Ladakh Diary

15th July 08
I am still in a stupor as Amritha tries to wake me up frantically. Its 3: 45 am already, and the flight is at 5. The urgency of her voice jerks the body into motion. Prodding her to call the cab service I get dressed and ready. The act bring back memories of the days gone by when this use to be a monthly routine. Eyes are still heavy and the walk out of memory when complaints of an irritated cab driver, apparently he went back after ringing the door bell umpteen times, fall on deaf ears. Doorbell, if the alarm, set on the cell phone that was all the while next to the pillow, wasn’t loud enough, how was the gargle of a door bell expected to rise above the din of the AC and wake me up. Life’s little mercies, airport is just a ten minutes drive from the residence. I am there at ten minutes past four and as I walk towards the terminal, post paying up the cab driver, who lives up to the reputation of Delhi cab/auto drivers, by arguing for more than what was agreed upon and succeeds in receiving only a disgusted albeit a sleepy look and the pre-decided fare, there are no emotions as the mind is still craving for sleep. Airline staff is polite as my pleas for a window seat elicit only a professional apology . Its an aisle seal next to a Caucasian couple who barely look out of their teens . Flight’s a blur as the neck endures constant jerks, all induced by trying to catch up sleep without resting it on a window pane, sights of the Himalayas are missed and so is the approach to the runway at Leh, an experience a Frenchman would later tell me is not to be missed. As the airbus hits the tarmac it feels as if it has landed on one our national highways in the state of Uttar Pradesh, anywhere between Varansai and Allahbad, take your pick. The aircraft shakes and jerks at landing pace and a few nervous passengers start clapping. As I walk down the stairs I have my first view of the barren mountains, that make up for the landscape, army equipment and construction work, the other constants in most parts of the region. Waiting for the luggage at the carousal , I have time to read that I am the Kushak Bakula Rimpoche terminal of the Leh airport, it was inaugurated by the first Sikh prime minister of the republic, no that’s not the way they have put it there, its his name on the stone, and that photography is prohibited . As I walk out Ms Tashi Cho and makes an entry with her helper and no waiting is needed as I am on my way to Fort road and Harmony Guest House, my residence for my eleven day sojourn. Ms. Cho is just the way Arun had explained her to me. She is a likeable lady in her sixties and her helper is Dolkar, a teenager from Manali. Ms. Cho use to work for Save the Children charity and is still a frequent traveler to Delhi. She hails from an upcountry village and her spoken English is fluent and there is a Stan C connection. Her salary account use to be with us and she still has an account with the CP branch. Her delight in the knowledge that I work for the bank is obvious and she mentions problems she is having in managing her account from Leh. Assurances are in order as I promise to help her with her account next time she is in Delhi. Pleasant surprises are in store as I realize my cell phone company does not provides any sort of network coverage or share a network with another company. The phone is going to be a phone book for the next eleven days. The room meets my qualification criteria for a good room, it has a clean loo cum bathroom attached and the linen is fresh and am told will be changed every day. Breakfast done its time to hit the sack. I am woken up for lunch after a quarter of the day is gone. Head is pounding and am told my body will take time to adjust. I am now two and a quarter of a mile above sea level. Its more sleep. Time for evening tea and to start using the latest purchase in Delhi, actually a gift from Amritha, sundry talk of weather in Leh and how its changing with Ms. Cho. Its time for dinner. I am not having trouble breathing but somebody is playing hammer and tongs in my head. I think that’s because I have overslept, Ms. Cho thinks it’s the onset of high altitude sickness. She substantiates her diagnosis with tales of people who had to be evacuated to the plains because they could not recover from similar symptoms. She urges caution and low levels of physical activity. Suits me for I am ready to sleep out the night like a log.

