What Ever

From Moscow-With Love-Part II

2011-01-29T06:49:00.000-08:00

Having seen the Red Square in the night, my colleague Gaurav and I were keen to revisit the place in the morning. After a hearty breakfast at the Metropole we strolled over to the Red Square. There was fresh snow on the sidewalks and it was snowing steadily. Fortunately there wasn’t too much wind and we were comfortable in our layers

of clothing, the mittens, the heavy woolen socks, and the caps. We walked

leisurely, taking in the sights and sounds of the city, swathed in white. At the Kremlin, we watched the ceremony of the ”change of guards”, with all its pomp and splendour. Seeing the guards standing stiffly in their enclosures, expressionless, staring ahead, almost frozen in the cold. I wondered that this must be one of the toughest jobs in the world, doing nothing for hours, just standing stiffly come rain, snow, hail or sunshine.

Planning on seeing Moscow on foot, Gaurav and I

armed ourselves with bars of chocolate from a nearby store and walked over to the St. Basil’s Cathedral on the Red Square. The Cathedral built-in the 16th century is an architectural marvel, its design, shaped as a flame of a large bonfire, is peerless. The multi-coloured onion shaped domes add a surreal dimension to the edifice. We bought our tickets from a kiosk outside the church and g

ingerly walked inside the dimly lit church. We went around the building, through narrow staircases and corridors leading into rooms with orthodox Christian iconography. We stepped out at the back and found ourselves on a sloping walk away with the Kremlin wall on the side. We walked down the slope towards the Moskva river - the river lending its name to the city situated on its banks.

We scrambled up a staircase on the side of a bridge spanning the river and were rewarded with the view of the frozen river. We had never seen a frozen river before and were mesmerized with the wide ice mass meandering around the city. Standing on the windswept bridge we could also see the beautiful golden domes of the chapels and the majestic buildings inside the Kremlin. We stood atop the bridge over a frozen Moskva on a cold winter day, overlooking the mighty Kremlin and enjoying the moment as only we could.

Moscow streets are lined with inviting cafes. For those exploring the city on foot, they

provide a great place for rest. We ducked into a nice cafe, where I caught up with work (hey, we were in Moscow on work!), while we were served hot cappuccinos. The sidewalk cafes in M

oscow are nice and warm and are just right for a break, particularly when it is snowing outside and the mercury is well below the freezing point. Our biggest barrier in assimilating more of

Moscow had so far been the language. Even in the cafe, we did not have anyone who understood English, and we had to manage by pantomime. While it is hilarious what Gaurav did to get us two hot cappuccino, it is not really all that funny when one is trying to relate the markings on a map, and our actual location on the ground.

Marking our way to The Gorky Park, as well as we could on the map, we trudged out once again and off we went on a road, which looked like some kind of a diplomatic enclave. There were many foreign missions lining the street and we gaped at these wonderful stately mansions. Following, the map we came upon a McDonald’s, from where we turned right. Our next landmark was to be the October Square, which we were to recognize by the statues of Lenin. We stumbled along, following the map, not sure, where we were headed. Since we had defined our destination rather loosely and were intent on enjoying the journey, it really did not matter. Somehow this reminded me of the adage ‘if you do not know your destination, any road will lead you there’!

We did reach the October Square and kept our date with Lenin, standing tall and proud in the middle of a beautiful square. This is the last statue of Lenin erected in Moscow in 1985, he is cast as a world titan, astride peasants, workers and soldiers following in his footsteps. Now under overcast skies and with snow falling around us, Lenin looked a little weary and the October Square looked very deso

late.

Elated on having made it to the October Square, we now headed off in the direction of the famous Gorky Park. The Gorky Park is an amusement park, which was opened in 1928. It is located on Krymsky Val, right across the Moskva and has been made famous the world over by the metal bang Scorpions, popular single ‘The Winds of Change”. Having reached the park by the late afternoon, the winter day light was now fading, Gaurav and I have been walking for more than 6 hours and were quite tired. We munched on the last of our chocolate bars and stepped into the vast park. The park was alive with young folks, skating on the ice. It seemed a popular place with young Muscovites, mostly couples and youngsters, enjoying a day out in the sno

w. Gaurav and I rested on the side and watched these youngsters whiz past on their ice skates. The park was covered in snow and a Christmas tree on the far side glowed in a eerie blue light.

We stepped out of the park to return to Metropole in a cab. We were scheduled to attend a Ramayana in Russian at a theater adjacent to the Bolshoi theater and Tanya was to pick us up at the hotel and escort us to the theater. We soon discovered how difficult it is to hail a taxi in Moscow. For some reason the taxis are not clearly marked and it is difficult to figure out a taxi from a private car. We stood on the highway, hailing cars passing by till one beat up Lada drew at the curb. The language barrier was again upon us and we got Tanya to speak with the cabbie, who than drove swiftly along the frozen river and dropped us at the Metropole.

To be Cont......

From Moscow-With Love – Part I

2011-01-02T04:28:00.000-08:00

Moscow in winters is a sight to behold, particularly if one is used to what passes for winters in December and January in Delhi. At the Domodedovo airport in Moscow, I could see a light sprinkle of snow on the tarmac below. While taking off from Doha in the afternoon the captain had cheerfully announced that the weather in Moscow would be nowhere like what it was in Doha and now in the twilight of a Moscow evening, with fellow travellers pulling on heavy woollens and snow everywhere, I could imagine what the captain was alluding to.

As I stepped outside the terminal, I felt an icy blast of cold and I wondered so this is how it feels to be in Moscow in December. Strangely, I did not feel uncomfortable, after all I was swathed in multiple layers of clothing and a heavy jacket that would do any Muscovite proud. In fact I felt positively exhilarated, the cold was delightful, the crunch of snow under ones boot, a wonderful feeling.

The drive from the airport to The Metropole took more than 2 hours. Unfortunately, my driver spoke no English and it seemed was in no mood to talk either. We drove from the airport to the city in the dwindling evening light on a road, which seemed lined with bare trees on either side. It seemed to be a wide road, much like any other western freeway, yet it was heavy with traffic and we often got stuck. I amused myself by identifying the makes of the cars on the road and I could see the Toyotas, Hyundais (I myself was in a Hyundai Sonata), Mazdas, Hondas, Fords, Chevvys, Suzukis and the occasional Ladas all jostling for space. Honestly, I couldn’t help but wonder when will we have our home-grown Tatas and Mahindras here and when I spotted a big Ssangyong SUV, I thought that very soon this will sport a Mahindra logo.

The Metropole is a historic hotel. It is located right opposite the Bolshoi theatre and a 5 minutes walk from the famous Red Square. The hotel now has a weary visage, the carpets are a little worse for the wear, the walls and the cornices, while ornate do look their age. The Metropole is now more than a century old, it was completed in 1907 . It predates the October Revolution of 1917, was nationalised by the Bolsheviks in 1918, renamed as the ‘Second House of the Soviets’ and was used as residence for the burgeoning communist bureaucracy. It reverted to being a hotel in 1930 and since than have been hosting celebrities, Presidents, Royalty, Prime Ministers, Heads of the States and the like. Today, it is a comforting presence, elegant and stately, right in the heart of the city, the grand old lady a little wrinkled and maybe a little worse for wear, but welcoming as ever.

We met Tanya the next day morning. Tanya works for the Voice of Russia, speaks English, Hindi and of course Russian and was to be our interpreter and guide during our stay in Moscow. After we finished our day’s work at the Voice of Russia, Tanya recommended that we visit the Tretyakov Art Gallery a bare 5 mins of walk from her office. With Tanya leading the way, we walked to this world-famous repository of Russian art. Pavel Tretyakov, a Moscow merchant started collecting Russian art of his time in 1856 and gradually built up his collection. In 1892, he presented it to the city of Moscow. The gallery today houses one of the largest and the finest collection of Russian art. The collection today has more than 130000 exhibits of fine art, created by Russian artists over the centuries. As we wandered around the gallery, completely dumbstruck, (almost all the artists unknown to us!!!), we could not help but marvel at their genius and the timelessness of their craft.

We walked back to the Voice of Russia office in the freezing cold, much excited, exhilarated by the riches we had seen at the Tretyakov art gallery. As we piled into a taxi to return to The Metropole, we explained to the taxi driver, that we were from India. ‘Hindustan …aha …Raj Kapoor…Abara hoon… abaara hoon….’ he crooned. We were dumbstruck once again, Raj Kapoor is long since dead and gone, we do not play his songs that often in our homes anymore, but here he was alive in the heart of a Russian taxi driver, who knows no Hindi but instinctively connects with an iconic song and an artist who played the lovable tramp in most of his movies.

