tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54625256365164457692024-03-20T03:16:32.985-07:00Matters That Mind...What matters most? Something that pleases you or hurts you matters most. Thank you friends, for sharing your experiences and giving me the grain of thought, to start writing new stories...Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-30025143853252891392024-01-07T10:33:00.000-08:002024-01-07T10:33:16.426-08:00Enchanting Bali Escapade: A Journey to Tropical Serenity<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Embarking on a solo journey to Bali wasn't just a vacation; it was an odyssey of self-discovery, cultural immersion, and boundless exploration. As a solo traveler, every moment became an opportunity to delve into the intricacies of this enchanting island. From the vibrant markets of Ubud to the serene beaches of Nusa Penida, each location unfolded its unique story.</span></span></p><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Solo travel, contrary to popular belief, is not about solitude; it's a gateway to forging connections that transcend borders. In Bali, I found myself seamlessly woven into the vibrant tapestry of diverse cultures. Engaging with locals and in their daily rituals and celebrations opened my eyes to the richness of Balinese traditions, a depth of understanding I might have missed in a group setting. Talking to global tourists , battling challenges at the ATMs created a feeling of bonding in a new country. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Navigating the island solo also meant navigating the labyrinth of self-discovery. The quiet moments spent in contemplation amidst the terraced rice fields or during a sunrise view from my hotel room were revelations that resonated deep within. Solo travel is a dialogue with oneself, a chance to confront fears, embrace uncertainties, and emerge stronger.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The beauty of traveling alone lies in the serendipity of human connections. Whether sharing stories with fellow travelers at a cozy warung (roadside stalls) or joining a spontaneous beach bonfire, I discovered the magic of instant friendships. Solo travel is a catalyst for building connections that transcend the transient nature of a holiday, leaving indelible marks on the journey.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">Moreover, the autonomy of solo travel fueled a hunger for knowledge. My carefully planned itinerary gave me ample opportunities to savor each moment that i enjoyed and discard another the moment I realized i did not like it. I am not a trekker and I skipped those that involved steep steps. This meant I got more time to be in spots I loved to be. Every encounter became an opportunity to expand my cultural lexicon, transforming the trip into an educational odyssey.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">The trip transcended beyond a mere holiday; it was a transformative experience. The freedom to explore, connect, and learn not only enriched my understanding of this tropical paradise but also left an indelible imprint on my own journey of self-discovery.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">My Itinerary included 3 days in Denpasar, 2 nights in Kuta and 1 night in Ubud. Having experienced this, I highly recommend 3 nights in Kuta (highly recommend where i stayed... The Kana) and 3 nights in Ubud (Seres Spring Spa). Both places are a delight. 30 minutes away from main market areas. Best breakfast and easy accessibility of ATMs and GRAB (that's an app which is equivalent to our Uber and swiggy). I would slip Denpasar for stay and suggest you visit one of the beaches for sunset and lovely vibes. I was at Teba Cafe, their sea food was world class. All links shared below. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">What not to do;</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">1. Choosing Inna Bali Heritage Hotel for stay... it's really ancient Heritage structure... please avoid </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">2. Don't forget an umbrella...helpful in heat as well as rain. Bali is hot throughout the year.. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">3. Don't pack any fancy stuff...shorts n cotton tops</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">.and BIG tube of Sunscreen is all that you need</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">4. Take little Indian food like Theplas... you may crave for it. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">Some pictures.....</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyvCscHOAQR6HZ9N6Qk9R1H7TgefD6eORpKqeyH1yRqe5p4qQmJkYLZKQEaYAVsXluVPdVjvGpwNZ5_t_9x4sklDDHhTv-kzmC3i6qMviCntiFCqFQkFySjaDOJw9FQk5A4Nqu6SM8cR-LVNpkdwaQsba6phKLkYiLYVvbwOJGHYbLKFuL43zpNWA2D5s/s4000/20240102_113750%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyvCscHOAQR6HZ9N6Qk9R1H7TgefD6eORpKqeyH1yRqe5p4qQmJkYLZKQEaYAVsXluVPdVjvGpwNZ5_t_9x4sklDDHhTv-kzmC3i6qMviCntiFCqFQkFySjaDOJw9FQk5A4Nqu6SM8cR-LVNpkdwaQsba6phKLkYiLYVvbwOJGHYbLKFuL43zpNWA2D5s/s320/20240102_113750%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNbnpx5TmnXVsshrxnsIGRn6dsaaf9macClr1bMgzul57hpUjTBcmzVslQK_oLviPNpBdA4L7Ohdd0OIMBS9dG5rquIEhP9Mzl6ojl1ysFXIo0VxknM1VqHsw8upXcaeOfr_F06xCcLq7nmFHQx-6Zi40r9rOshHY0s_1Cjuz_fjnsx08yDM5x-dQPFR2/s4624/20231231_111532%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNbnpx5TmnXVsshrxnsIGRn6dsaaf9macClr1bMgzul57hpUjTBcmzVslQK_oLviPNpBdA4L7Ohdd0OIMBS9dG5rquIEhP9Mzl6ojl1ysFXIo0VxknM1VqHsw8upXcaeOfr_F06xCcLq7nmFHQx-6Zi40r9rOshHY0s_1Cjuz_fjnsx08yDM5x-dQPFR2/w207-h276/20231231_111532%5B1%5D.jpg" width="207" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-8872522048105544882023-11-23T21:07:00.000-08:002023-11-23T21:07:07.970-08:00The Rollercoaster of Perils and Thrills<p><span style="font-size: inherit;">In the vast and ever-evolving landscape of modern romance, dating apps stand out as both the saviors and pranksters of Cupid's realm. While matrimonial sites are still playing matchmaker for Auntie Ji's distant cousin's nephew, the younger generation has taken matters into their own hands, quite literally, with a swift right swipe.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImdZIFBoVnIlyhRjmjC13GNDwiHQHDdHonPvgGS7UhVh1Sk1vnG7ziy9tq60JzDcM6g-BOIN9DvLr-Zxm7RqSVA8bnjK_s1caOWTR9GNPqJjRUzNWd9ryrJJTamBfYIkvbSbA6rJM3hDsbgz1ldvMSmBOzIYyp9lPRQcQumZHe1mTqTEXrnQLnEu5wJLC/s626/dating-couple-enjoying-romantic-dinner_74855-5233.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="626" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImdZIFBoVnIlyhRjmjC13GNDwiHQHDdHonPvgGS7UhVh1Sk1vnG7ziy9tq60JzDcM6g-BOIN9DvLr-Zxm7RqSVA8bnjK_s1caOWTR9GNPqJjRUzNWd9ryrJJTamBfYIkvbSbA6rJM3hDsbgz1ldvMSmBOzIYyp9lPRQcQumZHe1mTqTEXrnQLnEu5wJLC/w320-h228/dating-couple-enjoying-romantic-dinner_74855-5233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">Enter Bumble, the app where women make the first move – a revolutionary concept in a world where decisive decisions are usually left to the toss of a coin. It's like a virtual dance floor where the ladies choose their partners, and the guys nervously wait for the music to start. It's a thrilling game of 'who blinks first,' and the prize is the possibility of a connection that might just lead to something more.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">Tinder, on the other hand, is the wild, wild west of dating apps. It's a place where bios are short, intentions are vague, and the only requirement is a strong thumb for endless swiping. It's the app that brought the term 'swipe right for yes, swipe left for no' into the dating lexicon. With a seemingly infinite pool of potential matches, Tinder is a buffet of options where everyone's a potential catch until proven otherwise.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">Now, let's talk about Aisle – the app for those who prefer their love stories served with a side of sophistication. No swiping here; it's all about making a choice after some thoughtful consideration. It's like entering a quaint bookstore where you explore the titles, read a few synopsis, and then decide which story you want to dive into. Aisle users are not in a rush; they appreciate the slow burn of a good connection.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">And then there's Happn – the app that turns your daily commute into a potential romantic encounter. It's the serendipity of meeting someone whose path you've crossed, quite literally. A missed connection becomes a second chance as Happn tracks your encounters and gives you the opportunity to turn that 'what if' into a 'maybe.' It's like a romantic comedy set in the real world, with your favorite coffee shop or subway station playing a supporting role in your love story.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">Now, let's take a moment to appreciate the stark contrast with matrimonial sites – the virtual meeting ground for anxious parents armed with bio-data and a checklist longer than the Great Wall of China. </span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3w670HB286KC6N8S5GODM6lmAsaoIR1B_Ad8qROLJ9dKRwLVyiaQXKiGFl_vxv7aYqlftQbjnLEhNADCgBDnjjR_kdlwyMYFLjdX5_SWm99aBwrnpISvZ0w-bqREsQuMTctc2HJdI6s3PuYVk14mLinTfcrKQ5Tf_QSSiu-qv4HhkgkpyHJ3WnuZOy8Xf/s564/2-6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="564" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3w670HB286KC6N8S5GODM6lmAsaoIR1B_Ad8qROLJ9dKRwLVyiaQXKiGFl_vxv7aYqlftQbjnLEhNADCgBDnjjR_kdlwyMYFLjdX5_SWm99aBwrnpISvZ0w-bqREsQuMTctc2HJdI6s3PuYVk14mLinTfcrKQ5Tf_QSSiu-qv4HhkgkpyHJ3WnuZOy8Xf/s320/2-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">While youngsters are busy swiping right, old parents are navigating the maze of traditional matchmaking. It's a world where compatibility isn't determined by shared interests and witty banter but by horoscopes, family background, and the number of weddings attended in the past year.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">In this chaotic dance of love and companionship, dating apps offer a unique blend of perils and thrills. The perils? Well, the occasional awkward encounter, the ghosting phenomenon, and the undeniable pressure of crafting the perfect bio that encapsulates your entire existence in 300 characters. The thrills? The anticipation of a new match, the excitement of a potential connection, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something beautiful.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: inherit;">So here's to the digital age of romance, where swipes and super likes have become the currency of connection. In a world where love is just a tap away, may your matches be plenty, your conversations be intriguing, and your dating adventures be filled with both perils and thrills. Happy swiping!</span></p></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com1Denver, CO, USA39.7392358 -104.99025111.429001963821158 -140.146501 68.049469636178856 -69.834001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-61710188737291682019-04-22T09:06:00.000-07:002019-04-25T08:07:37.970-07:00A 6-Day Blank Page Agenda with Bhutan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Bhutan happened for me because of my
friend Swapna who had been to Bhutan and she would not stop raving about the good
times she had there. Plus, I got the contact details of a local guide through
whom I prepared a customized plan for myself. I have never enjoyed group tours
with fixed itineraries so I connected with the guide and made one for myself.
It’s a little more expensive this way as the overheads are on you alone. But I
had saved up for this and I opted for the customized plan. Thimpu - 1 night, Punakha- 1 night, Gangtey- 2 nights, Paro- 2 nights. You can add Bhumtang if you can spare 3 to 4 more days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">It’s a small country and you have a
limited area to explore. It was up to me to choose which one to visit. I
included more of free time and nature walks compared to the usual routine of
visiting monasteries, treks and hikes. I like seclusion, soaking in the nature
and surroundings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bhutan is a trekkers
paradise in case you love trekking. Hope you enjoy the blog.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Day 1:</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Zw_TAbXxmhctNGmNRBnxeg6H-U8Deq_bSXHAjC0sVRlRZ7hXD0LzsrbC2cKojJPbshiO5binrRXYZk6oUezKrzfxJEStW7vIdMReKIBq1HeN2_0HWcNBbHPdoqnnr5gJXyIxTaLTXR44/s1600/20190401_114939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Zw_TAbXxmhctNGmNRBnxeg6H-U8Deq_bSXHAjC0sVRlRZ7hXD0LzsrbC2cKojJPbshiO5binrRXYZk6oUezKrzfxJEStW7vIdMReKIBq1HeN2_0HWcNBbHPdoqnnr5gJXyIxTaLTXR44/s400/20190401_114939.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The Bhutan Airlines flight that I boarded from Kolkotta landed 90 minutes later at Paro. I looked outside the window. Was I at an airport or did I land in the middle of the city? The aircraft came to a grinding halt and some time later the doors opened. Fresh cool air welcomed me and I took a deep breath. Just 20 steps away stood the airport building. A two floored white building with beautiful wooden carvings. The airport looked picturesque. I could not fathom if it was a drawing or if it was for real. The architecture bore testimony to a land of talented painters, weavers and architects.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I could have dragged my luggage out
of the plane to the waiting car,it was that close. Instead, I and Sneha, my travel buddy stood
there and soaked in the coolness and gulped in lungful of fresh sweet air. Far
away, the snow laden mountains seemed stripped of all their snow but some still
glistened in the hot sun, which for some reason seemed welcome and not hot. We walked
a few steps to enter the airport and wait for our luggage. We got it exactly
within 15 minutes of landing. And why not? There wasn't a fleet arriving into
Bhutan at that hour of the day. I dragged my luggage from the conveyor belt and wheeled it through the exit gate. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kinley</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Outside stood my long-haired
guide – Kinley Tshering. He was dressed in ‘<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gho">Gho’</a>, the traditional Bhutanese
dress for boys and men. It looked like a knee length gown with long sleeves
folded at the base. Almost, all men I saw in Bhutan were dressed similarly. He
draped me and Sneha with a long white satin scarf and welcomed us to his
country. I moved towards my vehicle which was a comfortable Hyundai Santa Fe
chauffeured by Rabgay (pronounced Rubgey) who just bowed his head in respect
and I bowed back.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rabgay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I presumed he did not understand English
and thus did not speak to me. That was a delusion which I realized soon after. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I settled myself comfortably in the car and off we went towards Thimpu, the
capital city of Bhutan. Thus, began my
journey – one of the most beautiful road travel I have ever done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So I was in the car, and Kinley taught us
the two essential words –</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kuzoozangpo La meaning Hello<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Response is the same ;-). You just repeat it! </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">And Kaadinchhey La – meaning thank you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I memorised the above and used in several
times during my stay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">The never-ending roads winded up and down
the hills as it took me from one place to the other. As per itinerary, I was to
stay in Paro the last 2 nights of my trip, so we breezed out of Paro on way to
Thimpu. We must have landed around 12pm at Paro – Bhutan is 30 minutes ahead of
India. Kinley took us for lunch to a hotel where we I could not get Indian food. I opted for a grilled sandwich, french fries and sprite. Sneha felt nauseous and avoided any food. If you are prone to motion sickness, take all the precautions you may want to take. All through Bhutan the roads snake precariously up and down a few hills and valley. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">After lunch, we explored few
places of interest which included the textile mills, art school, library,
museums. Every place had an entry ticket and I chose to enter only a few of
them. Sneha visited most of it. The Takin reserve is a must-see. One needs to
trek on a moderately steep slope. I was breathless and the air tightened around
my chest as I climbed up to the entry point. I decided not to go further up.
That was a painful decision and I went through this pain twice again during the
rest of my stay in Bhutan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Driving through the valleys, I gazed out of
the car. All I could see was deep valleys and gigantic hills. We stopped by a
few places enroute and got down to click few pictures and admire the beauty. By
4pm, Kinley brought me to ‘Peaceful Resort’ for my overnight stay. Nice hotel,
great amenities with 2 heaters in the room and 2 or 3 blankets, all imported
from Ludhiana. Some were made from locally available Yak wool. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Throughout my stay I enjoyed the low temperatures ranging from 5</span><sup><span style="color: black; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">◦</span></sup><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">C to 12</span><sup><span style="color: black; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">◦</span></sup><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">C. The best time to visit Bhutan is
October to December. I was lucky to be here in April between the 1<sup>st</sup>
and the 7<sup>th</sup>. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I heard The temperature rose drastically after I left. Weather
is unpredictable in Bhutan, like in any other hilly regions. Rains, thunder
storm, sudden drop in temperatures can be expected at any point of time. I kept
checking my weather app while Kinley chuckled and said – this does not work in Bhutan. The mountains decide. I smiled back – though I trusted the app, in my
next seven days, I had to acknowledge that he was right.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kinley and Rabgay left for the day after
arranging for our dinner. We went down around 7pm for dinner. It was an
elaborate Bhutanese dinner. Cost us 550 Nu each. Total disaster – one thing
fortunately common between me and my travel buddy was that we disliked
Bhutanese cuisine. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We pleaded with our hostess for some Indian food and she
brought us some Rajma which helped us gulp down some rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made a mental note to inform Kinley that we
would like to have Indian/ continental meals for the rest of the trip. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was not tired though I
have been travelling the whole day. It was perhaps the weather that put me to
sleep that night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Observations on Day 1:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">Bhutanese are lovely kind-hearted people</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">Most of them have completed school and
graduated (in Bhutan or East India) and can speak excellent English. Rabgay and
Kinley loved English songs as much as they loved their local ones.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">I did not like Bhutanese food; lessons
learnt for me. I won’t elaborate but would like you to carry some basic snacks.
Stock yourself with fruits bought locally (they are expensive but organic and
tasty). Add biscuits. If you are someone who could adapt yourselves to the
local cuisines of Japan, China, etc. you may not face a problem here.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">Tip generously. Indian currency is
accepted here and the 1 NU = 1 INR. The Bhutanese girls are very strong and can
carry two heavy bags at same time, effortlessly going up and down the stairs.
No lifts here. No hotel is more than 2 floors. Rooms are huge and space is
never an issue here.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">Never lose your temper here. If anything
goes wrong, tell your guide, he will sort it out. The guides and drivers follow
the guidelines laid down by the tourism industry seriously. They are bound to
be respectful at all times and maintain professionalism during their duty
hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">No one honks here. They wait. They let
pass.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Day 2:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I woke up to a beautiful morning, as
usual, at 5am. And what do I do? Nothing – there is nothing you can do as a
tourist at 5am. My body clock refused to go back to sleep. I made some tea, the
dip tea variety with powdered milk and missed my ‘adrak+lemongrass’ milky tea.
And I missed it everytime I had tea in Bhutan. Made a mental note, to never ask
for ‘localised version of life’ in my next trips. I seriously need
Indian/continental food, western toilets with jet sprays. The locals may live
differently and I realize on day 2 that I may have ‘issues’ with local lives, in
case, they don’t match mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Thimpu is not so cold. I enjoyed the chill
and withdrew the curtains to look at the neighbouring homes, not sure if they
were hotels or homes. All structures looked the same – bright, colourful,
intricate paintings of dragons, saints, flowers. If you look up from space, I
guess Bhutan would look like a colourful painting dotted with high mountains
and deep valleys. Vegetation, I noticed was sparse. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kinley told me that Spring
had just started and it will go green in some time but as most mountains were
rocky, there were less chances of greenery on the slopes. Bhutan is rocky in a
way yet a major portion of it covered by forests. According to Kinley, all the carbon
dioxide produced by the country is sunk into these forests making it a carbon
negative country and they have laws to preserve the forests which every
Bhutanese follow with their heart. I kept gulping in pockets of fresh oxygen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The room was heated but the washrooms were
not. Using the washrooms needed one to be brave – to beat the chill. There is
always a gap between the hot water and you – and trust me it makes you laugh in
misery. I managed what my mother calls a “kaka-culi”. In Malayalam, it means a
crow-bath. Sprinkle some water on your head, shake your body vigorously and you are
done!!! I had many kak-culi’s during the rest of my trip.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I step out of my room into around 10
degrees…at first you feel the chill but then you want to enjoy it. I step a
floor down to the banquet hall where am greeted by cheerful hosts. I had a
continental breakfast of toast bread and butter and jam. And Lo and behold – I
got Puri Bhaji too. I think I devoured 6 or 7 of those gigantic Puris. Total bliss. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Then I set out to see more places of interest between Thimpu and
Punakha where I would spend another night – this time it was a Farmhouse named
Kinley farmhouse. I asked Kinley if it belonged to him and he said – every
second person in Bhutan would be a Kinley as a result of a new born child being
taken to the Fertility temple in Punakha. I will come to this story soon.
Thimpu to Punakha is 2.5 hours and we visited a few places enroute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">The first place Kinley took me is to see
the gigantic Buddha Dordenma Statue. 54 meters in height. They began building
this is 2006 and finished it in 2015. I did not want to leave this place. The
statue was tall, sitting calmly on a cliff and I managed to climb the slope with
whatever less incline it had…thankfully. One can see it from any part of
Thimpu. Its golden and beautiful and overlooks the entire country. I term it as
heaven and I can stay here for the rest of my life (conditions apply). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Built for peace around the world, this
statue also commemorates the 60<sup>th</sup> anniversary of their 4<sup>th</sup>
king. Like I said earlier, the Bhutanese love their kings. The past, present
and future. In every home, car, hotel, you will see family portraits of all
kings with their families. These photographs are kept next to their own family
photographs. The fourth king has four wives who are sisters. Polygamy is legal
and all live peacefully. They have no Ramayana there. The current king’s mother
is the third sister and the other three sisters have not hatched a plot to
abdicate the current king – so far! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After spending an hour, admiring the
beauty of the structure plus the surroundings, Kinley suggested it was time to
leave and so I had to leave reluctantly. Since we were one of the first
visitors to come here, I could see hordes of tourist pouring in and I was glad
I came early.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Next Kinley took me to Dochu-La Pass. In Bhutan all forts, monasteries, temples are
built in memory of their kings, queens, religious saints, etc. Dochula pass has
a similar story. Kinley would never tire of reciting these stories. Whenever we
would reach a place, he would start with – “This is the …..it was built in
memory of ……” and on and on he would go. Images of kings, queen mothers and
gurus/saints can be seen in all monuments. At times, I would nod my head in
acknowledgement to his stories but most times my mind would wander into the
makings of these beautiful monuments. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It’s a must visit place and no one should
miss it. The Saptagiri mountain peaks can be seen from here, though some of it
were covered by clouds, and a few others glistened with snow. The temperature
was around 12 and I chose not to wear my jacket. I soaked in the beautiful
climate and reminded myself – this is what you came in here for. I wanted the
world to stop moving. Freeze the moment for eternity. At the Dochula pass, I
also got to see the mountain dogs, huge, furry, they roamed around with an air
of authority…some basked in the sunlight. Lucky Bhutanese dogs….</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Bhutan has never been colonised in history! A small country who could have been easily overpowered by the big countries surrounding it, this never happened to them. Ruled by kings since its origin, only in 2008 did the 4<sup>th</sup> king foresee the need to have a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constitutional_monarchy" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">constitutional monarchy</span></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">. I found the story as recited to me by Kinley very interesting though I am not fond of history. It's heartening to know that the monarchy would like to dilute his power by heralding in democracy. And in a rightful manner too. In a country where the citizens worship their kings and are skeptical of heralding in democracy the kings relentlessly educates them on the advantages of democracy. I have fallen in love with the 4th King and the current present king too. I was lucky to see one of the Queen mothers pass by during one of my road trips. The locals stood still and kept their heads bowed down in respect. So did I but kept my head slightly tilted to catch a glimpse of her. I barely succeeded. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">After Dochula Pass, we drove to the
Punakha. Punakha is one of the warmer places in Bhutan and temperature would be
around 10 degrees late night and around 12 to 14 in day time. Kinley warned me
that there would be no heaters in the Punakha home but assured me I won’t need
one and he was right. I warned Kinley that I need to have lunch at a place
offering Indian food. He was kind enough to find that for me. Post lunch as we
continued on our journey and we passed by Punakha Dzong. Dzong means Fort and
there are a few majestic Dzongs in Bhutan. This is the second largest Dzong,
elegantly designed and currently the administrative centre in Punakha district.
Even the 4<sup>th</sup> and 5<sup>th</sup> King got married in this Dzong . For me, this is the first time I saw
something this royal. I could not wait for the next day when I would be inside
the Dzong . This Dzong is built on the confluence of 2 rivers - The Po Chu and
Mo Chu rivers. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPgemyCie1pV850FFqI5-L0u9p9wfum2czp1Y6kzp8n33B5ik12dlZjsIA6w0iQojHhjzmpRWf9GtTV-sRvGtRfD0rasB2XdJETGc5E6vY1dy-zzz-dPNyF6140OOXh8Nxei7h3F3X1VQ2/s1600/20190402_155922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPgemyCie1pV850FFqI5-L0u9p9wfum2czp1Y6kzp8n33B5ik12dlZjsIA6w0iQojHhjzmpRWf9GtTV-sRvGtRfD0rasB2XdJETGc5E6vY1dy-zzz-dPNyF6140OOXh8Nxei7h3F3X1VQ2/s320/20190402_155922.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">These rivers flow into Punakha, converge with another river and
finally flow into Assam, from where it flows into the Brahmaputra. Chu meant river
and Po stood for father and Mo stood for Mother. I asked Kinley– how do you
define the gender of a river? Kinley explained – the Po Chu is wild and flows
fiercely and Mo Chu is calm and flows gently. True or False – I loved his
version. In fact. I loved all of his stories. There is also a suspension bridge
here that’s a must visit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We continued our journey. Kinley was a
chatterbox and continuously kept talking about something related with Bhutan.
At times, we listened to music. At times, I tried to pry a few words out from
Rabgay. Rabgay spoke less but he spoke excellent English. I understood from him
that he is both a driver and a guide. On my trip, he was a driver but in the
next one he was the guide and he would have another driver to assist him. The
gho he was wearing costed something around 7000 Nu. According to him, the
quality of the textiles used to make the gho determines the price of the gho.