Of Kal Tak, Haar News and attack on the senses

Just when I start to realize that I have spared my senses from the attack of WMDs ( weapons of mind destruction) going around as news channels. I come across a forward that has what you see. Yes that’s stuff from a channel that calls itself the best and the other that’s I guess just trying to be the best. Great stuff must say absolutely brilliant. If you cant beat them join them. Yes we are country that has banished the curse of abject poverty, where caste lines, that still hold masses to ransom and make a mockery of our supposed freedom, have vanished, the demons of communalism and terrorism slayed, where farmers are a merry lot, the economic disparity, endangering the fabric of our society and our nation, is non-existent. Where the old know their lives are safe and pensions secure, the working assured of just rewards and better results and the young are aware and their lives a manifestation of the virtues tolerance and fairplay that make pluralistic and vibrant democracies viable. Our urban lives are not an unruly demonstration of our newly found wealth and those on the margins are now mainstream.
Since we have achieved the aforesaid the fourth estate has no work. We no more need to be told how the ones we have elected infringe on our rights every day. The executive is accountable and considers governments work as gods work*. If there is no need to present facts why worry about the analysis. Shaping public opinion. What’s that??? Did you say these guys are the guardians of our democracy. Yes that’s why we get to know more about celebrity shenanigans than our annual budget. While the innocent die in one bomb blast after the other and government sleeps over the formation of a federal counter terrorism agency, we get to know about Rakhi Sawant's antics. As billions go down the drain on supposedly social welfare programs we are witness to figures of you know what kind. Its a race to the bottom and the bottom is still not visible. Cater to the market as we compete with entertainment channels. A motto like that makes sure that the journey from information to infotainment has culminated at the frontier of crass entertainment. Take it down further for the pyramid is widest at the base. Why commissioners’ dog lets cover nashili gilhari, i.e. a drunken squirrel. I swear I once saw a news channel cover that. Lets blow things way out of the proportion. Our cricket team does not play a sport its a driver of our TRPs. Lets get something on them everyday and when the amount of cricket does not help theres always a feature that we can sell to their sponsors. Its not over yet its only going to get worse in the near future. But things will get better. How and when....watch this space for more

* From Vidhan Soudha building in of all places..Bangalore.

Games and Sports

The adrenalin pump of the final few minuets, the agony of a lost cause, ecstasy of a thrilling win , abject despondency, rabid chauvinism, elation, redemption, consternation, emancipation. Just some of the emotions one associates with sporting contests. Just what is about sports that brings a divided lot together, makes sharing of individual grief or joy with absolute strangers akin to sharing of emotions that are mutual. What is it about sports that makes fully evolved adults of our species behave like the harbingers of human race, tribal loyalties, unwarranted passions, envy, hatred, pride, machismo…you name it you will get it. Surely scenes of brute men pushing and shoving each other to carry an elongated and inflated piece of rubber past a touch line cannot be anybody’s idea of pleasure.
Yet…..

Sports.. people like you and me taking multiple forms of physical exertions to sights of aesthetic beauty. Think of a Roger Fedrer cross-court backhand . Men coming together, their bodies in synchronized motion and writing poetry, think of the Argentine football team that campaigned in 2006 world cup. Men crafting strokes that defy laws of physics, VVS Laxman anyone, demonstration of the might of mind, heard of the that Texan cyclist. Sport has the uncanny knack of challenging the frontiers of human achievements every day. Its not without reason a swimmer would any day take an Olympic gold to a world record, for she knows which one is permanent. You don not see advances made by BMW every week, you see distance runners push the envelope every day. Sport also makes an ass of you like nothing else. So you thought Milan were the European champions after 45 minutes. Yes they didn’t put money on India back in 83 and yes I am as baffled as you are as to how Mr. Bubka missed out on all those Olympic golds. Most of us indulge ourselves in some sport or the other in our formative years. We either get the final touch, for we are right there on the goal line, or we hit that inch perfect cover drive and never repeat it again. If nothing else there is always a catch to remember or that rare victory over a better player in an individual sport. In due course worldly tasks take over and the dream of that one moment when the world is watching and we produce that magical moment remains just that.
For we are conditioned to consider notions of conquering the world as illusions. Lives programmed to attain a semblance of materialistic success. Fighting to survive in our comfort zones. For survival it is. It’s narration varying with the stakes involved. So we live but the instincts have their own lives. And then we hit pay dirt. We either discover a team that plays our beloved game just the way we wanted to or a player living our dreams. If the two do not suffice marketers come along tom - toming sporting success as panacea to all the distress the nation endures. So we are glued to the tele all night and are willing to risk physical harm to be a part of the spectacle. Some of us are lucky for we do not let the glitter of stars and the hype overshadow our love for the game, others succumb to hero worship and pseudo nationalism.
In a world where its tough not be cynical vis-à-vis sports, crass commercialization called IPL being the latest edition, a contest still does it to me. Then there is nothing like taking sides. Roger and Nadal at 07 Wimbledon had me glued to the seat till the last bloody point. Watching Roger hit the till than invisible top gear in the fifth set and make an enthralling contest a once in a life time game was special. Here’s the confession- if Nadal had won the game I would have never bothered to bring up the game ever again. Oh the joy of rooting for the underdog and see them prevail. Add to that the mystery of the process. How does a middle aged blond lead a bunch of nobody’s to a level of success they possibly never thought was possible. How do teams, and individuals, wriggle out of seemingly hopeless situations and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Can the mind consistently beat talent. Why is that some are fearless and bigger the stage better they are while some forget basics and crumble when the stakes go up. Do let me know if you have got answers to any of those.