Later in the night, we went out for dinner and on our way back, decided to walk around the Red Square. The Red Square is the heart of Moscow and on its periphery is the Kremlin, the fairy tale like St. Basil’s Cathedral, the State Historical Museum and the ultra luxe GUM department store. The square is also home to Lenin’s tomb, a gleaming granite edifice, erected in the memory of the revered founder of socialism in Russia. The Red Square is brilliantly lit in the night, the St. Basil cathedral, with its multi-hued onion domes is majestic, the imposing Kremlin wall and towers with the glowing red star at the apex is a sight to remember. We wandered aimlessly, taking in all the beauty around us, with the snow-flakes falling gently. The square was almost deserted, with a few die-hard tourists roaming around, like us, enjoying the stillness and the cold of the night. We captured the Kremlin wall clock striking midnight, its sound reverberating around the empty square.

All Pics by the author

To be contd

The Adarsh Cooperative Housing Society

2010-11-17T12:43:00.000-08:00

If you think carefully, Adarsh Cooperative Housing Society is aptly named. It is really a ‘model’ society and a perfect example of how politicians, bureaucrats and even army generals have ‘cooperated’ to find a nice sea facing home for themselves in Colaba in Mumbai. This is a dream alliance between these worthies, brazenly grabbing public property and constructing a 100 ft, 30 story building, which somehow no one noticed, while under construction. The builders managed to get all permissions from the authorities including the coastal zone authorities, naval authorities, local Mumbai municipal authorities and the state government, without anyone even raising their eyebrows. The building merrily came up, while one assumes assorted army generals, naval admirals, state government ministers and civil servants eagerly waited to move into their new apartments. Anyone who has ever tried to build a small extension to his legitimate home in Delhi or Mumbai, would be able to fully understand the magnitude of the task so deftly accomplished by the members of the Adarsh Housing Society.

Why should we be ashamed and perhaps alarmed at this blatant attempt at grabbing prime property in Mumbai. After all, we recently had the spectacle of Suresh Kalmadi and his gang along with the Delhi government authorities siphoning off billions, while organising the Common Wealth Games in Delhi, everyone knows that the real estate sector in India is perhaps the most corrupt and various bahubalis regularly grab land and buildings all over UP and Bihar, almost on a daily basis.

Well here are my reasons.

Adarsh Cooperative Housing Society involves politicians of all hues. Thus there are Shiv Sainiks, who were apparently in power in Mumbai, when the ball started rolling and then there are the Congressmen, the present chief minister of Maharashtra, Ashok Chavan, who as revenue minister in the previous government, got the project cleared from the then chief minister, Vilas Rao Deshmukh (now a Union Cabinet Minister to boot). Thus this loot cuts across party lines and hence even the opposition isn’t baying for the chief minister’s blood. Thus this is a unique collaboration between politicians, army-men and civil servants who have all joined hands to make a mockery of our trust.

Most alarming is the involvement of army generals, two of them are former Chiefs of Army and one an Admiral of the Indian Navy. So far most people believed that the Indian army as an institution is largely incorruptible and that honour amongst army-men runs high. Apparently, this is a myth. Adarsh Co-operative Housing Society was meant to offer subsidised housing to the families of the martyrs and the brave soldiers of the Kargil war. None of the intended beneficiaries even knew of these apartments, while the army brass managed to lay their hands on them without much trouble. Sadly, these are the men, who till not so long ago led more than a million men in uniform, commanded vast national resources and were responsible for the security of our great nation. They presumably bought armaments worth billions from vendors across the globe. If they could be swayed so easily, lured by an apartment in Mumbai, imagine what else might be underway in the shadowy corridors of the ministry of defense. Imagine how deep (or should I say high) the rot runs in the hallowed institutions of the Indian Army and Navy. While, one has come to expect the worst from our politicians (whether, Ashok Chavan, Suresh Prabhu, Vilas Rao Deshmukh, Suresh Kalmadi or A Raja), to expect the same from the Generals of the armed forces is truly shocking.

To make matters worse, life goes on as usual for everyone in Mumbai. The Congress Party is hard pressed to find a replacement for the tainted chief minister, the opposition parties are quiescent, the generals are retired and at home, the bureaucrats continue to serve their political masters, the CBI has commenced its never-ending investigations and ordinary people like you and me go about our lives without much thought to the cancer of corruption, which keeps growing everyday.

In the late 1980′s Rajeev Gandhi lost power, when his name cropped up as a possible beneficiary of a pay-off from Bofors, the Swedish arms manufacturer. The deal was all of Rs. 62 Cr. Today hardly any eyebrows are raised, even when a few thousand crores of public money is swindled by venal politicians (and now by army generals as well), whom we religiously elect every 5 years.

This is how far we have come down this slippery road.

Sikkim-The Hidden Jewel in the Mountains-I

2010-07-23T06:48:00.000-07:00

Sikkim is perhaps India’s best kept secret. It is a tiny state quietly nestled into the Himalayas and is arguably the most verdant with the widest diversity of flora and fauna in such a small landlocked area. We traveled to Sikkim earlier this month. Sikkim has no airports nor is it connected by a the railways. We flew to Bagdogra, which is the nearest airport to Gangtok, the capital of the state and then drove from there to Gangtok.

The drive to Gangtok is along the Teesta, a tributary of the mighty Brahmputra. As we wound our way to Gangtok, hugging the hillside on serpentine roads, Teesta flowed in the beautiful valleys below us. Teesta ia a large river, flows swiftly down from the Cholamo Lake (over 17000 ft in the Himalayas), is joined by numerous rivulets and the Rangeet on the Sikkim – West Bengal border to eventually reach the W. Bengal plains at Sevoke near Siliguri. We entered Sikkim at Rangpo, the south Sikkim town adjoining West Bengal and carried on for another 40 kms to reach Gangtok by the early evening.

Gangtok I must confess is unlike any other hill town that I have seen. Unlike the bustling hill cities of North India (Shimla, Nainital, Mussorie even Manali), Gangtok is infinitely more orderly. At close to 5000 ft, in the Eastern Shivaliks, Gangtok is spread over several hills. A nice sidewalk with a railing snakes across the city for pedestrians to use, the traffic is orderly and we never encountered a traffic jam during our stay. The taxi from Bagdogra deposited us at a taxi stand meant for tourists coming from outside Gangtok, we transferred there to a local taxi, which took us to our hotel. There were no taxi drivers chasing us for a fare, there were no touts usually hired by local hotels shoving and jostling and falling over themselves to escort us to a hotel. If you have been to any of the North Indian hill stations, you would understand what I mean.

Gangtok is well-known for its Buddhist Monasteries. The Enchay Monastery, which was set up in 1840 established Gangtok as a prominent Buddhist place of pilgrimage. In 1894, the local ruler under the British moved the capital from Tumlong to Gangtok. After India’s independence Sikkim became an Indian protectorate . In 1975, following a popular uprising and a request from the Sikkimese Prime Minister, Sikkim became a state of the Indian Union with Gangtok as its capital.

In Gangtok we visited the famous Duddul Chhoedten Stupa, built by Trulshig Rinpoche, a holy lama who came visiting from Tibet. It is said that this place was earlier haunted by cruel spirits, who regularly assaulted people visiting the site. Lama Trulshig Rinpoche subdued the wandering spirits and built this Stupa and a hermitage. Today the stupa is a bustling centre of Tibetology, with hundreds of resident monks and colourful Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the wind and people from all over India and indeed the world visiting to pay their respects.

Adjacent to the Stupa is the Namgyal Institute of Tibetology, which houses rare artifacts, manuscripts, paintings from the 17th – 19th century. It is the leading research institute in Tibetology and promotes scholarly research in the history, religion, art and culture of Tibet. We visited the museum and were awestruck by its exhibits and wondered at the labour of love that this institute really is.

On our way back we went on a rope-way ride, which connects the Gangtok market place with the secretariat. It afforded great views of the city as it quietly made its way to the state secretariat and returned after a brief stoppage.