So, one can find different price ranges for this national attire. If you choose
a low priced gho, one would mistake you as belonging to a poor family so most
of them choose the ghos to keep with their image in the society. Imagine us,
wearing discounted tops for INR 199????? Very low class, are you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Finally, I reached the Kinley Farmhouse.
Nestled between several other similar cottages, there were fields where the
villagers were tending to the plants. Since it was spring, the plants had just
begun to sprung but we did see some patches of cabbage, radish, potatoes, etc. An
old guy with a wrinkled but grinning face gestured all of us to enter the home.
He was dressed in gho and it looked to be of a cheaper quality as compared to
Rabgays. But this old chap was so rich in his heart. He was a warm, polite and an
entertaining host. He knew a smattering of Hindi and told me <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tales of his visit to Delhi when he was a
youngster. He offered us tea and apologised for the absence of his wife who had
gone to the market. I smiled at him and said – no problem Kaadhinchey La.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">It was a two-floored cottage and my room
was cosy. The mattresses were fluffy and as good as those you find in hotels.
This was my first farmhouse stay and I would advise you to think of the pros
and cons of staying in a farmhouse on your trip to Bhutan. In a hotel, you may
find a cook who knows how to prepare continental or Indian food – in a farm
house you will need to have Bhutanese food or prepare your own if they allow/
have ingredients. In a farmhouse, you may not find a room with an attached bath
and if you are like me, you will consider it inconvenience number 1. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Plus points – loving people. You get to know
about their lives, first-hand. It overshadowed my inconveniences. I loved
talking to the family – where only the husband knew a smattering of Hindi.
Gestures, dumb charades and smiles would reveal a lot and I got by with that.
They offered us Ara – a local wine made in most homes. In Bhutan, everyone
drinks Ara and everyone chews paan all the time. I had 2 drops of the Ara – it
was strong, very strong and passed on the rest to the driver – Rabgay as Kinley
was a teetotaller. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;">They offered rice and cheese chilli paste for dinner but
knowing that Indian dinner was available around the corner, I opted for Indian
food. That night, again I had Indian food. Though I have mentioned I had Indian
food, I must add that all of it tasted close to Indian. Just like sambhar made
by the Gujratis where they add a little bit of sugar to delight their palate.
So it was Bhutan style Indian food but I still preferred it over Bhutanese
food. For all of you who are like me, picky about Indian food, you can survive
or scrambled eggs, toast butter, biscuits and fruits. Their staple diet is rice
(white and red both are available) and cheese chilli paste. The cheese, oil and
butter had a different odour and this prevented me from embracing any of their
dishes</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Day 3 - <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Next morning, when I stepped into their
kitchen and offered to make French toast for all, the lady of the house seemed
eager. I gestured for everything I needed and got all of it except for pepper.
Image of pepper via google search did not help either as the lady of the house
shook her head gesturing she did not know what it meant. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Later I got Kinley to
explain to her and she giggled and got pepper from the pantry. Language issues.
We all had a hearty laugh and that morning I prepared French toast and
scrambled eggs without pepper to all. The family had 5 children, ages ranging
from 25 to 10. One of their elder son was working in Australia in the hotel
industry. Three of the elder children were working in hotels as housekeeping
and as tourist guides. Tourism is the largest income generator for these
families and the average salary of most of them would be approximately 3 to 4
lakhs if they were working in Bhutan. Hence, a lot of youngsters have migrated in
search of work abroad including India.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After breakfast, I went for a stroll in
the village – of course with Kinley. The village was dotted by small shops
selling artefacts, fabrics and some unmentionable things that were offerings of
the fertility temple. I ignored the entire section though I took some pictures
to show back home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">From the other sections, I picked up various souvenirs. I also
picked up a Bhutanese skirt the Kira – the national dress for women and girls. I
had the option to shop in Paro which would be on my last day here but I so much
fell in love with the kira here that I bought it then and there. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Post that, I
went back to the farmhouse, freshened up with my kaka-culi and paid a visit to
the fertility temple. I won’t write another word about it because to me – it’s
a temple for fools. Apologies in advance if I am hurting anyone’s religious
sentiments. I also would like to mention that all homes in Punakha and most
parts of Bhutan adorn the walls of their homes with paintings that symbolises
the beliefs of the fertility temple. And it’s an extremely gory sight- amidst
the beautiful colours and drawings - the fertility temple symbols standout like
a thorny cactus – pun intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">After a brief stopover at the Fertility
temple, it was time to check out Punakha Dzong. We drove back the same way we
came and reached the Dzong. On way, we had Indian lunch. I bought my entry
ticket – Kinley could enter for free. Kinley later told me that everyone has to
wear the national dress which is the gho for men and kira for the women in
every other office, school, hospital, everywhere. As groups of tourists
accompanied by their guides entered the Dzong, I could see each group being
told a story by their guide about the Dzong. Let your guide tell you the story for they infuse life in
the characters they speak about. I term this place as a must see. If you see
one Dzong, the other would be more or less similar so if you have to make a
choice of seeing just 1 Dzong, don’t miss on Punakha Dzong– its majestically
beautiful. This ended my tryst with Punakha and I proceeded to Gangtey - a U
shaped glacial valley. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_XT-YXmzGUKqb4eOidn0bmtUvVMxJ_fWvFes6cdM_UCXruCXzPiCY9esFLQRkyV2qoi_N3BApl2rDYPQRXPQrEA-ygOp5S8VJJN8UDYMVqWbM-xBac3vs85RgC2LNgwTv3R60UeSlXE9/s1600/20190403_164940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_XT-YXmzGUKqb4eOidn0bmtUvVMxJ_fWvFes6cdM_UCXruCXzPiCY9esFLQRkyV2qoi_N3BApl2rDYPQRXPQrEA-ygOp5S8VJJN8UDYMVqWbM-xBac3vs85RgC2LNgwTv3R60UeSlXE9/s400/20190403_164940.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gangtey Farmhouse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Its better known as the Phobjika valley
and Gangtey is a small town in this district. The best time to visit this place
is October, November and December. The black necked crane flocks here to roost
and they even have a national festival to celebrate their visit. A
photographer’s delight assure you visit Gangtey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">It was 5pm by the time I reached Gangtey.
One cannot speed here because most of the roads are winding up and down, not
all roads are concretised and they are not very wide either. I had again booked
into a farmhouse and to my joy the farmhouse had an attached bath. I made sure
Kinley checked that prior to my arrival. The farmhouse was all carved out of
wood – top to bottom. I could not find metal anywhere except may be at the
hinges of the door. It had 6 to 8 rooms but only my room was occupied. Some
guests were expected the next day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">There was nothing much to do in Gangtey so
I was not in a rush. I walked around a bit. I informed Kinley and went out for
a long walk. I headed towards a group of teenage boys who were performing
stunts on mountain bicycles and they seemed to be having fun. They would peddle
the bike hard on a slope and pull the bike up on its rear end and slide back
down. Scores of boys were repeatedly following the same process and laughing at
their neat performances. A few of them tried to throw their friends
off-balance. Some succeeded while most did not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I could also see some resorts that offered
accommodation in an open ground in huge white tents. A group of Europeans,
about 50 of them had camped there. They were getting ready to go on a bike
ride. On checking with them, I learnt they had come from Italy on an adventure
trip that included hiking, biking, river rafting and difficult treks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They then headed over to the boys to get onto
to their bikes. It’s then that I realised that the boys were not having fun but
were checking the bikes before handing it to the tourists. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">As I walked further, I noticed I was
following a path of running stream water, crystal clear water. I had noticed
such stream all over Bhutan. At first, I thought it was drainage but the
clarity of the water demonstrated it was not. I also noticed prayer wheels on
the sides of roads and the water from these streams churned the prayer wheels
continuously. Rabgay told me that these hydro prayer wheels are built by
certain families or communities when their chief priests ask them to do so to
ward off evil and bring in good luck for the entire family. The location is
chosen by the priests and these are usually built across the length of these
flowing streams. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">After a long walk, I returned to the room.
As the sun set, it became super chilly and I could not muster the courage to
step out of the room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: red; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhww3d1GoKAJsxlZZrbYfuQVzEEYYw0LvJwgtFcuV3oH2wwbbt13370pWkWsEDXxEQv0nkvhg6IjVWJJDlqZRFiS8vD5iYAciCuoHciBF330Bld9tWqWlns1U0V36Wnl-3hfBrtlhkaceXd/s1600/20190404_064213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhww3d1GoKAJsxlZZrbYfuQVzEEYYw0LvJwgtFcuV3oH2wwbbt13370pWkWsEDXxEQv0nkvhg6IjVWJJDlqZRFiS8vD5iYAciCuoHciBF330Bld9tWqWlns1U0V36Wnl-3hfBrtlhkaceXd/s400/20190404_064213.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I peeped outside, it was beautiful. Grey clouds streaked with silver threatened to darken the skies. The vast
landscape was dotted with small cottages. I wanted to stay out but the chill
prevented me from doing that. Hot water was available round the clock and I
managed to have a mini kaka-culi. It’s like a 1/10<sup>th</sup> version of a
proper shower. I got inside the blankets – 3 blankets and enjoyed the cozy
feeling. I called Kinley and asked him to tell the host that I would have
dinner in my room and asked him to check the menu. That’s when he gave me the
good news that they can serve rice and aloo sabji. I felt lucky and ordered the
same. It did not taste like home food, but I survived. After dinner, I slept
off like a baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Day 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I woke up at 5am. My body clock refused to
let me sleep even though I was on vacation. So, as usual, I tried to go back to
sleep and failed miserably. Brushing my teeth at this hour looked like a task
that required a lot of courage. I tested myself. I peeled off the first layer
of the blanket, nothing happened, then the second, again nothing happened.
Peeling off the last layer, my feet touched the wooden floor -ouch…it was
chilly. I pulled my feet up and looked outside the window. It must have been
6am but it was as bright. I found my room slippers and walked towards the
window. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFJbTmv21ECwJJydPpATPQgHre7UjyjQMxRSix1b2znwQHWPjmPYTLJHy6NanuzUH_JhOZJLzXxBFQbPFWs9vPPIxwugnQZsl_hIZ9qsoCC2EOO3XXKpVqXCU0QOFcM_gleqiDimwwSQp/s1600/20190402_113541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFJbTmv21ECwJJydPpATPQgHre7UjyjQMxRSix1b2znwQHWPjmPYTLJHy6NanuzUH_JhOZJLzXxBFQbPFWs9vPPIxwugnQZsl_hIZ9qsoCC2EOO3XXKpVqXCU0QOFcM_gleqiDimwwSQp/s320/20190402_113541.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">A big black mountain dog was curled right below my window and was basking
in the sunlight. An old lady was churning the huge wooden prayer wheel at a
distance. I decided to get over my chill fear and go out into the brightly lit
day. The washroom had no heater and was in deep freeze mode. I turned on the
tap…..chilled water…I let it flow until<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hot
water streamed out of it. I brushed as quickly as I could and dressed in layers
and a shawl covering my ears and head. I walked through the cold wooden corridors
into the bright sunlight. The black dog looked up, scanned me for a while and
soon realised I did not have anything for him and went back to sleep. I walked
around. Walking made me feel warm. I stripped off the shawl and walked towards
the dining area. New guests were coming. Two old Gujrati couples. We smiled at
each other and I walked ahead. </span></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8s45nc9WN3QoPkgmRyfv6RTEnxiGY26eJCKDZ8GC-r6Sm1aPkh_tQjxxjJuRvRd57l2X25ybN-JAW5qiZkdx4XcG3tMU_cYb4L-9e9IUW166lUvdXVS65QRfBIzVoMeAYBGXME9ZQrZt/s1600/20190406_180841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8s45nc9WN3QoPkgmRyfv6RTEnxiGY26eJCKDZ8GC-r6Sm1aPkh_tQjxxjJuRvRd57l2X25ybN-JAW5qiZkdx4XcG3tMU_cYb4L-9e9IUW166lUvdXVS65QRfBIzVoMeAYBGXME9ZQrZt/s320/20190406_180841.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bukhari</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I saw the hostess and told her I want tea. She
asked me to wait by the Bukhari which I thoroughly enjoyed. The dining room was
warm and cosy and I soon got my cup of hot tea. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Bukharis are like a large drum with a hole in the centre. It is usually
placed in the centre of a room. In the centre, logs of wood burn bright orange
and yellow flames. On top of the bukhari is a large vessel filled with hot
water throughout the day. More logs are put into the bukhari and it burns
bright enough to keep everyone in the room warm. People gather around the
bukhari, chat and recount the day’s events. They drink hot water, tea or Ara
while they do so.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 306.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I had opted for a restful stay at Gangtey
and that’s what was in my itinerary for the rest of the day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After tea and interacting with the Gujrati
couple, I learnt they had brought a lot of food stuff back from home – khakhra,
sev, pickles, bhakris and theplas. They chose not to eat the hotel food because
they saw the hostess boiling some eggs. They had tea and toast bread and
butter. I had the same, plenty of it. I had to hold the butter near the bukhari
for a while before I could spread it. Then I had scrambled eggs. Throughout my
stay I was completely put off by the odour that this ruined my dining
experience throughout. The butter looked like butter and the oil had Soyabean
or Rice Bran written on it but it was ‘different’ in a manner I cant define. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">After breakfast, I visited the Gangtey
Monastery and Kinley described the story in detail. Kinley, being the excellent
guide, kept going on and on about the history of the temple. I remember none of
it though. Not my fault, as the names of the kings, queens and priests are quite
difficult for a foreign national to comprehend. For those who like to
hike/trek, there is a long winding path from this monastery. It takes about 2
to 3 hours to come to the other end of the trail. Sneha opted for the trail and
off she went with Kinley. I and Rabgay drove 30 minutes around a cliff and
waited for them on the other side. I had two hours to kill and I set out for
along walk. Though I can’t claim to have seen all of Bhutan, Gantey is the most
scenic. I explored the valley, stood by the side of the road and watched the
locals go about their daily lives. Most of them walk a lot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisoC_wX8bHq6W4j_9SRSJQkzsgzfCRfqg1m1_ggC-00vbYVOQuXs4hTjfb4U5j2HUwbpgYEGXW5NIebFrIs2a_Ii9MhCxXDRJar4DBfY2JbQzaRd3qR9RtJcdW535mTexY8i_mPbpWm622/s1600/20190406_175430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisoC_wX8bHq6W4j_9SRSJQkzsgzfCRfqg1m1_ggC-00vbYVOQuXs4hTjfb4U5j2HUwbpgYEGXW5NIebFrIs2a_Ii9MhCxXDRJar4DBfY2JbQzaRd3qR9RtJcdW535mTexY8i_mPbpWm622/s320/20190406_175430.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Homes are scattered
far and wide and daily amenities needs to be stocked. It’s not only a primitive
village (though everyone has internet and television) but in case of health
emergencies, help would be at least an hour away. These are my assumptions as I
did not see clinics, medical stores or hospitals all over the place. They were
far away in the main townships. In the villages there would be one or two
general shops and they have everything that is required locally. I saw grocery
packets, confectionaries, clothes and sim cards being sold in the same shop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECEC08M1Qe5zHkWAVk4ypRRBk11e1YfYkqU81IDdA3TrOyENJ9Rw8ay7Pz5mhL8Hx7eCpTkIWhGhWhWrVky663FheSgikfzpzLHNHnmC9-NTNC6bdI9m1GGIR6seSTBeDY8pgK0cjweyU/s1600/20190407_064211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhECEC08M1Qe5zHkWAVk4ypRRBk11e1YfYkqU81IDdA3TrOyENJ9Rw8ay7Pz5mhL8Hx7eCpTkIWhGhWhWrVky663FheSgikfzpzLHNHnmC9-NTNC6bdI9m1GGIR6seSTBeDY8pgK0cjweyU/s320/20190407_064211.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The valley is vast and dotted with
pastures, hills and wooden cottages, big and small. Herds of Yak were grazing
on these slopes. At times, I felt I was at the bottom of a cup rising my face
to look up to the snow-clad mountains and at times I felt I was sitting on the
rim of the cup and looking at the bottom of the valley. I could walk, stop,
walk, sleep on the grass and have a blank page agenda for the day. That is what
I term total bliss. A holiday with a blank page agenda.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQOLdSNm3YA84p_0wmjIraZiPqnWb_28urBRY5lZkGxD8odEdlJx_OTrQ_BDNwrg7RyQ8oZ9_3H9e2P9EpxsZV2xJpgwo_P5L7VshxWzvEtsio9XqGZa-GTVCdIj8JO4a5I0uUNxHFMfI/s1600/gangteyTrek.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1000" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQOLdSNm3YA84p_0wmjIraZiPqnWb_28urBRY5lZkGxD8odEdlJx_OTrQ_BDNwrg7RyQ8oZ9_3H9e2P9EpxsZV2xJpgwo_P5L7VshxWzvEtsio9XqGZa-GTVCdIj8JO4a5I0uUNxHFMfI/s400/gangteyTrek.png" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I came back for lunch though I was not
hungry due to the heavy breakfast. I again opted for dal and rice. I rested for
a while and looked forward to a massage I had planned for later in the evening.
Dinner was at a nearby Indian restaurant and I opted for Puri bhaji as that was
the best thing I ate in Bhutan in the name of Indian food. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Day 5</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Today was a long road drive back from
Gangtey to Paro.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would be traversing
the entire path right back to Paro. It would take me 7 hours with all the stops
I make along the way. For those who get bothered by motion sickness, this would
be a challenge. Suggest you take the necessary medication, eat light and carry
disposable pouches. I had a beautiful time as I crossed the Punakha Dzong and
Dochula pass once again. I got down at Dochula pass for refreshments. Apart
from the monuments and peaks you can see from here, I was in absolute love with
the 30 odd dogs that roamed around here. They were huge and majestic and looked
extremely fierce to me. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCGoEDBRkw1c_uuN7QdqmwEElW6qM9XzNFjTnpy_4NgOHnrP3rdeJY6wS8C38t-aA8Hduds__AIees8nq4jLXkLZo5lZKzoIK_CZc_GkmaNGPnz2xX12ZHAZH9EuZkRyIO0Ey2zSg1vwKw/s1600/20190402_112339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCGoEDBRkw1c_uuN7QdqmwEElW6qM9XzNFjTnpy_4NgOHnrP3rdeJY6wS8C38t-aA8Hduds__AIees8nq4jLXkLZo5lZKzoIK_CZc_GkmaNGPnz2xX12ZHAZH9EuZkRyIO0Ey2zSg1vwKw/s400/20190402_112339.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">They did come to me for scraps and I shared some momos
with them. Surprisingly, the dogs are also peaceful – they did not growl at
each other for the scraps. Each one ate what they got and the rest just moved
away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9y0YaUx4vwhB8DtFjkKmq5hyphenhyphen28iKakX_r5gJo1jbIjCSZw1H4LFDao9UtLGpNi3C1a0BT675ClfcfobQmiFBy9wYpnpC1WTSAmH4wUkDDydmx9DJwzzbGP_iw8IvV6dJByjZIiXeRaJW/s1600/IMG-20190424-WA0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="493" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9y0YaUx4vwhB8DtFjkKmq5hyphenhyphen28iKakX_r5gJo1jbIjCSZw1H4LFDao9UtLGpNi3C1a0BT675ClfcfobQmiFBy9wYpnpC1WTSAmH4wUkDDydmx9DJwzzbGP_iw8IvV6dJByjZIiXeRaJW/s320/IMG-20190424-WA0014.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">By evening, I reached Paro and we made a
halt in a lane which was about half a kilometre long. This seemed to be a shopper’s
paradise and also had restaurants serving Indian food. I purchased yum looking
croissants – unfortunately the odour hit me as it was warmed and I had to share
it with the dogs. I lost my appetite and packed Idli sambhar for dinner. My
stay again was in a farmhouse and I did not want to risk a Bhutanese dinner. I
bought some souvenirs here for my friends back home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Within a couple of hours, we realised
staying here for 2 nights would be a pain. The hostess was aloof and was
distracted in the service of an European couple. When a tourist (except for
Indians, Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans) enters Bhutan, they have to spend a
minimum amount of 250 dollars per day. My current hostess had an European guest
and inevitably I was not so important to her. I checked with my tour operator
for a transfer and she was kind enough to shift me into a hotel the next
morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We woke up early because Sneha along with
Kinley was trekking up to Tiger’s nest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was tempted to join her but I was not ready. With the breathing
problems I faced during the journey, I did not want to be an obstacle in their
trek. Tiger’s Nest has no Tigers.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylH5x6-PDNpuJn4vjsMCNJkl1ZND_EmBhYsTFDBi4iV70XRjY45GHAO98iBuxiTn69euUbiQHDT2lAO32nx9Sgw7lxWyHtQoR8Kg8O4yhQ37qRUUFc8tO-g9so7KRqsRX2gG_n60mprE6/s1600/tigers+nest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylH5x6-PDNpuJn4vjsMCNJkl1ZND_EmBhYsTFDBi4iV70XRjY45GHAO98iBuxiTn69euUbiQHDT2lAO32nx9Sgw7lxWyHtQoR8Kg8O4yhQ37qRUUFc8tO-g9so7KRqsRX2gG_n60mprE6/s320/tigers+nest.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> Google out for more information but this is any
trekkers dream route. An average trekker takes up to 7 hours. The earlier you
start, the better. I and Rabgay dropped them at the base of the Tier’s Nest. We
came back to the farmhouse and waited until 9 to shift to another hotel nearby
– Deewanchen Resort. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Deewanchen means peace and the resort was one of the most
beautiful properties I stayed in. I would advise all of you to book into hotels
and not farmhouses. Deewanchen had Indian food and they were ready to take my
order of Chicken Biryani around 10. I was not expecting Sneha until 2pm and I
asked the kitchen staff to deliver my food as soon as it was ready. I had not
eaten well the previous night and I felt ravenous. I decided to shower – it was
the same story everytime. Except for the water, anything you touch was super
chilled. Somehow, I showered and got ready to eat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">It was around 11.30 and Sneha called saying
she has reached the top and now was on her way back! Sneha was fast – she was
better than an average trekker and that left both Kinley and Ragbay impressed. I
called up the kitchen again and asked them to hold on to the Biryani. I ordered
another lunch for Sneha and went to meet her at the base of Tiger’s Nest. She
completed the trek in approximately 5 hours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">We both came back and the lunch was
waiting. We ate our lunch in silence- I was hungry, Sneha was tired. Post
lunch, Sneha rested while I went out onto the balcony which had a very
beautiful view. Outside, it was chilly but I soaked it all in. It was my last
day in Paro and I knew I will miss these were priceless moments. All I did in
Bhutan was to immerse myself in the nature and weather.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yqmwkW9JoQwEEsRHiLwDnKrK5w0kj0xP1xmafwAciWW5PitRrGCYmW9O-hRRYUM5YIAiCAkj3xNC18SXY8IsyvutSigTL1eljvggXXhFk8iUvpEn27uZKhDicJpkYkbG_AtWCqj1JN_J/s1600/20190406_175426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yqmwkW9JoQwEEsRHiLwDnKrK5w0kj0xP1xmafwAciWW5PitRrGCYmW9O-hRRYUM5YIAiCAkj3xNC18SXY8IsyvutSigTL1eljvggXXhFk8iUvpEn27uZKhDicJpkYkbG_AtWCqj1JN_J/s400/20190406_175426.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sneha slept off and I did not disturb her.
I went out. As this was a resort, I could not meet any locals here. I went into
the dining area where the bukhari was burning bright. Few people had crowded
around the fire. I joined them. There were few Indians but the others were
either from Europe of the USA. Along with their guides, they were discussing
about their trek the next day. The guides were arranging for oxygen tanks for
the trip and since Kinley had told me that mountaineering was banned in Bhutan
I was puzzled. On questioning them, I learnt that they were going to go on the
Laya Gasa Trek and though mountaineering is banned on peaks above 6000 meters, there
are several smaller hills that can be trekked upon and is quiet daunting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">The Bhutanese believe that their mountains
are spiritual and it should not be tainted by allowing mountaineers or anyone
else to climb and conquer them. Therefore, Gangkhar Puensum at 75740 meters has
attained the title of the highest unclimbed peak in the world and will perhaps remain
so forever.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5CoR5Y_2DXb-ly0rgdSCY4pIabDeuuwpyl0RP0I2CTZau1slhPuhYeqcSwlzc490bE0L_0loz8D92K7xqeSVtxxlQ5j6zcj6Wacvo9yUsb3jY54caaZnv1i-lfB9sH_86dvs3Fr8B8ImR/s1600/IMG_6683-2-1024x591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="1024" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5CoR5Y_2DXb-ly0rgdSCY4pIabDeuuwpyl0RP0I2CTZau1slhPuhYeqcSwlzc490bE0L_0loz8D92K7xqeSVtxxlQ5j6zcj6Wacvo9yUsb3jY54caaZnv1i-lfB9sH_86dvs3Fr8B8ImR/s320/IMG_6683-2-1024x591.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">By the end of the trip, I was eager to get
back home to my adrak waali chai and my curd rice and sambhar but I was equally
dismayed to leave. The visa clearly mentioned 7</span><sup>th</sup><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> April exit Bhutan
and that’s what I did.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 14.2pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kinley and Rabgay promised to stay in
touch and so did I. But we all know, we just move on. These two have been of
great help while I was writing this blog. I texted them several times to get
some facts I missed noting down. Hope each one of you loved reading this. You
can add your comments in the comment section if you need more information for
your intended trip to Bhutan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-17506498615814866412018-06-17T09:35:00.001-07:002018-06-17T09:36:08.002-07:00Andamans and Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Me and water, there is something enigmatic, a bond that is as
scary as alluring. Alluring for the amazing sound of the waves hitting the
shores, the wind buzzing with gay abandon and pristine beaches with aqua
blue-green water, a reflection of the skies above. Scary for the power it has
to devastate. So when Divya casually messaged if I wanted to join them for a
trip to the Andamans she had no clue that I have been dreaming Bali for over a
year and this was the closest I came to achieving it. I said yes, am coming,
just let me check about my leaves. Within 2 days, my leave was in place and the
tickets were in a folder neatly tilted Andamans.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">25th May 2018: </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 1<br />
There were 6 of us – Divya and Rajiv, Jayston and Devina, myself and 10 year
old Advait. We decided to take independent cabs to the airport. I reached first
and waited for others near the boarding gate. The others reached after me but
unlike me they spent an hour window shopping and enjoying scrumptious cuisines
at T2.Glad they did because they bought Cluedo – a board game that thrilled us
as much as the outdoor thrills but more on that later. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We boarded an 8.40am flight to Chennai with a layover of nearly 4 hours and a
12.15 pm from Chennai to Port Blair. Yes, though Port Blair is only
approximately 5 hours from Mumbai airport, there aren’t any direct flight to
Port Blair. So it is either a layover at Kolkatta or Chennai. With baggage’s
checked in we had ample time to laze on the lounge chairs and just chit chat.