5 Point someone

Venkant, presently in the land of chocolates, the red cross and sundry bankers and originally from Siwni, Ajmer and Bhopal, comes up with stuff to cogitate. Refer to the comments sections of the third post. Here’s my take on them. Do write in people. More the merrier.
Upmanyu Chatterjee and English August: Serendipity, one match wonder, every dog has his day or the good old Mario Puzo syndrome. Take your pick. Personally I believe what Forrest would say,” It happens…sometimes.” for those of you not aware of the said writer and English August, well… if Chetan Bhagat’s 5 point someone is a tenth standard textbook, English August is from BA English honors syllabus.
A tale of missing passport: People that’s me, still to get a passport. Hmm, procrastination is the word that comes to my mind. But hold on people the dark and murky days are about to get over. Watch this space for more.
B- School grads and comfy jobs: Let me hide my mediocrity for every one else is also screwing up. What if I muck it up, how will I stand up to my friends. I know it’s a rat race but I am winning it.
Social Entrepreneurs and B-Schools: The stakes are just too high; Considering the time, effort and the money that goes in to getting a B-School degree its too much to expect people to leave it all. Leave what promises to be a dream- stable job, a great work environment, acknowledgement of ones work and apt rewards, the dreams just irresistible. To leave all this for an ideal…..if the barometers of success were not pay packages and extravagant lifestyles, if success was about living ones convictions…about taking risks to build something everlasting… perhaps we would not only have more social entrepreneurs but also a world more at peace with itself.

My thoughts on your thoughts: Dude just the kind of stuff I am looking for through blog…bring it on..how about sharing your thoughts on stuff you have brought up…

The Times of our times…

Its almost four years now. Four years from the day I decided to let go of The Times of India. India’s No. 1 broadsheet, the largest selling newspaper in the world, the paper- people who matter read. With that ended an affair that lasted almost ten years. The Indian Express gets the credit for making me fall in love with the print media, those days I skimmed through the India Today strictly for the photographs, it was nurtured and the marriage consummated by the TOI. It started with the Bombay edition, Dad loved the edition enough for us to get it a day later. It use to have articles from The Economist and USA Today next to its Open-ed page, the editorials were right of the center and liberal. The two main editorial leads were followed by an abstract piece of writing that brought together an unusual event to the notice of the reader with the help of literary parallels and slapstick humor. The letters to the editor were not the lengths of obituary announcements and a center piece from the readers was how the readers fulfilled their desire of sharing with the world their experiences, from the mundane to the exotic. The written word had primacy over imagery and then there was R K laxman.
Far cry from the TOI of today. I wonder how many of you reading this even recall a TOI like that. The signs were all too ominous, Madhuri Dixit’s marriage ended as the main editorial and the page next to the leader was taken over by advertisements, that if I recall correctly promoted the best music system in town. The dot com boom of the late nineties saw ads of ISP’s and sundry dot com’s hijack pages of the paper. It also was the time when the marketing guys finally prevailed over the journos and the paper became a medium for B& C to make money, or make an effort to make some , from every word that appeared on every inch of column space. The edit went up for sale, don’t take my word just ask anyone of your friends in the media buying agencies, SRK , at god only knows for what consideration, was promoted as the best thing to have happened to the Indian Cinema and mood of the nation was akin to Sachin Tendulakar’s form.
The fall to the bottom of unwarranted sensationalism, the trivial over -ruling the serious and media as means of encouraging blatant consumerism and the agenda of the select few has been achieved with unabashed arrogance and self promotion. All the while pandering to the lowest common denominator .
Hell I could well be talking of the present state of the media in this country.
Where has the fall taken us. Where is the media in this country headed. Dumbing down of news is actually making a dumb ass of the reader and the viewer as the case may be. Every day I see the envelop pushed further. Put on a news channel and you are more likely to get the anatomy of Khali. If its not lessons in a PYT’s biology or her antics, then it’s the latest on a crime next door. All to either cater to voyeuristic desires or make a mockery of a tragedy or to cook up something out of nothing. All for those eye-balls. At this rate where are we headed. How am I know to now more about NREG or RTI. If the BBC and the CNN are to be the torch bearers of the neo-con agenda, how do I get the right facts on Iraq. Who is to present the right facts, bring a sense a proportion to covering issues and who is to bring to attention issues of national concern. How is this democracy to survive if the fourth estate abdicates its responsibility. If the likes of TOI are to Lead the Nation, we have had it.

