doubt at this coincidence. Now as I took my 3 dips, the magic of Bengal worked it's way, coursing through my nerves, deleting all that is contrary to belief. Belief in the Source. There could be more that has happened, time will tell. 


I made my way to each Siva Temple, representative of all the jyotirlings and poured the water I had collected on each and every one of them. Along with many others chanting, singing devotees, an experience like no other. Outside on the sprawling courtyard a group of devotees had gotten hold of drums and broke into an impromptu song and dance performance that was mesmerising to watch. Their intonations of ancient mantras through song was a first. And like the evening before I let go of all my inhibitions and joined this group of men and women, adults, dancing and prancing like children. I broke out of the group to stand behind line for a darshan of Kali.


If the persona of Ramakrishna Paramahamsa , his message of love, peace and harmony does not clear your misconceptions of the reality behind Kali's fear inducing exterior - nothing else will. As the cosmic principle of Time, Death and Destruction Kali offers the seeds of regeneration and rebirth. Like a mother, Time is the womb of the Source through which all things are born, Kali being Time is the mother who offers new life. And mothers, are always of love. Through her seer Ramakrishna and his protegee Vivekananda, Dakshina Kali unleashed a new age of awakening. Ramakrishna  was followed by a dozen Bengali New Age Gurus who spread the message of Self and God Realisation throughout the world irrespective of religion, race and creed. From Tagore, Ram Mohun Roy to Paramahamsa Yogananda and Anandamayee Ma.


This is the gift of Dakshina Kali, Ramakrishna and Bengal to the citizens of the world.


A new beginning into the light. 

Confessions of a Single, Female Backpacker - IV

From the first moment that my stay in Kolkata was finalised I knew that a visit to Dakshineshwar was more imperative than anything else. Ramkrishna Paramahamsa, a seer for our age, as powerful a Tantric as he was simple and unassuming, Swami Vivekananda's master - his was the energy pulling me to the temple he had so lovingly and passionately tended to. To meditate in the force field created by his austere presence was a treat I wasn't willing to miss, come what may. Situated on the banks of the Hooghly, a tributory of the Ganga, the temple houses the famous deity worshipped by Paramahamsa, Ma Dakshina Kaali. So known because the Ganga flows towards the Dakshin (South). The main Kali temple is flanked by a Radhe-Krishna temple with 12 Jyotirlings - small Siva temples right adjacent to the banks of the river. You can read in detail about the background and architecture of this utopian shrine here.

The sweltering heatwave held me back for two whole weeks until I snapped and filled my backpack with a sari and overnight essentials.As with all such sojourns I make, it took a full 5 minutes to plan, decide and pack. My landlady was horrified that I was intending to leave in the evening and spend the night. I wanted to attend the morning 4:30 darshan at Dakshineshwar replete with a dip in my Ganga. I was sternly instructed to call as soon as I arrived and got myself a room. Rather than take a bus or a local train I decided to take the metro and then proceed by bus. Okay, fine, not so much bus as much HEAVING, MECHANICAL MONSTER. Add to that you have passengers hanging on to the fixtures for dear life, inhaling what everyone else is exhaling while the sun has turned the heaving monster into a fiery furnace. All in all, as genuinely exerting  a pilgrimage as Vaishnodevi.

You realise how little has changed in the past couple of centuries when you walk the cobbled, dusty path that leads to the massive temple complex. Stalls upon stalls of kitschy knick knacks, hot loochis, puja items .... as with any other temple exterior it's a riot of action. I found myself a guest house aptly titled .. what else, The Holy Nest. No kidding ! I left my backpack and headed for the evening gathering. Ramakrishna's own private chambers and meditation room have been kept intact and every evening a group of devotees render the most beautiful bengali songs that will stir your heart and soul. I couldn't move a muscle until they stopped singing and one by one we entered the room and knelt beside the bed of the sage. His presence, tangible and uplifting is an inseparable component of  the air of the entire complex, every nook and corner. Once inside the massive complex, be forewarned. This is Bengal, present day home of devotion and devotees. Crowds of anywhere around 3000 waiting in a line for a darshan of the Goddess is routine. I thanked my good sense that I had chosen to stay overnight, surely the pre - dawn darshan would see lesser numbers. Right next to the main Dakshina Kali temple was a small canopy structure, host to the evening's sankirtan. Another ethereal experience, these seem to come by the dozen if you so choose.