In retrospect, I think we were quiet naïve and had no clue to the wonders we
were about to be exposed to in the next few days.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">
On way, we were individually engrossed in our own time pass activities – I was
watching a movie, Advait was excited about a cockatoo he would soon be buying,
Rajiv and Divya seemed to say Yes to it with conditions that actually meant a
No, Devina and Jayston were engrossed with each other and as I did not spy on
them, don’t know what they were talking of!!! Suddenly, the plane shuddered and
swayed for a good 30 to 40 seconds like never before in my lifetime and I would
like to say that it was the first surreal experience of the trip. There was no
warning from the pilot which came soon after the shudder and scores of people
yelling out a “whooooaaaa” mid-air. Some started praying too. This made me
believe that it was a ‘never before’ cumulative experience for all. The pilot
warned of bad weather and asked all to remain seated and belted. Jayston later
told us that Devina had dug all her nails into his arm though there were no
scars to prove that though. Post that, we only wanted to get off the plane and
we did that soon after. The breath-taking view of the thickly populated green
mountains and islands all around us and the still calm waters soothed our minds
and we let the fear be bygones. We landed at 2.35pm at Port Blair and walked
out of the small airport and breathed the first whiff of pure air…damp but
sweet, light drizzle and a strong breeze that was more than welcome. Divya,
being the organiser of this tour had called up the tour manager and connected with
our guide. From then on we were in safe hands. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqARo7AfbYIof6PEuuEMuGwyqsJCDxUAIWLuOCcc0PCpilGhY-Mk49ZhizM9afz9H42ZZU9VBbU6lNNLQgZwMqaNDMRZNG48CIU6imty-nYI-f6wh2BFnQCJ-Fclh-eLpJ97M32KdCVkX/s1600/GOPR3834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqARo7AfbYIof6PEuuEMuGwyqsJCDxUAIWLuOCcc0PCpilGhY-Mk49ZhizM9afz9H42ZZU9VBbU6lNNLQgZwMqaNDMRZNG48CIU6imty-nYI-f6wh2BFnQCJ-Fclh-eLpJ97M32KdCVkX/s320/GOPR3834.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Consider the next para as the ‘mantra’ to enjoy your trip. Stay away from your
handset. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">
I looked at my phone – it said no network – I wasted a few minutes trying to
get connected then gave up – I had been forewarned – Andamans has NO NETWORK
except for BSNL, a little bit of Vodafone and Airtel. Rest all be damned </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Symbol;">J</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129;">. Let me put the
expectations right – no network means just that NO NETWORK and HAVING NETWORK
means – YOU CAN SEE YOUR EMAIL, READ THE FIRST LINE BUT CANT OPEN IT (enticing
you to an extent where you can go crazy). Videos cannot be downloaded or sent –
the definition of being connected is a lot different. I believe the iconic
Vodafone Pug is a mixed breed while at Andamans. This happened to all the
‘Apple-ites’ in the group. My SAMSUNG worked fine with WiFi though IDEA had no
IDEA how to start itself on the island. So I was completely dependent on the
hotel WiFi and most hotels allowed WiFi only in the lobby so I would be more
seen in the lobby than in my room.<br />
A typical scenario at any reception counter was as under:<br />
Guest: Hello, we have a room booked under the name….(the usual stuff)<br />
Host: Welcome sir/madam. Can you kindly take a seat while we complete the check
in process? Please hand me your IDs.<br />
Guest: Here are our IDs. Can you please give me the Wi-Fi password?<br />
While the above conversation is going on, you can see the entire brood
including spouse, kids, and grandparents fiddling with their cell phones trying
to infuse life into it.<br />
The outcome of all the drama is the same. Its either NO NETWORK or HAVING
NETWORK as described above. And sometimes, its restricted to the lobby area as
mentioned earlier but then that’s just fine because the entire island is
beautiful, every property is beautiful and aesthetically done up in décor –
indoors as well as outdoors. The gardens are neat, clean and well-manicured,
the pools are open and lovely and not a single leaf floating given the foliage
and breeze around.<br />
So we checked in with speed and rushed out precisely in that manner as we
planned to visit the cellular jail where countless freedom fighters were
imprisoned and tortured. Veer Savarkar being one of them. I won’t write much
about him nor the cellular jail because all of you can google the same, if
interested.<br />
Must read: <a data-ft="{"tn":"-U"}" data-lynx-mode="asynclazy" data-lynx-uri="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FCellular_Jail&h=AT272kf2K698-hm2S52S7UpodhpU0ztrQfQ8HG0pJNYbr9i3y7vMWnnNv0pHtmMhND1wByMHPOVOCgapC_zEVjraGjgzgL7am5fCsXTq9VXkmZ-bNDK9t2IRi08ws8seP_FbQf7tBHU82xSxSQ" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cellular_Jail" style="cursor: pointer;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #365899;">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cellular_Jail</span></a><br />
I will write about what happened to me there. It was drizzling intermittently
and all of us were enjoying the first drizzle of the season. We walked all over
the property fooling by locking ourselves in the open cells, taking pictures of
the never ending corridors, visiting the hangman’s chambers, etc. I was
mesmerised by the idea of a jail being constructed just for torturing freedom
fighters. Ten years to build a torture cell with bricks brought from Burma on
an island that took days to reach from the nearest port!!! One must applaud the
government for having done a good job at maintaining the heritage structure and
even organising a light and sound show where an audio plays out several acts
that happened within the jail in those times. It’s a beautiful sight and the
story-telling is amazing. As the story was being told, I felt goose bumps. I
must add that I was depressed at that moment and though I am proud of our
freedom fighters I wanted to leave the show mid-way but my friends insisted we
stay put. Am glad we stayed till the end. It was the most patriotic moment of
my life, I wanted to be a part of them or hide somewhere and bomb the
Britishers and save our people and this was something that not even singing the
National Anthem or reading out the pledge ever evoked in me.<br />
What goes round comes around – the island was invaded by the Japanese in 1942
and became home for the British prisoners until 1945 when the British reclaimed
what was theirs. And then we reclaimed what was ours in 1947 and the rest is
history.<br />
I must add a handful of people in the crowd did say they got bored. I attribute
this to the fact that they were comparing it to the Sci-Fi shows that they were
so used to watching in the multiplexes around them. So I will let them be there
and say that but that’s not what it is.<br />
Thankfully, it was the only visit scheduled for the day and we were back in our
rooms, to freshen up, have a sumptuous dinner and sleep early. Day 2 was going
to be at Havelock – paradise on Earth.<br />
My observations on Day 1: Local-ites are down to earth, honest to the core,
extremely safe for single women travellers. Food is multi-cuisine and they do
not have any local dishes to boast of. I will mention places to eat at the end
of the blog and trust me you will have a wonderful stay. I think these are the
basics that makes travel to any part of the world delightful.<br />
I would list down our entire itinerary, along with hotel details at the end of
this blog so that you can schedule a trip for yourself and enjoy the virgin
beauty of the island before they get commercialised and become another tourist
hotspot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTjxAFG74bbKH5u_Q9ockV62JOq1gxr7GzDSc2TBJIzAA1RcmJF00tJ1MgSw_gMtpl8bFPAWnip07H8OmeSTmGDOZ_feYp8CTekfHCzCIWFNxTwogQ5_n1YFMLArXPqlOpiySor1__lu_/s1600/GOPR3800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTjxAFG74bbKH5u_Q9ockV62JOq1gxr7GzDSc2TBJIzAA1RcmJF00tJ1MgSw_gMtpl8bFPAWnip07H8OmeSTmGDOZ_feYp8CTekfHCzCIWFNxTwogQ5_n1YFMLArXPqlOpiySor1__lu_/s320/GOPR3800.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;">Day 2 - Andamans</span><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Once again we shoved inside whatever we had taken out the
previous day, repacked our bags and checked out. Today our destination was
Havelock, nearly 70kms from Port Blair. The only way to get there is through
jetty. We were booked to travel via Makruzz. I fell in love with the majestic
white catamaran ferry. We all lined up for selfies – I managed to get a few
good ones. A trillion thanks to </span></span></span><a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=687500332&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/jayston?fref=mentions" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; cursor: pointer; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background: white; color: #365899; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none;">Jayston D'souza</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> who is any girl’s bestie (sorry</span></span><a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100000507378619&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/devina.dsouza.98?fref=mentions" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; cursor: pointer; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background: white; color: #365899; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none;">Devina Dsouza</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">) when it comes to taking pics. This man never tires of
clicking pics of himself, others, nature, anything and everything. He is a
walking talking photo studio. Thank you Jayston – next trip I promise to share
some of the camera bag load…sacchi mucchi wala promise. </span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Our seats were amazing, the water outside was calm and the
waves looked tiny to even ruffle the majestic beast. I felt so powerful. As
mentioned earlier, I love the sea as much as I fear it. But Makruzz made me
feel potent. It was a 90 minute ride and we settled comfortably in our seats. I
wished the catamaran was not air conditioned but considering the speed of
around 20 odd nautical miles at which it was travelling, it would be impossible
to allow passengers on deck. Am sure small kids and zero size individuals would
find it difficult to hold onto the catamaran. This was also the downside as I
would have loved to be on deck, perhaps in a slower cruise liner, soaking in
the breeze and sunlight…but alas for now it remains a desire unfulfilled.</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I did say that the local people are honest and simple folks,
didn’t I? But I had zero trust on my fellow passengers and was worried about my
baggage. I have never understood how the authorities handle the baggage
transport. Unlike airports where your baggage gets tagged with your name, here
you just shove it to a Makruzz employee’s hand who further dumps it into their
luggage compartment. On docking, they shove out everything and assemble it
within a certain circumference on the platform. Every passenger goes and picks
up their individual bags. What if someone took my bag?? I and Jayston rushed
out as only we two seemed to be concerned with this issue!!! We managed to
salvage some of our baggage and the others sauntered out leisurely to salvage
the rest. Again, </span></span></span><a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=730303660&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/divya.jagannath.1?fref=mentions" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; cursor: pointer; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background: white; color: #365899; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none;">Divya Jagannath</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> coordinated (she had to – she was a privileged Vodafone
client whose cell worked!!!) and got us in touch with our tour manager at
Havelock and again we all ambled into another beautiful property. The same
routine followed – check into rooms – procure WiFi passwords!!! We were
famished so after a shower we all had lunch. A visit to Radhanagar beach was
planned around 4pm. Andamans has an early sunrise (around 4.30am) and an early
sunset (around 4.30pm) so we planned to catch the sunset. You can google
Radhanagar beach to know more about this place. </span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">As far as you can see it’s only the sea…frothy waves inviting
you to touch them as they start and swim with them till they collapse. I wish I
was a fish</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Wow, that rhymed! </span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I think I have enough bank balance to build a hut and stay
here forever. Since that may not be allowed I decided to enjoy the moment. If
you have fellow travellers the way I had, there is nothing else you could ask
for. Not only did I have a great time playing and teasing the waves but Jayston
has captured all of it for posterity. And I am going to relive the moments
again and again. </span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Unfortunately, we could not see the sunset as it was cloudy
and by 6pm it was pitch dark. We were wet as much with salty water as from the
rain. Our driver had warned us that he would not allow us to sit in the car if
we were wet so we had to change. We would have preferred changing at the hotel
as the changing and shower rooms here was pathetic. The men went behind the
tress to change and we managed to find pathetic cubicles (read stinking shower
rooms/toilets with no water) with a door to slide out of our swim wear and
change into dry clothes. There was sand all over me and I left the hotel shower
with small mound of it which eventually went back to Earth. </span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">This was followed by dinner. We decided to skip the hotel
dinner and went to a local restaurant (names of all hotels I recommend would be
the last on this blog – for easy reference). The ambience floored us, the
courteous owner, the staff and finally the food made us happy souls. This was
our second a la carte ordering event and we realized something which stayed
with us till we left the island. The menu may have a list of 20 odd things
under various categories. It’s a waste of time to go through all of it, build
an appetite around it and then get to know that the dish is not available as
some of the ingredients have not reached the island due to ferries being
cancelled due to unpleasant weather. Just ask whats available and order...easy
peasy. So the weather rules everything here. Most of things are ferried from
Port Blair which in turn gets things from major cities all around India. I saw
a Havells fan in one of the restaurant and made a note to tell this to one of
my friends in Mumbai. Havells should be having a great sales person to sell
fans to breezy restaurants!!!</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Post dinner we returned to our rooms (me was in lobby area)
and then we all slept. We were all excited about day 3…it was Scuba diving
early morning at 6 and evening it would be Elephant beach – the epicentre of
water sports. (google it for more info please). Advait (Aadi) </span></span></span><a data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100002990627957&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/rajiv.pillai.73?fref=mentions" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; cursor: pointer; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background: white; color: #365899; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none;">Rajiv Pillai</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; line-height: 107%;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">was super excited but there was also the fear of salt water
crocodiles haunting him. He tried to mask it but I could see through him…</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dot 5am, everyone was awake (or we thought so). Apparently,
the fishes are very active early morning so the guide had suggested we reach as
early as possible. The scuba diving centre was a couple of kms away from where
we were staying and we quickly huddled our sleepy selves into the waiting cars.
We reached there before we were fully awake and trundled towards a cabin near
the water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were 6 of us and only 3 could get into the early morning
slot. Another family beat us and were already in the water. Since the scuba
diving would be shot underwater, we decided Rajiv, Divya and Adi go in first as
they would then have a family video. I, Jayston and Devina waited for the next
slot….which we later realised was 90 minutes away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">These 3 looked smart in their diving costumes and I could
not wait to get into mine. The wait was exceedingly torturous for we were
hungry and the tea stall was not yet operational. Finally our turn arrived, we
slipped into our costumes and I loved it so much I could steal it. We trudged towards
the water. Adi was the first one walking towards the shore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How was it Adi?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The young boy was smiling and replied ‘Nice’ but he seemed
to be in a hurry to get out of water. I guess the fear of the salt water
crocodiles which he so often must have seen on television was haunting him.
Till date, he denies this fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were greeted by Vishal, our diving instructor. Each one
of us would be chaperoned underwater. Breathing techniques were taught and we
were made to practise for a few minutes. There were just three simple rules to
be followed and 2 sign language to be learnt:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Stop breathing through the nose, use mouth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->If water collects inside the mask near the nose,
press the centre point of the mask, just above the nose to release the water<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Blow out of the ear time and against release
pressure<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Sign language – one for OK and one for not
OK…take me UP.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cake walk, isn’t it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then began one of the most amazing next 30 minutes of my
life. Vishal chaperoned me, took me deeper into the waters and released air from
the cylinder on my back. I sunk! So did he!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The world under is so beautiful, especially since mankind
has been unable to mess it up. Spell bound I was observing every coral, little
colourful fishes playing hide and seek in the corals. And when you are watching
something so beautiful you forget to breathe. You are awestruck! Now that is
where I messed up! I got low of oxygen, felt suffocated and wanted to breathe
and I did – through my nose!!! Not my fault – that’s what I have done since I
was born. I signalled the UP sign and Vishal neatly took me to the surface. He
spoke encouragingly and asked me to be more disciplined and breathe through the
mouth as instructed earlier. I practised that a few more times and down we went
once again…there are not enough words to express how beautiful and surreal it s
down there. Admiring the beauty was one task and breathing like a fish was
another …photo graphs and videos were being taken which we could relish for the
rest of our lifetime. If any of you take this trip – I have only one word of
caution – please do not pose the way those guys ask you to pose. Every pic of
mine looks as if I am doing a bharatnatyam gesture with my hand. Just be casual
and ignore their advice at least on this front!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We returned to the hotel and as we were ravenously hungry we
had a hearty meal. After a 2-hour rest all were once again back to the lobby
(the wifi area). We had eyed some ducks quacking outside the hotel where we
stayed and wondered if we could relish some duck meat. The restaurant manager
assured us he will try it for the next day as he will have to send someone to
the market the next morning. We readily agreed and decided to build an appetite
for lunch the next day.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKnW5O1Mq6NZ5X3yWPL5FYkVu6ON7UHtHRL5i9fY-Eabd57mFBL5muAkfWMp3A5VSks1yIHod_4Iie8GGJUWlMD7r6vMcukuNps0_JaJswMFHDrqj0Y-_q6VRUxiT2TtBca5VDhpwZCyd/s1600/GOPR3770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKnW5O1Mq6NZ5X3yWPL5FYkVu6ON7UHtHRL5i9fY-Eabd57mFBL5muAkfWMp3A5VSks1yIHod_4Iie8GGJUWlMD7r6vMcukuNps0_JaJswMFHDrqj0Y-_q6VRUxiT2TtBca5VDhpwZCyd/s320/GOPR3770.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were scheduled to go snorkelling and engage in other
water sports in the evening, however cyclonic winds had forced the authorities
to close all water activities. That meant a free evening. It was raining
lightly with a windy breeze and I wanted to enjoy every bit of the wet weather.
I and Adi decided to enjoy ourselves in the pool and the others satisfied the
adventure streak in them by renting scooters and zipping away to another beach
called the kala pathhar, a few miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By 6pm, it was dark which denoted the end of the day. We
returned for more food, had dinner and went back to our rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 4: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We did not have anything on the agenda. It was a relax day.
During breakfast we had enquired about the duck and the restaurant manager
assured us his guy is doing his best to procure one of it. With foodies for company,
an impending feast is something that consumes a lot of energy either talking
about it or of some past experiences. This was the time, we decided to open the
board game we bought at the airport – Cleudo. Jayston painstakingly opened the
package, read instructions and everyone else listened. Within minutes, it
became complicated to listen and listen and listen. Rajiv slipped away at the
start on some pretence and never returned. Everyone wanted to start playing and
follow rule one by one. Jayston refused this modus operandi. He read to the
last T, absorbed the information and then we started playing. His
meticulousness rewarded him as he started making the right guesses. That hooked
us. One game of Cluedo can take hours to finish and keep you glued to it.
Various permutations and combinations can help a sharp mind decipher the truth
within 20 to 30 guesses. Our genius friend, Mr. Jayston proved to be the
brainiest guy in the game. The game was addictive and filled up all our free
hours during the rest of the trip. I, Devina, Jayston and Divya had a whale of
a time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sadly, the duck was not on our plate for lunch. The
restaurant manager once again promised us he would try and ‘procure’ it for
dinner. We once again had something to dream about till dinner. The group
decided that as this was our last day at Havelock we might once again go to
Kala Pathar, a place where Adi and I had not been the other day. It is a
continuation of Beach no 5 and is long stretch of white silky sand with big
black rocks beside the blue sea. Endless stretches of white sand with mangroves
adorn as far as you can see. Apart from such a beautiful view of nature, the
few manmade things you can find here are a couple of souvenir shops, a tea
shop, one coconut water stall, few large plastic dustbins and a bus stop. The
skyline was turning dark and we decided to head back home as soon as possible.
The sight of a bus rattling down attracted me and Divya to board the bus and
the others followed on their scooters. The bus had no stops to make and rattled
downhill at top speed. Few low hanging branches played drums on the rooftop at
first jostling us but then we became used to it. Very soon all of us were back
in the hotel and the duck was still on our minds as we kept seeing flocks of
ducks quacking outside the hotel. We kept wondering why one of them could not
be snatched away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The duck eluded us once again. The restaurant manager
apologised his inability in procuring one. I asked him if I could go to the
house outside the hotel and ask them to sell us one of their ducks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No one will sell maam, this is the breeding season.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Aha, that’s the catch. That’s why procuring a duck was so
hard. But he could have told this to us the previous day. To hear such a reason
after building up an appetite for more than 36 hours was a real torture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After dinner, we once again rushed to our rooms – not to
sleep but Cleudo calling!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 5: As per itinerary, after
breakfast we would leave Havelock and leave for the beautiful island of Neil.
However, the weather Gods did not allow that and all ferries to Neil were
cancelled. Only those who had flights to catch from Port Blair were transferred
from Havelock and Neil. As a precautionary measure, other ferries were
cancelled. We were disappointed we could not go to Neil but we loved the
extended stay at Havelock. Our guide had asked us to be ready to leave the
moment he calls and informs us about procuring a seat for in any ferry that
left the island. The idea was to leave for Port Blair and be safe in a hotel 15
minutes from the airport as getting marooned in the island was a high
probability with the weather acting the way it was. We packed and waited in the
lobby and we enjoyed the wait as we had Cleudo for company. Around 1, we got a
call from the guide and 2 cars were at the gate in no time. We were rushed to
the port. It was full of people trying to get a place in any of the ferries
that were leaving. We would have panicked about our own state but our guide
assured us that everything was in order. Perhaps for them it was a routine task
but for us to see the dock crowded like Dadar station during peak hours was a
bit of a shock. True to his word, our guide set us up at a nearby restaurant
from where we had an amazing view of the sea and the ferries coming in and going,
took all our luggage into their custody and asked us to relax. We had lunch and
by 4.30 we stepped into our ferry. Our luggage was neatly stored under the hull
in a similar fashion as it was brought to the island. I and Jayston made a
mental note to rush and collect it the moment we docked in Port Blair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were glad we were on a ferry
back to mainland. We got the best seats in the ferry…the first and the second
row with three seats in each row, right at the front…we thought we were
lucky…which was a misconception. However, we did not realise it at that point
of time. I did mention in my Day 2 excerpt what a majestic liner the Makruzz
was. One of the Makruzz staffers requested us to take a seat at the back as the
water was quite choppy and sitting at the back would be a better idea. We did
not think much about it<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but headed back
as if we were being punished for something we did not do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The ride began and so did our
woes. Passengers who felt lucky to have boarded a ferry back to mainland were
celebrating eating samosas, scones, puffs, wafers and the likes. Some men were
seen carrying tea cups for their families. All of these along with the men who
were standing (I really could not fathom why they did not sit) started swaying
precariously. Within 10 minutes of the ride, the ferry was thrown high up in
the air and down the next second. It seemed like a roller coaster ride in one
of the rides at Esselworld. This kept happening and happening. People started
screaming, praying and huddling with each other. I could see a wife holding her
little child in her lap and screaming at her husband for choosing this
godforsaken journey. The crew spread out assuring everyone that this was normal
if the sea was choppy and asked everyone to relax. The first casualty triggered
the next sequence of events. The passengers started retching into bags provided
by the crew. Family members tried to soothe the nerves of the affected ones
sometimes succumbing to the surroundings and started retching themselves.
Towards the end almost 95% of the passengers were affected. The air turned
putrid and was thick with the smell of vomit. We later learnt that our ride was
the worst since the start of the cyclone that had hit the island two days back.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As we sighted land, everyone
heaved a sigh of relief. Once out, I tool huge gulps of fresh air to clear my
system. Back in our hotel, I had light dinner while the others almost skipped
dinner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We awoke to bright sunshine and
soon forgot about the horrendous trip. We had an entire day off so we decided
to explore Port Blair. The group decided to go once again to the Cellular Jail,
this time with a guide. I skipped this tour. I could not put myself through the
pain and misery once again. The group did come back and say that touring the
place with a guide was a great experience. I would suggest that if you are
planning to visit the cellular jail, you visit it twice. Pay a visit during the
day with a guide as there is less crowd at this time. Towards evening as they
have the light show, the crowd is multiplied four to five times as most
tourists decide to visit the jail around 4 and then catch up with the light
show. I rested the entire day and enjoyed the weather, met fellow tourists and
chatted with the hotel staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Resting
was very important for me as Divya had scared me with a very long trek planned
the next day in the jungles to see lime stone caves. The pickup was scheduled
for 3AM…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tell me, does anyone get up at
3am when you are on a holiday? I was told there was a lot of travel time
involved if one had to see the lime stone caves, mangroves and the mud
volcanoes. (<a href="https://www.thrillophilia.com/destinations/baratang-island/places-to-vis">https://www.thrillophilia.com/destinations/baratang-island/places-to-vis</a>).