The Anthem

My dear friend Arun, aka Unni, has just won himself a life time of trivia. The first guy to post a comment. Good show Arun...how does it feel? Point about the anthem of this blog. Hmmm.. well like the title of blog says. Seek Simplicity and Then Suspect it. I am convinced there is a hidden agenda behind everything that goes around this world. What seems obvious is meant to be obvious, for earthlings to quibble. "Exercise in the morning" because Nike and Adidas have to sell stuff. The Morning newspaper, tell me a better way to fine tune people. Healthy breakfast, yes Mr. Kellogg. I can go on but the point is I believe the worlds stuck. We are all running not knowing for what or where to. There is something, or someone, out there making us do stuff without questioning it. Its like the whole world is a Truman Show and about time the world was asked, "Is that air you are breathing". If the premise is that everything in the world is a manipulation where does this blog fit in? Fair point. I guess at some point in time or the other we have all asked ourselves-Why am I doing this and where will this lead to? But before the answer comes and the import of the answer hits us the Matrix has already pulled us back:) This blog is my way of staying outside the Matrix as long as I can. This blog will question everything. It will question the existence of Free Market as much as The Communist Party of India. The marketing machinery of Man Utd. as much as the big money of Chelsea, a Lalit Modi of the IPL and Ram Guha of the test crciket club. A RGV or Anurag Kashyap movie will not be good just because its not a Yash Raj or a Karan Jo movie. Anything going around that's supposed to be good, great, success, failure or a disaster will be questioned. This blog will be an attempt, to figure out the real stuff underneath the hype. The blog will also be bulletin board. No more e- mails to the gang. All the stuff I keep writing to you guys will be here. Like I said in my invite do consider this blog as democracy at its best. We will get from this blog what we deserve.

Once upon a time in Manipal

With days in Manipal counted, gang had given up on studies and moved on to pepping up life with joys the mind said, life will never give time for. Knock on the door meant it was 5 minutes before the mess would close for breakfast and Zubi. The first one to wake up, his motivations for getting out of the bed on time were never a suspect. Bloody OCD, would not let him lose his habits, though a few more days and the gang would have made sure he went back without his post its, miniature time tables and the arduous dress code. Breakfast set the tone for the day, mind begging for sleep only to be overruled by heart for the heart yearned for never-ending yakking sessions with the gang. Leg pulling, low life comments on mess food and lukewarm tea paved for the initiation of JIT. Beating the Prof. to class was the ultimate show off. For the winner could take pride in having wasted more time than the ones who came long before the Prof. and look down upon the late comers. Classes were an excuse for flirting, catching up on reading, crosswords and good old hang man. To spice them up abrupt questions to the poor soul making the presentation, for if you can not convince them confuse them. Lunch always proved as the single biggest sources of haggling and discord, for the sane could not swallow the mess food and the pocket wouldn’t allow for any other joint. Sanity rarely lost on issues of survival and the Andhra mess, Bihari mess and every eating joint worth its salt was blessed by the gang’s visits. Afternoon naps were the stimulants the mind needed to recharge batteries long nights needed. A late evening class was the perfect reason to get of the bed and get ready for the day. 70 minutes of indoor fun over, the gang planned its evening and would set out for the ride, stroll or yakking sessions, whichever matched its mood. The late evening colors of Manipal would fills ones heart with longing for the one on the other coast. As Arun drifted away with Lako and Zubi rode out to end point, a 2 mile run at the cricket ground helped clear the mist an emotional and a troubled heart dropped on an unsettled mind. Counting stars while lying on the pitch was a favorite pass time ended only by a clod shower a sweat soaked body demanded. The gang would have assembled and factionalism would be at forefront, the messwallahas versus food lovers. More often than not food lovers prevailed. With long and elaborate dinner out of the way, the gang was all set for coffee at KMC greens. The hostel hours having forced the gang back, the lucky one got the hammock and the gang started dumb charades, fun and frolic ended only by heavy eye lids and phone calls from the girls hostel.