In addition to the arrival of the “winterline” in the evening sky as well as the trunks in the hallway waiting to get packed, there was another sign that Going Down Day was approaching, one that Kevin remembered.

An Indian Railway official would come up from Dehra Dun and sit with Mr. Kapadia all day at Ridgewood, drinking tea and making train reservations for every single student at school.  What an endeavor!

(This is a detail I never saw or knew about because Ridgewood was where the little boys’ dorm was and I lived at the girls’ dorm.)

Imagine making reservations for every child going home with so many ‘homes’ to get to all over India: Calcutta, Lucknow, Ludhiana, Ahmedabad, Bombay, Raipur, Allahabad, Delhi, Assam …  It boggles my mind.

And, Kevin added, every boarding school in up Mussoorie (there were quite a few then; even more now) had to have a different Going Down Day because there simply weren’t enough buses and trains to take all the school children home on the same day!  I never thought about this either. Nor knew that Wynberg School called their big day “The Exodus”…

All I knew was the big day, the Day we’d been singing about* for a couple months, was finally here and I had my plastic water bottle over my shoulder and my shoulder bag with my lunch, comb, toothbrush and books in it and I would soon be on a deliciously sooty train heading for home!

- – -

* Our song: “39 days ’til Going Down Day! / And then we’ll be at the station! / Back to civilization! / The train will carry us there!”

I think we even invented a circle dance for it.

A British soldier poses for his Cabinet Card portrait in Mussoorie, India. The photographer is J. Bell Brothers. Mussoorie is a city 34 km from Dehradun in the Indian state of Uttarakhand. The city is located in the foothills of the Himalaya Mountain ranges and the city is sometimes referred to as “Queen of the Hills”.

I studied at Wynberg Allen Junior School, India before moving on to St. George’s College. One of the things that I remember from my days at Wynberg was my teacher, Genny Maryann Hyde. She is the kindest teacher I have ever known and probably the only one I have really liked and respect.

After finishing my three years at Wynberg, she would still come and visit me at SGC. There was something really refreshing about her. All of us would be happy to be next to her, and she filled the gap of mother while we were away from home. You can see the happiness in the photos.

I don’t remember when or where these pictures were taken. Most of the faces in the picture have been buried in the past. However, I can still recall the kindness and compassion she showed. Memories like these last a lifetime.

Thanks to Anju for sharing these photos.

Whitewater rafting had always fascinated us. When our friend proposed a rafting trip, we quickly made arrangements with Mercury Himalayan Explorations (MHE) who ran a river rafting camp near Shivpuri, 14 Km from Rishikesh.

Late evening last Thursday we caught the Delhi Metro to Chandni Chowk, crossed the underground passage to Old Delhi Railway Station and boarded a crowded and noisy Mussoorie Express to Haridwar. Next day morning, sleepless, bleary eyed and late we proceeded by taxi to the camp. The road between Rishikesh and Shivpuri was dug up for road widening which further delayed our arrival. We got our first taste of a rapid as we boarded a raft (middle oar type) to cross over to the opposite bank of the river where the camp stood perched along a stretch of sandbar below a cliff. Once ashore, we were showed to spacious, well carpeted twin bed tents.

As soon as we finished breakfast, the taxi took us 11 km upstream to Marine Drive for our first rafting trip. The crew helped us into wetsuit, life jacket and helmet. Rajan, the veteran raft captain from Nepal with a scintillating smile instructed us on rafting basics. Our raft was bright yellow, NRS (“Not Really Safe” – joked Rajan) make self bailing type. Once all were comfortable with raft safety and commands (forward hard, forward easy, left back, right back, get down, stop etc) we went midstream and practiced paddling for a while before taking off. A one man safety kayak followed in our wake.

Soon we hit the first rapid, ‘Investment’, a relatively tame one over which we swayed along coming to terms with rafting techniques. On the second rapid, supported on paddles, we stood up on the raft. It was exciting to feel the jerk and pull and lurch of the raft precariously balanced on the edge. Between rapids we drifted serenely along calm stretches of river, gently paddling forward, chatting and taking in the scenery. We could hear the gurgle of mountain springs. Cormorants sunned on enormous black boulders; a bird or two flitted by. There were numerous camps along the shore. At times someone shouted and our raft crew answered back.