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">From our hotel, it would take us
approx. 2 hours to reach the convoy trail at Jurtang. The convoys would start
at 6am and reach the jetty by 8am. Then it is a 30-minute jetty ride to reach
the mangroves and a small motor boat ride for another 30 minutes would then
take us deeper inside the mangroves. The motor boat would leave us at a spot
from where would have to trek for 2km to reach the lime stone caves. Phew!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 7<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The half sleepy group bundled
themselves into the car. We were on a two-hour ride by road to Jurkatang. We
reached there by 5am and the gates that took us through the forests would open
only by 6am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were 5<sup>th</sup> in
the row. By 6am, the convoy grew up to over 50 vehicles behind us. Once the
gates opened, we drove through densely populated forests with long winding
roads. The convoy of vehicles rode as if in a procession, with equal spaces
between each other. We were told that this was because the jungle was inhabited
by the ‘Jarwah’ tribe – an uncivilzed tribe and perhaps the few of such tribes
left in the world. We were told we would be lucky if we could see some of them.
We eagerly wished to spot them in the 90 minutes it was supposed to complete
this stretch. Suddenly, our driver realised that we had lost a tyre. He
stopped. As a rule all vehicles behind us stopped and each one of us were asked
to get into the cars behind us. There was no chaos or confusion. In 5 minutes
flat, me, Adi, Devina and Jayston were bundled into a car right behind us,
Rajiv into the next one and Divya into another one. The convoy continued
without our driver. We continue our journey with strangers. We kept looking out
for Jarwahs. The driver was the first to spot them and we managed to catch a
glimpse of them basking in the sunlight. A man, a woman, children. They looked
exotic. The woman was wearing clothes, a long yellow kurta, probably handed
over by a passer-by. The man gestured something which our driver told was his
request for a paan. The tribal was probably wanting to taste something he had
eaten earlier. I would in no way term them uncivilzed. They were not hiding
themselves. Seemed as curious as we were to know them. We also saw a few other
jarwahs along the way and to me it seemed as if they had come out into he open
to see us!!! We finished this amazing journey (minus our flat tyre) and reached
the jetty gate. Our driver joined us soon enough. He must be a fearless man for
he managed to change the tyre in the middle of the jungle all by himself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A leech managed to such some
blood out of Adi and the poor kid spent the rest of the day with a piece of
paper tissue stuck on his leg. We soon boarded a jetty that took us on a 30-minute
ride to a small bay from where another motor boat picked us up. The motor boat
drove 30 minutes and took us deeper into the mangroves. The water was clean but
muddy and not azure blue as it was at the beach. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We alighted on a ledge made of bamboo…. the
ledge extended to a very long narrow bridge that took us deeper into he
mangroves. A 2 km long trek involved us crossing marshy pathways and rocky
areas which led us to the limestone caves. A marvel of art, the figures inside
the caves shone and glittered. (please read on google in detail or better -
visit the place). I was flushed from all that walk but I must say it was worth
it. Going back, the guide took us through a different route, through fields and
a whole lot of greenery and we were back in the motor boat. My lungs were full
of pure fresh oxygen. We came back the same way minus any mishaps and were too
tired by the time we reached the hotel. We rested a while and planned to visit
the market place in the evening to buy souvenirs. Today was our last day here
and we would soon board the flight to Mumbai. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That’s how I landed back in
Mumbai on the 9<sup>th</sup> of June and as I stepped out of the airport felt a
disgusting stench hit my nostrils. I just could not take this shit, I thought. As
I sat in the cab, a part of me slid onto <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the next seat and whispered in my ear – this is
where you were born, this is where you were a week back. This is your home. Learn
to live with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-7888423142494686622018-05-11T21:26:00.000-07:002018-05-11T21:26:50.663-07:00Desires Have No Ethics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s a boy, exclaimed the nurse
to the frail woman in a yellow cotton saree, sitting at the edge of the wooden
bed outside Mumbai’s Sion Hospital’s gynaecology department. An overjoyed Tara
folded her hands as a gesture of gratitude and waited for someone to call her.
Her best friend since childhood, Chanda had delivered a baby boy and she wanted
the whole world to know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her world was small, though. Her
husband Bhima and Chanda’s husband Somu made up her world. Chanda and Tara were
married off when they were hardly 14 to Somu and Bhima. Carpenters by
profession, both men worked under the same employer and were partners in crime
in their younger days. Fed up of being bachelors, they decided to look for a
bride and one thing led to the other and they ended up marrying girls who were
best friends. It’s been 6 long years where they moved villages, towns and
finally settled in Dharavi. The men worked with a builder and the women did odd
house chores. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy in their oyster, they lived
in a 4 feet by 4 feet shanty in the bylanes of Dharavi. Their happiness was however
blurred by the absence of pitter patter of tiny feet. Sneha didi who often
visited the shanties had asked them to see a certain doctor at Sion Hospital
who could perhaps help them have children of their own. The couples, shy by nature
never made that visit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tara looked outside the window. Rain
drops splattered on the window sill outside. Some of it splattered onto her
face. It merged well with her tears. Today, it stands proven that she can never
be a mother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cellphone in her hand buzzed.
She hurriedly lifted the black instrument wound tightly by a rubber band to her
ear. Bhima, my sweetheart, we have a baby boy. The nurse said Chanda is fine
too. I am yet to see both but we will be home tomorrow evening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wonderful Tara. I will tell Somu.
He will be overjoyed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tall, well built, brown-skinned,
Bhima was akin to his namesake from the Mahabharata. His green eyes were an
aberration to his Indian look. He ran towards Somu, a short dark-skinned lean
man who dropped the hammer in his hand and looked at Bhima with eagerness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have a boy Somu. They will
come home by tomorrow evening. Let’s do a double shift today so we can be home
full day tomorrow. Somu hugged his friend, looked up and thanked God almighty
for been merciful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEithukVZ16ZmD8l3FMVlMf0gr2rD51OCpT76PhZ2geA_DC3ogz2RKAViMoWpkj9BNpkMIhGzXly3x1pMCB28btvsr-rEoQS1XVCpK8LJcTRYdb9Fin3UekqcIzxF-edCM7BxvI9o8P9nH2T/s1600/baby.png.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="626" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEithukVZ16ZmD8l3FMVlMf0gr2rD51OCpT76PhZ2geA_DC3ogz2RKAViMoWpkj9BNpkMIhGzXly3x1pMCB28btvsr-rEoQS1XVCpK8LJcTRYdb9Fin3UekqcIzxF-edCM7BxvI9o8P9nH2T/s200/baby.png.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The wail of a baby floated out of
Tara’s shanty. Chanda was sleeping peacefully on the bed and Tara was cuddling
the baby to sleep. Both men entered the house and immediately the baby seemed
to sense them and became quiet. A gleeful Tara showed the baby proudly to the
men. The men, exhausted from their double shifts looked at the baby in
amazement, too scared to touch him. He was small yet chubby, a dark mop of hair
over his fair round face and seemed to smile in his sleep. Somu saw a tiny foot
propel itself out of the cloth wrapped around him. He tickled the small feet. The
baby opened his light green eyes and looked at them. The colour drained out of
his face. He looked at Bhima and Tara. Nothing but joy was written over their
face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hearing the commotion, Chanda
woke up. She saw her husband and smiled at him. Somu could not react. Chanda
got up and picked her baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Somu, see, our baby is finally
here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, our baby is finally here,
chorused Tara and Bhima.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Somu walked out of the hut….walked
as far as his feet would carry him. The rain poured on him relentlessly but he
kept walking. He knew he will have to do, just that, for the rest of his life.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-29058991527196929502018-05-10T07:45:00.000-07:002018-05-09T19:13:52.505-07:00A Summer Encounter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsh0WxpCI4crLokKtbewnWIAyJvZHiTq6C65cRndIO5sqLdBdNulQWAynzM2uSE2WMWgNGoJncy1aAfmuTS3b3urmdH2TcjS4FLTUlrWGndTOPo_V9yfAwItU1BS0B-0L8r4SjHtB2GUW/s1600/dat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="494" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsh0WxpCI4crLokKtbewnWIAyJvZHiTq6C65cRndIO5sqLdBdNulQWAynzM2uSE2WMWgNGoJncy1aAfmuTS3b3urmdH2TcjS4FLTUlrWGndTOPo_V9yfAwItU1BS0B-0L8r4SjHtB2GUW/s320/dat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">10:42, displayed the neon green
indicator above the main bridge at Dadar. Sia was petrified of crowded trains
and getting down at Dadar as suggested by Yash irked her. Yet, she found
herself doing exactly what he asked her to do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They were supposed to meet at 11.
She was early. Barely 2 days back, she had swiped right on this handsome guy
that popped up on her screen. Getting to know each other type chats followed. Sia
was thrilled to meet a single guy on a dating app where 80% of the men were
married and looking for an affair on the sly. Basically, she would swipe left
on a blank profile. Here she took her chances.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">10:52. Her cell buzzed. Babes,
where are you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yash, am on the middle bridge and
right below an indicator. Please come and find me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No worries, keep talking and I
will be there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The butterflies went on a
stampede. He is coming! He is coming!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Still with her phone glued to her
ear, she looked around. Where is he?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then she saw him…an apparition in
white. Tall, dressed casually in blue jeans and crisp blinding white shirt, Yash
smiled at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The butterflies had now made
their way up to her mouth. It seemed they would fly out of her mouth if she
opened it. Like a Karan Johar movie, they would come out and circle over her
head and play some music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yash broke the silence. Shall we
go out east or west?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anywhere Yash. As long as we get
a cab, its fine by me. It’s freaking hot and I can’t be out like this anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Let’s go out from the west. It
will be a challenge but we will find a cab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The butterflies were now at her
feet. She walked out of the station and they crossed a multitude of cab drivers
completely uninterested in their destination. Finally, they found one and Sia
was happy to dump herself into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shivaji Park. They got outside a coffee
shop they planned to check into. Idea was to sit for hours sipping cold coffee
and get to know each other. Blooper! The coffee shop, so well rated on a
popular app, barely had seating for more than 15 people and the AC was not
functioning!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wrong choice, muttered both. The
sun was not being kind. Nor was the humidity. Sia felt scorched as they
discussed their next destination. Yash was facing her and he playfully removed
her glares. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You have brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Who me? How come I never knew...they
were flirting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Remove yours, let me see yours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yash removed his glares. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sia’s heart skipped a beat. The butterflies
were swooshing around her brain with gusto. She was staring into the most
amazing set of eyes she had ever seen. Golden rays flickered out of the soft
brown eyes. Oblivious to the heat around her, Sia felt warm. The butterflies disappeared.
An easy camaraderie set over them and they started talking as if they knew each
other all the while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yash suggested Macdonald. The
only thing that made Sia accept this suggestion was their AC! They had to walk
towards their destination and by the time they plonked themselves onto a vacant
table, Sia was all flushed from the heat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A bottle of chilled water brought
her peace. Yash ordered for a coffee and they spent a couple of hours at the
coffee shop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Silence speaks a lot, at times. Not
much was spoken but a lot was felt. Yash kept getting calls from a friend he was
scheduled to meet. Sia too had to meet her friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So it's time to leave, said Sia.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You want to leave?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course, we both have plans. you only suggested we won't need more than an hour since it is out first meet. Sia had a smug look on her face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yash smiled back...yeah go ahead...book the cab. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yeah…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sia booked a cab. They got up
from their seat and decided to wait outside for the cab. There was a short
winding staircase leading the way out. Sia moved ahead of Yash. At one point, Yash
dashed past her and stood a few steps beneath her. Now she was staring into
those playful eyes again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yash leaned forward and kissed
her lightly on her neck. His raised eyebrows seemed to gauge her reaction. That
staircase moment made her day. Hand in hand they walked out. Sia got into the
waiting cab and they bid their good-byes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-29790405894005062872017-11-14T22:16:00.002-08:002017-11-17T06:29:11.088-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: blue;">A Puzzle That Is Me</span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I may seem strong, I may seem near to
perfect<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What I am actually – is a well-fixed jigsaw
puzzle<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Each puzzle holding a badly broken and
bruised me<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I survive for I have you<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">An invisible cordless charger<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You make me laugh, you make me cry<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You make me feel beautiful and wanted<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I continue to live in near perfection<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sensible, charming and strong headed<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Always ready to help others<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For my world is filled with happiness <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And delight I strive to spread<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span></div>
Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-47203659875369729312015-06-19T10:24:00.000-07:002015-06-27T04:08:54.577-07:00A Life Better Than Yours...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLX8T3Yw-Sk-hRr1gPxEU6g4gmmEV3QAzcZQuZze-4csrTrmD6yA5SMaCkTKEWkwfiTV_-TeYUkGPfJ-2k9AsmRQkecD_1RnBn-vR79-vCPGO8EzMTLG2mHG3QkxyqN97CLE1u4ymjGNh/s1600/run2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLX8T3Yw-Sk-hRr1gPxEU6g4gmmEV3QAzcZQuZze-4csrTrmD6yA5SMaCkTKEWkwfiTV_-TeYUkGPfJ-2k9AsmRQkecD_1RnBn-vR79-vCPGO8EzMTLG2mHG3QkxyqN97CLE1u4ymjGNh/s200/run2.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">The sound of her Reebok soles hitting the paved walkway sounded pleasant to her. It was a sign… she was hale and hearty, healthy enough to run at this age. Jogging was a passion that has remained with her all through these years. She looked at her watch. Exact 5 am. Reshma parked her car just opposite the Air India building on Marine Drive and started stretching. Very soon she would start her jog. One hour at a stretch! She was here on most days from 5 to around 6.30. Though she had been coming here since ages, she was not a part of the many groups that dotted this famous skyline of Mumbai. She was a loner and preferred to be that way. Running uncluttered her mind. It also helped her clear some cobwebs from the deep recesses of her mind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Wearing military green track pants and a white T shirt, Reshma appeared to be in her mid-thirties when she was in reality, close to hitting 50. An athlete all through her life she had seen more losses than gains, be it in games or in life. She smiled to herself. She was happy with the way her life went by though it was not picture perfect. Her thoughts were side-tracked by a very young girl in a fluorescent green top and red cycling shorts, as she came running towards her. She was lean, around 5’ 10” and had skin as smooth as marble. She had a small dog running ahead of her. Her hair was auburn and tied atop her head from where the curls bobbed to each side of her face as she ran. As they crossed each other, Reshma smiled and wished her “Good Morning”. Interesting life she must be having thought Reshma. The girl looked well in control of her life. The girl smiled back “morning maam”. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sonia usually ran for a little over 90 minutes but today she felt very lethargic. She was missing Ayushman and she knew he had no place in her life anymore. She was forced to come because her dog loved to run as much as her. But today was different. Sonia felt the only person who loved her unconditionally was her dog, Rocky. All others, including her parents loved her because she was the golden goose. Sonia allowed Rocky to run without a leash and she ran after him with unrestrained vigour and energy. A woman who seemed to be in her mid-thirties wished her a good morning. Sonia wished her back but wondered what was so good this morning! Unlike the other models in her industry, she neither smoked, nor drank nor snorted any dope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIv1gapaSfCgp8reitEc_k9D2IFMkYuzeoXSQvakzIrDV4UP5QFKvPTxGFJ9pqpmskZAMSn0t_zD3tJzXsopo8s-hXcYnPqzXOJoUc_Uz7P9jZpFxIV6NKjBLE1aeOnTTucUYrIb389KmQ/s1600/run3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIv1gapaSfCgp8reitEc_k9D2IFMkYuzeoXSQvakzIrDV4UP5QFKvPTxGFJ9pqpmskZAMSn0t_zD3tJzXsopo8s-hXcYnPqzXOJoUc_Uz7P9jZpFxIV6NKjBLE1aeOnTTucUYrIb389KmQ/s1600/run3.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Reshma continued to run for another hour before she stopped next to her car to retrieve the bottle of water. Sipping the cool water, she returned and sat down on the parapet. The chaiwala, a regular guy, stopped by her and said, ”Good morning Madham, Howh areh youh?” “Sab thik” would reply Reshma. This was their daily way of greeting; with the chaiwala not wanting to speak in Hindi and Reshma trying to push the message that talking in English was not a necessity! The message did not seem to have made an effect all these years. The chaiwala gave her a steaming hot cup of chai in a white disposable cup and she handed him a 50 rupee note. That would suffice for a week and Reshma did this as a routine every Sunday. She sipped on her chai and looked blankly at the sea, silent on the surface but turbulent inside. It was 6 and the sky had turned a crimson red. Very soon, the Sun would rise and be on its way. She got up, she too had to be on her way… she had to reach the academy by 7. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Almost 30 years back, she missed winning the National Badminton title by a whisker, she was only 19. Though she lost she was noticed by Norma, a sports goods manufacturing company. They asked her to model for their brand and she readily agreed. Knowing that her career as an athlete may not take off that well in the absence of a coach or mentor, she chose to start work as soon as she graduated. She expressed her interest in working with Norma and they readily agreed. They chose her as a regional sales representative and she used her charm in getting orders for her company. Norma manufactured Tennis rackets and Reshma had the appeal to sell the products. Aged 22, she was pleased as a punch to have found a dream job and the disappointment of losing the National title, easily disappeared into the realms of the past. An orphan, she was glad to have a life of her own. That’s when her real troubles started. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">A whirlwind romance with the wrong person left her a divorcee by the time she was 25. Fortunately, there were no kids. Professionally she did well. She was a good sales person and had the convincing power to sell ice to an Eskimo. Professionally she did well. However, relationships remained a problem. Men came and left, either she left them or they left her. After a few years it did not matter. Her work gave her the high. In the last 2 decades, she worked for most part of her life and did nothing apart from it. A workaholic, the only time she took leave was for those 6 months that haunted her till date. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Around six years back, she decided to set up a coaching academy for Badminton. By hobnobbing with the right kind of people, she set up an academy that attracted a lot of investors. She hired the right people, crafted intensive training schedules, kept a tight rein on the budget and her academy was a hit. Within the next 5 years, she repaid all the loans. Friends and family envied her success and her independence. Some women gossiped amongst themselves about the lack of men or children in her life. No one knew, and most times Reshma too loved to forget the fact that she was a mother too and she too had loved once. Jatin, was the regional sales head in for a competitor company in Delhi. Though he was married, both walked the forbidden path which unfortunately resulted in Reshma getting pregnant. Reshma left her job before her pregnancy started showing and shifted to Delhi where no one knew her and she was closer to Jatin. Jatin and Reshma were truly in love and Jatin was sure his divorce would come through but that did not happen as his mother objected tooth and nail. Jatin succumbed to family pressure and blackmail from his own mother and a 7 month pregnant Reshma was left alone. She had no option but to carry her term to maturity. She gave up the baby to an adoption centre. She had no plans of raising a child when she herself was unsure about living the right kind of life. She was 32 then. After giving up the baby, she shifted back to Mumbai and started working with Pioneer, a global sporting goods company. Pioneer had valued her expertise and roped her in as a Global Head. She was thrilled with the challenge and gave her 100% to the job. Today, she grieved about her selfish act. Had she kept the child, she would have been as old as the girl in the fluorescent top! It would have felt great to have someone you can call your own…she was pensive for a moment but then she smiled at herself and got up and headed towards her car. Life is a mystery…just go on with it was her motto. She was not the sentimental kind. Life made her that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ratan saw Reshma walk up to her car. This way he knew the time would be around 6. Maam looks so happy, thought Ratan. He has been seeing her for the past 5 to 6 years and he offered her chai exactly the way she wanted it just after her run. Ratan had his pulse on every runner and walker on the stretch. With an auto reminder set inside his head he would stop by each one exactly a minute after they settled down. He had the monopoly of being the only chaiwala in the entire stretch. The others started coming in only by 7. He admired the morning joggers for the lifestyles they led. Lucky people to be able to drive such fancy cars, do what they like especially early mornings! They must be such happy people!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Chai Madham? He asked the girl in the fluorescent green top with the dog. Both were sitting on the parapet waiting for the sun to rise. She first fiddled for some change then nodded in the affirmative. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sonia had just finished her run. As she ran she recounted the events of the last week. Her live in boyfriend, Ayushman had brought a very young girl home and had placed a bizarre demand of all three sleeping in the same bed. When Sonia refused, Ayushman smacked her face with the bottle in his hand. Pain seeped into her entire being. Pieces of glass scraped through her cheeks. The area near her eye got badly bruised. In pain Sonia, ran inside the bathroom, locked herself in. She called the police. Help reached almost instantly and she was rescued from the drunk and violent Ayushman. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she sensed danger and chose to disappear. Sonia did not press any charges. She loved Ayushman, no matter how bad he behaved. But this time, with police protection, she removed every inch of his presence from their home. She threw him out, literally. Since last one week, only she and Rocky lived here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">She finished her tea and got up. She planned to jog. She felt better with the hot cup of strong ginger flavoured chai. Ayushman was livid with Sonia. He vowed to ruin her life and had been coming to Marine Drive every morning with a plan. Unaware of his presence on the parapet, Sonia continued to walk with the dog. It was only 6.15 am and Ayushman hated to wake this early every day. Today, he must find an opportunity to throw acid on her face…he did not want to come back tomorrow. He wanted to sleep in peace. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ratan saw her again, the plump woman with a pleasant face but today she was late. It was almost 6.30. He smiled at himself when he realised what she was doing. She had been coming to the same spot, just opposite the Air India building but Ratan had never seen her run or walk. She would just sit by the ledge and stare into the sea. Maybe somebody told her running on Marine drive was a healthy activity and she chose to partially listen to it. Ratan used to offer her his special chai many times but she always refused and now he stopped asking. She was wearing a light blue track pant that had the embossing of a non-descript brand. She wore a very loose black T-shirt which probably hid her plumpness. She was short, about 5 feet but she looked pleasant. Ratan wished she bought his chai. He knew she was not affluent but then that was more his type of woman. Maybe they could become friends? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ratan shook himself out of his reverie. How easy it was for him to get lazy. He whacked himself on his head and looked around for a sale. Then he saw Babuji. Babuji was not seen for a few months and Ratan assumed he was dead. That’s what actually happened to old people who came there for a walk. Those who discontinued were either ill or dead. Ratan ran towards where Babuji was sitting. As he neared him, he could hear the familiar tunes of some old hindi classics emanating from Babuji’s cellphone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Namaste babuji, Maaji where? You not coming, I not seeing? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Babuji smiled at Ratan, took his chai and pointed towards the sky. Ratan was dismayed and shocked. But he did not know what to say so he quietly slipped out from there after pocketing his change. Everyone has to die, of course, but what does it do to the people who are left behind? He missed his beautiful wife Kala. Some said his 2 year old daughter looked just like her but he never went back to his village.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">A tall but frail figure, Babuji was still in mourning. He was wearing brown khakhi pants, the ones he wore for his daily morning walks and a white shirt. He had not yet learned how to survive without his Malati. He and Malati had been married for 58 long years when she was just 16 and he was 20. Babuji sipped the chai and looked into the sea. The rising sun had turned the horizon a crimson red. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Malati had left him all of a sudden last month, quiet unfair, he thought. Between the two he was the one who was unhealthy. He was the one who had diabetes and blood pressure. But she chose to go in her sleep. His life partner broke the deal. What a fickle deal! Back home, his three children, one daughter and two sons fought amongst each other to take him to their home. Thanks to Malati, the children had values. All were well settled and loved him to the core. He decided to stay with his youngest son Nipun, for Nipun had a 3 year old daughter Niyati, who was an exact replica of Malati. The other grand children were older and busy to pay much attention to him but little Niyati would scream with joy whenever she was around Babuji. Niyati kept looking for Aaji and he had to tell her that Aaji has gone on a very long tour. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Ask her to bring me some toys and chocolates when she returns or else I will never speak to her”, moaned Niyati. Right, me too, added Ramnath. Then they would start their games without Aaji.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">No one objected to his choice of living with Nipun as their objective was not to let their 78 year old father live alone. They gave their fathers house on rent and the amount kept adding into his pile of savings, of which he was not allowed to use any, except gift the kids during festivals and birthdays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Everyone in the Nana Nani Park said he was a lucky old guy. Money was never a problem. But he missed Malati. He did not know how having money was equivalent to not having Malati by his side. How can one be happy with money? