BIR BILLING TREK

BIR BILLING TREK

I gasped heavily for breath as I put my left foot forward again. The innumerous myriad rocks stood in our way, contemplating our dire need to move forward. We were a troupe of ten people and two guides. One guide was at the front while the other at the tail of line.

The scenic beauty of mountains: picturesque, luxuriant, streams, waterfalls, birds and greenery pervaded the surroundings. Bir was a small town in Himachal Pradesh well known for its ecotourism and spiritual studies. The Dhauladhar mountain range in the foothills of Himalayas captivated everyone’s attention.

The ecstasy at the start of our twelve kilometer trek had withered away with time. Arjit, Aarti, Puspendra sir, Deepak, Namrata, Nupur, Shivya, Elisee , Grace and I , all step by step inched closer to the next rock in sight. Arjit, Namrata and Pushpendra sir looked more fit than the others. Arjit leaped forward effortlessly with ease. He was always ahead of everyone. It gave me a funny sense of inferiority .

“How much more we have to cover?” I asked Sumit (our guide). He stretched out his right hand and showed me the direction. It was hard to fathom that it would be another six kilometers from here.

“Are you feeling fine?” Aarti asked me. She had picked my bag after four kilometers. I was not in a state to carry the bag again.

“Yeah, I’m fine ,” I said to her with a smile. I knew inside that I was not fine.

“Take rest,” she said.

I knew Arjit since my college. When I used to run with him he couldn’t run continuously for two laps of four hundred meters. He defied his tiredness in front of me. Pushpendra Sir gave SSB for Army eleven times. His physique bore testament to his fitness. He was the one who stopped everyone at regular intervals for photo sessions .

I glanced down to see how far we had come. Deepak, Namrata and Shivya were a few metres away from the resting point. Namrata with her bespectacled face, had been scrutinizing her sister for a long time. She also motivated her in her own unique ways but whenever she did so, Deepak and others couldn’t hide their giggle. Shivya had been ill but she was determined to complete the trek.

“C’mon get up!” Sumit shouted suddenly. Elisee and Grace also looked up. Elisee was form Kenya and Grace from Congo. She looked fitter than Elisee. Elisee had some problem in his knee. Though they couldn’t understand our local language but we tried to explain them in English whenever we can.

The guide didn’t broke a sweat after such a strenuous trek. Sir kept clicking pictures at regular intervals. I was thankful to him as the pause for clicking pictures gave me some rest. Arjit lunged forward while I lurched holding the water bottle. I asked Aarti to give me the bag but she refused. I knew she was also tired but she refused. She always inspired me at such times. If I felt overtly weak she would lead and vice-versa.

“Watch your steps. This rock is a little shaky ,” Deepak told Shivya. Shivya though already worn out , tried to match her pace with others.

“Chal warna mai yahI chor dungi tujhe,” Namrata yelled at her sister. Shivya gave her a scornful look. Deepak again couldn’t hide his laugh. I tried to laugh but couldn’t. Every step didn’t seem as an effort of the muscles. It felt like the willpower was challenged with every step.

I wondered if I my legs wobbled and I slip. What if I faint and fell down? Such thoughts perturbed me once. Now I was at that point of trek where such thoughts could enact themselves to reality. Nupur gave her bag to second guide, Keshav, who was thin but still showed exceptional endurance as compared to his body build.

 The ravine seemed endless. One couldn’t completely tell where it turned. The thick, dense canopy of trees complemented the view. The gorge was an array of all sizes of stones whose edges were smoothened by the running water. It might have took millions of years for the water current to make its way down the plains and eventually to the sea. It might have been a large rock or stone but now it was just a pebble.

I kept following Arjit. I tried to be patient. The tiredness was palpable. I looked at Aarti as she also maintained her brisk movements and then I looked up. It was a long way to go. I couldn’t articulate what it felt like.

“Hey all. Let’s have a picture here,” Sir asked everyone to be in the frame. Namrata again pulled up his sister. Deepak too started to throw a couple of punch lines towards Shivya. Yet they were unknown but Namrata and Shivya felt like friends. Whenever I felt worn out I looked at Aarti and it gave me strength.

“Smile,” Nupur said. The pause in climbing provided some relief. A day before Nupur was resting in Pune and now she was also pondered about the notion of trekking. She was my best friend. I was thankful to her as she flown all along from Pune over two thousand kilometers for the trip. I had small chit chats with her along the way.

I pondered if my decision to trek was right or wrong. If I wasn’t supposed to be here, I could have been sitting in front of my laptop in office. I would have been following a monotonous schedule of professionalism. One quote from author Jonathan Safran Foer popped up in my mind.

“Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.”

It was the life each one of us wasn’t living. Arjit still placed his butt on a stone a few meters ahead of us. The guide also rested this time.