On an overcast day with the clouds floating all around us we visited the Rumtek Monastery, located at 1500 mts and about 24 kms from Gangtok. As we reached Rumtek after a pleasant drive through the forested hills, the skies opened up. We took shelter at the chai shop near the taxi stand, rented umbrellas from the shop owner and walked up to the monastery. Rumtek is the largest monastery in Sikkim and was built-in the 16th century by the 9th Karmapa Wangchuk Dorji. It is the seat of the Karma Kagyu sect of Tibetan Buddhism and was rebuilt by the 16th Karmapa, when he escaped from Tibet and took refuge at the ruined monastery in 1956. Rumtek Monastery is a quiet place, nestled amongst verdant mountains, distant snow peaks and flowing streams around it.The Dharma Chakra Centre and the Karma Shri Nalanda Institute at the monastery is a centre of learning with many resident monks studying Tibetan Buddhism. Inside the monastery is a Golden Stupa, which houses the holy remains of the 16th Karmapa HH Rangjung Rigpe Dorje. While, we stood in the huge courtyard of the monastery, we could hear the rhythmic chants of the monks, and the blowing of the musical instruments, and the beating of the gongs inside the main hall of the monastery. By the time we decided to return, the rains had stopped, the clouds had cleared up and across the valley we could see the city of Gangtok spread out on the opposite hill.

Ranka Monastery is a relatively new monastery but in grandeur it surpasses all the monasteries I have seen so far. The monastery is on a spur facing the Gangtok hills and rises magnificently. Murals with Buddhist themes are painted on the walls and in the courtyard stands a wishing column with a small ledge near its top. It is said that if one was to throw a coin and asks for a wish, it gets fulfilled if the coin remains on the ledge. The day we visited the monastery, we saw prayers underway with rows of monks sitting together, chanting the sacred Buddhist texts. The atmosphere at the monastery with clouds hanging low and flitting across the courtyard, the monks and the chants all making this an ethereal experience.

The Ban Jhakri falls on the outskirts of Gangtok are magnificent waterfalls, which the government has converted into an Energy Park.

The park is well laid out with pedestrian foot bridges, ‘çhatris’ and dragons. Jhakris in tribal lore are Shamans, with magical powers. Ban Jhakri is a pagan shaman, who kidnaps children believed to be pure of heart and initiates them in the Tamang rituals. The story of Banjhakri is told through sculpture and figurines laid out in the park. A splash pool for children at the park is adorned by a dragon.

Gangtok is also known for its magnificent views of the Kanchanjunga, the third highest mountain peak in the world and the highest in India. Mr. Lama at the hotel, while escorting us to our rooms, had pointed in the direction of the peak and had said that one of these days we will see the mighty mountain right from our window in the hotel room. Alas, all during our stay in early June we could not see the Kanchanjunga because of the monsoon clouds hovering over the mountains. We went to various Kanchanjunga view points to catch a glimpse of the mountain but our luck did not turn.

Giving up on Kanchanjunga and hoping to catch it at Pelling, we left Gangtok, happy and delighted to have enjoyed our stay in the town. We met Jeewan Alam, who quickly loaded our gear on the roof of his trusted Tata Sumo and off we went on another adventure.

My ICICI Lombard Story

2010-06-02T01:41:00.000-07:00

Well last week I discovered that if your car happens to have 4 dents, ICICI Lombard, the largest private insurance company in the country refuses to insure it. Here is the story.

I happen to own an 8 years old Maruti Wagon R car, which needed to be insured. For the past many years the car has been insured with ICICI Lombard. Usually I buy the insurance online, one can pay through a card and print the cover note instantaneously. The system works well and I have never had any problem. The car is presently being used by my parents who live in Lucknow and the mileage even after 8 years of use is just about 60000 kms. The car is in good condition, has never met with any serious accident and I have never had any occasion to claim insurance in these many years that I have owned the car.

I knew that the car insurance needs to be renewed sometime in May. However, this time I forgot the exact date and when I checked on May 23rd I discovered that the insurance had expired on May 20th. As always I logged on to ICICI Lombard’s website and renewed the insurance cover. I printed the cover note and this time I was informed that the insurance company would like to inspect the vehicle as well.

On May 25th I was in Mumbai when I received a call from Mr. Mohd. Israel, who claimed he was calling from ICICL Lombard and wished to inspect my car. I gave him my parent’s address, and the contact number asking him to fix a mutually agreeable time for an inspection. The next day, while I was busy in a meeting I again received a call, this time from someone else again claiming to be calling from ICICI Lombard and asking the same details that I had given to Mr. Israel the day before. Apparently, Mr. Israel had passed on my ‘lead’ to this gentleman but had not given him the contact details. Busy as I was, I told the caller to get details from Mr. Israel and not bother me.

My father called up later in the day and told me that someone from the insurance company had come to inspect the car had taken a few snaps and completed the formalities. I was thus reassured that all was well.

Imagine my shock the next day when I received a sms from ICICI Lombard informing that my insurance cover has been cancelled as my car was in a ‘unsatisfactory condition’. I was completely taken aback as the car to the best of my knowledge is in good condition, and as I said before has never been in any accident and we have never ever put in an insurance claim. It is a regular car, which has been in use for 8 years and surely carries the usual dents and scratches that any car in India, which has been in use for so many years does.

I set about getting more details and if possible rectify the problem.

I called up the customer care number on the ICICI website and spoke with one of their executives. While I explained to him the problem and requested information on why my insurance cover has been cancelled, he pleaded helplessness and directed me to one Ms. Preeti Pujari in their Mumbai office. I spoke with Ms. Pujari, who explained to me that as per the surveyor’s report my car had 4 dents and hence ICICI Lombard would not be able to insure it. I explained to her that I had exchanged heated words over the phone when the surveyor had called me and I suspected he was getting even with me. When I requested that she give me the contact number of someone in customer care, she rudely told me that she was from the ‘survey’ department and it was not her job to give me any numbers.

Undeterred I went back to ICICI Lombard website and found out that they list 3 customer care officers ( in some hierarchy) one could get in touch with if one had a problem. This includes the national head of operations Mr. Eswaranatarajan. All it seems one needed to do was click on a button and write a mail. I tried this option but alas, I landed on a webpage, which had a form, which needed to be filled and the very first field (a mandatory field) was a number that one was required to key in. Now I hunted the website to find this number but couldn’t. There were of course, no phone numbers there and thus it was not possible to speak with any of these officers.

Aghast I narrated my travails with ICICI Lombard to a colleague at work. He apparently happened to know someone in the ICICI Lombard brand team, whom he got in touch with and I narrated my tale of woes to him. This gentleman asked me to write to him narrating the entire story. He promised to pass it on someone in ICICI Lombard’s customer care team.In the meanwhile I called up my father and asked him to buy the insurance from one of our public sector general insurance companies.

I sent out an email to this colleague’s friend with in an hour of our telephonic discussion, two days back. I am yet to hear from anyone in ICICI Lombard. Nor have I heard anything about the refund of my money, which they charged on my card.

And guess what, the much maligned PSU insurer (National Insurance) sent someone over for inspecting the car within a couple of hours of my father putting in a request, this gentleman checked the car, took some snaps, found it perfectly alright and issued a policy immediately.

I was left wondering that don’t we quite often treat our PSU’s a tad unfairly. They may not be as tech savvy and glamorous with fancy offices and slick MBA types on their staff, but they do deliver.

As far as ICICI Lombard is concerned I am still waiting to hear from them.

Mahindra and Domino’s

2010-05-03T10:25:00.000-07:00

The Mahindra Experience

The day before yesterday I had a meeting in Gurgaon. The meeting went well and as we were returning my driver Babloo suggested that we stop to fill up. The service centre that he was about to turn into had a large queue of vehicles. I too glanced at the fuel gauge, realized that there was sufficient fuel for us to carry on, instructed Babloo to drive on. We were heading towards the Gurgaon toll plaza and I was telling my colleague Yasmeen about my plans to drive down to the Sangla Valley for a vacation next month. ‘So God forbid if the car stalls in the country side, how difficult do you reckon would be to get help’ asked Yasmeen. ‘Well you see, I do not expect problems as this is a Mahindra Scorpio, and they have a nation wide service network, thanks to their strong presence in rural and semi rural India. With their tractors, Bolero and the Marshal, they are very strong in those markets’ I replied.

As we were having this conversation Babloo reported that the car had stalled. Yasmeen and I looked at each other. Mercifully we were not in rural India, but this did appear uncanny. We were now stranded on the main highway, near the toll plaza bang opposite the Ambience Mall.

I called the Mahindra service and was immediately connected to an operator. There was no long IVR, which usually is the case with banks and telecom operators and is so frustrating. The guy on the other end appeared to be well-trained, he took our coordinates, understood the problem and promised to call back in 10 mins. With-in the next 10 minutes I received a call from the local Mahindra service centre, who again ascertained my whereabouts and promised to reach with in 45 minutes.

We walked across to the Ambience Mall for lunch. On our way I again received a call from Mahindra confirming whether I had been contacted by the service vehicle. While, we enjoyed a nice lunch at the Potpourri, the car was fixed. Strangely it had run out of gas. (The fuel gauge was off, I got it fixed today)

Subsequently Babloo went in a three-wheeler and got us fuel and we were on our way.