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">All have to go one day. But Malati went before him. This was not what he had planned. He had planned that during his last moments he would confess to her. The one single mistake of his life. He felt miserable for not having been true to her. He regretted he hid a lie from her. Will she find out now that she is in heaven and has access to all the books? The thought devastated him. He did not know why he behaved in that manner. He was not a young teenager but a very mature gentleman of 48 when he had met a young energetic girl who was in her thirties. Both of them were in the same profession and had met quite a few times over work which most times transcended to drinks and dinner. He was so overpowered by lust that one day he proposed they go for an overnight trip. She was single and had no qualms. They went to a nearby hill station on a Saturday morning and planned to stay overnight but Babuji did not know himself. Babuji had never done something like this before but the desire to step into the unknown was so intense that he perhaps lost his marbles. However, once they were in the room, he felt very uneasy lying next to another woman. He was surprised that his lust hid under a thick blanket and failed to rise from there. He made some flimsy excuse and left the resort the same day. The girl did not mind this either. That night back home in his room, while Malati slept next to him, he decided to forget his day time adventure as a bad dream. The guilt nagged him all through but he never had the heart to admit to Malati. He took another sip from the cup. The cup was empty. As empty as his soul. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Time to leave. He had not walked today. That’s bad for his health. If Malati was around, she would force him to walk. He missed Malati. This is not what he had planned. Does life allow us to plan? He shook his head, got up and walked with energised steps towards home. Little Niyati would be waiting for him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ranjana was wearing her favorite blue track pants that a client had gifted her. She was wearing a red T shirt that she had bought off Fashion Street. But today, she was in no mood to jog. One can’t vouch she ever did on other days. But today was special day. Perhaps her last day! She made a mental note of the chaiwala who was talking to a young girl. She had several times caught the chaiwala stealing a glimpse in her direction, more so after she refused his chai umpteen times. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">At work, she chose to wear black jeans and tight fitting black T shirt that showed off her ample curves and also gave a peek a boo into her most valuable assets whenever she bent over a client. Ranjana was 35 years old and had a past that still gave her nightmares. Eldest of 5 siblings, she had a horrific childhood. Her mother worked as a maid and was out most of the time. Her father’s only priority in life was to beat up her mother for money, for sex, for food not necessarily in that order. Once when her mother was away, her father shooed the boys out of the house and forced her to do all the household chores …in the nude. She was a blossoming young girl of 13 but was too afraid of her father. She obeyed. He would later do things to her that nauseated her till date. Her mother sensed something was wrong but did nothing much but get her married by the time she was 15. Ranjana felt happy to leave the hell hole and embraced her husband Sumit and his family as her own. She won everyone’s heart including Sumit’s. Life was smooth though Sumit earned a measly salary of 5000 as an office peon. Her mother-in-law too worked as a maid but Ranjana wanted the old lady to stop working. She pleaded with Mona, a beautician living nearby to teach her the ropes and interned with her free of charge. Very soon, she learnt the ropes and then worked as an assistant to the beautician. All was well. She had two beautiful children. Life went on. She worked hard and so did Sumit. 15 years went by. The boys were on the threshold of entering college when disaster struck in the form of an accident. Sumit was coming back from Shirdi with his mother when their bus met with an accident. Ranjana lost everything in an instant. It took her a while to come to terms with reality. The boys were her only strength. She needed money and it was hard to come by. Mona suggested she sell this home, invest most of it for a steady income and use some to secure a house on rent and manage general expenses. Mona encouraged her to start her own parlour. Thus Rosy’s parlour came into existence. Her home cum parlour was not more than 200 square feet in xyz place near xyz. The room was self-contained and well ventilated. She and the boys were happy with the setup and that was all that mattered. Her business picked up fine as there was no parlour in that area. She sent her sons to the same boarding school where Mona’s children went. She could not run the parlour with the boys coming in and out of the house. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Few years passed and Ranjana was doing well. Her elder son now wanted to join an engineering college and she had saved the required amount. However, she was short of about 20 thousand rupees. She shared her concern with Mona. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Why don’t you go and ask Mehta for a loan?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I hardly know him, Mona.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Go and ask and get to know him well. Then ask for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mehta ran a courier service agency and was Mona’s regular client. Ranjana decided to meet Mehta.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">One evening, around 8pm, she went to meet Mehta. She had just shut her parlour and Mehta was also closing his office.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hey Ranjana, what brings you here?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ranjana smiled. Sir, I need a small favour.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Good you came. I too need a small favour. You see the bottle there? Go and get it. My head hurts like hell today. Was planning to visit Mona, but now that you are here why you don’t give me one of those heady massages?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sure sir. That was the start of many other “Sure sir’s”. It was easy money and it did not harm anybody. There were additions to Mehta. She was particularly fond of one Shravan, a 26 year old executive who often came to her for a head massage. Most of the times, he was dressed in a white kurta pyjama and he stayed overnight. The neighbours gossiped about her. Raised a complaint with the landlord and when the landlord came to visit her late one night to seek an explanation she offered him her specialised head massage. He left the next morning. The neighbours were silenced. Some moved out from the locality, others remained. She spoke to none. She was happy with her customers. Whenever her sons returned for vacations, she would stop her services for that brief period. As all her clients visited with prior appointments she could stall any of the regular men from coming home. Her clients understood. She was a proud mother for she was able to impart the best academic opportunities her sons deserved. She was a good wife too but when there was no husband around and she was not one of those who could talk and share things with a photograph or a memory. She too had her needs and she saw that it was fulfilled. She liked Shravan the most and would always look forward to his visits.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">From the time she deviated from her parlour business, Ranjana found time to take a fresh morning walk at marine drive. She would reach there every day by 7am and sit and watch the waves lashing the rocks. She hardly walked or jogged. Tried a few times but gave up simultaneously. Her health was an issue. She lost 10 kgs in the last 2 months. She constantly developed cold and fever and felt weak. From a rotund 65kg she was now 55kg and though she was happy with her weight loss she hated her low immunity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">One day she got a call from Shravan. When she picked up, a woman spoke to her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hello, is this Saraswati Devi Maa?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yes, murmured Ranjana.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mataji, I am Shravans aunt. We believe Shravan worshipped you in some way. He often used to speak about finding peace in your sermons. I have called you to inform you about the tragic demise of Shravan. His soul will be at peace if you could come for his condolence ceremony tomorrow evening. I will message you the address. Namaste Mataji.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Namaste, said a shocked Ranjana.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Shravan…and dead? How?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ranajana was back on Marine Drive. Today she was late…it was almost 7. The chaiwala kept looking at her like he did every day. However, today her mind was on something else. She looked into the ocean. Her vision was blurred.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">She had been crying all through last evening. She had gone for Shravan’s funeral but nobody asked her who she was. She heard a familiar voice, probably the same aunt who was asking another woman if saraswati maa had arrived.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ranajana moved away from there and went and sat far away from Shravans photograph. She sat there for over 30 minutes not knowing what was happening as a soothing voice kept singing one bhajan after the other. She felt disturbed by the murmur of few women. She turned to look back and saw three women in white; all in their early thirties giggle and raise eyebrows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">God rest his soul. He was never happy with his life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yes, I heard he refused to join the family business and joined one of the top most financial companies in India.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">He was too stressed yaar. He never joined us for parties.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Stress? I heard he was habituated to visiting these Russian girls. That’s how he contracted aids and that’s why he chose to jump off the Worli Seaface.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">The other two women raised their eyebrows so high that it seemed to vanish into their scalps.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am not joking. Since the last few months, he lost weight drastically and often kept unwell. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Finally, I think he got fed up of his sick life!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">The whole world swam in front of Ranjanas eyes. She sat there like a statue and tears welled up in her eyes. Fortunately, she was in a place where everyone grieved so she did not stand out. She composed herself and left the place quietly. She cried and cried not knowing what to do. Shravan…and aids? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Chai? Ranjana looked at the chaiwala. For the first time in her life, she said, yes and smiled at the chaiwala. It was perhaps the last time she would interact with someone. She planned to take a cab to worli seaface right after her chai. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Most days, 6am to 8am was a busy morning for Ratan. He had to cater to the regular joggers who came to Marine Drive. Very few youngsters had chai but most elders, men as well as women loved their morning cup from him. After a jog, they would often sit in group, chit chat or at times sing songs. Even though he was busy he had a close watch on a short plump woman whom he intensely liked. There were no tell-tale signs of her being married nor did any man ever escort her during her walks. Ratan had lost his wife, his pretty Bela, to child birth. His two year old daughter resembled Bela and his mother took care of her. He wished to marry again but have not been able to meet someone who would make him want to marry. This plump woman seemed to have that elusive charm. How he wished he could send his mother to her house to ask for her hand! But he hardly knew her. Today, he mustered courage and walked up to her direction. He decided to pester her till she bought his chai. He would then not let her pay. They may then become friends…. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Fortunately for him, today she said “yes” to his chai….that too without him having to pester her…it’s a good omen. Tomorrow, perhaps he can speak a few words with her. He blushed. He was a shy person by nature and he liked this plump woman. She too seemed like a reserved person. They seemed to be a perfect match.</span><br />
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Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-54948563442242369102014-06-13T21:17:00.001-07:002014-06-16T10:12:36.327-07:00Pattaya - Pallu and Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a sudden trip. One that favoured me as well as Pallu. I can’t say I knew Pallu as much before the trip as after the trip! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Being single is no cake-walk. I have conquered a few areas like buying presents for myself, going for movies, eating out and managed to do all of this alone but going on a holiday alone was something I haven’t been able to do till date. I had told all my friends…married as well as singles to ‘kindly accommodate ‘me if they ever plan a trip. All said YES. Then I would sometimes catch their pictures on Facebook taken in either Switzerland or Shimla. Perhaps they forgot that I had expressed an interest in joining them. Later when I would LIKE their pictures they would comment a 'Thanks Sups'. I was expecting a message in my inbox saying...'oops we forgot to tell you before we left'. But the entire conversation seemed to have been erased from their memory. It wasn't their fault though. They had too many things to do...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So it was once when I was casually cajoling Paro, a good friend of mine to plan a trip, that she mentioned Pallu.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You remember apna Pallu at JoyBuzz? I didn’t have to try hard to recollect. Tall, slim and dusky, Pallu was a girl with a chiseled face and high cheekbones that complemented her charming personality. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Seems like Pallu had planned a trip to Thailand with her aunt and now it has gone kaput after her aunt ditched her. She was also asking me to join her. I hardly get time to breathe Sups! Why don’t you both go and have a blast! Said Paro. Her excitement at the prospect of me and Pallu going on a trip to Thailand was infectious.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Though I didn’t know Pallu very well, I dialed her number and exchanged the boring routine pleasantries of how are yous and whats up thing. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then I said – Paro was saying you are looking for a partner to go to Thailand?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yiipppeeeee…screamed Pallu at the other end of the phone. Wait, you have your passport right? Let me give you…</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pallu seemed delirious with happiness. Off she rattled off about 10 odd things I had to do to get myself ready for the trip. Thank you Sups, now let me convince my parents that I have a “mature lady for company”. You know my aunt had to cancel last moment and my dad said – Now you too don’t go!!! Really, God is great….cmon Sups…start packing!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">25000 all-inclusive for 6 nights and 7 day in an international trip! That too during Christmas??? I knew I got lucky by just being in the right place at the right time. I started packing. I told my son I was going. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What? Just like that? Mom your one lucky woman!!! I am 22 year old guy and have not even gone on a singles trip to GOA and you are going to Thailand??? Lucky woman..... But he was very happy for me. The last international trip I had was with him to Nepal. He was just 10 then...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was an induction meeting 2 days prior to the trip….I was excited….at the thought of meeting several other singles or adventurous adults. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The induction meet was in a small residential society in Ghatkopar. I was skeptical. Pallu reassured – don’t worry babes. This Reema aunty organizes tours during vacations and it is her main livelihood. They are good people , don’t go by the lack of frills….this is no Fox and Kings but it ain't bad either. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I trusted Pallu real bad. She was a sweet girl and our meager savings were a result of our toil and hardwork at JoyBuzz where working was never a joy! None of us wanted to be dwindled!!!</span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was aghast as the meeting began. There were about 10 to 12 families. All of them were in the age bracket of 30 to 40 and had kids ranging from 5 to 15. ALL OF THEM WERE GOING TOGETHER TO THAILAND!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pallu, whats this? Are they thinking we are going to Disneyworld?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hmmm….no handsome guys either, moaned Pallu. It was December 2012 and an astrologer had predicted that she would be married by December 2013 and this was the last chance she had to freak out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We both consoled each other. </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I volunteered - we will break free from the group and go on our own ( sometimes). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pallu grinned – yes we will and she had a twinkle in her eye.</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What we do there…remains there, ok? We both agreed to that…</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The D Day dawned. I was all packed and ready. I didn’t tell many in the family that I was going to THAILAND as many had the misconception that people go to Thailand to have fun and sex. For me Thailand was just a destination that came my way. I would have been equally happy doing Europe at 25,000!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My son came to leave me to the airport – he wanted to be sure Pallu was a decent girl and not a guy. Pallus parents had done the same. They had come to check me out! There was chaos at the airport as our guide and Reema aunty had had a fight. The guide left the premise in a huff with Reema aunty hollering after him and threatening him. Her threats fell on deaf ears as the guide simply walked away!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Reema aunty was in tears. She needed the guide but he was adamant about some remuneration which she could not afford. I began wondering if I had lost my precious 28000 and if I would finally be going on this much awaited tour. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I prayed with all my heart. Please let me go, please don’t cancel. Pallu had full confidence in her Reema aunty and was not perturbed. Meanwhile, Reema aunty was frantically trying to find another immediate replacement. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">God seemed to have heard me. Probably I have been doing the right karma. And within the next 30 minutes a new guide arrived. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The new guide, a Harish appeared out of thin air and started herding us towards the entry gate. Reema aunty gave him every one’s passports and tickets and he expertly led us through security. From nowhere came huge brown sacks full of spices and Harish included those with the teams luggage. I later learnt he sold spices in hotels in Thailand for an extra income. He often did this and he knew Thailand like the back of his palm. I reminded myself that I will need him in my quest for a few places I had to visit!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Harish, though an unlikeable character at first look with his villainous sort of appearance was a very honest and dedicated person. He dressed like a notorious don of the 70’s – slickly parted hair, dark glares and a fur cap on his head. However, Hari as he came to be known, proved to be our well-wisher and guardian angel all the while we were there. The entire group of 47 people including uncles, aunties and kids grew to love him during the entire trip. During the trip, he not only handled his core responsibilities but also catered to everyone’s whims and fancies with aplomb.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOv2dajxd_t38X5gzPp8QbCumIz-FcD-JR2J8VhvXebsoi6EOo7vQ9OZnYdy4gHCbd-HwuBPmGXcYAEJ8bnGWSOpQuslC6oyCFQnqB3xAqs8GWuFscIFS41E9UD899ZQQcVQQ0QxGdY0C/s1600/DSC00007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOv2dajxd_t38X5gzPp8QbCumIz-FcD-JR2J8VhvXebsoi6EOo7vQ9OZnYdy4gHCbd-HwuBPmGXcYAEJ8bnGWSOpQuslC6oyCFQnqB3xAqs8GWuFscIFS41E9UD899ZQQcVQQ0QxGdY0C/s1600/DSC00007.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kay with a tourist</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He found a great partner in Kay, our Thailand guide, Between them, they arranged a grand trip for all of us. It proved one need not book through a brand but with someone who is service centric and passionate about their responsibilities. We had loads of fun. It is often said you miss and crave for home food. Not so in Reema auntys tour. Being a staunch vegetarian herself and so were the majority of others in the gang, Reema aunty had ensured we would get the best Indian breakfast and meals wherever we went. No one we missed home. I and a few other non-vegetarians were glad to find a big bowl of the best, softest and yummiest chicken preparations varying from butter chicken to chicken moghlai on all the seven days. Food in the flight both to and fro sucked! So food in Thailand was a blessing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Day 1 – From Suvarnabhumi Airport, Bangkok, we moved to Pattaya. The bus ride took about 2 hours and it was enough for me to get acquainted with all in the group. The children soon formed their own clusters. The women all exchanged pleasantries which ranged from the origin of their grandparents to their current place of residence. The guys shook hands and checked in hushed tones if any of them would get a chance to escape from their wives clutches and enjoy Thailand in the real sense. Our hotel arrived. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pattaya Discovery </td></tr>
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It was nothing less than an Indian 5 star hotel. Harish later told me all hotels here have high bars of excellent service as well as opulence. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We wanted to go out immediately. Harish suggested we all rest as life in Pattaya began only after 6pm. It made sense. The sumptuous lunch and fluffiest bed put all of us to sleep in no time. The men in the group however started making discreet inquiries about some discreet stuff. They had heard a lot from their friends who had earlier visited Thailand and wanted to be able to go back and boast of having done more discreet stuff.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Around 5 to 6pm, all of us got ready for the evening trip. Women transformed themselves by wearing clothes that were bought specially to be worn for the Thailand trip. Fortunately, the children were too engrossed in playing with their new found friends to notice their mother’s transformation. Long and short but frilly skirts were the flavour of the day. Shorts also were chosen by young and old alike. Pallu wore d skimpiest shorts with spaghetti straps and looked like a sexy siren from Goa and I discarded my leggings and wore only the tunics!!! I didn’t care what others thought - I was in Pattaya, period.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Most of the uncles sported caps, shorts and a T shirt. They had a leather wallet that they strapped to their waist. It was the most precious belonging as it contained their passports and also the gateway to heaven – the Thai Baht. Thai massages and night shows were on the agenda for the uncles. Aunties were requested not to shop in Pattaya as they would get better offers in Bangkok on their way back. This sort of curbed their enthusiasm but somehow the travel spirit soon illuminated all of them. Off we went. The group looked more like a big family that was going to visit a museum. Our Thai guide Kay also politely requested the families to leave the children in the hotel. Much to her surprise all were aghast!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What???? Leave our innocent babies in a new country all alone in a hotel??? Never. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But maam, the market place and walking street where we are going to go is no place for children.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The adults went into wild animated discussions. Some were game for it some weren’t. Some of the children were thrilled that they would have total freedom till early dawn when their guardians returned while some of the children sulked at being left out!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I and Pallu were waiting for the bus to start. I asked the bus driver to honk a few times so that all of them would decide what to do and get inside the bus asap. The driver glared back! He did not understand a word and if he did he was in no mood to comply. Drivers don’t honk mindlessly in Thailand!!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally a decision was made. The children screamed as they all rushed to get inside the bus.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Looks like the children will have a field time tonight, muttered Pallu.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hari came and sat near me. I asked - Hari, children in Walking street? Have the parents lost their wisdom?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nah Sups. The bus will come back after dinner at 10 and drop the kids in the hotel along with Mrs. Patel. She said ‘I don’t want to see semi naked girls dancing on poles’. So she is the caretaker of the entire brood. Every other husband in this bus is jealous of Mr. Patel for he will be the only guy in walking street from this bus without wife control!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don’t forget both of us too, I said. We two also have no control!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All three of us laughed and the bus took off!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Within another 30 minutes we would reach Walking Street. However, before that we would explore the market area and indulge ourselves in thai massages, manicures and pedicures. The women were excited. Their husband downloaded a large part of their monetary treasures on their wives. Each one was hoping they would get freedom from their wives for a short period.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sarla darling, what will I do with you as you shop for trinkets, have massages and pedicures? I am going with the guys to explore the place…let me find some good hotels so that next time when we come we will come directly……promise I will just explore.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sarla looked at her husband with love…for he had just downloaded 1000 thai bahts into her purse…..ofcourse darling, I trust you. I am not like these other wives who are jealous and doubting.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Seeing this, other husbands was encouraged to replicate the modus operandi. Almost all seemed to have succeeded. Only time would tell.</span></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMx4CxFDRFLJYtbECE39AnJBNvfHICaCJHHMc2loHb70WPbWpKNgoyX5z7jzgHbptQYzlNNmcZ_ouwH9ZFVVlyQyJFaC7Hn34IutfsfJTSWXDAbv4HpfdLNJ6CteGw9UNdoRk4hTa3J0Hy/s1600/Beach+Road+Sidewalk+Manicure+Pattaya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMx4CxFDRFLJYtbECE39AnJBNvfHICaCJHHMc2loHb70WPbWpKNgoyX5z7jzgHbptQYzlNNmcZ_ouwH9ZFVVlyQyJFaC7Hn34IutfsfJTSWXDAbv4HpfdLNJ6CteGw9UNdoRk4hTa3J0Hy/s1600/Beach+Road+Sidewalk+Manicure+Pattaya.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkmVox5EiOD2PAxIdnBospzpjyNtlhTkYoOiVexBtLeincsId5cS8VwQKSItVzSRqnssRZjGwrU8IVaga67XFCsj4RDWRjajA4MYS6Ctk_FSvNh3a0gTqPo07tuC8NJqC8jiKcui2Ovsx/s1600/Locatie6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkmVox5EiOD2PAxIdnBospzpjyNtlhTkYoOiVexBtLeincsId5cS8VwQKSItVzSRqnssRZjGwrU8IVaga67XFCsj4RDWRjajA4MYS6Ctk_FSvNh3a0gTqPo07tuC8NJqC8jiKcui2Ovsx/s1600/Locatie6.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bus halted a few meters away from the market place. It was called the beach road. A new day had begun. It was 6pm. That’s when the day starts in Pattaya! The street was covered on both sides with small shops and shacks each contributing to the needs of tourists from all parts of the globe. Cheap stuff to the most exorbitant ones could be found here. Massage parlours, tattoo studios, and beauty salons were in plenty. The sales girls smiled sweetly and invited every single person walking from that street to visit their shops. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The men who were fortunate enough to get away from their spouses happily left the scene. The women and kids huddled together. Some men had to chaperone their wives. They were the ones who didn’t dare even ask nor did they have enough money to bribe their wives. Some of them were on a shoe string budget and this had made the wives more cranky!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I and Pallu first took a thai massage sitting right next on the street. It was out of the world and did not even pinch our pockets. With refreshed feet, we walked further exploring trinkets, bags, beach clothes and more. We decided to buy – nothing! Do all your shopping in Bangkok, Kay had warned sweetly while we were in the bus. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then we explored the beaches. A variety of tasty seafood, shrimps, chicken grilled on bamboos, sorted soups and noodles, were being cooked right in front of the diners. Amazing fresh and colorful tropical fruits would also be neatly sliced and offered to you at very nominal prices. We had none of it. The smell was too nauseating and we also spotted some fried worms and bugs. Street food in Thailand was a definite NO for the entire group. ( at same time I have friends who swear by the fresh sea food of Thailand, so this is completely my view)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZ-hCwVWSKVOjZmClCRPKlom0IcFw-IrUdM_ATx2A-C2CTXdjMAKBK7Qs1id9-NOifCQVLYAxOhXoXfCF8I4JBCN1oATxYvwzsthnXh1yXy_P9oPq9jdr8kPRVy6vxnXO3judPRTJtEEC/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZ-hCwVWSKVOjZmClCRPKlom0IcFw-IrUdM_ATx2A-C2CTXdjMAKBK7Qs1id9-NOifCQVLYAxOhXoXfCF8I4JBCN1oATxYvwzsthnXh1yXy_P9oPq9jdr8kPRVy6vxnXO3judPRTJtEEC/s1600/index.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Very soon our stomachs were grumbling and it was nearing 9pm. We quickly gathered into the buses as we proceeded to a restaurant closeby. Some of the guys had a gleam in their eyes. Some couples had stopped talking to each other and the bus was in a sombre mood except for the kids. They were all making plans as to how they would hoodwink Mrs. Patel and sneak into each other’s rooms and play cards till their ‘wayward’ parents arrived. It was rightly justified that they get to play cards while their parents freaked out on Walking Street!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our first dinner in Thailand was awesome. It was not a restaurant! We ate in a dabha!!! Just like the one in India. Complete with sardars who played graceful hosts to each one of us. Reema aunty was thanked profusely by one and all as no one felt the need to go back and bite into theplas they were carrying from India. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dinner was followed by ice cream and sweet rasgollas and everyone had a gala time. It was short-lived though. We were off to Walking Street where the adults would get down and the children would be taken to the hotel by Mrs. Patel. Again, no vehicles were allowed till a few meters so we got down and waited for instruction from Kay and Hari. Some of the married couples continued their cold war while some parted friendly. Mrs. Patel went ahead with the kids. We all walked through the lane. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The area was known as Bali Pier and a long winding street started from where all buses and cars were parked. The street ended at the south end of beach road. Vehicles were not allowed further on this street from 6pm to 2am. The street was punctured on all sides with neon signs indicating go-go bars, sports bars, music venues and discotheques and night clubs. It was razzle and dazzle everywhere!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I never had a clue for what was in store for me. Being a person who was not even exposed to night life in Mumbai…this was a shocker! Pleasant though! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was decided that all would come back to the bus at sharp 2.30am. We all had got free sim cards along with our visas . And we had quickly visited the 7/11 shops which are open throughout the day and night to cater to most of a tourists requirements. We recharged our sim cards here. We exchanged numbers with Hari and Kay. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kay went off to a den where few of her friends who were also tourist guides were waiting for her. Hari agreed to stay with me and Pallu. Pallu had a few fantasies to fulfil in Pattaya – one to have a few tequilas and two to do some hot pole dance. We entered the bar area.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9WvTJBAHUIJRkNSGKRCAamzRUyDUGVdfnaUMqFxI199bd557UYjQXa-WbOYFr46znwDnxUwb0UM8460263JAWce8D79pEauKuhfDnS_oX1nvutvhqJQJpiYyzy6V2JA3Ro8bhN__IGYF/s1600/IMG_5878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9WvTJBAHUIJRkNSGKRCAamzRUyDUGVdfnaUMqFxI199bd557UYjQXa-WbOYFr46znwDnxUwb0UM8460263JAWce8D79pEauKuhfDnS_oX1nvutvhqJQJpiYyzy6V2JA3Ro8bhN__IGYF/s1600/IMG_5878.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every stall had poles erected on the tables. Stools were random and could be shifted to any stall. Each stall had girls dressed in hot costumes gyrating on the poles, inviting walkers to join them at the bar. The objective of each girl would be to keep the customer at the counter for maximum possible time and make him buy as many glasses of whatever was his or her poison.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Customers – male as well as female – were given equal importance for gender was not an issue here. The number of drinks were! The more one drinks, the more is the sale. As girls we didn’t have to caution ourselves about the sex of these girls. But men had to - for these girls could as well be she-males or lady – boys, meaning boys who were so feminine that they can easily pass off as females!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I and Pallu also started making guesses as to who is a real girl and who would not be a real one. But we didn’t dare get our doubts confirmed. The girls were very friendly. Hari was already chatting up with a girl and others girls at the bar was now looking at us, inviting us to try their cocktails. I, being a teetotaller politely refused any and pointed furiously at Pallu and they got the message. Pallu was surrounded by 2-3 girls. She had to choose one because the drinks would be served to her by one of them. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2mQRnCith9hvLDHU2-q0kgz3ntNLo2jWRvXWIKijw1EWcx98HSyPZyOxip7OB_vS-lpsrsgpnBe5MhijNogyFZz-YETNxvQX89KHfDPuNncbc0O83nnNKL1SsqJlVavzzyH3TD-geYpO/s1600/DSC00397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2mQRnCith9hvLDHU2-q0kgz3ntNLo2jWRvXWIKijw1EWcx98HSyPZyOxip7OB_vS-lpsrsgpnBe5MhijNogyFZz-YETNxvQX89KHfDPuNncbc0O83nnNKL1SsqJlVavzzyH3TD-geYpO/s1600/DSC00397.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The girls were very friendly with each other and there was a competitive spirit in them to win Pallu over. Finally Pallu found her server and she started on her Tequila. All of us egged and cheered as she gulped 2 in a row. The girl at the bar prompted her to try a third and assured a reluctant Pallu that she would accompany her. Shots 3 and 4 came…each girl gulped one down!!! All cheered….I thought it was futile. But Pallu was in high spirits and accomplished her second fantasy – to do the pole dance! Her server lifted her onto the table and Pallu gyrated with all cheering her from below. It was a sight to behold. A sight to be captured…I had even recorded it but Pallu never allowed me a glimpse after we returned!!! Hari was also in high spirits by this time and seeing Pallu's Pole dance he too was tempted to dance.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I didn't know you could dance Harish?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Arree, you don't know so many things about me. I can dance very weel. Nearby a Iranian youth ( quiet hot looking) was doing the grind with his bar girl. Harish looked at his bar girl Lek and said, - Come and do the grind with me!!!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I will...but you have to buy another 2 drinks. One for you and one for me.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Done said Harish. They ordered 2 shots of Tequila and had one each. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Harish took Lek to an open space between 2 bars, the Iranian guy had finished his grind. Now was Harish's turn. He started shaking his entire hip area in a very funny manner. It was as if he was receiving electric shocks just below his waist! I and Pallu burst out laughing! Harish was unperturbed. Lek didn't actually mind Harish's grind. She supported him well with her own moves. We cheered on. Even today, I and Pallu need to say just 2 words - <u>Harish</u> and <u>Grind</u> to elevate us out of any gloomy mood. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was late. But I wasn’t sleepy at all. As per Kay’s advice we had all dozed off between 3 and 5pm and felt fresh. Except for Pallu on whom the 3 tequilas were taking its toll. We left the bar area and walked around the street and saw sights that tickled us as well as disgusted us at times. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The street was full of women trading themselves, male as well as female. Bargaining and haggling with customers as if they were doing the sales pitch for the best ice cream in town! Middle-aged, old, wrinkly and pudgy Europeans and Americans formed a large part of the clientele. Young , robust and muscular Iranians were also seen in large numbers on that particular day. A few Indians too. However, the guys, were too timid and shy and averted their gaze they moment they saw other Indians. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were wondering where the husbands of our group were and we saw them split into three or four groups. Each one of them seemed excited and waved over to us to acknowledge our presence. We wanted to check what all they had seen and where all they had gone, but everyone were tight-lipped. Though that didn’t stop them from asking us where all we had been too. None of the women were at the venue. All had left by 12 and had found the place extremely boring. Some had fought with their husbands and taken them back to the hotel. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bus was gone as majority had piled into it and insisted to be taken to the hotel. Kay managed to stay back and hired a few taxis to take the rest of us back to the hotel. It was 3am and the street looked less populated. The beaches were pristine and frothy waves were lashing and inviting us to join them in their mith. I wanted to go – badly – but now it was too late. Hari said – why are you sulking? We are here for 3 nights…..</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s true, silly of me to sulk. The ride back to the hotel at 3 am and in the cool wintry breeze of December 24th was soothing. It even roused Pallu out of her slumber. We reached the hotel and went to our room. Pallu and I slept on the massive fluffy bed. We both missed having exciting partners next to us on such a wonderful night but anyways were excited to sleep in the same bed, after having only lunched at the same table during our work hours!!! A year later as Pallu got married, I introduced myself to the groom as – the girl who slept with Pallu for 5 nights! He was cheeky enough to acknowledge it and said – she already mentioned it and I am glad she is experienced!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Day 2 – </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was a golf course near our hotel and a few of us ventured in the cool morning to play golf. the children and some of their mothers enjoyed in the swimming pool. the children had a blast while the women were point blank staring at a couple - two local women, skimpily clad in a bikini who kept swimming, going underwater and squirted water on their companion - a pot belied Arab guy who sun bathed on the desk in his white robe! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">During breakfast, the women were seen whispering about the odd scene they had witnessed in the pool. Some weren't too happy to be in Thailand and their enthusiasm about their first international trip was punctured. At sharp 10, the bus left for sight-seeing. The silence between some spouses was indicative of a fight the previous night. Probably with the antics of an adventurous husband, the wife must have given him an earful. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We got down at the beach and from there took a speed boat to Coral Island. The water was blue and mesmerizing and at times we felt we could see the bottom. The boat had a glass covering on its floor and in certain areas we could see colourful fishes swimming underwater. We reached a platform in the middle of the ocean. It was a fixed station for Coral Island was very famous for its crystal clear water and for the Underwater Sea Walk. It was an amazing experience. Being underwater for full 30 minutes, walking through the sea bed, feeding bread crumbs to colourful fishes and touching beautiful transparent and colourful coral stones. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSHkL9oVu8cKxEKhcgi17qGB8x12ixjqQwsnXGJjOIUmw9a560XTKi7Qm4Wod2sr82YNJFWv2FONPfIAuxVZXj8XbPPMM1xOd2itheNpwrSjHDbHfyPbB1I6bFzbwl353fehXbYzZUHe4/s1600/PICT0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSHkL9oVu8cKxEKhcgi17qGB8x12ixjqQwsnXGJjOIUmw9a560XTKi7Qm4Wod2sr82YNJFWv2FONPfIAuxVZXj8XbPPMM1xOd2itheNpwrSjHDbHfyPbB1I6bFzbwl353fehXbYzZUHe4/s1600/PICT0039.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">From here we went to another part of the island where the water was translucent and aqua blue in color. Here there were a variety of water sports like Banana Boat, Para-sailing and other water related activities. All the tension between the spouses evaporated and everyone enjoyed to the hilt! It was 12pm and we were hungry. We had some cool watermelons and papayas. Finally it was time to leave and we boarded our speed boats</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then we went to see the Noog Nooch Tropical Botanical Garden. First we had a sumptuous lunch – again Indian, complete with Poori, Paneer, Aloo Gobhi and of course Butter Chicken. The men tried to get friendly with us as I and Pallu were single. Some women admired us for coming alone while others sulked and murmured – wayward girls!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The garden was very beautiful with landscaped trees, cultural shows and also a few wild animals like Tigers and a wide variety of birds. Some of us fed milk to the tiger cubs in bottles and we were of course charges a bomb to do so, but it was well worth it. Having a Tiger cub in hand was very exciting. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We all came back to the hotel by 3pm. Kay warned all of us to come back down at 6pm for an early departure to enjoy night life in Pattaya. We repeated the previous evening drill and was back on Walking Street. Somehow the dazzle I felt yesterday had vanished. Something stirred in my heart as I saw the women looking eagerly to close their target achievement for the day. Some of them looked happy while they called out to prospective clients but some were gesturing very mechanically. In a family, where all the women were involved in some or the other form of selling themselves since ages, I wondered how they felt carrying on the family tradition. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I spoke to some of them. The girls I spoke to were Mee, Pan, Sampan. They found work on Walking Street. Al three were below 23 years of age. Sampan said – it is so much organised and legal now than it was in our grandmother’s time. We are glad to contribute to the family. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mee said - Only last year the flood devastated our towns and whatever little we had. We keep rebuilding our lives after every calamity.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Where is your home? Can you take me to your house? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh....we all stay here in a rented room. Our homes are in Muban. Its about 75kms from here and we go home once in 2-3 months. We give money to our old parents who take care of our young children. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All three had one or two children at that young age. It was interesting to note that though they were involved in the flesh trade, they still fell in love, dated and had marriages - good ones and bad ones, just like the rest of us. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOQhACtsERl5VJ862WfUbV7ajzZkFq9of3HIUlj7rUEqgrHkqMKp0nFijjzq_jieTtr8kq6994labOxfZpjL4ePy42RuGbT_pDabyOIO6DTeMV_bFMonp9SbXkXTJ5-uY7DwP1aUWmsTc/s1600/DSC00383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOQhACtsERl5VJ862WfUbV7ajzZkFq9of3HIUlj7rUEqgrHkqMKp0nFijjzq_jieTtr8kq6994labOxfZpjL4ePy42RuGbT_pDabyOIO6DTeMV_bFMonp9SbXkXTJ5-uY7DwP1aUWmsTc/s1600/DSC00383.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the three nights we were in Pattaya, we did a few things which cannot come on THIS BLOG! Other than that, I and Pallu kept meeting many of these girls. We talked to them, at times paid them to talk to us. I learnt that some of them have now started sending their children and younger brothers and sisters to schools and colleges and did not wish they enter this profession. That was a welcome thought and it was the one with which I boarded the bus back to Bangkok.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Day 4- The scene in the bus was exactly contradictory of the previous day. The women were excited and animated in their conversation. Each one had a long list of item to buy for themselves, relatives and neighbors. They were checking with Hari and Kay about shopping malls and comparing them with the addresses they had brought from home. The children were gossiping and having a great time. The husbands sat in hush silence. Pattaya was theirs, Bangkok was the wives. The husbands had to part with their credit cards in lieu of peace for their ‘supposedly’ infamous antics in Pattaya!!!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bangkok held not much of an allure for me. It was just like any other metropolitan city. I missed the rustic essence of Pattaya. Will I go to Pattaya again??? Yes, but with Pallu once again. And this time, I too want to try the pole dance..... </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIAtjotgcZ8LZhakmqV3oUE7ZWjGqdzBfszty4-0duIwBH2IXXbkiHZSLHypF48Ic3myYgyhjP2DwtiRrbKXpToxL911mG7UbgqrsF9oQFhn9e69mbZHCV3o-v1hCwCh9Qn4j3l42EeF0/s1600/DSC00535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIAtjotgcZ8LZhakmqV3oUE7ZWjGqdzBfszty4-0duIwBH2IXXbkiHZSLHypF48Ic3myYgyhjP2DwtiRrbKXpToxL911mG7UbgqrsF9oQFhn9e69mbZHCV3o-v1hCwCh9Qn4j3l42EeF0/s1600/DSC00535.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></div>
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Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-66913786696767393142013-10-26T10:06:00.003-07:002013-10-27T03:08:56.955-07:00Green Grass V/s No Grass<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can manage just 2...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Come sit down here, cajoled Mani to his wife of 40 years.
Ramya sat down. “See we have a day in hand and then we have these 3 places that
we can go and visit. But let me tell you honestly, we can afford to do only 2
of it. The entry to all the three places is steep and I can manage just 2. ‘’</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Let’s skip the Casino…we anyways can’t even hold cards in
our hands, “laughed Ramya . Is that okay with you dear? I wanted to see the
casino but did not want to disappoint the elderly couple. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No problem Akka, I and Bhaskar will go there later in the
day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ok…done said Mani and they both looked at me. I managed to
give them a pleasant smile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I, Bhaskar, Ramya and Mani lived in Shyamdhan Nivas in a
quiet alley in the bustling city of Mumbai. Bhaskar had been born and brought
up in the locality we lived. I had moved to this locality when I was just 6
years old, grew up here and have not moved out of the alley since then. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Mani and Ramya were at least two decades senior to us but
they were my ideal couple. Both of them would take extreme care of each other’s
needs and at most times would be in ideal tandem with each other about various
issues affecting their personal as well as social lives. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Bhaskar and I hardly had any age difference, three months to
be precise and we always argued on everything under the sun. Yet, we four
formed an impressionable team when it came to going out on vacations or
planning any outings. Earlier, the children had a choice to make but these days
they had their own things to do, so it was just the four of us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Malini and Ishma will be coming down later this year. I
haven’t seen Ishma’s younger one in person and am waiting eagerly for them to
come down this December. Once they are here, we won’t be able to move anywhere
for a long time. Wanted to check if you guys want to plan a quick trip to Goa.”
Ramya had knocked on our door one evening with this proposal. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Bhaskar shifted through his scheduler and said, “Akka I will
manage…we can come….but can you ask Mani to make all the arrangements, I am too
tied up for the next few days”</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I loved Goa. Had been there umpteen times. Felt excited but
felt distraught for a moment. Bhaskar did not even bother to look in my
direction before deciding to reply. Did he just assume, I wanted to go too?
Just like it’s been done for the rest of my life, my opinion did not matter. Anyways
as usual I brushed aside my disappointment and started preparing for the trip. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Good of Mani to plan this trip. This way I won’t be nagged
for another six months for not taking you out anywhere. Bhaskar had the usual
twinkle in his eye. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me and nag? I didn’t utter a word. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That’s how the four of us were in Goa. We were discussing
the plans for the day seated in the lobby of the hotel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bhaskar had opted out saying he had to attend
to an urgent concall. I did not want to start an argument and this was nothing
new. Sometimes I wondered if he preferred Mani’s and Ramya’s company because
they always became my companions on such trips and Bhaskar would be stuck onto
his laptops and cellphone. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Don’t you want to see this new place and have fun? I had
once asked when on a trip to Singapore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have come here umpteen times on
official trips….the place no <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeO8uGIDwO1V9WD1UNoL43vutYpMa9X_spjkpmSztmYnGDAiHxkHAOI-d_SqxuSmR0ng1LCqz8n7lFOi8bLG7NQ5z30pzX_PivPyStJglllJkLIFuEpkYoYm2-XDs3u497DeE6cgJjMx02/s1600/portrait-young-couple-argument-22236092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeO8uGIDwO1V9WD1UNoL43vutYpMa9X_spjkpmSztmYnGDAiHxkHAOI-d_SqxuSmR0ng1LCqz8n7lFOi8bLG7NQ5z30pzX_PivPyStJglllJkLIFuEpkYoYm2-XDs3u497DeE6cgJjMx02/s320/portrait-young-couple-argument-22236092.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The place no more excites me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
more excites me…you go and have fun with Akka and
Mani. I will see you at the south indian restaurant down the street later in
the day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">His excuses and answers were always ready. And I no longer bothered to
ask. The feat was repeated in Goa too. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hey Sweetheart...where are you lost?? Aren't you coming with us? Forget Bhaskar for the day, you know how he is and we know how he is. Let him be happy with whatever he gets out of those gadgets....come one be a sweetheart and change and come. We are going to the beach, some shopping and some disco-kisko....</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That was Mani. His kind face a perfect match for the softness in his voice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Give me a moment Mani. I will change and be with you in a jiffy. I was just thinking of our pet...wondering whether he had his food. You know Casper can be such a brute at times...won't eat till I feed him with my hands. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ah! that pampered canine of yours...how can we forget him, mused Ramya. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I went back to our room. Bhaskar hardly noticed me enter. He was engrossed and discussing something over the phone. I changed quietly and came back to the lobby. As we were about to leave, Mani asked Ramya – you not feeling tired are
you? Shall I get you a lemonade? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No dear, am alright. Remember our first trip to Goa that
many many years ago….what fun it was….do I look tired??? No ways, call the car,
lets go out…its so suffocating inside the hotel….off we go to the beach!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Mani put his arms around Ramya and both giggled like
teenagers. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ramya is a very lucky woman, I thought. Agreed that the
grass always looks greener on the other side but what if there is no grass
itself on this side??? </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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</div>
Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-26763374941839009912012-10-28T04:32:00.002-07:002012-10-28T04:46:21.812-07:00Poga's Office Office<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBlIjOzl4A5l6FjKfAoamYIuE_jwgSljaHE7QdUgbvdX8zbkdAXCrpTyLlQy2QGRpnw_0YGkQiUNvON5SfBGFANcDxWqMeEF6NkRf_PARSv_ge7aL6Y39wBKn1ML3ISna2urF88bxdq_h/s1600/untitled.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBlIjOzl4A5l6FjKfAoamYIuE_jwgSljaHE7QdUgbvdX8zbkdAXCrpTyLlQy2QGRpnw_0YGkQiUNvON5SfBGFANcDxWqMeEF6NkRf_PARSv_ge7aL6Y39wBKn1ML3ISna2urF88bxdq_h/s1600/untitled.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">ORIS Sales, read the board outside the spacious industrial gala on 14th
Cross Road</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">, Andheri (West).</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">To the far right corner of the gala, a window
opened and a white haired lean face stuck out. It seemed to be breathing in the
fresh air. Suddenly, the face turned around for there were two of his junior
team members,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sajiv and Paresh, knocking
furiously on his door.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">‘Come in’ said the silver haired man. The misty
glass door opened and stepped in the two youngsters. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Sir, blurted Paresh, Bronson tells me he will come
with us to close the Bumbani proposal deal. It’s so unfair sir. I built the
client relationship and now Bronson wants to come along with his arm candy
Brinda and prove to Poga sir that he drafted the effective proposal and Brinda
delivered the solutions.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5462525636516445769" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">They want to take all the credit sir, added Sajiv.
I want to close this deal myself!!! It was so difficult to convince the
Bambanis to buy our vacuum cleaners instead of Durekas. I spent months costing
the budget to their specifications, and now Bronson and Brinda want to share
all the credit.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The silver haired man spoke softly - what
understanding does she have about vacuum cleaners??? She used to work in a
drain suction pump company earlier and Bronson believes she is a pro in
understanding the works of a vacuum cleaner! Boys! I am going to put an end to
all this nonsense. Let me meet Poga in a while and I will soon bring you good
news. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Meanwhile, in Bronson’s cabin, romance was in the
air. If Sajiv and Paresh were at the height of frustration, Bronson and Brinda
were lost in the heights of lust and passion. The levels were equally high at
both ends.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Bronson had the cunningness of a fox and headed a
coveted position in ORIS, that of a Managing Director, the end point of all
deliveries and Brinda was akin to an opportunist, a witch and headed a team
just for namesake. She had no clue as what the team was doing. "Update
your task sheets yourselves and allocate work to your own self . I want you to
grow and not follow orders from me as a leader" That was her welcome
speech to her team. The team squirmed in their seats. Nice way of saying I
don't know what to do, so do your tasks yourselves thought Guava Singh, one of
the brightest talent in the team. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Premchand Ogavarty who loathed the name given by
his parents, chose to be known as Poga. He was the recently inducted CEO of
ORIS and had slowly but steadily kicked out a lot of the brilliant talents in ORIS
and smoothly installed many of his faithful cronies from his earlier company.
The only common test that all had to pass was if they remembered Premchand
Ogavarty was asked to get out of his previous job? A ‘ No’ facilitated direct
entry to ORIS with the most attractive perks one can possibly imagine. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Poga fancied Bronson for being brainy but not using
it to debate the futility of any of his own decisions. Poga believed in hiring
people who would never raise their heads in front of him. Bronson continued
this legacy below his line. Both would go to any extent to uplift their
professional careers. Even at the cost of trampling on the corpses of their
colleagues. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The phone rang and interrupted the blissful moment
in Bronson’s cabin...unrelentingly Bronson reached out to pick it up. Brinda
pulled his hand back and continued to kiss him. She loved to move her tongue
over his crooked teeth and for some reason Bronson would lose himself to the
devil when she did that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bronson slid
his hands over Brinda's arse and was surprised when he got a whack on his hand!
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EtbNo3Lk6zm0niwLT9m6njIBQE49L8v8X4RZ0Sc-pM2gh7iAvIouvnt_Q7Op6oGKPsF7H3hHddhYhGaoj-4_1LgPtwCb9jNgiPyyLdNlKsDtyYkQZNhx7BQfGd9jqFd55w_qc9I9OXsF/s1600/c480x270_57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EtbNo3Lk6zm0niwLT9m6njIBQE49L8v8X4RZ0Sc-pM2gh7iAvIouvnt_Q7Op6oGKPsF7H3hHddhYhGaoj-4_1LgPtwCb9jNgiPyyLdNlKsDtyYkQZNhx7BQfGd9jqFd55w_qc9I9OXsF/s320/c480x270_57.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He woke up from his stupor! Poga was glaring at him
while feasting his eyes on Brindas bare skin at the same time. With a curled
stubby finger, he gestured Bronson to follow him to his cabin. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">What the hell! Can’t you lock your cabin, yelled
Poga. A ruffled Bronson meekly retorted – you didn’t knock sir!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I called you on your desk line...you never picked
it up, you imbecile. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I was busy sir, mumbled Bronson. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Busy with whattttt???? I told you to be cautious.
Her brown hair and her dimplish grins blinds you but don’t think others are
blind! I had a tough time placating that ogre from business development. He was
here a few moments ago, his silver air emanating electric currents. He wanted
to know why you both should go to close Bambani’s final proposal meeting!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Sir, Brinda has 3 years of solid experience in
suction pumps. She is the most ideal candidate in ORIS to prove to the Bambanis
that we have employed the best from the industry. Her experience in suction
pumps is very valuable, don’t you think so sir??? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">After all vacuum cleaners do have a suction pump at
the end, don’t they? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Poga glared at his loyal follower. Brindas suction
pump knowledge seemed to have worked on every malleable bone in Bronson's lanky
self. Bronson was losing it. He had to stop him.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Listen, you ARE NOT going to the Bambani meeting.
Let the Ogre and his team taste the flavour of success. And, between you and
me, that’s the last taste they get!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">What!!! I promised Brinda I will take her for her
first bid win tomorrow. How can I deny her joy at the last moment?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Young boy, there are many other ways to delight a
young woman. Why don’t you use some other tricks I taught you? After all, you
should have made me proud by now. As your mentor, I want to bask in the glory of
your deliverables at work and outside of it.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Crap, thought Bronson. The old man thinks he taught
me everything. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Boss you are right, he blurted. Am going to take
her to Delhi and stay at the Taj when we go for Bonsons meeting. Kindly pass
the budget.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5462525636516445769" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">No issues Bronson. Remember we share, we learn and
that’s how we earn. I will also be joining you both at the Taj. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The color drained from Bronsons face.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">By the way, continued Poga, we have to make 3 more
proposals for our prospective clients. Let the Ogre and his team do the
groundwork and ask them to send it to us for final approval. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And when they send, don’t give them the approval.