“Chalo Gulzar saab,” Deepak nicknamed Namrata. She fluffed the feathers of her thought in Deepak’s mind.

“Gulzar saab ek ghazal ho jaye,” Sir said. Namrata also laughed. Shivya was still silent. At least someone was like me in the group at maintaining silence. I still calculated how many more steps I had to follow now. The guide kept telling us to move forward. He said that it was a mere one kilometer from here.

One could live his life in a burrow and die in it. One could get out of that and explore places. Though we were out of energy but still the nature was at its best. It was a transcendent reality beyond thought which couldn’t fit in the recesses of one’s mind. One day all would be turned into dust: torn into pieces, engulfed by water, destroyed by earthquake, consumed by sun, devastated by global warming and disappear into oblivion.

I didn’t know much about Namrata and Shivya. Deepak teased one by name of Gulzar and Monga sweets. Suddenly, I heard the echoing sound of a vehicle roaring in the mountains. I looked to my right, almost at an angle of sixty degree. There I saw the signs of road we all had been waiting for. It felt like we were lost and now we had to just reach there. Everyone pushed themselves up for one last fight. After half an hour we reached up to that point. The grey colored asphalt was protected from metal boundary form one side. All of us rested at that place. It was an achievement that had been done. Deepak still motivated Shivya. Everyone clapped when she reached at the top. The next target was paragliding.

I am a speck of the same dust, this universe is made up of. The same bond holds us all together. A few cars whizzed past us. The same city noise type sound it was. Though we were finally where we wanted to but still I felt better when I was lost in the deep gorges of mountains. The touch of nature was lost. The trekking made my willpower strong. It was true that to find yourself you have to lose yourself.

L->R Me, Elisee, Pushpedra sir, Grace, Shivya, Deepak, Keshav(on kness), Arjit, Nupur, Aarti and Namrata.

“Adventure may hurt you but monotony will kill you” ( credits Zostel at bir and Namrata)  

The Zostel.

TECHNICAL PROSTITUTE

Rahul sat in his office chair contemplating his computer screen. It had happened with him so many times before, whenever an error in his code refused to abate. The code seemed to be abysmal at times. He knew he would have resolved the issue on Monday but he restrained himself to finish it on Saturday.

He got a ping on whatsapp from one of his friends. It was Shikha, his friend from the HR department. The company was on a hiring spree. He remembered the topic given to the new candidates the day before.

“I hope you are enjoying your Saturday,” Shikha texted.

“Yeah I’m trying to,” Rahul said contradicting what he had said. Inside his heart he was not liking what he was doing. Though he would be getting extra monetary compensation for working one extra day but sometimes he thought, if it was worth it.

Shikha had narrated him the gist of the group discussion. The topic that was a sensitive one, “Mental prostitution vs Physical”, with half a dozen candidates pouring in their views into the discussion.

Some were in favour while some weren’t. It had to be that way in a discussion. Shikha was a good friend. She never worked on Saturdays. Only there were some rare occasions when she had to come to the office. She never pushed herself into such a situation where she would be getting extra money, in exchange for one of her weekends.

“Why are you silent? Are you busy?” Shikha asked him.

“Kind of. Don’t know. I’ll text you later,” he said and placed the phone aside.

It was like any normal Saturday for him. But, something bothered him from the day before. He had friends. They called him as usual only to get disappointed again. He envied Shikha sometimes.

He knew she would be spending her weekend with her parents and friends. While he was an incorrigible personality mostly due to isolation from friends and family. It had been long, since he remembered when he was content with himself.

He tried to bore his beady eyes into the computer screen again. But, something still distracted him. He felt an urge to do something he used to do, like giving his fingers the pleasure of dancing over the strings of his guitar. He recalled the last time when he did so.

Shikha had told some stern arguments from the group discussion. He was overtly perturbed when she told him how some sex workers had to work some extra hours just for getting a few thousand bucks. He felt pity for them.

He too worked some extra hours not fore just money but also for casting a good impression over his seniors, so that he would not be forgotten on the appraisal list.

“Hi,” he said to Shikha.

“You finished your work?” she asked inquisitively.

“No. Can we meet? If you are free?” he said.

“All of a sudden?” she asked. She couldn’t fathom what Rahul had just said.

“Yeah. May be I could play a nice tune for you. My guitar is on complain mode,” he said. Shikha wondered for a few seconds before she spoke again.

“Ha ha. Sure. I think I’m getting back my old friend,” she said.

“Yeah. Rahul has stopped entertaining mental prostitution,” he finished.

Shikha remembered how he had changed all of a sudden. She wasn’t expecting that but she was happy and so was Rahul.