I am yet to see such passionate displays of communion in Mumbai. Don't get me wrong. Our chowkis cum kitty parties, loud speakers blaring at Ganeshotsav with the carnival like finale and the like can't hold a candle to what I  see consistently as I travel across Bengal. I was huddled in a corner, supported by a stone pillar, sobbing with joy, as were many others. Unashamedly, feeling the mirth of divine communion with complete strangers. How many times have you seen that as you stand in those atrociously long queues outside Siddhivinayak and Mahalakshmi. It's almost as if we in Mumbai have specific 5 point agendas when we visit our shrines, not to meet and greet the deities but to network with cosmic authority figures who can swing things in our favour. Of course I am generalizing here but as I see the average bengali around me overflow with love and ecstasy at every shrine I visit, the reality of devotion, devotees  and deities in Mumbai seems almost comically depressing. We have turned our deities into celebrities with more security than your average M.L.A., more crowded frenzy on weekends than the average blockbuster and more devotee turnout than voters at your average election. Where is that personal touch, that sentimental relationship with the seers and deities that is the hallmark in Kolkata. With these thoughts I went off to sleep early for my  4 a.m. dip in the Ganga ....

To be Continued.

Who ordered these .... Child Brides - II

I remember my panic when I first faced my batch of pre-adolescents at a foundation that was working with slum children. I remember my palpitating self-confidence at the thought of having to teach such gangly and tender looking children meditation and pranayama. Being impoverished, the girls who were 13 looked around 9 to me and the fact that they weren't as worldly as the children we meet who are obviously from a more privileged class and exposed to the extra - curricular world. These children hadn't had exposure to the thinkers of our age, to internet and newspapers. They were, however, irascibly street smart, picking up the concepts I taught them with the zeal of someone who  knows what a benefit self-development is.



One of these sessions finally decoded that wistful gaze I was subjected to by the girls. One of them said to me that her mother was discouraging her from putting her heart into education because all she would do later would be to get married. Soon. The girl I thought looked 10 and too young to meditate was talking marriage and babies with the rationale of a woman in her 20's. If there is a more chilling face-off with the reality of our nation consider me off the list. I can do without such a slap-on-the-face moments when the sheer craziness of how privileged we are as a result of the coincidence of our birth to educated, middle- class parents is rubbed on our faces.


I brushed aside the stinging feeling at the base of my neck and proceeded with a dismissive smile. I joked that she could tell her mother that if she were educated they would find an educated groom for her. I quickly forgot the incident until this week when I attended the annual summer camp organised by the foundation for these students. Dance, drama, music, painting and science exhibitions that displayed their progress to the trustees and promoters of the foundation. I was blown by the dance performances and the science exhibits. But what rocked me to my core was the play put together by the girls. Aged 8 to 13. A play on child marriage.


Evidently, a cathartic release for them. The concept, script and dialogues were all developed by the girls themselves. The acting and execution were brilliant and were I allowed I would post the video here. Their passionate bows at the applause clearly conveyed how deeply moving a release it was for them. They are all living in the shadow of fear - a marriage that might be arranged any day in their teens and take them away from home and school to another slum or village. A discussion by the panel of staff that deliberated with the principal of the children's schools quickly narrated the rest of the tale.


Whereas the children all excelled in the walls of the foundation, their studies and extra-curriculars didn't follow up within their homes. Irrespective of gender their parents were indifferent to the improvement in their grades, their ambitions to be more than their humble beginnings. Obviously, these parents didn't want their children to be too good for themselves. To be alienated from your own child is something no parent wants. But here, particularly the girls were being aggressively pulled down. Their parents let them indulge in the activities conducted at the foundation, they might even enjoy the gifts the girls bring home for having excelled in their choice of activity. But an improvement in grades is perceived as a threat. And attempts are made to neutralise the flowering of their child's personality.


Here in a nutshell is our predicament. Even when resources are available to children who have what it takes to move out of the slums, the parents and family pull the child back. The girls, more aggressively are emotionally blackmailed. Their mothers allege that by stressing for an education they are implying their own mothers are inferior. The girl is torn between a world she longs to be a part of, and parents who pull her back through the dynamics of covert control and manipulation. Which daughter wants her parents to be alienated or her family to allege she is breaking out of their circle. By speaking a different language, by knowing what a computer is and by making choices that put power in her hands, she is rubbing their inferiority in their faces, and no child wants to do that. 


So the girls hide their real value from themselves and their parents. Hide their dreams and longingly gaze at me and the employees at the foundation like they were looking through the glass of a candy-shop.