Later in the day, I again received a call from Mahindra inquiring if all was well and if I was satisfied with their service. I was hugely impressed with the Mahindra service.

The Domino’s Experience

The other day we decided to order food from the nearby Domino’s . As I called to place an order, the operator at the other end started taking my order in English. As he struggled with the language, I tried to engage him in Hindi. So now in deference to his training he continued in English, while I responded in Hindi hoping that he will get the cue and switch to Hindi. This way too we didn’t make much progress and I had to request him to speak in Hindi, which both of us spoke and understood perfectly.

Once we were done, the operator told me that he was delighted that someone was willing to have a conversation with him in his mother tongue and as a gesture of goodwill he is sending me a ‘choco lava cake’ with his compliments.

I just do not understand why companies like Domino’s, who will happily go for a localised menu, refuse to train their service operators to talk in Hindi, particularly in a city like Delhi, where pretty much everyone speaks in the language. I fully understand the importance of English, however when the customer chooses to speak in Hindi, why would a phone operator, who struggles with English, would still want to take orders in English? Beats me.

The Sania, Shoaib and Aisha Affair

2010-04-08T00:29:00.001-07:00

Two young people are in love and are planning to get married and the Indian media is all agog with the strangest of possibilities. Sania Mirza the Indian ace tennis player is all set to tie the knot with Shoaib Malik, the Pakistani cricketer. Nothing wrong in that, except that the media is making a big thing out of this Indo-Pak alliance. Sania Mirza broke off her engagement with her childhood sweetheart a few months ago, while Shoaib Malik is in a tangle with another Hyderabad girl Ayesha Siddiqui, who claims that she is married to Shoaib. I suppose this is enough and more masala for the India media to sensationalise the entire thing. Ayesha and her family has moved court and are busy running around TV studios, seeking justice for their daughter, while Sania and her family claim that they are fully aware of Shoaib’s past antecedents and believe in his innocence.

As if all this was not enough, the loonies in the rabid Shiv Sena have declared that because of this alliance, Sania has now become ineligible to represent India. They believe that by marrying a Pakistani, she has been disloyal to her country and is no more deserving of the honour of representing India. The subtext of this is also to cast aspersions on Indian Muslims at large by innuendo. What is being hinted is that the loyalties and the heart of Indian Muslims lies with Pakistan. This is exactly the kind of salacious communal propoganda on which the Sena thrives. Some self-styled spokesperson of the Sena has taken it upon himself to ensure that Sania no longer plays for India.

In Hyderabad, a defiant Shoaib Malik is tying him self in knots in explaining his past. He would like us to believe that though the signatures on his earlier ‘nikahnama’ (marriage deed) are his, he did not know whom he was marrying! Thus, he claims he was duped into marrying the wrong girl, who posed as some ‘Maha Apa’ (elder sister) and tricked him into marrying her.

The Hyderabad Police too has got into the act and have confiscated his passport and booked a case against him on Ayesha Siddiqui’s complaint. Now Ms. Siddiqui has also revealed that she terminated a pregnancy, thanks to Shoiab’s dumping her. One wonders why Ms. Siddiqui has come up with all this now after so many years of separation from Shoaib. All this is being made into a real big issue and the media is having a field day.

Now in-spite of Shoaib’s colourful past and his hard to believe protestations of gullibility and innocence in the whole affair, the fact remains that this should largely be a private affair. While, one understands that Sania and Shoaib are public figurs, their private lives should be their own business. If Shoaib has violated any laws, I am sure the law enforcement authorities will take care of it. Why is it that the media needs to carry a 24 hour tamasha on this sordid affair? Aren’t they going overboard with all this? Wouldn’t it be better if the media highlighted the nefarious designs of the Shiv Sena and its ilk, who are trying to spread hatred using this episode?

Let Sania, Shoaib and Aisha sort out their personal issues quietly and let us move on to something more significant.

Weekend Musings-The Commonwealth Games

2010-03-30T07:12:00.000-07:00

The Commonwealth Games in Delhi

Suresh Kalmadi, the Chairman of the organising committee of the 2010 Commonwealth Games believes that the games will leave Delhi far better off than now. Under the guise of the games Delhi is being rebuilt as a modern metropolis. Thanks to the games it will have a state of the art airport, the fourth largest in the world with a capacity of handling more than 37 mn passengers annually, more than 39 new 4 and 5 star hotels, numerous new flyovers and an extended metro service straddling the NCR. With each flat in the Commonwealth Games village priced at around Rs. 3 Cr.( coming up right in the bed of the Yamuna) will provide residences to the cities super rich. With the Delhi government busy giving the city’s roundabouts and parks a facelift, the city will look new and different. To provide for the higher energy needs the Delhi government is upgrading its power generation capacity from the present 4500 MW to 7000 MW. The new stadia being built across the city will ensure a sporting culture in the city and will go a long way in producing champions, who will bring great honour to the city and the country in future international sporting events. Mr. Kalmadi earnestly feels that the successful organisation of the Commonwealth Games will open the doors for the city hosting the Olympics one day.

All this sounds wonderful only if you overlook the huge costs involved in the games. The budget for the games is USD 1.6 bn (Approx Rs. 6500 Cr) This excludes the money to be spent in infrastructure projects that the Delhi government is incurring. The central government is largely funding the games through grants and loans. The Games Organising Committee has taken a loan of Rs. 1650 Cr., from the Central government, which it hopes to back from the revenues it will generate from the games. The infrastructure upgrade is also being funded by the Delhi government from its resources as well as budgetary support from the coffers of the Central government. The government of Delhi has been constrained to raise taxes to fund these massive projects.

At the end of the day, it is you and me who are paying the price for this monumental show. Is spending this kind of money on a sports extravaganza , when millions of our countrymen suffer from chronic hunger and unending poverty, worth it? And why do we need a Commonwealth Games to build Delhi’s infrastructure? A new airport, more power, good roads and efficient public transport need not be beholden to a sports event. Shouldn’t a responsible city government invest in the city infrastructure irrespective of the games hoopla?

Through the games are we trying to send a message to the world about our rising power, prestige and prosperity? Are we telling the world that India is no more the poor nation they thought it was? By equating a gleaming New Delhi with the toiling India, aren’t we fooling ourselves?

Weekend Musings-Ms Malawati and Other Stories

2010-03-21T11:52:00.001-07:00

Ms. Malawati

The chief minister of Uttar Pradesh Ms. Mayawati is in news for donning a huge garland made of currency notes (I understand of Rs. 1000 denomination) at a recent rally in Lucknow. The money running into crores of rupees is clearly unaccounted for. Ms Mayawati is today considered to be one of the richest politicians in the country with unimaginable and largely ill-gotten wealth filling her coffers to the brim. It seems that having money isn’t enough, she must now flaunt it brazenly.

This appalling and vulgar display of wealth by the chief minister of a state, which is a basket case as far as development goes, is shocking. Mayawati wants to make a political statement. In a state where money is often equated with power, such unabashed display of wealth establishes Mayawati, the impoverished daughter of a ‘dalit’ as the most powerful leader of the hindi belt. Since, Mayawati is showcasing her enormous wealth to her captive constituency of the Dalits, I guess even such a perverted and vulgar show is par for the course.

To make matters worse Mayawati’s followers have now announced that henceforth, wherever Mayawati goes, she will be welcomed with a garland made of currency notes. While Mayawati panders to her chosen audience, shouldn’t the Income Tax department at least look into the matter and initiate an investigation. This is perhaps the least the civil society can do to uphold the law of the land.

The IPL at a pub in Mumbai

I was in Mumbai this entire week. With the annual sales pressures mounting in the present last month of the financial year, colleagues at work decided to take it easy one evening and we all landed at a pub after a hard day’s work. With the IPL matches on, it was the Delhi team taking on the Mumbai Indians. The pub had set up a large screen and the match was being beamed live.

The atmosphere in the pub was electric. With Sachin Tendulkar in full flow, the aches and pains of the day seemed to melt away. To realise the full impact of Sachin Tendulkar, one has to watch him bat in Mumbai. Every shot is vociferously applauded, every hit to the fence lustily cheered and his dismissal treated with a silence, which is only broken by a standing ovation as he walks back to the dug-out. I wouldn’t be wrong to say that Sachin is, by a huge distance, Mumbai’s favourite son.

As the match progressed the liquor flowed freely, the snacks disappeared fast and the pub manager confessed to me that they are just not geared to handle so many guests. IPL III has once again captured the minds and hearts of the viewers in no small measure. To round off a perfect evening, Mumbai Indians beat Delhi Daredevils and all seemed to be well with the world.