English is from Mars and Hindi is from Venus: UPSC ROW

English is from Mars and Hindi is from Venus: UPSC ROW

The above metaphorical statement won’t probably make sense to one’s mind, unless you know John Gray who wrote the famous book “Men are from mars, Women are from Venus”. Neither English is from the red planet Mars nor Hindi is from planet Venus. But, these are the two inevitable and indispensable communication satellites of UPSC, the organization which conducts the Indian Administrative Services Exam or IAS for short.

Myriad students; lots of shouting, students raising anti-english slogans, placards demanding removal of CSAT test and more students joined them. Indeed, they captured the sharp attention of nearby people who pervaded the air with a little dysphoria.

The protest was regarding the removal of English from the CSAT pattern because of which, according to Hindi medium students, it favoured Science, Engineering, Medical and MBA graduates. Personally I found it annoying, but here are some points that I found true and some of them logically valid.

1. One student said that the translation from English to Hindi is of abysmal quality.

Well, I searched and find it to be true. This is an excerpt from article of economic times.

“Steel plant got translated as lohe ka paudha; land reforms became arthvayvastha (economy) sudhar; multi-brand retail was bahumakra khudra vyapaar; and panacea is sarvopachar.”.

The work on translation improvement can be done.

2 The comprehension part is tough for the students from other background.

Quite illogical it was to put such a statement, I thought. The same could be said for the students from science background that they lack at the general studies part including history, geography etcetera. In my opinion, it cancels each other out.

3. There is a decline in number of students after the introduction of new pattern in 2011. This is due to the favourism that CSAT aptitude test offers to engineering students.

Well, I don’t have the data whether there were more selections from other background or not. But, still this can’t be a reason for the outcry of students over the scrapping of CSAT format. Some even calling English an alien language.

What I believe of this issue may not go with the thinking of everyone. The questions from English were of tenth standard level which should be answerable by a graduate. If one is preparing himself/herself for an examination of the highest cadre, then why such language barriers be looked upon into.

Quite disdainful are the acts of political leaders who tried to venture into this issue. Language unites people but here it is the opposite. English serves as a link language not among us , not among north and south but amongst the whole world. There are many alternatives that could be taken.

1. Why can’t UPSC provide training of English after selection if it is willing to exclude the marks of English section from mains paper marks?

2. What if instead of translation, proper comprehension passages in Hindi language can be used with difficulty level at par with English passages?

Now, students are protesting for postponement of exam. Some are demanding scrapping of CSAT pattern. Those demands seem to be somewhat politically motivated. It’s like you got one piece of cake after the assurance that marks won’t be counted in mains paper and now, you want the whole cake to palliate your hunger.

Mr. Amitabh Bachchan once said in a film ( Namak Halal, 1982) “ I can talk in English, I can walk in English because English is a very funny language sir”.

He couldn’t have been more wrong because it’s been more than thirty years now and still our country can’t find English so funny.

The Concept of Indian Origin

I don't know who started prefixing these words behind the name of an Indian origin. Well, one would think,  "What's wrong in it?". It casts a shadow of the greatness of India, precariously on our minds, even though for a few seconds.

For me, it started with Mr. Satya Nadella, the new CEO of Microsoft, as his name pervaded almost headlines of every newspaper. I didn't got what news channels too portrayed of him and his family. Yes, we should be happy that an " Indian born" has been chosen as the CEO and we should laud that too.

What drew my attention was " Why we were not able to utilize his potential for the benefit of our country"?. Absolutely, it was his choice, no doubt. We didn't have the resources, the technology and of course the infrastructure at that time. While getting happy shouldn't we be a little concerned about the other side of it.

If we look back the above mentioned person, he is not the single example of his kind. Well, thanks to wikipedia too for helping me with the names.The lady who died in a tragic crash, Kalpana Chawla. Famous writer, M. Night Shyamlan, Nina Davuluri( miss America 2014), Dr. Har Gobind Khurana( nobel prize for Medicine) and many more people.

I pondered why we never called  Milkha Singh being a "Pakistan-origin" then? (because it was before the partition he was born there). The same I thought for Sir, Gulzar, when I read today that a street was going to be named after him in Pakistan. It perturbed me, though I don't know why. The people of those countries may too, have felt the same on hearing " Indian Origin", Why wouldn't they?

Instead of articulating " origin" word , I think we must pay heed and haste to the word " Origin-ality". What must be assessed should not be the roots of someone. The onus of concern should be on the ingenious hardwork that they do and talent that these people possess.

I don't know when and where this concept will end but till it ends I know we have a lot of work to do, to make this concept that focuses on " Originality". Till then another addition to the above concept, " Rajeev Suri, an Indian-origin has been named CEO, Nokia."

Rape or ' Rise ' of Ape.

The scent of flowers raised her mood up as she swerved to her left. The flower shop had myriad bouquets from small to large ones. Her hairs too danced in a way to clamour for admiration.She fastened her pace. It was the last day of her graduation.