You and Brinda take it to the client and close it between yourselves. Let the
Ogre hear it after it’s closed. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Bronson’s face beamed with delight and the color
came back to his face. Meanwhile Paresh and Sanjiv were delighted that Bronson
and Brinda were finally off their back. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Back in his corner, a sense of satisfaction and
warmth glowed on the face surrounded by a cloud of silver hair. He was happy he
could give his boys their due...</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-18989345170623415802012-03-08T00:50:00.002-08:002012-03-14T09:16:12.590-07:00The Departure....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06WfIqVbqTRGn3yja6UNlDohUGfOx-l3eNv46k3b6UoynjdJjysdOHhRRy3eokhHnbcIcPG-rzBv5czpil-hwL98iLSK-yUGkgRGAqKz_UtsbtRJuwVo1wgyzgxq1UFDTupYkuqvjxVVC/s1600/dreamstimefree_17732002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06WfIqVbqTRGn3yja6UNlDohUGfOx-l3eNv46k3b6UoynjdJjysdOHhRRy3eokhHnbcIcPG-rzBv5czpil-hwL98iLSK-yUGkgRGAqKz_UtsbtRJuwVo1wgyzgxq1UFDTupYkuqvjxVVC/s200/dreamstimefree_17732002.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">“So when did you tell me that you are going to Kolkatta,” yelled Dhwani at the top of her lungs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">“ I had posted it a few months back on my FB wall ” yelled back an equally livid Shekhar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Shekhar and Dhwani were in a relationship for the past two years. Both were working in strife ridden work atmospheres. At first, both were working in the same firm where they had known each other for more than four years as colleagues. It was only when Shekhar left the company to join another that they started missing each other and realised they were in love. Then on, both met whenever time would permit which would be once in a fortnight. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dhwani's parents resided in Kurli, a quiet serene township in the coastal region of Ratnagiri. She would meet them every alternate weekend and the other weekend she would spend with Shekhar. However, right from the start Shekhar kept the meetings short. He had umpteen things to attend to on his weekends. Dhwani was just a small part of his life. Dhwani would often wonder why she had not felt uncomfortable about this in the beginning. Shekhar had many other important things to do on his weekend. A marketing professional, he was trying to set up his own company and would forever be meeting people for endless discussions about the same. He also confessed to belong to a large joint family where the youngsters still adhered to the plans made by their parents and would have one or the other family engagement to attend to. This left very little time for him to spend with Dhwani. Dhwani, an extrovert by nature had more friends than she could handle. Every weekend most of them would invite her to join them for clubbing, parties, drives etc. Yet, somehow, her heart longed to be with Shekhar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She had often broached the topic of marriage but Shekhar had brushed it off saying it’s too soon to think about it. It’s been two years that they had been together and umpteen fights and arguments surrounded their relationship. However, each time Dhwani decided to call it off, Shekhar would promise that he would give her more time and assured her he wanted them to be together. Shekhar was reputed for having excellent marketing skills and his ability to sell ice to an Eskimo was well recognised by his company. Dhwani didn’t feel right to force him for a marriage when he wasn’t ready but his desire to be together made her feel precious. His attempts to increase their communication and close the gap were evident in the way he would shower her with attention in the few days after such a discussion. Both would settle down for a smooth relationship for the next few months. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now the friction between them had resurfaced. Just like it always did. Long gaps in any form of communication, meetings probably once a month, even though both lived and worked a few kilometres away from each other. Shekhar never seemed to miss her, unless it was a period of over two weeks. Dhwani flicked through the bangs on her forehead. Her head seemed to ache and hurt. Shekhar wont miss her she was sure for they had met just day earlier for a brief period of 15 minutes. And in those few minutes, Dhwani tried to express her desire to meet more frequently, talk more often and Shekhar kept trying to explain to her how hectic his days had been in the past few weeks. He tried to hug her and plant a kiss on her cheek, the way he always did whenever she was fuming. Dhwani was exasperated. She was surprised to see that his touch hurt her mind and body. She brushed his face aside. She said a firm good-bye and left Shekhar as he was trying to pacify her.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Soon afterwards, Dhwani had found out that Shekhar was planning a holiday to Kolkotta. When she first heard it through common friends she could not believe it. Then when she tried calling him up but he did not reply, nor did he send her a message. Typical of him. Dhwani tried in get in touch again the next few days. However, her calls were never answered. Perplexed she used her friends cell to call him up. He didn’t answer. But an hour or so after she tried, he called back and wanted to know who was calling him from the unknown number. Dhwani flared up. She could not control her anger and blurted.... “So you want to know who this unknown number is?? Didn't you see my missed call? And when did you tell me that you are going on a trip to Kolkatta” yelled Dhwani at the top of her lungs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ I had posted it a few months back on my FB wall. “ yelled back an equally livid Shekhar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ So I am supposed to check your FB updates to know your whereabouts...Can’t you just leave a message?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “ I was busy”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ Not too busy to call back an unknown number?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “ Look, I don’t have time to argue with you right now. This is your perennial problem. Basically by nature, I speak less and informing you every time I leave for some work or vacation may not be my top priority”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dhwani was too stunned to reply. However a meek voice seemed to erupt from her dry throat,” when will you be back ?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Probably next Wednesday.”<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dhwani kept the phone and broke down inconsolably. Her friend Ruchi took her to the women’s room. This time Dhwani decided to call it off but without telling Shekhar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Dhwani, said Ruchi, I had long back warned you to stay away from this Shekhar. We all know what sort of a person he is. He is too ambitious and is a person who will prioritise work over a relationship. Then again he has his never ending family and social obligations to fulfil. Leave him alone Dhwani. You are well off without him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dhwani knew it was time she got a grasp on her own life. It’s been 2 weeks since she had any form of communication with Shekhar. Her parents were waiting for her to give them a signal so that they start hunting for a groom for her. Everytime, they asked her she would brush them off saying that she will think about it the next time she came home. Sweet as they were by nature, not once did they force Dhwani to concede to societal pressures. She was 28 – late by Indian standards. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dhwani finally decided what she wanted. She wanted to share her decision with her parents and booked herself on a train to Kurli. While she was waiting for the train to come, her mobile buzzed. Shekhar calling.....displayed the text on her screen. She was contemplating her next move when the train arrived. She knew what she had to do. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
She picked up his call and said, “ Shekhar I am going home, forever.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
For the first time in two years, she took a decision that was hard to take but then no one has guaranteed easy steps in life, have they? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“ Will you marry me Dhwani?, asked Shekhar.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
The rush and noise on the platform drowned Shekhar’s proposal. Dhwani missed hearing what she yearned to hear since long...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpE2nK0PaIBMneGXe9IU8Eg63skEH-8wtL2HSJ5E1-qvwc1JPeL6KE7BsSXhXN42-k0xYYvYgl3jwTM3FCXlygyv2cj71tn2lFBJEA2v1-Y9Y267-iOKcXQpT_JSZMdhhElKKJAtq4mS3/s1600/Train_Journey_-_Kerala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpE2nK0PaIBMneGXe9IU8Eg63skEH-8wtL2HSJ5E1-qvwc1JPeL6KE7BsSXhXN42-k0xYYvYgl3jwTM3FCXlygyv2cj71tn2lFBJEA2v1-Y9Y267-iOKcXQpT_JSZMdhhElKKJAtq4mS3/s200/Train_Journey_-_Kerala.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Dhwani disconnected the phone. As soon as she sat down in her seat, she removed her sim card and threw it out of the window. The train moved out of the platform. Every image passed by her eyes in a blur. After a few hours, Dhwani looked out of the window, the city was fading far away in the distance, and with it she resolved to stick to her decision of staying away from the city...staying away from everything that appealed to her at one time....</div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-42465965030342421412012-02-18T23:10:00.000-08:002012-02-18T23:10:21.869-08:00Being With You...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The last words you said were 'Take it or leave it'</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And I wondered if 'Love' was a commodity</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All along I imagined it to be...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Those moments when I found the mischievous sparkle in your eye</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The heartbeat that beat a little faster when your call came through</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The urge in me to buy that stuffed large caterpillar for the car's dashboard </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The soothing aura that spread through me when you said how precious I was to you</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Those moments when you would try to squeeze some time for us</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Those days when you did say...."I Love You" though you said it so rarely</span></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvokYg-F_0fjOdCaTBdxHhsYBYORhtZOrJmtLXUXTNxfLi7PojmHyatjw-agirhoyCDXEQXnajnQI1cz5Hnz4wQpV_U0BqyLM9IQ1ElOj8YjqpNv480NWC3mDeTBCwQHzi1sxFtGI4acW/s1600/post-55-1241605465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvokYg-F_0fjOdCaTBdxHhsYBYORhtZOrJmtLXUXTNxfLi7PojmHyatjw-agirhoyCDXEQXnajnQI1cz5Hnz4wQpV_U0BqyLM9IQ1ElOj8YjqpNv480NWC3mDeTBCwQHzi1sxFtGI4acW/s320/post-55-1241605465.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All along I imagined it to be...something that was to be felt and shared by us two...</span></i><br />
<br />
</div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-47569620760132647962011-12-04T03:08:00.000-08:002011-12-04T04:40:27.288-08:00THE WEDDING FEAST<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">Sharma-ji looked at Shyamala, his lovely wife of 14 years. Even after 2 children she looked young and lovely.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">The diamond necklace and matching earrings he bought for her glistened in the bright lights of Ceremonial Hall.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘Mom shall we head to the Chat counter?’ Asked 10 year old Rohit as his little sister Dimple clinged to his sleeve. Clearly both children wanted to have ‘chat’ and Shymala nodded with affection.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘Don’t go far, find us we will be near the Lebanese section’. Sharma-ji pointed to the Lebanese counter as he said this. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCJeeqPDTHWbNOOCwSha0hiEKfbvaVY33HpSb1HgAmrnt_MGpesA6ejO5E7UC7NpkHMazswNuxqfFkzEVTLW3jso1H6EfHI4OLVdwsNRvnySAtHYrOMt4pBuktaV1QkT7gTV0zSNiaZAv/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCJeeqPDTHWbNOOCwSha0hiEKfbvaVY33HpSb1HgAmrnt_MGpesA6ejO5E7UC7NpkHMazswNuxqfFkzEVTLW3jso1H6EfHI4OLVdwsNRvnySAtHYrOMt4pBuktaV1QkT7gTV0zSNiaZAv/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘The bride looks so beautiful ‘,said Shyamala as she looked at the bride and the groom on the extravagant stage. <b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Payal Weds Amit</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>was written in Rubies and Sapphires behind a large white velvety canvass. It must have costed the girl’s parents a bomb to host this wedding, thought Shyamala. At least a 1000 guests seemed to be in attendance. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘Not prettier than you my darling, let’s go and have food. I am very hungry. The lovely couple moved towards the food counter smiling at several other guests on their way. Sharma-ji occassionaly kept talking on his expensive i-phone. “ I will be in Hongkong for a day Mr. Wang, after which I will be on a 15 day tour of Europe. So it would be better if you can make it there while I am in Hongkong.”</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">The Sharmas had the thinnest Pizza crust they had ever had. Later on they went to taste the Pasta and then moved to the Sweets section. They could see the children run all over the place but in a well-mannered way. They were enjoying the feast. Finally, they gathered near the Dessert section. Rohit had the biggest chunk of chocolate ice cream he could hold in his plate. Sharma-ji got Orange ice cream for his little girl and a ‘rabdi’ for his sweetheart. He himself preferred to have buttermilk as he was afraid of catching a cold. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">Very soon, they made their way out through the massive gates of Ceremonial Hall and headed towards the main road. Staying longer was not in the agenda. ‘Dad, call Ramlal and tell him to bring the car here, my feet is killing me’, moaned Rohit. ‘Oh you little brat, don’t make up excuses. The only reason you can’t walk is you overate! said Sharma-ji in mock anger. All four burst out in laughter as they heard this. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘How much?’ asked Sharma-ji to the auto driver. ‘ Twenty two saab’ said the auto driver. Shyamala opened the door to their one room small flat in MHADA colony in Mira Road. Mani their grey cat mewed as they entered home and started rubbing himself against Shyamala's leg. Shyamala poured her a cup of milk and the cat purred in content. The entire family had a look of content on their face. Did you enjoy your day, my little ones? asked Sharma-ji as he tucked the children in their beds. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘Yes daddy’ screamed Dimple and Rohit. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">‘Next Sunday we have to go to the Guptas wedding at Worli’. Sharma-ji told Shyamala as he looked at the bunch of wedding invites he got from the printing press where he worked as a paper setter.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">With his paltry income of 5000 rupees per month, he could never provide a luxurious meal to his family. Seeing the amount people spent on wedding cards, Sharma-ji made a wise investment. He bought expensive clothes for all four of them and some imitation diamond jewellery for Shyamala. His Shyamala looked pretty in a simple cotton saree but she would look out of place in a high end wedding. He bought a defunct iphone from chor bazaar’. The Sharmas have been attending weddings since the past 2 years. He made certain rules that everyone had to follow to the ‘T’. For the children, it went as under:</div></div><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">In case, there is commotion near mum and dad, leave the venue immediately and head towards nearest railway station.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Check with a police inspector and tell them you got separated from parents.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Give your home address and reach home safely.</li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;">He had certain rules for himself and Shyamala but he never had to use it till now. The happy family of four has never been caught as they gate crashed into several high end wedding. After all they had the wedding invite in hand....</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-28075912503112130732011-11-29T20:57:00.000-08:002011-11-29T21:21:57.150-08:00Why do both Men and Women Cheat?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzC-Z5Two1AaHDGD-dlma9jD8F576QEmoWjqyZr21uU5yvfvyoUkwqum2Olu0HNVWpn60RWj8cMRHwNDN4z0tO3PvGrp1uuOggVQwfmpzDXgupRbOxp2K7qYNB7YoYADtD3fyS5Zhxx8Rh/s1600/estrangedcouple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzC-Z5Two1AaHDGD-dlma9jD8F576QEmoWjqyZr21uU5yvfvyoUkwqum2Olu0HNVWpn60RWj8cMRHwNDN4z0tO3PvGrp1uuOggVQwfmpzDXgupRbOxp2K7qYNB7YoYADtD3fyS5Zhxx8Rh/s320/estrangedcouple.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To be honest, both men and women cheat. But with that said, men are more likely than women to cheat and there are some important differences between the sexes when it comes to cheating. In order to understand why men cheat, it helps to understand what causes both men and women to be unfaithful.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
The science of cheating is very clear on this point: Roughly 3% of all mammals, including humans, practice what is called pair bonding or monogamous mating. However, even within the 3% of mammals that practice monogamy, very few species, including humans, are truly monogamous. In fact, when it comes to both men and women, monogamy is not our natural sexual strategy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To make a long story short, for millions of years, the desire to mate with multiple partners was a very useful reproductive strategy. Men and women, who cheated on a partner, were more likely to succeed at having more children than people who were completely faithful to a mate. Cheating was a strategy to increase reproductive success and diversify risk. <i><b>Or think about it this way: investing in a mutual fund (multiple stocks) is, on average, a better financial strategy than putting all of your resources into a single stock. </b></i> Because cheating was a better reproductive strategy than monogamy, all of the men and women who are alive today are the descendants of people, who for millions of years had the propensity or the desire to cheat on a partner. Simply put, we have inherited this trait from our ancestors – it is a part of our human nature. This does not mean that everyone will cheat on a partner or that people are fully aware of their unconscious sexual desires. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieB3ru8q6h-48W2E3L1sjhSHqwb77FYhQz6UBPIZocSMQKhvz8CICC51aoTxTYjEMv8VW3YsOO1n_-mTZlVv5kT0DkGvHCQ-5HsbcXCr6cERks7ylTo86JMdjEhldn_RY-RdM7c_Yzy14a/s1600/HowProveInfidelity_Dec_340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieB3ru8q6h-48W2E3L1sjhSHqwb77FYhQz6UBPIZocSMQKhvz8CICC51aoTxTYjEMv8VW3YsOO1n_-mTZlVv5kT0DkGvHCQ-5HsbcXCr6cERks7ylTo86JMdjEhldn_RY-RdM7c_Yzy14a/s200/HowProveInfidelity_Dec_340.jpg" width="200" /></a>How are men and women different when it comes to cheating?<br />
While both men and women cheat, there are important sex differences when it comes to cheating. The sex differences that influence cheating are based on two basic biological differences between men and women. <br />
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First, men and women differ when it comes to eggs and sperm. Men can produce hundreds of millions of sperm per day. By comparison, women are born with a million or so eggs, but only a fraction, roughly one egg released every 28 days over a short period of time - from puberty to menopause - has the potential to create life. Simply stated, women have about 400 viable eggs to use (and taking into account gestation, only about 20 actual opportunities to reproduce), while men are capable of producing billions and billions of sperm.<br />
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The second basic biological difference deals with gestation. Embryos grow and develop in women, not men. For men, reproduction can literally take just a few minutes of effort; while for women it involves, at the very least, a nine-month process.<br />
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From a biological point of view, men can constantly and quickly engage in reproduction while women are much more limited in their ability to do so. <br />
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These biological differences influenced our psychological desires before the invention of modern forms of birth control and still influence our unconscious sexual desires today. Men are more likely than women to think about sex and fantasize about having sex with multiple partners. In fact, a multi-billion dollar industry - pornography - exploits this basic sexual difference.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Given this basic biological difference, here are some key differences between men and women when it comes to cheating:</div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Men are more likely than women to cheat with someone who is less attractive than their current partner. Women cheat up while men are more opportunistic when it comes to cheating.</li>
<li>Men are more likely than women to have a one-night stand. Women are more prone to having emotional affairs.</li>
<li>Men are less likely to consider leaving their partners after cheating. When women cheat, it tends to be more emotionally involved so they are more likely to consider ending their current relationship.</li>
<li>Men are more likely than women to repeatedly cheat on a spouse or partner (see, for example, my husband constantly cheats).</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZt9Ggc1weRSot4qHX-5VAwcy_bkyT1YM0OGnFNmfwddaZzPaV3vuRCY88dRJ7bJtLKhCqoitrQ3qZWzti9HcC33bDH2M2eA1O41L7VtcS4j9WAZ6cFi0BIXUDvXH3UMNdmxQfqhuxftLV/s1600/M_Id_212423_infidelity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZt9Ggc1weRSot4qHX-5VAwcy_bkyT1YM0OGnFNmfwddaZzPaV3vuRCY88dRJ7bJtLKhCqoitrQ3qZWzti9HcC33bDH2M2eA1O41L7VtcS4j9WAZ6cFi0BIXUDvXH3UMNdmxQfqhuxftLV/s1600/M_Id_212423_infidelity.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">More about relationships on...<a href="http://www.truthaboutdeception.com/">http://www.truthaboutdeception.com</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-45976723252351041322011-11-23T20:59:00.001-08:002011-11-23T21:15:24.030-08:00THE SKY IS FALLING<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ67YXLwagMYkc4JiCdpfT8yc3869DfvJUqy6EVhVq9g8J_LA9b88nr4bpYeT1r2t3fkUbXlPvtjM20T4CeEWnbbUSv91GWB4aJVXvSMytm4hyphenhyphenlCQ3kss_6Uqz1tA2KAF2ZFRipgrz5Gbs/s1600/chicken-little2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ67YXLwagMYkc4JiCdpfT8yc3869DfvJUqy6EVhVq9g8J_LA9b88nr4bpYeT1r2t3fkUbXlPvtjM20T4CeEWnbbUSv91GWB4aJVXvSMytm4hyphenhyphenlCQ3kss_6Uqz1tA2KAF2ZFRipgrz5Gbs/s200/chicken-little2.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>As I child, I had once heard the story of a foolish chicken who spread a false rumor that the Sky is about to fall. Though I knew, even at that young age that it can never happen, a small fear did build up inside me. This fear would climb mountainous proportion specially on a rainy night clouded with thunder and lightning.<br />
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Once I asked my Grandma," Achchamma (Paternal Grandmother in Malayalam) is this true? Can the sky fall? Weaving her thickly veined wrinkled hand through my soft silky and long curls she said...." Darling the sky may not fall, but the world may one day cease to exist"<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrovyiY3VAFilR_SZvAejCYnqfmMEa8Ag4Y5n7h6Uyz97cgXWBgUqD5Lk-9l5qPVszNqwqdVhwxfY6NCKlkFRdOhUI03KgmKyyhHsXKzsS_iuZAR9RIjKovRh9aKiGmydCBaIeDpKv8b_/s1600/Grandma-cartoon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrovyiY3VAFilR_SZvAejCYnqfmMEa8Ag4Y5n7h6Uyz97cgXWBgUqD5Lk-9l5qPVszNqwqdVhwxfY6NCKlkFRdOhUI03KgmKyyhHsXKzsS_iuZAR9RIjKovRh9aKiGmydCBaIeDpKv8b_/s200/Grandma-cartoon.gif" width="162" /></a></div>" What! How is that possible? What about my grandchildren? What about their grandchildren?". She only smiled and hugged me and said...." I am glad we both met while the world is still fresh and nice"<br />
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I felt very comforted in her arms. However, my nightmares only grew. First it was the sky falling, now it was the end of the world. In my growing up years, I came across countless stories to portray the end of the world. In Hindu mythology, the world would end when the sins committed by mankind would reach such mammoth proportions that it would drown in it.<br />
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I can remember many acts of goodness by people around me and myself. I also know about sins committed by others as well as myself. So who is out there measuring and saying...." Ok, now no more, this is the last SIN!" No one knows. But what we have seen is that no one can control or stop a tsunami or an earthquake. There is no preventive measures to stop them. Only one act can or may stop the world from ending. By being good...food for thought!!!<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Somebody is out there measuring and saying...." Ok, now no more, this is the last SIN!"</span></b></blockquote><br />
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</div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-27008436637398067482011-11-18T23:11:00.000-08:002011-11-21T07:28:33.443-08:00May - September Romance Ends???<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Rrr-OUIIKHk_HQGKkwAjXDueNAAnAZMxO_wVOpyze22OZPXvgKdL5AEn9AStTnudwTrOKgGTUY3ub6Q3ylKQEzMK9NNmWMAAW-r-8jsWyHT3mJ-QQbE6UzJCgWD_MOHcPZbkKEG7xw3x/s1600/divorce8044090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Rrr-OUIIKHk_HQGKkwAjXDueNAAnAZMxO_wVOpyze22OZPXvgKdL5AEn9AStTnudwTrOKgGTUY3ub6Q3ylKQEzMK9NNmWMAAW-r-8jsWyHT3mJ-QQbE6UzJCgWD_MOHcPZbkKEG7xw3x/s1600/divorce8044090.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 21px; line-height: 24px;">So Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher have finally split. Several thinkers and non-thinkers are doling out their version on why the split happened. Is it because of the age difference between the two? Right from the time they got married, people have been anticipating a split. Then why is Michael Douglas having a great relationship with Catherine Zeta Jones? Harrison Ford is living with someone 25 years his junior?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Infidelity has nothing to do with age or physicality for that matter. Prince Charles had no interest in Lady Diana, one of the most beautiful woman in the world. People split up, sometimes legally and sometimes just between themselves because of the severe disconnect they feel with their spouses or because of their desire to legally or just sometimes between themselves get connected with new partners.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Infidelity can't be the reason for Divorce. A strong disconnect is. And many spouses ignore their better-half’s infidelity because they understand it’s inevitable. Posh Beckham, Hillary Clinton, closer home Twinkle Khanna, Maria Goretti, do one need to know more? Man was not born monogamous but has been forced to be. Some succeed most others don’t. Love is completely different and out of this sphere. You can love a person but enjoy physical intimacy with another. This does not stop you from loving the person you love. Love is in the mind. Love leads to intimacy but not necessarily vice versa.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Divorce is nothing but a courageous act by the two parties involved who wish to go their separate ways unlike thousands of others who cannot gather the courage to do so. It causes pain and hardship that soon obliterates with the passage of time. The others who lack courage live with it for the rest of their lives! <o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-9513767281655091142011-10-02T10:37:00.000-07:002011-10-02T11:03:30.265-07:00Do Newspapers Really Carry News?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">A famed stand up comedian of Indian origin recently paid a visit to India. The media went into frenzy as his arrival was well-timed with the release of a Bollywood flick where he shared screen space with a few other Bollywood stars. The producer of the movie is another Bollywood star who now finds himself dunked in hot soup. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">‘Athithi Devo Bhav’ . Literal translation is ‘A guest is like God’. So this stand up comedian got all the respect and glory that befits any guest of his stature to India, especially in starry eyed Mumbai. But if this guest God speaks in a manner that offends the resident God of Bollywood then all hell breaks loose. The comedian happened to pass certain reportedly ‘funny’ comments on a self-proclaimed and PR driven numero uno actress who piggy backed to fame on the shoulders of certain important men in the industry. She finally latched on to the GOD of Bollywood in the best possible manner. By marrying the GOD’S ‘unrising SUN’. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLJE_du6gDlIxy-xLOVTCplkFtIxYNwZEki6xG5IpOnCNJl72tOr17LVyj7TK6wWeVtAzAkxOqKCuBlsOq2360UhPq1AbFw0u4cqXlyXKaOW1TbhkzOLllIVJUVHsUH2hm6qLj42y168y/s1600/Marketing-Tips-mbaknol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLJE_du6gDlIxy-xLOVTCplkFtIxYNwZEki6xG5IpOnCNJl72tOr17LVyj7TK6wWeVtAzAkxOqKCuBlsOq2360UhPq1AbFw0u4cqXlyXKaOW1TbhkzOLllIVJUVHsUH2hm6qLj42y168y/s320/Marketing-Tips-mbaknol.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">At first, the media carried reports on how the comedian had snubbed Bollywood and degraded the women in the industry. Then they started equally publicizing how hurt the ‘industry’ is due to this daring comment by a comedian who doesn’t understand India at all. Now had the media held its reins in the first place this would not have blown out of proportion. Secondly, the fear seems to stem from the fact that the GOD of Bollywood is somehow involved in this drama. In between the raging war of words between the fans of the snubbed actress who condemn the ‘athithi comedian’ and a few others who voice their opinion about freedom of expression, the common man is left wondering if after all this was a PR exercise, well managed by top PR Company???</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">So whatever you read in ‘newspapers’ need not necessarily be news. It can be ‘created news’. So you either read it as ‘time-pass’ news or rationalise which you take seriously and which you just skim over...</div><br />