EIGHT CLUES TO HAPPINESS – By- KHUSHWANT SINGH

A colleague sent me these pearls of wisdom, attributed to Khushwant Singh, one of India’s most loved and respected columnist and author.

Having lived a reasonably contented life, I was musing over what a person should strive for to achieve happiness. I drew up a list of a few essentials which I put forward for the readers’ appraisal.

1. First and foremost is GOOD HEALTH. If you do not enjoy good health you can never be happy. Any ailment, however trivial, will deduct from your happiness.
2. Second, a HEALTHY BANK BALANCE. It need not run into crores but should be enough to provide for creature comforts and something to spare for recreation, like eating out, going to the pictures, travelling or going on holidays on the hills or by the sea. Shortage of money can be only demoralizing. Living on credit or borrowing is demeaning and lowers one in one’s own eyes.
3. Third, a HOME OF YOUR OWN. Rented premises can never give you the snug feeling of a nest which is yours for keeps that a home provides: if it has a garden space, all the better. Plant your own trees. And flowers, see them grow and blossom, cultivate a sense of kinship with them.
4. Fourth, an UNDERSTANDING COMPANION, be it your spouse or a friend. If there are too many misunderstandings, they will rob you of your peace of mind. It is better to be divorced than to bicker all the time.
5. Fifth, LACK OF ENVY towards those who have done better than you in life; risen higher, made more money, or earned more fame. Envy can be very corroding; avoid comparing yourself with others.
6. Sixth, DO NOT ALLOW OTHER PEOPLE to descend on you for gup-shup. By the time you get rid of them, you will feel exhausted and poisoned by their gossip-mongering.
7. Seventh, CULTIVATE SOME HOBBIES which can bring you a sense of fulfillment, such as gardening, reading, writing, painting, playing or listening to music. Going to clubs or parties to get free drinks or to meet celebrities is a criminal waste of time.
8. Eighth, every morning and evening, devote 15 minutes to INTROSPECTION. In the morning, 10 minutes should be spent on stilling the mind and then five in listing things you have to do that day. In the evening, five minutes to still the mind again, and ten to go over what you had undertaken to do.

Weekend Musings-Reservations for Women in Parliament

2010-03-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

The Indian political firmament has been ablaze since the government decided to introduce a bill in the upper house of India’s parliament (Rajya Sabha), allowing a 33% reservations of seats for women in both the houses of the parliament as well as all the state legislatures. The introduction of the bill on the International Women’s Day last week saw a ruckus that would make a fish market proud. The members disrupted the house proceedings and had to be marshaled out for the bill to be voted on and passed.

While all this drama unfolded in the parliament the nation debated the merits of the bill and the risk the government is taking in pushing it through. My own thoughts on reservations for women in parliamentary bodies are ambivalent. Let me explain.

I am fortunate to hail from a family, where my grand mother (who recently passed away aged 105) received education in the 1920’s at the prestigious IT college in Lucknow, participated in the freedom struggle and after independence won assembly elections for the UP legislative assembly in the 1950’s. My mother taught at a University, my sister went to the medical school and my wife who coincidentally attended the same college as my grandmother, works in a play school in Delhi. At my current work place we have more women than men and in the hospitals I worked in earlier, we had women in stellar roles, as doctors, surgeons and nurses. Thus my views on women empowerment have been shaped by these women in my life.

I have always believed that any country that hopes to be counted amongst the leading nations of the world must empower its women to participate in all manner of decision-making. They should have equal opportunities in all walks of life and should compete with men on equal footing. In a progressive, enlightened society that we hope to create being a woman must never seem like a burden.

The real question thus is how do we empower women to build a just and a fair society and are gender based parliamentary reservations the right steps?

Unfortunately in the past gender based political empowerment has rarely led to significant change in the lot of women in our country. Is there any evidence that in states such as UP, which is ruled by Ms. Mayawati, life has improved for women? If one was to compare the rule of Ms. Rabri Devi in Bihar and that of the present chief minister, who happens to be a male, it becomes evident that Nitish Kumar has far better championed the cause of development and growth than his predecessor. The same could be said for Jaylalitha’s rule in Tamilnadu.

In a sense the 1993 legislation reserving seats for women in the local bodies and panchayats was a far more progressive step as it significantly empowered women at the grass-roots level and allowed them to usher in change in their lives as well as those who lived in the villages. The ability of a ’sarpanch’ in a village to fight the entrenched male dominated system and impact lives is far more than that of a woman legislator sitting in parliament. Yet, the change has been painstakingly slow and in large parts of the country hardly visible.

The real empowerment of women in any society is a function of their education. We need many more better educated, confident women to drive the change we as a nation are seeking. The government must consider reserving seats for women in centres of higher education, take punitive measures against parents who force their daughters out of schools and colleges, reserve jobs in government bodies and PSU’s and allow women financial freedom as well as the freedom of unfettered choices in the matter of living their lives as they please.

Now, if the argument is that, since men dominated legislatures have failed to deliver in the last many years and we need women law makers to do all this than by all means let us reserve seats for women in our legislatures.

Weekend Musings

2010-03-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

Dil Do Hockey Ko

The Hockey World Cup, being currently played in New Delhi generated a fair bit of excitement, at least amongst folks I know. The boss managed to line up some VIP tickets and invited me to watch the matches. A cousin too managed to lay his hands on the tickets and went along to cheer the Indian hockey team. A colleague at work too admitted to being in the stands supporting India.

Much of this support has been drummed up by a very effective TV campaign run by the title sponsors Hero Honda. They had their brand ambassadors Virender Sahwag, Rajyavardhan Singh Rathore and Priyanka Chopra endorsing hockey and urging all Indians to once again fall in love with our national sport. India’s first outing with arch rivals Pakistan had everyone in a patriotic frenzy. That India gave a Pakistan a drubbing raised hopes of a stellar display in the tournament. The new Spanish coach appeared to be going over the moon, some corporate houses announced awards to players and it seemed that Indian hockey was all set reclaim its lost glory.

Alas! this turned out to be short-lived. The Indian team disappointed by losing to Australia, Spain and England and will now once again compete for the lower positions in the championship. That Pakistan is faring just as poorly is hardly any comfort. Needless to add a lot more is required to resurrect the magic of hockey. The World Cup was a great opportunity. Sadly, we have squandered it.

From a Clear Blue Sky

I had never heard of Timothy Knatchbull till I picked up his memoir ‘From a Clear Blue Sky’ from Crosswords Mumbai earlier this week. Since than I have been completely engrossed in his story. From his maternal side, Timothy Knatchbull is the grandson of Lord Mountbatten, the last viceroy of India. On his paternal side, his grandfather was Lord Brabourne (Michael Knatchbull), who served in Mumbai (remember the Brabourne Stadium) and in Kolkata as the provincial governor.

Timothy Knatchbull was on the yacht Shadow V the day the provisional IRA bombed it . Lord Mountbatten, the dowager Lady Brabourne, Tim’s twin Nick and a local lad Paul Maxwell died in the bombing. Timothy and his parents were seriously injured but survived. This book is a wonderful account of Timothy’s journey as he revisits the tragedy. It is a poignantly written account personal account of coming to grips with a terrible loss, gradually reconstructing a life torn asunder and then carefully putting it all back together.

Knatchbull writes with a great deal of compassion and candour. His narrative is gripping, at times sad but without any self-pity. This is a ‘exceptionally moving’ account of overcoming a huge tragedy and moving on.

The Shame at IPL auctions

2010-01-26T22:43:00.000-08:00

The Pakistanis are upset with us and I can’t blame them either. This entire episode involving the (non) auction of 11 Pakistani players, many from the last year’s world cup winning team has left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. That none of the teams bid for a single Pakistani player is ridiculous and the reasons appear to be all non cricketing.

Cricket is a religion in our part of the world and apart from our shared language and culture is the most potent unifying force in the subcontinent. Indian Premier League, which is now in its third year is an eagerly awaited extravaganza involving franchised city based teams with fancy names competing for the trophy. Each team has local players as well as foreign ones and it is through open auctions that the teams vie to buy the players they fancy. Thus for players especially the emerging ones, it is a big ticket opportunity to display their talents on a global stage and make pots of money.

In all this commercial hoopla one expects IPL organisers to play by the rules. By keeping the Pakistani players out of the IPL and in the manner this has been done reflects very poorly of the IPL as well as Indian cricketing establishment. As an Indian my head hangs in shame at the machinations of the IPL czar Lalit Modi. Apparently what happened is simple enough. There were 11 Pakistani players participating in player auctions and none of the teams bid for anyone of them. It seems that Mr. Modi leaned on the team owners and all of them deliberately boycotted Pakistani players. This after these 11 players had been cleared by both the Pakistani and the Indian government to play in India.