Near each rapid we braced ourselves for the wallop and paddled furiously to obtain the optimum angle of the raft to negotiate the rapid. Rajan barked commands from the rear and steered us expertly over rapids as spray fringed walls of water crashed into the raft drenching us. We closed our eyes and dug in the heels as wave after wave slammed into our faces. The rush of adrenalin, the fright and the sense of accomplishment one feels upon crossing each convulsing rapid is indescribable.

At the body surfing rapid, we jumped off the raft, swallowing mouthfuls of (holy) water and clutching the raft for dear life. Once we let go off the raft, we floated down river, buoyed by the life jacket. The water was cold and scary, but the proximity of the raft and safety kayak was reassuring. Borne on the gentle current, we floated face up watching clouds, passing hills, dark menacing scree, blanched sandbanks and overhanging trees, swimming occasionally and listening to hushed ripples, sporadic bird calls and the pervasive silence of the forest. When we signaled, the crew hauled us back on the raft by our life jacket.

More rapids, bearing exotic names – ‘Black Money’, ‘Crossfire’, ‘Terminator’, ‘Three Blind Mice’, left us breathless. By the time we crossed ‘Back to the Sender’ and returned to the camp, we had completely forgotten the lack of sleep and exhaustion and had become die hard whitewater rafting fanatics.

After lunch we did a bit of kayaking. Balancing the one man kayak with the back erect and paddling from side to side was difficult. It took a while to learn the way the kayak responded to paddling. Even with the safety raft present, it terrified us to thrust the kayak into the tail end current of the rapid. Kayaking was followed by tea and adventure activities like flying fox, valley crossing, Burma Bridge and rappelling under the constant vigil of camp staff.

The evening camp fire was enlivened by snacks (chilly chicken, peanut salad and potato fingers) and rafting/ trekking stories. After dinner we came back and sat around the smoldering embers of the camp fire. The somber stillness of night was shattered by the roar of the river; shafts of vehicle headlights intermittently swept across black hills. Conversation petered out as the faint glow of stars, the scarlet radiance of hot embers and the rhythmic flow of the river threw a blanket of reflective silence over us. We found hot water bags under the blanket when we returned to the tent. Lulled by the warmth, I soon sunk into deep slumber as a few confused images of the day flashed across my mind.

The camp site was part of Rajaji National Park. Early next morning we went for a nature walk and trekked across the surrounding hills for about 3 kms till the river bank. Curry plants dotted the trail. Occasionally we heard barking deer. Every forest has a ghost story to tell. Tanzin Angel and Surender from the camp who accompanied us on the trek showed us the house of Sikander who was murdered by villagers. His widow, unable to bear the pain committed suicide. The camp site and surrounding forest are supposedly haunted by the ghosts of this tragic couple. Thankfully the spirits were in abeyance during our visit.

After breakfast, we rafted down from the camp to Nim Beach (near Laxman Jhulah).There were grade III and grade IV rapids in this lap – ‘Double Trouble’, ‘Roller Coaster, ‘Tee Off’, ‘Golf Course’, ‘Brahmapuri’ and many others. Our safety kayak capsized while crossing ‘Golf Course’. Fortunately, the kayak was quickly recovered and soon we were underway. At ‘Any Session Body Surfing’ rapid, we jumped off the raft and body surfed for a while. Cliff jumping was the scariest part of this adventure. I was in two minds as I stood on the cliff edge and looked down into the river. Finally, egged on by the crew, I jumped off the cliff looking straight ahead, arms close to the body and clutching the life jacket. The experience lasted only a few moments, but was sufficient for a lifetime.

After lunch we bade goodbye to the camp, thanking the staff profusely for their bounteous hospitality. Back in Haridwar to catch the train! Another weary night on the crowded and filthy Mussoorie Express and we returned regretfully to our encumbered lives.