</div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-64165757890497193692011-09-12T22:03:00.000-07:002011-10-02T11:04:01.567-07:00Dolly's Wait<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHR5sNHcOKcicJ4FJIcdU67xmxScsXp9w3yY6jt7mx2U4j3D2w3sKwvh5hJk5I54U87hVBR8eiZCOx1auuT-VUBWRbPKiBvbPJ-py7tHZoYaqZvDh8RZKphFG0CzoGgjxtI4r3K5r2Ytio/s1600/stock-photo-girl-in-the-window-3643921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHR5sNHcOKcicJ4FJIcdU67xmxScsXp9w3yY6jt7mx2U4j3D2w3sKwvh5hJk5I54U87hVBR8eiZCOx1auuT-VUBWRbPKiBvbPJ-py7tHZoYaqZvDh8RZKphFG0CzoGgjxtI4r3K5r2Ytio/s320/stock-photo-girl-in-the-window-3643921.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 14px;">Dolly gazed through the window. Kalu kaka the ice candy man was passing through the narrow lane as usual. The pleasant looking plump vendor was happily giving each child a candy of their choice. She looked to her side. Mohit bhaiyya wasn’t there. Some construction workers were busily working on repairing a part of their compound wall that had crumbled due to heavy rains. None of them noticed Dolly’s tear filled eyes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Five year old Dolly was a fan of her 9 year old Mohit bhaiyya. Mohit too doted on his little sister and her wish would always be his command. Tall, lean and sturdy Mohit would bounce off the wall that comprised a gallery on the ground floor of their bungalow and get two ice candies. One for her and one for him. In case, she dropped hers by mistake he would rush and get her another one. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">She longed for Mohit. She longed for her parents. She longed for the ice candy. A few weeks back, when Kalu kaka had come with his wares, Mohit had quickly jumped off the gallery of the house to fetch both of them some ice candy. Unfortunately for all, that day, there was some gravel that had been dumped there by the construction workers. Mohit slipped and hit his head on a big rock. Blood oozed all over his face. He screamed. Dolly screamed too and her mother, Malati, rushed out to see why the children were crying.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> She was aghast when she saw Mohit covered in blood. It took her a while to realise what happened. The construction workers stopped their work and rushed to tend to the boy. Kalu kaka stopped an auto that was passing by and requested the passengers to kindly allow Malati to take the child to the hospital. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Dolly’s neighbour Indra rushed out and urged Malati to leave Dolly under her care while she took Mohit to the hospital. Mr. Mehta, another kind neighbour accompanied Malati to the hospital. On way, Malati called Rohit, her husband and updated him about the situation. Mohit was crying uncontrollably. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Little Dolly slept that day at Indra’s house. The next day by the time she woke up both her parents had been home but had left once again for the hospital. Dolly wanted to cry. Indra consoled her and promised to take her to the hospital if she had her breakfast and bath like a good girl. Dolly obliged. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo9wYruzUdFJwAJFF3b4j34E1BqykcFbqR_ZvfLICOUXI18sjL5URkhTAwBYa36tEiIbTXRIpfgY3yM7A2I7-OzloIY1tmAikSDGmHAQpn5UywgfsSMqw-sjXDXE1L2Bvb9PtzJqT7TqYD/s1600/02-andrea-wan-the-wait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo9wYruzUdFJwAJFF3b4j34E1BqykcFbqR_ZvfLICOUXI18sjL5URkhTAwBYa36tEiIbTXRIpfgY3yM7A2I7-OzloIY1tmAikSDGmHAQpn5UywgfsSMqw-sjXDXE1L2Bvb9PtzJqT7TqYD/s200/02-andrea-wan-the-wait.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mohit, come back soon...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">As soon as they entered the hospital, Dolly ran and clung to her mother’s sari. Her mother looked as if she had cried all night. Mohit was in some room where she could not go hence she could not see him. Malati explained to Dolly the situation and promised her that Mohit and both of them will very soon return home. Till then, she had to be a good girl and remain under Indra’s care. If she did not bother Indra with her childish pranks, God would very soon send them home.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Dolly agreed to be a good girl. It been two Sundays since this conversation happened. Dolly was not sure why her parents won’t tell her when they would come back, or when they would take her to see Mohit. One of her parents would always be home to be with her. Both of them were never seen together. At times, she would find her mother wiping tears from her eyes while she worked. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Yet, they promised her Mohit would come home soon. Suddenly, Dolly saw her parents coming home in an auto. Her eyes searched for Mohit. Mohit was not there. Kalu kaka rushed to them and had a short conversation with them. He rushed back to his van and got an ice candy for her. So finally she got her candy. Her parents have also come home. But where was Mohit? How can she have a candy without him???<o:p></o:p></span></div></div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-88694086083559921812011-08-07T03:45:00.000-07:002011-10-02T11:04:43.657-07:00In search of...Chhotu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJp3dB3lgbhiheRmGFZkFRbc1ONFjnSN2E-W2UcokrL0smYTAVK7niKLuf0IzvrCAXYHXpLZX2cZyzZ2IqCKTg9Gx-63bPHsr3XLs0Fe2U5zNNVSu0a-bRuLh9IUdCEdqmpBxA4Qv7d4m/s1600/akankshaChildLabour.preview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJp3dB3lgbhiheRmGFZkFRbc1ONFjnSN2E-W2UcokrL0smYTAVK7niKLuf0IzvrCAXYHXpLZX2cZyzZ2IqCKTg9Gx-63bPHsr3XLs0Fe2U5zNNVSu0a-bRuLh9IUdCEdqmpBxA4Qv7d4m/s320/akankshaChildLabour.preview.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;">It was early morning as I drove down in my car into the sleepy hamlet of Devghar, a village on the outskirts of Pune. The sun was just about to rise and I could hear the crowing of the cock from the distance. I looked at the small piece of crumpled paper in my hand. Chhotu had scribbled in Hindi the address of his home town. I had to get one of his parent back to Mumbai. Or else I would have to let go of all my free time for the next 2 months. As I entered the village, I noted that most of the villagers were asleep. It was almost 5am and not many people were around. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I stepped out of my car in front of a tea stall. The stall owner was in the process of setting up his stall. Looked like he hadn’t bathed for weeks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“ Where does Pandurang live?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sleepy eyed, he pointed towards the direction of a huge banyan tree. There were rows of huts beyond the tree. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Which of those huts belong to Pandurang?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You want tea? I make the best tea in this village.” From his tone I got the message that he wont give me the right address if I don’t have his tea.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“ I will bring Pandurang and we both will have tea.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“ Okay okay.” He knew I wouldn’t. Yet proving me wrong he pointed to the hut which was the most dilapidated in that area. I looked around as I walked towards Pandurang’s hut. A few villagers had risen by now and some of them were rubbing their teeth with a neem stick. I stood outside Pandurang’s hut and thought of knocking the door. However, with a closer look I realised that the door was ajar. I pushed it open and stood outside. Inside on a cot I could see a frail thin lady, probably Chhotu’s mother and a man lying on the floor. The lady saw me and nudged her husband to wake up. Perhaps her weakness stopped her from screaming at the sight of a stranger. The husband woke up and was startled to see me. I spoke in pure Marathi and told them that Chhotu had sent me here. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">As soon as Chhotu’s name was mentioned they both got up. The man turned out to be Chhotu’s father and the lady was Chhotu’s perennially ill mother. He jumped to his feet and welcomed me to come inside. I bent down so as to avoid bumping my head on the door frame and stepped inside. They offered me a small wooden stool to sit. They kept asking me about Chhotu, as to why he didn’t come with me. “Has something happened to him ?” I raised my hand and requested them to quieten down. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“ I was passing by this village and Chhotu asked me if I could come and see you guys just to tell you that his owner has started a new Vada Pav stall next to their Idli Vada stall. So he is going to be very busy but will send more money frequently.” Their face fell. Both looked at each other silently. I did not have the heart to wrench one of them to the city. If I take Pandurang to Mumbai, who will take care of Chhotu’s sick mother? After thinking for a moment, I rummaged in my purse and saw a packet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">“His owner has been kind enough to give him an advance.” Saying this I handed them the brown packet. “This should be enough to get a good sari.” I could hear mom’s voice in the background. Only last night she had handed me this amount so that I could buy a nice saree for my brother’s wedding. Pandurang took the packet from my hand. The couple heaved a sigh of relief. The lady went back to sleep. Strangely, Chhotu’s parents seemed relieved that they got the money. Chhotu’s absence didn’t seem to pinch them much. Very soon I left the hut and came back to where my car stood. By this time, the tea stall was crowded with around 8 to 10 customers. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I sat in my car and started the car. I felt for the bundle of notes in my purse. It was gone. I had planned to buy a new fancy sari as my brother was getting married at the end of the month. On my way back I thought of Chhotu. Chhotu, aged 15, a victim of the bomb blast was lying in the hospital with severe burns. He had no one to take care of him in the hospital as he knew no one in Mumbai. He had come to Mumbai to work in a Idli wada stall in Zaveri Bazaar. His owner was also badly hurt but he had his son to take care of him. The NGO I worked for had entrusted the responsibility of finding Chhotu’s parents and informing them of his condition so that they could come and take care of him. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I returned, determined to take care of Chhotu myself for the next few months. His parents can easily survive with the 10000 I had given them for the next few months. The amount was huge for me. It pinched me real hard. But I could not think of being decked up in a saree that expensive and mindlessly chattering with friends and relatives while Chhotu lay in the hospital, all alone. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-45509086400474742022011-07-19T01:10:00.000-07:002011-07-19T01:27:17.178-07:00My Possessive Scars and Wounds<div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwAb4nudwVhyphenhyphenlk0kEL3VPETSpNQ0nPZmGYcBVGtZv3VYejvEdkrQboJwo2Ia7e1hr5OK2Q1MUIxrsFRkzGOwBRo9rnUXeoiz6PIGSG3wjbT7ZxYRZSY6F6k00kwhMVC5SJEE2VFgApjtl/s1600/AF7C9F09-3CC4-453A-B954-E292691C44F8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwAb4nudwVhyphenhyphenlk0kEL3VPETSpNQ0nPZmGYcBVGtZv3VYejvEdkrQboJwo2Ia7e1hr5OK2Q1MUIxrsFRkzGOwBRo9rnUXeoiz6PIGSG3wjbT7ZxYRZSY6F6k00kwhMVC5SJEE2VFgApjtl/s200/AF7C9F09-3CC4-453A-B954-E292691C44F8.jpg" width="196" /></span></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span id="goog_2001089159"></span>Mr. and Mrs. Mehta left my home with a sweet smile on their lips. My next door neighbours, the happy couple had come to invite me for their daughter’s wedding. I promised them that I would definitely be there to bless the newly married couple.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked at the card. Glossy, cream coloured with a golden border, the card depicted the image of Lord Ganesha on its cover. I dreaded opening the card. I read the lines inside the card, slowly and carefully, “ Mr and Mrs. Mehta cordially invite you to grace the wedding of their daughter, Minal Mehta on.....</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tears welled up in my eyes. I could hear my mother screaming at me, “If you dare to put our names in your wedding card, I will call the police”. Circa 1985. I was barely 18, just over the legal marriageable age. My parents had learnt of my relationship with a boy whom they despised just because he belonged to another community. They had not bothered to even find out who he was or to speak to him to know if he was a good human being. Our age played against us and I was advised by one and all to not think of getting married to the boy in the picture. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband, Bharat, then my boyfriend, was my age and barely had any source of income. I agreed that we should not get married. I was not dying to get married either. But the condition of staying away from each other forever for a couple of years and not being in touch in any other way was unbearable to us. My husband reminded me of ‘Ek Duje Ke Liye’ ( a runaway hit movie in the late 80’s) type situation wherein under similar conditions the girl’s family succeeded in poisoning the mind of the girl against her lover and kept them parted forever to be united only by death.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though I entertained the idea of experimenting by staying away, he was completely against the idea and I finally had to give in to his wishes. The marriage date was fixed by his parents. My father slumped in sorrow. My mother blazed in anger. They were helpless as legally they could not do anything. They did not attend the wedding nor did they bless me when we went to seek their blessings. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In grief, my mother did everything that has left a scar on me. Apart from being physically hit, (the bruises disappeared long back) I was badly hit deep inside my soul. The experience left a gaping hole inside me. This hole sucks hard at me whenever I encounter happy weddings. Happy parents, happy occasions all gnaw at me. My mother’s grief was unfounded. She found great joy when her grandchild was born two years after the wedding. She discarded every spiteful bone she had in her and transformed herself into the most loving grandmother a grandchild could have. Today, my son at 23, cannot resist her signature ‘sambhar’ and she never tires of tending to his needs. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All is well that ends well. But here is a pain that doesn’t seem to end. The pain comes back whenever I open a wedding greeting. Mr and Mrs. So and so cordially invite you to the wedding of their...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The learned have said...“ Forgive and forget”. I find forgiving easy, but forgetting seems to be a trait that is missing in me. So whenever I open a wedding card, I also open a deep wound in my heart...and then it pains and aches for a while. Slowly it subsides as I get busy with the mundane activities that comprise my day, only to be opened when there is a new wedding around the corner...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__Sk41pM3t0KU4go6cdLKQA3M79e7xkCmwdeYA-V_j5Fw8bExUGi9T3aogPrHl4UPTCc3EjhQoscbp1USv8sFuNoF46VC3hTMTaiea2GQXBkvdmnOfYn3JpWM0Voc_tspPue9-_LR0U_F/s1600/tears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__Sk41pM3t0KU4go6cdLKQA3M79e7xkCmwdeYA-V_j5Fw8bExUGi9T3aogPrHl4UPTCc3EjhQoscbp1USv8sFuNoF46VC3hTMTaiea2GQXBkvdmnOfYn3JpWM0Voc_tspPue9-_LR0U_F/s200/tears.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span id="goog_2001089160"></span></div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-79010764914781045592011-07-12T22:16:00.000-07:002011-10-02T10:51:54.760-07:00It's Never Too Late<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-2964D0ORqbbrccmQKpd1BpLWyoOm6VNnYMcEMbHrlHY01K2RBX4lW9SEHXSSKMjXgS8WbfOn5A0G2bC-b0z1d_Jfb2kcoXA_JUX1uPRwNoLAXBcQ23idTapAvwhqSHOr_JYntdLUz50/s1600/self-esteem-star-girl.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-2964D0ORqbbrccmQKpd1BpLWyoOm6VNnYMcEMbHrlHY01K2RBX4lW9SEHXSSKMjXgS8WbfOn5A0G2bC-b0z1d_Jfb2kcoXA_JUX1uPRwNoLAXBcQ23idTapAvwhqSHOr_JYntdLUz50/s1600/self-esteem-star-girl.gif" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Can you please give the keys to my maid? She is late today and I can’t wait any longer for her,”said Anita. Anita, my pretty neighbor lived alone in the 250 sq.ft studio apartment next door. She worked as Operations Manager in a logistics company and drew a moderate salary. Every day would be a mad rush for her. Helping her now and then became a way of life for me. I didn't do this without a reason.I admired Anita. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She was in her late thirties, same as me, but had a personality of a rock star. There were few similarities between us yet we got along very well, that is whenever we happened to spend time with each other. When she came to stay in our building, I assumed her to be a spinster. Eventually the curiosity in me forced me to bluntly ask her why a pretty woman like her wasn’t married. She laughed out loud. She said, “Sorry to disappoint you dear, but I was very much married. The thing is I am divorced.”On further probing, I learnt that she had a 10 year old son. My son was just 12 and I felt like a hag! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Here, Anita was so full of spirit in spite of the emotional upheaval in her life. Apparently, Anita had decided to move away from a cheating husband but decided not to drag her son along with her. She killed her maternal instinct so that her son could continue the lifestyle he lived. Anita was a house wife till the day she caught her husband red-handed with an ex-colleague. The husband could not wriggle his way out of her allegations but tried to convince her that it was the first time he succumbed to his colleague's charm.Which was quite untrue as she found the colleague's 7 year old son resemble her 10 year Rahul in more than a hundred ways. She didn't need a DNA test to prove the child's paternity. After 12 years of married life this blow blew over Anita like a wild hurricane. Delicate that she was, she didn't break, she just waited for the hurricane to stop and then held her head high, very high. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Anita readily shared her story with me because she wanted me and other women to be prepared for any eventuality in life, including the loss of support of our loved ones. She was not into women’s liberation theory but firmly believed that every woman should have financial independence. She would have easily forgiven her husband if it was a one night stand. But he has been carrying on this relationship forever. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She had led a life of deceit all along. She had led a life, the way her husband wanted to. He wanted her to be a timid housewife and so she became one. In spite of having a Master’s degree she never ventured out to work, even after her son no longer needed her attention. Now she knew why he wanted her to be wholly dependent on him. No matter what he did, he never expected her to leave because she had nothing on her own. He was wrong. She left empty handed from their marital home. She stayed in her parent’s house for a year. Meanwhile she found her bearings. Then on she was on her own. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Anita underwent deep depression after the affair was revealed. It was only her son’s love that had brought her back to life. She was and is very close to her son and they keep visiting each other. I tried to assure Anita that she may not have to slog forever as her son would one day take care of her. She said, “ Always be financially independent. As long as your health permits, do not depend on anybody. I am sure my son will take care of me. But I want to take care of myself as long as I can.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What ideals! What thoughts! Anita’s story inspires me. I often repeat her story to countless other housewives. Some laugh off my concerns while others take me seriously. Amongst us, we have all decided to try and do some activity that may not bring us immediate returns but will hone our inherent skills. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So Vasanthi, who is good at cooking has started weekend classes for college goers and surprisingly, more than girls boys have flocked to her classes. Brinda who holds a Masters in Psychology has requested a reputed Psychologist in the nearby area to allow her and apprentice for 2 hours every morning. She plans to counsel students in her daughter’s school. One Anita has changed the lives of so many others. I am extremely moved by her difficulties. Her survival and her zeal for life inspires me. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And what change did it bring in me? Well I started work as a Writer around 5 years back. Today, I am happy earning a decent income. I have a life of my own. Everyone becomes a housewife by default but to juggle a career and family life is what I have learnt in the past few years. I am grateful to Anita for her presence in my life.She has proved to me that it's never too late. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-24025590224088429152011-07-09T05:03:00.000-07:002011-07-15T04:03:59.751-07:00Are You A Traveler or a Tourist?<div style="text-align: justify;">I love to travel so I think I am a traveler. My friend Raj also loves to travel but I think he is a tourist. I like to go to unexplored places, pitch a tent and allow the beauty (sometimes troubles) of nature to seep into my experiences. Interacting with the locals, eating in their homes (not hotels) seems to excite me more than booking myself into a well known or a budgeted hotel or resort. Raj prefers to always book into a hotel or resort that fits his budget.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I like to travel alone or at times in a small group.I like to make new friends on the way. Raj prefers to travel only with his set of friends. All during the travel, he hardly interacts or makes any new acquaintance with anyone else in the hotel or bus or wherever. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I like heritage structures and admire the other marvels of the world. I may not necessarily click myself while I am visiting the Niagara Falls. Raj, on the other hand may not minutely observe the delicate pattern that adorns the Karnak Temple in Egypt but would definitely bring home a few pictures to be put up on social networking sites and to be shown to friends and relatives.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I would love to explore the regional cuisine and allow my taste buds to experiment the different flavors of the region. Raj only travels if they are assured of Indian food all through the travel period.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In conclusion, travel is different from tourism. In most parts of the world a tourist is detested to a certain extent while a traveler is welcomed with open arms. A traveler is a descendant of the likes of Christopher Columbus or Bodhidhara. Today we find more tourists than Bodhidharas. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Could this be because traveling today is much easier than what it was before. One need not be as passionate about travel if he wanted to travel. All that you need to do if you wish to travel is sign a cheque with a travel agent and all your needs are catered to. This has killed the fun in traveling and all that remains is Tourism.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXk4XJ36_8UOXWYeDxDOAyXzhvR1kDSz28XGNAd742EHGwFyAxXQvO3PTmzEW9cCxqkiJ-fZkD9hKP-dmPhbxSMHf4Y9sD2yZKU-UaH3Mli81adg6kNPGAPxi9iwNGv_isUy9xjFYaizKW/s1600/tourism_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXk4XJ36_8UOXWYeDxDOAyXzhvR1kDSz28XGNAd742EHGwFyAxXQvO3PTmzEW9cCxqkiJ-fZkD9hKP-dmPhbxSMHf4Y9sD2yZKU-UaH3Mli81adg6kNPGAPxi9iwNGv_isUy9xjFYaizKW/s320/tourism_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today, most people list down the places they want to visit. Quite often one hears them saying," I have completed Asia and Europe. Now I will start US and Canada". I have nothing against tourism as it is a medium for national as well as personal revenue. In most cases, it is the only source of revenue for some families and also the sole factor for the development of of that region. By penning this article my aim was to revive the traveler in every tourist.Hope I have been able to do so....</div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-89899690126645123572011-04-02T05:52:00.001-07:002011-10-02T10:55:08.988-07:00The Naradas of Today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM770oopn7WdkLaLIEo96U-nFCKF9Hgp8VN8zKUA2720MfpQ01LMmkyotMRgasawDnk6jFvGFqf65dk2rtuKuabCcB9liimUaFGQo2Xoy55JMyv9zU4E-snxAq5zKj_QoQYyFBIeymnwSk/s1600/sage-narada4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM770oopn7WdkLaLIEo96U-nFCKF9Hgp8VN8zKUA2720MfpQ01LMmkyotMRgasawDnk6jFvGFqf65dk2rtuKuabCcB9liimUaFGQo2Xoy55JMyv9zU4E-snxAq5zKj_QoQYyFBIeymnwSk/s320/sage-narada4.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: #ff6633; font: bold 130% 'Lucida Grande','Trebuchet MS'; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px;">Silent Whispers By </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal;">DEVDUTT PATTANAIK </span></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: #ff6633; font: bold 130% 'Lucida Grande','Trebuchet MS'; letter-spacing: -1px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal;">The author is the Chief Belief Officer of the Future Group who decodes the wisdom of mythology for modern times.</span></h3><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6469426928063890299"><br />
DEVDUTT PATTANAIK<br />
<br />
THE ARRIVAL OF A SAGE CALLED NARADA in Hindu mythology always spells trouble. He would share very innocent information, or ask a very simple question, and provoke all kinds of base emotions from jealousy to rage to insecurity.<br />
<br />
Let me narrate the story of Kansa in gist for all those who are unaware of it. Once he went to the house of Kansa, dictator of Mathura, who knew that the eighth son of his sister would be his killer. Kansa would have killed his sister had his brother-in-law, Vasudev, not promised to hand over the eighth child to Kansa. Do you trust Vasudev asked Narada, I mean ,he may handover another child and claim he is the eighth; or he may handover his own child, say the seventh,a nd claim he is the eighth.<br />
<br />
Having sowed the seeds of doubt, Narada walked away plucking his lute and chanting, Narayana, Narayana. Influenced by these words, Kansa killed each and every child his sister bore to ensure his safety.<br />
<br />
Another time, Narada went to the house of the five Pandava brothers who had a common wife called Draupadi, and told them the story of a nymph called Tilotamma.<br />
<br />
Two demon brothers, Sunda and Upasunda, fell in love with her and wanted to marry her. She said she would marry the stronger of the two. So the two brothers fought to prove their strength. Since both were equally matched, they killed each other. Wonder which of you five is the strongest? Hearing this the five Pandava brothers quickly put down rules that would govern the sharing of a wife;Draupadi would be with one brother exclusively for a year and return to him after spending four years with the other four brothers.<br />
<br />
In Kansas case, Naradas intervention leads to serial infanticide.<br />
In the Pandavas case, Naradas intervention secures domestic bliss.<br />
Yet, at no point is Narada feared or shunned by any king or god.<br />
In fact is arrival is welcomed.<br />
His intervention is seen as something inherently good though the goodness is not immediately apparent.<br />
In Kansas case, Kansa sees him as a well wisher. But by his intervention, Narada ensures that Vasudev, rather than handing over the prophesised eighth child as he initially planned to, takes the child to a safe house where he can grow up and return to kill the wicked king.<br />
<br />
Narada though a mischief-maker and quarrelmonger, has the good of people at heart.<br />
<br />
But there are advisors whose intentions are otherwise. The most famous one of these is Manthara, in the epic Ramayana, who poisons the ear of Kaikeyi, and influences the queen to demand the exile of Ram. By following Mantharas advice,Kaikeyi destroys the household.<br />
So who is the advisor who sits beside the king: Narada or Manthara If Narada,how does he see the king as Kansa or as a Pandava. These are difficult questions for a leader to answer.For the Naradas of todays world do not come with a lute and the Mantharas are not bent and ugly.<br />
<br />
In todays world, the Naradas do not walk around with a lute nor are the Mantharas bent and ugly. Suspicion fills ones mind often. And so does faith. Maybe they are genuinely good people. Who knows? In real life, no one comes with halos or horns. Distinguishing Narada from Manthara is not easy.<br />
<br />
Whether their advice is for the good of the organisation or for their own self-interests will be realised only in hindsight.<br />
<br />
<br />
</div></div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462525636516445769.post-44692705966913123322011-04-02T05:51:00.000-07:002011-10-02T10:57:13.986-07:00LIGHT AND DARK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacREVF3EEIJIHNuqWpH8cNxGr5m9vrgfOrJfmEL3JuPo8bMngNYAI5vuoBv7eGMCix9mc7rGug1zdsb2nJKISWx4lQmCI1QaWe4MjughRUEZ0HaB1Fi3aQpri2vFBQFYTTGHs7YCyXS7c/s1600/dark-room-light-through-window-hunched-man1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacREVF3EEIJIHNuqWpH8cNxGr5m9vrgfOrJfmEL3JuPo8bMngNYAI5vuoBv7eGMCix9mc7rGug1zdsb2nJKISWx4lQmCI1QaWe4MjughRUEZ0HaB1Fi3aQpri2vFBQFYTTGHs7YCyXS7c/s1600/dark-room-light-through-window-hunched-man1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
What is Life but full of Lightness and Darkness<br />
<br />
These are just two corners<br />
Where life keeps pushing you into<br />
And at times keeps pulling you into<br />
<br />
At times its a Joy and everything is bright<br />
At times it Despairs and everything is full of spite<br />
<br />
A house reasonates with the cry of a new born baby<br />
While another wallows with pain at the death of a new born baby<br />
<br />
Bugles and trumpets play happy notes at a wedding in general<br />
While elsewhere tears flow with abandon at a funeral<br />
<br />
Its how we learn to swing to and fro from these corners<br />
That makes us what we are<br />
<br />
Some come out unscathed<br />
While a few others are scarred for life...<br />
<br />
Thus goes on life...a journey of hurt and pain<br />
A journey of joy and gain...</div>Supshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15056264065400741501noreply@blogger.com0