The Pakistanis believe this is deliberate humiliation not only of their players but also of their entire cricketing establishment. I would tend to agree. If the Pakistani players were not welcome to play in India (for whatever reason), it would have been perfectly alright to inform their board accordingly and not have these players available for the auctions. This may have caused a furore, however the IPL/BCCI would well have been in their rights not to invite Pakistani players to participate in the IPL. Having invited these players for the auctions and than not bidding for them on dubious grounds is shameful sleight of hand and must be condemned in the harshest of terms.

To make matters worse IPL and some of the franchise owners have trotted out lame excuses for their conduct. Lalit Modi wants all of us to believe that he and his colleagues in the BCCI did not push the franchise owners in keeping away from the Pakistani players. He would also like us to believe that all the competing teams on their own decided that having Pakistani players in their ranks makes no sense and each of them individually steered clear of these palyers!And surely butter won’t melt in Mr. Modi’s mouth.

I believe that by excluding Pakistani players IPL teams have made a mistake. And the manner this has been done is downright disgraceful.

It is time we got rid of him as the IPL chief. That is perhaps the least we can do to make amends.

Tiger Tiger Burning Bright…

2010-01-11T07:50:00.000-08:00

Tiger Woods is truly lost in the woods.

The Hindustan Times this morning put the count of his mistresses at 10. Tomorrow some more may emerge from the woodwork (well ,the pun is intended).These include waitresses, night club hostesses and even porn stars. Tiger Woods, one of the world’s most loved sports person and certainly the wealthiest has literally been caught with his pants down. And in todays connected world he has no place to hide. The internet is full of Tiger Jokes and television ads featuring him are disappearing.

Tiger Woods is no longer ‘the world’s ultimate symbol of high performance’ (or maybe he is in a very different sense!!!) as Accenture would like us to believe.

Why on earth somebody like Tiger Woods risk so much for so little. Is it a kind of mad streak that runs through some extraordinarily successful people (can’t help but remember Bill Clinton), who just can’t help but blow it (well can’t help the pun again!).

Here is my little theory for whatever it might be worth.

Most people like Tiger Woods who are enormously successful and enjoy public adulation in the extreme tend to start believing in their iconic imagery. They start looking upon themselves as infallible, capable of doing no wrong. In their own eyes, they become larger than life. Because of this inherent belief in their own goodness and God like presence, the ability to distinguish between right and wrong and good and evil is seriously diminished. In their exalted state, their moral compass fails to register anything and thus they do what they like.

More importantly they start taking fame and success for granted, not realizing how ephemeral these are. Tiger Woods probably believed that he is super smart that no one catch him philandering and that he can easily get away with it all. I am not sure if Tiger Woods even understood what he was gambling with. For him perhaps success and ‘high performance delivered’ is a daily routine, pretty much like going to work every morning for you and me.

Or maybe Tiger loved the animal thrill of it all. Leading a double life can be highly exciting for some folks and the higher the stakes, the greater the thrill. So for Tiger, the chase, the hunt all carefully hidden behind the cultivated image of a family man was maybe the ultimate game. The trophies in this game can not be displayed in his cupboard, but they are there to be had. And Tiger being the ultimate predator would go for them with a vengeance.

Well whatever be the real reasons for Tiger’s dalliances, the fact remains that in all this messy business he has lost many of his stripes. Will he ever be able to regain them, only time will tell.

Pic courtesy www.accenture.com

A Week in Paradise-II

2009-11-16T04:26:00.001-08:00

Gulmarg

On a bright morning full of promise of a glorious day ahead, we bid our hosts Bilal Hakroo and his father adieu and headed towards Gulmarg, a hill resort approx. 52 kms from Srinagar. We drove in the valley for about 40 kms to Tangmarg and than found ourselves winding our way through a beautiful pine and fir forest. As we drove up, magnificent vistas of snow covered mountains loomed before us and the drive soon took on a dream like quality.

In Gulmarg, we found our hotel amidst rolling meadows and dense woods of fir and pine. The weather in Gulmarg we discovered is very fickle. By the time we settled in, it had turned chilly with clouds hanging low and a drizzle making us stay indoors. Later in the evening we went horse riding on the meadows. Chatting with the locals, we discovered that in the winters, these meadows turn into fabulous ski slopes for, which Gulmarg is famous the world over.

The next day we set off on a walk in the woods and later rode up to Khilanmarg. From Khilanmarg, on a clear day one can see snow covered peaks in a huge 360 degrees ring. The distant hills look almost etheral, floating on air. Gulmarg’s greatest attraction these days is a Gondola ride, a ropeway linking Gulmarg to the Kongdoori Hill in two stages. The first stage transfers from the Gulmarg resort at 2,600 m (8,530 ft) to Kongdoori Station. The second stage of the ropeway, which has 36 cabins and 18 towers, takes skiers to a height of 3,747 m (12,293 ft) on Kongdoori Mountain, a shoulder of nearby Afarwat Peak 4,200 m (13,780 ft)). We rode on our horses till the Kongdoori Station through lovely woods and than boarded the Gondola for the stage 2.

The Gondola ride is an amazing experience. As the Gondola moved out from the station the snow covered mountain fell away beneath us. We slid by quietly on the rope, an elaborate system of metal ropes and pulleys kept propelling us higher and higher. The Gondola eventually disgorged us at the Kongdoori peak. Stepping out of the station we were mesmerised by the expanse of soft snow, stretching over mountain ranges as far back as the eye could see. We walked on the soft snow, sinking into it to our knees and keeling over and than pulling ourselves out to stumble on for a little more. A local Kashmiri youth informed us that right behind the snow covered hill in front of us is the Line of Control, the de-facto Indian border with Pakistan. The Indian Army patrols these mountains round the clock and the Gondola is also used to ferry supplies to them.

On our way back, we rode the Gondola right down to Gulmarg. It was indeed one of the most memorable day in our sojourn, a day one is unlikely to forget in a long long time.

Sonamarg

The drive to Sonamarg is more enchanting than the ‘golden meadows’. The river Sindhu (not to be confused with Indus) rumbles along the road all the way. The road too surprisingly does not wind its way up, it gently slopes up along the fast flowing river. We drove to Sonamarg on a bright sunny day through the Kashmiri countryside, along the river. Sonamarg is breathtakingly beautiful, with huge snow covered mountains, slopes densely covered with fir, pine and birch trees and the river Sindh flowing by. Nearby is the Thajwas glacier, accessible on foot or on ponies. As soon as we drove to the village square we were virtually assaulted by a crowd of pony owners inviting us to go to the glacier. As we were making up our minds, we spied an inflatable raft. Enquiries revealed that we could go river rafting in the Sindh. We immediately signed up and drove a few kilometres further up and on the banks of the Sindh.

River rafting on the Sindh in grade 2 and 3 rapids amidst huge mountains on either side is a uniquely exhilarating experience. Off we went on a 3 kms stretch, with expert guides directing the raft. The river flowed fast and furious and the water was ice cold. We shouted and screamed as we plunged into vicious rapids and came out drenched to the skin. Being on the river and flowing with it creates an illusion, where with a start one realises that the mountains too seem to be moving with the river!

We dried ourselves on the bank of the river in the hot sun that beat down on us. Driving back we took a detour and went towards Sumbal and than crossed Jhelum, driving along it to reach Srinagar by the nightfall.

Pahalgam

Kashmir is perhaps one of those places, where getting lost on the roads is a pleasant diversion. We set off from Srinagar on our way to Pahalgam and turned left towards Bijbihara. Soon we found ourselves in a village, where we asked for directions and headed on a narrow road, which soon turned into a dirt track. We went past tiny somnolent villages set in the valley amongst beautiful hills. Eventually we came across an old lady, working in the fields alongside, who told us to go back and take a right turn Soon we crossed the Lidder and found the highway to Pahalgam, with the river flowing besides us.

Pahalgam is located on the junction of the Aru and Sheshnag rivers, which form the Lidder. There is something completely enchanting about Pahalgam, which is so hard to define. If ever, one was to conjure up a perfectly beautiful landscape, than it has to be in Pahalgam. The snow covered peaks, the river, the forests, everything in Pahalgam is magical. In Pahalgam we just sat around the river and enjoyed the natural beauty, so generously spread around us. We went for walks and roamed the markets, buying gifts and souvenirs for family and friends.