Confessions of a Single, Female Backpacker- III

It was an impromptu trip, one I made on a lark. I had 3 days to kill with the Kolkata heatwave was driving me crazy and unfortunate others in the hospital. My landlady, who by now understands she has a maverick on her hands, albeit one with spiritual inclinations suggested I will like going down to Mayapur. Her own trip down there had been fantastic and she recommended good,old Iskcon. A quick browse over their site told me they offered everything. From buses that ply down to Mayapur to a range of accommodation options on their large community. One could book a seat on an A.C. bus and an A.C. room in their dormitories and let Iskcon arrange a tour for them around the Nabadwip-Mayapur region.


In ten minutes I was on my way to the office to get my things sorted out. I booked myself on a regular bus and got myself a kutir ... straw hut accommodation for a spanking Rs. 100 per night !!! And all this on a last minute. Thank god for the killer heatwave that led to cancellations ! True to the plan I was on the bus to Mayapur at 5:30 a.m. We passed villages and farms, all lush green and forgot that we were leaving behind a concrete jungle that was sweltering behind. Once you step into rural India time stands still for you. Once you see farmers toiling away in their fields and women hauling water pots, all your own problems and whims melt away. You come alive to life in a way that is not possible in the city. Your frazzled mind is soothed by the reality of simple living. 


After 4 hours on the road we landed at the Iskcon campus. My room - kutir was modest. But I found myself alone in a 4 bed shared room because of the heatwave. Set amidst lavishly greem farmland and huge trees with diverse bird species all chirping away. I had come to a different planet altogether. Next door was a goshala, an international school for Iskcon devotees children, an ashram for the renunciates ..... A whole different planet, seemingly calmer and serene. I didn't see a frown in the 3 days I was there. My landlady insisted I don't miss the morning arati and I didn't. Only ... for a city gal walking through grass and trees at the devilish hour of 4:30 a.m. was no mean feat. I deserve an award for sheer bravado, the spooky night orchestra comprising an assortment of insects and birds notwithstanding I made it in the pitch dark to the temple precinct. Only to find countless devotees from nearby villages having done the same, only they had to traverse wild farm land in the dark.


There is a reason why communal singing is such a big part of many cultures and beliefs. It is an experience I can't put in words. Experience it yourself at your nearest Iskcon or any other communal devotional event to know for yourself. You will begin to understand there is an unknown world out there. One in places like Nadia, Vrindavan, Benares, Ajmer and the like. Where communal experiences induce feelings you can't quite put the slot on. When you take the barge and venture to Nabadwip, you see devotees kissing the places saints have hallowed down the ages. Scooping the dust from their feet and anointing themselves with it. You will learn a new kind of humility. One where your imperative to rationalise will be subjugated to instinctive emotionalism. And crack by crack your well built armour of rational emotionalism will break. You emerge a new image of yourself, freer and lighter by the tonne. Where beliefs are just that. Beliefs. Not subject to rationale and logic. But they are not superstitions because they are based on love and adoration rather than fear. 


We all need such breaks once in a while. To discover the light within and the lightness it brings.

Confessions of a Single, Female Backpacker - II

It was synchronicity, just like it always is with places that are charged with deep, esoteric energies. I ended up on a impromptu trip to place never heard and known of . The story of the trip can however wait. The backdrop of this spiritual retreat deserves a poem of it's own.


The Nadia district may be famous for it's poverty and declining hand-loom industry. But much like the rest of the state of Bengal, Nadia has done it's part in churning spiritual leaders for our Age. At a time when the Indian middle classes were struggling with an identity crisis wrought by the British education and Victorian sensibilities cultural behemoths like Tagore, Raja Ram Mohun Roy came to their aid. And when the mainstream Hindu identity was starving for  fresh perspective Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada, following on the trail blazed by Mahaprabhu Chaitanya of the this same region rose into prominence.


Our generation, for the most part is afraid of committing itself as religious for fear of sounding fundie and crazy, given the riots and crimes of irrationality we have seen in the name of religion. Then we are not really  clear if agnostic what describes us because quite frankly, being Indians who will never give up on Ganpati Bappa and Diwali we are certainly NOT agnostics. And that dreadfully, dreaded A word. Atheism inspires about as much respect in our peer set and family circle as a bout of the measles. I don't know about you, but given the above conundrum we mostly mark the tick on quasi-pseudo-spirituality. Of course, our grandparents may think we are Kaliyug hippies but they don't know the confusion we deal with. Old school religion is out of the question. But we won't stop celebrating our version of Star wars meets Chinese New Year - by which I mean that festival when the great Saviour Rama won back his Queen from that Demon King Ravana. We spend the annual budget of Somalia on the crackers, diyas and festoons of Diwali alone. But we shy from identifying ourselves as hardcore Hindus because BJP made Hindutva a crazy word. Such is our malaise. 