Her mother was very happy because it was a proud day for her. Her daughter had made her proud by defying all the odds, middle class home, hands to mouth family income, thinking out of the shell and dreaming to achieve greater heights in future.

She was happy, joyous but content with herself . To avoid getting late she took the road through the deserted land with some green patches on it. Though her body was walking as if it was the last day for her to take that route her mind was somewhere else.
In her mind she remembered how hard it was for her to come all along this far. Crying, smiling, fighting with her emotions all these years and motivating herself to do even better.

Boom!! and everything was black for some seconds. She tried to speak but couldn't. Her rigorous movement was not enough to get herself freed completely. Suddenly her freedom was at the mercy to some maniacs who had no soul in them. She got beaten, thrashed, mocked. Her body surrendered but her will didn't.

Loud cries, tears down everyone eyes, slogans against rape and much more. She opened her eyes to realize the irreparable loss her body had suffered. Her life changed in just one day. The doctor shifted himself and placed her bag on the table.

Her mom could not see her in the eye. The consequences of rape in society were bitter. Her daughter whom she had nourished like a flower all her life seemed to fall like autumn leaf. She had not done bad to anyone. She was just an aspiring student, a sister to her brother, a friend, a daughter to her parents. She had so many roles to fulfill but in a single day someone had erased those and poured the murkiness of their lives into hers. She clutched her mom as tight as she could and kept crying.

To you who is reading this, it wasn't a rape of her. It was a rape of one's freedom, one's dreams, one's smile and several other one's . It was a rape of the silence of some good people like you and me who could make this society free of these nefarious elements. It was a rape of those sitting in the house of power elected by you and me who could make a bold statement not on paper but in practical.

It makes me feel ashamed of myself. I couldn't stage protests like some activists or just get a chance to shoot those men. I am a middle class boy just as you were before the incident. You were a winner girl and always be for the girl your parents knew. Forgive humanity but don't forgive those apes.

I do. . .

Yeah I loved you with fire
Just to know that I care
One day you will hold someone's hand
That day He will have my world in his hand


Crimson love just fades away
The rain drenches me in your colour again
Come and take away my pain
Make me fall for you again


Your eyes tell your lies
That you don't care like before
I shouldn't have come along
To hear from your friends that you don't love me any more


One day you'll get busy tone too
I'll change myself too
.
.
That day rain will drench me into you
As your memories will divide me into two
Despite how many lies we may tell ourselves
I know you loved me
.
.

You still do, you do , I do.

A Conversation with nature: Uttrakhand

The date was 23rd of April'13. I had checked my phone, atm card , license in the pocket of my ragged looking jean.I locked down the door of the guest house in which I spent the last night. As I turned around the mountains, cool brisk hair , myriad small children playing in nearby school overtly purported the spirit of people living there. It was place where the nature never clamored for your attention . It had it's unique class of connecting the innards of your soul to the harmony of it's virtual touch.

The Agastmuni town was a resting place for most of the tourists and pilgrims  en-route to the abode of Lord Shiva, Kedarnath. The city like this and many others had seen an increase in development . The development which seemed to be at the cost of tourism.

People had a hard life there. To fetch the daily food for themselves and fodder for the domestic animals. Up climbing and down climbing was a common activity for everyone. Narrow roads, limited electricity but yet the people were content with what they had. I had my last site at Uchola village somewhere 6-7kms off road which led to guptkashi and then Kedarnath. I completed my survey there and returned successfully to my hometown in Delhi.

The place where I had stayed during the tenure of my job was engulfed with water. The houses near the bed of the river shaking, trembling vigorously. I saw people running in random directions to save what God had given them "LIFE". Anger rushed through my veins . The scenic beauty moments ago was no where to be seen again.
" Why are you doing this. They worship you everyday. Stop it." I yelled loudly as I could.

"They don't worship me for what they believe in. They worship me for the very fear of me , for what they should believe in." a voice echoed in my head as if the nature was answering me back. The fields swept away and houses tossed up like toys. The mind flickered the very image of the children playing in the school ground.
They would have to fight the rest of their life against the very apathy of their own God.

" But why would a God do this to them" I retorted with grief reflecting itself in my voice.
" Do you think I did this? Are you sure.?the same voice echoed again.

" I don't know but I mean. . ." i stopped in between.
" You can't make me responsible for the things which are beyond the realms of your mind child. I too feel anger and love. The answer is all yours" the voice had the serenity of sea in it.It died with time.

It will sound insane but yes I had seen God personified not like the characters in poems and stories but in the form of fury. I was glad that it was a dream. The television was on. My Dad was having his breakfast. The news was the loss of innumerous  human beings. May be it wasn't a dream for those.

My conscious mind still pondered over " The answer is all yours". May be the answer was what I was seeing on the tv sets all day long. May be the question was the nature ??