Pahalgam was our last port of call in Kashmir during this sojourn. After having spent these days in the valley, I can only say that I can not agree more with emperor Jehangir. Even 500 years on, if there is a paradise on earth, it is here in Kashmir.

A Week in Paradise-I

2009-11-04T23:26:00.000-08:00

The Mughal emperor Jehangir loved Kashmir and traveled often from his capital of Agra in the North Indian planes all the way to the valley beautiful. So much was he in the thrall of the valley that he called it the ‘paradise on Earth’.
Now having driven from Delhi to Srinagar in the Kashmir valley, I can only wonder at the difficulties he must have faced 500 years ago and yet he couldn’t resist the allure of the valley. Today, Srinagar is connected to Delhi (and Agra) by a modern 6 carriage highway all the way upto Jammu (the work is still on between Jullandhar-Pathankot and Jammu). From Jammu to Srinagar, the road is a 2 lane carriageway, well maintained by the Border Roads Organisation and is the lifeline of the valley.
We drove from Delhi to Jammu, a distance of approx 630 kms in about 11 hours, stopping twice at roadside dhabas for refreshments. The next day after breakfast we set off for Srinagar a distance of approx. 300 kms. Soon we were in the hills, passing by quaint towns, ascending to Patnitop at 2024 m and than coming down to Ramban, where we crossed the Chenab, flowing swiftly to our left. We than climbed to Banihal and crossed the Jawahar Tunnel to enter the Kashmir Valley. The Jawahar Tunnel is an engineering marvel. Opened in 1956 and named after Jawahar Lal Nehru, the tunnel connects the valley to the rest of the country and allows India round the year access to the valley.
Once across the tunnel we swiftly descended into the Kashmir Valley and drove to Srinagar approx 80 kms away. The first views of the snow capped mountains ringing the valley, the magical greenery and free flowing springs everywhere made me switch off the car air conditioning, lower the windows and breathe lungfuls of the clean air of the valley. The drive on the road leading to Srinagar is an exhilarating affair, the accumulated fatigue of the earlier days drops off, the road is lined with clusters of beautiful, erect tall trees, locally called safeda (they have white bark) and the green paddy fields on either side of the road are filled with water fed by small streams flowing from the mountains. We reached Srinagar by the twilight hour and settled down in our hotel on the Boulevard, on the Dal.
Srinagar
Srinagar, lies on the banks of the river Jhelum a tributary of the mighty Indus. Srinagar is an ancient city with a recorded history of more than 2500 years. In the 3rd century BC, the city was a a part of the Maurya empire and Asoka the great is credited to have introduced Buddhism in the valley. Subsequently it was ruled by the Gupta Kings, the Kushans and the Huns. The valley came under Muslim rule in the 14th century and Akbar the great assimilated it in the Mughal empire. in 1814, Maharaja Ranjit Singh conquered the valley after the fall of the Mughals and the valley came under the influence of Sikh rulers. In 1846, a treaty was signed at Lahore with the British, providing them control over the valley, a dogra king by the name of Gulab Singh was installed as the ruler of the valley. Gulab Singh and his progeny ruled Kashmir till the Indian independence, when the princely state was absorbed in the Indian union.
Srinagar today is a bustling city. Lal Chowk, its main market has shops full of exquisite Kashmiri handicrafts and dry fruits. Big malls are yet to arrive and the entire market has a quaint, old fashioned charm about it. The old city boasts of grand mosques, traditional eatries and a rich and vibrant culture of Sufiana Music. The shrine of Hazrat Bal on the shores of the Dal Lake attracts devotees from across the valley and beyond. We too visited the shrine and paid silent obeisance.
The Dal
The Dal is a mesmerising sight. The stately victorian era houseboats, the beautiful shikaras, the hawkers selling Kashmiri handicrafts, saffron, trinkets and baubles all add to its magic. The boulevard around the lake is lined with huge safeda trees casting a deep shadow on its placid waters and the reflection of the hills surrounding the lake gives it an aura of immense depth and tranquility. In the evening as we went on a Shikara ride, the setting sun bathed the lake in its golden glow, and all the world seemed to be at peace with itself.
We soon moved into a Houseboat called Shah Parie and spent a few days with Bilal Hakroo and his family the owners of the Houseboat. The houseboat has a balcony in the front, a living room, a dining room and four rooms along a narrow corridoor. It has exquisite teak wood carvings, embroidered curtains, linen and soft wall to wall carpets. My father spent a lot of time chatting with Bilal’s father on the balcony, watching the shikaras go by and enjoying the sounds and the sights of the beautiful lake. Bilal hesitantly talked about the turmoil of the last two decades and how it has ruined the valley, he blamed fellow Kashmiris and their Pakistani masters for fomenting trouble and driving away tourists. Bilal also talked about the humiliation of living under the shadow of the gun. The Indian Army seemed to be omnipresent in the valley and even on the Boulevard, every 500 metres or so one would see an alert soldier, armed to the teeth keeping a sharp eye on things.
While on the houseboat we discovered that the Dal also sustained a unique way of life. The kids go to school on the shikara, the faithfuls go for prayers to the mosques located on the lake, there is a busy market floating on the lake selling everything from vegetables, to groceries, toiletries, Kashmiri handicrafts, saffron, and flowers. We also saw a hotel now being used by the Central Reserve Police Force, restaurants offering Kashmiri and North Indian cuisine, nice houses with vegetable gardens at the back- all floating on the lake.
The Mughal Gardens
The world famous Mughal gardens in Srinagar are a sight to behold. Shalimar, Nishat and Chashm-e-Shahi are all located on the shores of the Dal, along the boulevard. Shalimar Bagh, was built by the Mughal emperor Jehangir in 1616 for his beloved wife Noor Jehan. The garden is symmetrically laid out along a stream, which flows into the Dal. The stream has beautiful fountains and each terrace is punctuated by a ‘baradari’. We visited the Shalimar on a glorious morning, with the sun playing hide and seek with candy floss clouds in an azure sky. The garden was a riot of colour with flowers in full bloom. (I counted at least 9 different colours and shades of roses, each flower the size of my fist or more). The massive chinars gradually recede into the hills at the back giving the impression that the entire garden is laid out in the lap of a gigantic mountain.
Nishat, though a little smaller than the Shalimar is just as breathtaking as the Shalimar. It is a lot closer to the Dal and has the entire lake spread out in front. The garden has 12 terraces with a stream running through the middle creating small waterfalls on different levels. Nishat was built by Asif Khan, Noor Jehan’s brother more than 400 years ago. The garden with a mountain in the backdrop, the massive expanse of the Dal in the front and huge Chinars presents an awesome sight.
Chashm-e-Shahi is the smallest of the Mughal Gardens and was built by Emperor Shah Jehan. It is set up the hill facing the Dal and has a natural aqua duct (chashma) flowing through the garden. Many people believe in the medicinal powers of the spring, though I must admit we refrained from having a sip.
Pari Mahal
As we drove up from the Chashm-e-Shahi the road became narrower and we went past hair-pin bends with dense foliage on either side. We pulled up at the door of the Pari Mahal late on a fine evening. Pari Mahal is a terraced arched garden built by Emperor Shah Jahan’s eldest son Dara Shikoh. The Pari Mahal overlooks the Dal and offers a monumental view of the city of Srinagar. The facade of the retaining wall of the Pari Mahal has 21 arches, in the descending order and on the sides are specious rooms. Sitting on the thick walls of the Pari Mahal, we watched the sun gradually slip behind the iconic Hari Parbat across the city and we witnessed the Dal change colours from blue to ochre, to golden and finally to inky black.

The Magic of Kausani in the Rains

2009-10-31T06:48:00.001-07:00

This is a weekend break, which we almost did not have.

It seems the whole of Delhi had the same idea of heading for the mountains and that too much before it occured to us. We wanted to go to Lansdowne in the Garhwal, which is less than 6 hours away from Delhi. The other choices were Mukteshwar and Kausani in the Kumaon region of the Himalayas. After vainly trying on the net and through assorted travel agents we could find accomodation only at Kausani a good 10 hours drive from New Delhi. We decided to leave earlier, a night before, broke our journey en route at Moradabad and left for Kausani the next morning.

We drove in driving rain and stopped at Haldwani in the foothills, for breakfast.

The drive in the hills had a dream like quality to it. We were in the clouds, enveloped by a steadily drizzling gossamer curtain, which seemed to have descended upon us straight from the heavens. From this curtain emerged the hills and the vales of the magnificent Kumaon, covered in astoundiong shades of green. We drove up the side of a hill and than down to Bhowali and than took a right for Almora. We took the Almora bypass to avoid the bustling hill town and drove on to Kausani, which turned out to be no more than a hamlet with many hotels.