Commitment Phobia of the Spiritual kind.


Me, not of Hindu origins at all. But lustily desirous of all our multi-colored celebrations of human and divine adventures. A travel junkie with a serious fetish for .... well, pilgrimages to the oldest, holiest, culturally richest spots of our mad country. Believe me, until you have taken a boat trip down the ghats of Benares, taken  a dip in the chilly Ganges at Hrishikesh and been a mad member of a party of clowns climbing up mountains for a nano-second darshan of a deity - you don't live in the real India. A lot of experiences can be added that laundry list, of course. About 1000 more such examples. But the fact remains my friends that REAL India, unspoilt by the influences of our Victorian past and post - Mughal dark ages is still breathing in it's silent corner. Waiting to be explored. And be amazed and disgusted by, simultaneously. No fancy, luxury trip to Thailand and Europe will ever meet the pulsating experience that real India offers. And it does not involve being a Hindu, I am not. One simply partakes a cultural experience, be it religious or not.


My trip to Nadia had it's share of highs and lows in balance. The excruciating heat that gave me a splitting headache. But the pure, green farmland that formed the backdrop of the Iskcon Mayapur facility was ethereal. And living in a straw hut, replete with spookiest forest sounds at night that made me wish I wasn't a lone sleeper. The barge I took down the Ganga to get across to Nabadwip - of all things in our country the Ganga is a ceaseless wonder of the ages. Somehow, sailing across the Ganga will put you in your place where nothing else can. You are sailing on waters that your own ancestors have both sailed and dissolved in. The narrow bylanes where saints, seers and poets of yore sang and danced with the intoxication of Krishna Bhakti. 


To take a trip down the district of Nadia is to harmonise that spiritual vagueness within ourselves. And simultaneously absorb the soothing, mellow nectar of our cultural and religious beliefs devoid of doctrine, rigidity, casteism and creedism. Nothing but joy. If nothing else the ecstasy of the dreadfullly early 4 a.m. arati that draws devotees from across nearby villages to mirthfully dance in the temple can break the stifling big city drudgery we all long to escape.


A collection of Nabadwip/ Mayapur images. 

My Next Batch of Sweeties - II

I had on my hands girls rescued from the street, raised in a shelter home away from families and now at the threshold of adult life. My interaction with them raised an issue they possibly never thought about. A complete absence of any religious training or spiritual education whatsoever.


Us, we are lucky. We get to choose what to follow. If we feel the way of our faith supplemented by our upbringing suits us we can follow that. If not, we have a wide array of choices made possible by the educated milieu to which we belong. We can read books, join classes and study groups to explore spirituality and any spiritual figures who appeal to us. We can do all this because we can afford the money and the leisure. Our basic and advanced needs are met to leave space for spiritual exploration and networking.


What about a group of girls that has neither the upbringing nor the conveniences  above. Who have neither explored nor experienced the raw positivity that saints, seers and poets of yore have left as our inheritance, who have never discussed with anyone any virtue, any goodness, any source of higher power ? This was a truth that exposed my ignorance of how much of a privilege we have in these matters. As with food, positivity that comes from a spiritual source is the sustenance of the mind and soul. We need it, imperfect,irrational or unreal as it's source and form may be. This need leads us to astounding synchronicities and connections.


To my batch, I tentatively told them to explore any appreciation, respect or attraction they harbour towards any Deity, saint or role model. Need not be of your faith. Fearlessly abandon the monotony of regimented sheltered approach and explore the concepts of love and power in any shape or form that appeals to you. I didn't add that once they take that first step, beginner's luck will come into play and their minds and lives will follow a surprisingly planned course of action that will lead to the blossoming of their inner selves.
Isn't the above how most of us end up on our paths ? Exploring an initial attraction we find ourselves firmly following the plan of the deity or belief figure if not a path that has been paved by them. For what seems like the nth time my own conniving Krishna is taking me on a retreat one of his homes. The birth place of the modern day Bhakti Movement  or Renaissance in India. The Nadia District of Bengal. That I should be on way to place I  knew neither existence nor the significance of until I had the above interchange with the girls speaks volumes. As you give, you receive.


And the Single, Female, Backpacker's journey continues.