Bangalore Rising

The drive to Turtuk was a good 70kms from Hunder. The sand dunes at Hunder were nice, but it somehow did not fascinate either Ratan or me. So we took a couple of pictures, skipped the camel rides and headed to TurTuk. The winding drive north east along the Siachen river was nice, very quiet, and calming. Large army facilities are seen almost for 50 Kms. But for fallen rocks on the road, and the company of two soldiers for a short distance, the trip was fairly uneventful. About 55 Kms into the drive, we signed into a military check post on a really narrow wooden cantilevered bridge. This point onwards belonged to Pakistan, which India captured and retained as part of its '71 victory. Siachen merged into Shyok river, and we followed its path up to a point; the river of course benefits by not having to deal with political boundaries and so enters Pakistan about 10 Kms after Turtuk village. Turkut is as different from the rest of Ladakh as it can possibly get. To begin with...

I thought I would write about our trek that I thought would be the highlight of our trip. It was not, for a couple of reasons. One of course was that we did not complete the trek as planned, but still one section - the Likir-Yawnthang piece was quiet grueling, considering that we had never done high altitude treks, and in fairly cold conditions ever before. I am tempted to come back and do a bigger, tougher one, but I am sobered by my fitness to not want to brag about that possibility. Our guide of course was very encouraging - he wants me to come back for the 8-day Marka Valley trek next summer. Insha Allah! So here I am writing not about our trek but about two people who epitomize the spirit of India in general and of the Ladakhis specifically. Tashi has been our driver for this trip, ferrying us around Ladakh in his Xylo including to our trek drop off and pick up points. Probably 30, he is lean, tall, and with chiseled features. He is from Nubra Valley up north, hundred kilo...

Since I must begin this narrative somewhere, I will start in no particular order, with this wonderful road trip from Leh to Lukong, a 140 km journey, where Pangong Lake is situated. And I write about this trip only because I am sitting inside a tent in Lukong, in freezing cold, with a light drizzle, and heavy winds, and the memory of the journey fresh in my mind. I have nothing better to do, dinner being a good hour away, and my partner in crime lying next to me nursing a slight altitude sickness. And while I write about this trip, let me leave the lake itself for later and instead talk about nature, and the mountains we encountered on our way here. To me, Himalayas was mostly about those trips to Nainital, Almora, Dharamsala, McLeodgunj, Dalhousie, Darjeeling, and a dozen other hill towns nestled in the mountains. Places where hardy men and brave soldiers took on nature to live a life, or protect a land. It was about long scary yet scenic drives, where I had a prayer on my l...

I quiver as I read comments elsewhere on FB, questioning the value of a man’s moustache. I quiver because of a recurring nightmare I’ve had - of me, staring into a mirror, completely bare of all facial hair, bar that thin black furry waif that separates my forehead from my eyes. I just cannot fathom myself surviving even a day without my moustache. It has been a part of me for nearly four decades, even longer than family – my wife as you would have guessed, came much later. What started off as small, odd, black, shy sprouts here and there over my lips, got denser progressively, much like castaway parthenium weeds that found nooks and crannies to flourish, to eventually form a green carpet. I ignored those efforts probably for a couple of years, even as it made brave attempts to set up shop above my lip. And then one morning I noticed it. As I rubbed my bleary eyes in front of the bathroom mirror, I noticed that the thin, soft, black apology that had made the strip above my lip its h...

K S Sadasivan, August 3, 1926 - May 24, 2014 24th May would mark a year of my dad’s passing, after fighting a losing age-related battle. He was hale, hearty, and healthy till 2011, when a relatively minor stroke started his slippery slide down. He lived a full life, and I believe, enjoyed almost every moment of it. While I am sad at his passing, it would be wrong to call it untimely. Like men his age, my dad too was a proud man. He loved being fawned upon, but despised being attended to. If the male attendant tried to help him up from the chair, he would be curtly admonished. He never liked being bathed; the attender was expected to get a bucket of warm water ready, place the soap, and towel close by, and leave the bathroom. It was tough for us to see this proud man slowly wither away; from a healthy 75 kilos into a 45 kilo bag of skin & bones – gone were those healthy cheeks, the fat around the belly, and the not-so-obvious muscles. But he never lost his humor, or his...

This desire to not let the ball drop is egging us on. This time,  Ramanan  & I went over to Prerana's office last evening. Prerana (introduced to me by both  Madhulika  and Kab) is an NGO that is doing yeoman service in educating meritorious students from financially disadvantaged families. The idea was to meet Mr. Pramod Kulkarni who founded Prerana over a decade ago in Banashankari, Bangalore, to figure out ways we could work togeth er. We came back with loads of ideas, dos and don'ts, and enormous respect for the man who is quite literally building lives and giving hopes to talented youngsters.  I won't bore you with the details of our conversation, but we now have some good inputs to start the organisation we desire to start, helping disadvantaged children get education - a slight departure from Prerana's focus on meritorious students. Three girls who are finishing their 12th grade thanks to Prerana happened to be at the Prerana ...

I had to write this. And share. I am truly tormented. Our cook Subramaniam, who has been with us for nearly eight years, is a nice, quiet man. He lives with his mother, wife and three kids. The oldest, a girl, is starting her final year of B of Comp App degree program, and the second, also a girl, will start her 12th grade, come April.  Like a lot of people of his ilk, he struggles to make ends meet, primarily due to mounting school fees (about 1.8L this year). We do cover some of those fees, to relieve some of his financial burden. The second child is especially bright, and we would hate to see her drop out to take up some menial job. The last couple of weeks have been particularly odd though. Shanthi noticed that Subramaniam was forgetful; his quality was inconsistent, and seemed too lost. So today, since I stayed back home first half to tend to my mother who has been somewhat under the weather, I met him after a very long time. As he was walking out, I enquired like I us...