As we drove up to the town’s main square, we ran into a Janamashtami Mela, with thousands of people celebrating the birth of Lord Krishna at the town’s main temple. Men dressed in their very best, women in gaudy sarees and faux jewellery and young girls in salwar kurtas pressed against the car. The street vendors selling ‘bhuttas’, pakoris, sweetmeats, baubles and trinkets and cheap cosmetics were having a field day. After much shouting and blaring of horns, we were able to drive up to our hotel about 3 kms from the town square.

Kausani, at 1890mt. lies atop a ridge, surrounded by dense pine forests and affords a magnificent view of the Himalayan peaks of Nanda Devi, Trishul and Panchchauli. It also overlooks the Someshwar valley on one side and the Garur valley on the other side. From our hotel, perched right on the top, we could see clouds filled valleys and the distant peaks looked ghostly, almost floating on the clouds. We decided to spend the evening doing nothing, which is really the best you can do in Kausani. I settled down on a reclining chair in the hotel’s balcony and quietly watched the clouds flit by, changing by the minute the splendour spread all around us. As darkness gathered and the lights came on, we could see Garur glittering in the valley, the light filtering through the haze. We played chess and enjoyed a perfect evening, had dinner and went for a walk in the hills.

After breakfast the next morning we headed for a drive in the hills. The valley still shrouded in the mist had an unreal feel to it. We drove down from Kausani to the Garud valley. We stopped at the fabled tea gardens on the hill slopes and clambered up the mountainside surrounded by the tea bushes. As the day wore on the mist slowly dispersed, and we caught glimpses of the far away snow peaks, appearing surreal, almost suspended in air. We drove down to the temple town of Baijnath on the banks of the river Gomti. The drive is through majestic forests of Pine, Devdar and Fir. Often, we would stop and spill out of the car to look at and appreciate the vistas of Himalayan ranges spread out in front of us.

Kausani turned out to be the perfect place for getting away from the hustle and bustle of Delhi. Even during a long weekend, it did not attract hoards of tourist. It was a quiet and peaceful place with clouds filled valleys and forests, a place for a little solitude and reflection. A perfect getaway, if ever there was one from the madness and wild scramble of Delhi.

Pics by the author

The Fall of the Noble Peace Prize

2009-10-17T08:33:00.000-07:00

Had Alfred Noble been alive today, he would indeed be a very sad man. The wise men who decide the winner of the peace prize named in his memory have done a great disservice to him by honouring Barack Obama. Strange as it may sound they have also done great injustice to Mr. Obama by bestowing upon him a prize that he does not truly deserve, certainly not as yet.

Like most people across the world, I have the greatest respect for the Nobles. They are the highest recognition for excellence, for real achievement untainted by parochial considerations of nationality, race, gender and politics. The Noble Peace Prize, is meant to promote peace amongst nations, communities and people and recognises efforts by individuals and organisations in that direction. Barack Obama without doubt is a great man. However, his achievements however lofty they may be today, still do not qualify him for the award of the Noble Peace Prize.

Mr. Obama is the president of the world’s most powerful nation. He is the supreme commander of the mightiest army on Earth, with a nuclear arsenal that can destroy the world several times over. He has also inherited an army, which is largely seen as an occupying force in Iraq and is in active combat in Afghanistan.

Mr. Obama has been in office less than a year. He is yet to resolve an international conflict, stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons in Iran and North Korea, ensure justice to the Palestinians, the Kurds and the Chechans. He is yet to engage with the world as a champion of peace, a harbinger of a different, more equitable world order. To be fair to him, what with the domestic economic turmoil and the healthcare reforms that he has been championing, he has had very little time to make a significant contribution to world peace. He is busy setting his own house in order, the world can wait for a while. One can hardly fault him for his priorities.

Mr. Obama has however spoken of peaceful co-existance amongst nations, about reducing and withdrawing American troops from the world’s trouble spots and of encouraging nations to resolve their differences amicably. He has talked about stopping human rights abuse and has ordered the shutting down of the Guantanamo Bay detention facility holding alleged Al Qaida terrorists without a fair trial.

I submit that Mr. Obama does not be deserve the Noble Peace Prize, for declaring his intent of promoting peace in the world. He has to do a lot more to reduce conflict in the world, promote harmony and peace amongst nations and peoples, before he can rightfully claim the prize.

Ironically, had the Noble committee waited a few years, Mr. Obama might have earned the prize on merit and he would have been saved the acute embarrassment of being the recipient of this great honour, which he knows he does not truly deserve.

If Only They Could Talk-Reading James Herriot

2009-10-12T08:07:00.000-07:00

These days I am enjoying James Herriot’s omnibus collection ‘All Creatures Great and Small’. I must confess I am great fan of James Herriot’s writing and have read most of his books including the other omnibus collections ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ and ‘All things Wise and Wonderful’. A few years ago, I also came across the authorised biography of James Herriot (by his son Jim Wight), in a London bookstore and without much ado picked it up.

I recall I first encountered James Herriot, almost 20 years ago when in school. The CBSE English Core Curriculla, that we were taught had a wonderful James Herriot story titled ‘God is Near’. Even after almost two decades I remember the old lady and her brood of aging dogs and how James Herriot, country vet practising the Yorkshire Dales took care of the dogs and the old woman, who wanted to know from the young and kindly vet, if animals had souls and will she be reunited with her beloved dogs in hereafter.

For the uninitiated, James Herriot’s books are wonderful stories of his experiences as a practising vet in the Yorkshire countryside. Herriot writes with a great and often self depricating humour and compassion about his life and its intersection with numerous farmers and their animals in the beautiful Yourkshire dales. The imaginary village of Darrowby, where Herriot’s practice is based, his senior partner, the curiously named and quirky Siegfried Farnon and his unflappable brother Tristan, their housekeeper Mrs. Hall and the accountant Mrs. Harbottle are characters I have come to adore. James’ wife Helen and her travails in the early days of their courtship and marriage, her stoic acceptance of life with the dedicated vet are hugely enjoyable reads.

The most wonderful thing about Herriot’s stories are that most of them appear to be based on real incidents and portray characters based on real personalities. He writes with such skill that they leap out of the pages, transport the reader in a different, kinder and a charming world. Herriot makes a lot of fun of himself, readily admits to his failures as well as the limitations of the veterinary medicine particularly in the early decades of the last century, shares the disappointments and the successes of his practice and above all highlights the most wonderful and humane nature of his work.

James Alfred Wight, took on James Herriot as his pseudonym, when he decided to try his hand at writing his experiences as a country vet. Wight, was born in 1916 in Sunderland and grew up in Glasgow. He attended the Glasgow Veterinary College and after training as a vet, he moved to Thirsk (Darrowby, in his books), a town in Northern Yorkshire. He worked with Donald Sinclair (Siegfried Farnon, in his works) for more than 50 years in Thirsk, attending to all manner of farm animals and pets. He took up writing much later and his first book ‘If Only They Could Talk’ was published in 1972. He has since than delighted and charmed millions like myself and a blurb on the back of the book I am presently reading informs that he has sold more than ‘14 mn copies in Pan editions’.

Alf Wight succumbed to cancer in 1995. James Herriot, continues to delight millions of readers even today. His books have a quality of timelessness about them. Pick one up today and if you are feeling a little low, it will surly make your day.

Sanjay Dutt MP

2009-10-08T03:55:00.000-07:00

So the Supreme Court of India has thrown a big spanner in the works of M/S Amar Singh and Mulayam Singh, by ruling out Sanjay Dutt from the electoral fray. Sanjay Dutt, might be a popular filmstar but in the eyes of the law he is a convicted criminal (Munna Bhai not withstanding). The decision to disqualify him from the elections appears to be consistent with the laws of the land. Sanjay Dutt normally a resident of Mumbai has been convicted of heinous crimes going back to the infamous Mumbai bomb blasts of 1993.

To make matters infinitely more interesting Sanjay Dutt now claims that he has stealthily recorded a conversation with Hansraj Bhardwaj, the law minister of India wherein the minister apparently threatened him to withdraw from the electoral race, failing which he would face the wrath of the government! I am not sure if Sanjay Dutt understands the difference between the executive and the judiciary. Assuming the law minister of India is naive enough to threaten Sanjay, equating his utterances with the pronouncements of the Supreme Court of India would be taking things too far.

Sanjay Dutt, unlike his illustrious father is a a politician of convenience, a mere puppet in the hands of the wily Amar Singh. He is best advised to go back to Mumbai, put on the grease paint and maybe play a politician in a movie. I am sure he will fare a lot better.