The trip was a uniquely thrilling experience. The spirit of camaraderie and shared adventure was beyond comparison. For once, Ganga, the holy river, instead of quenching our thirst left us craving for more.

P.S
We were afraid that December would be too cold for rafting. Surprisingly, it turned out to be pleasant, thanks to global warming. Indiscriminate tree felling and rampant construction is taking its toll of Rishikesh as well. But we found a ray of hope in the following scene. Truly, India Shinig….

Notes:
The title is an adaptation of Eric Newby’s book “Slowly Down the Ganges“.

Adventure Gear recommended by Mercury Himalayan Explorations:
T-Shirts
Shorts/tights for trekking
Sun hat/cap
Track pant
Floaters for rafting
Sun glasses with case
Torch – There are hurricane lamps along every path in the camp. But it is better to carry torch if you do not want to stuble and fall.
Water proof sun block lotion
Personal first aid kit (also available in camp)
Personal toileteries
Camera
Do not carry more than one bag per person.
Do not carry hard suitcases. Carry only soft bags.

MHE offers 3 river rafting packages at Shivpuri
Package 1: 1 Night, 1 Day. Rs.2900/- per person. Includes 1 rafting trip
Package 2: 1 Night, 2 Days. Rs.3500/- per person. Includes 2 rafting trips
Package 3: 2 Nights, 3 Days. Rs.5200/- per person. Includes 3 rafting trips
Local Transport for drop at Marine Drive and pickup from Nim Beach – MHE can arrange but will charge Rs.200/- per person
Taxes Applicable
Camp is closed from mid June till mid September
MHE New Delhi Contact Details:
Mr. Sharfaraz Choudhary
Mercury Himalayan Explorations
Jeevan Tara Building
Parliament Street, New Delhi – 110001
Phone: (+91-11) 23340033, 23346209
(M) (+91) 9990037336
www.himalayanadventure.com

MHE Beach Camp Contact Details:
Mr. Ramakant
Phone: (+91-1378) 261615
(M) +91-9410367492

A very reliable taxi service:
Kuldip
Mobile: (+91) 9410560099
Deep Tour & Travel
Near Gujrat Samaj, Jessa Ram road, Haridwar – 249401
Alternate contact numbers: (+91) 9412072550/ 9837022236
Visit: www.deeptravelsindia.com
Email: info@deeptravelsindia.com

Particularly helpful Camp Personnel:
Tanzin Angel: Currently runs a camp near Keylong with his brother. Aspires to setup his own camp at his native Lahaul in the next 6 months.
Contact details – tanzinangel_geela@yahoo.co.in. You can find him in Orkut.
Mobile: (+91) 9418361559

Surender: Another Lahaul native. Adventure freak.
Contact details – himalayandragen@yahoo.com. You can find him in Facebook.

4041/ 4042 Mussoorie Express: We goofed up on our choice of train. Please do not take this one. It does not run on time.
Mussoorie Express starts from Old Delhi Railway Station (Station Code – DLI). Chandni Chowk Metro Station has an underground passage which connects to the Old Delhi Railway Station.

The last picture of Ben, taken just 2 weeks ago:

Sorry for the post yesterday…I was so shocked I didn’t realize what I was doing. After sitting with another good friend until late last night, and speaking about Ben with each other for hours, we both understood that although WE are terribly sad and still find it hard to believe that we will no longer see Ben or hear his laughter or silly jokes, Ben is probably very happy and even pleased with himself! First of all, his wife, Mary Cruz was killed just 2 years ago in Mexico in the same way. Instead of a motorbike, she was riding a bicycle, but was also hit by a truck and killed. He missed her terribly and spoke to me about her often and his great love for her, and so now I know they are together and that is lovely.
In addition, for the past 1 1/2 years he has been speaking about his fear of biking in India. He has biked for years all over the world but could not get over his fear of getting on a bike in India. If you remember, we were supposed to take a bike ride to MUssoorie but it did not work out in the end. Well, just yesterday morning, I saw him sitting at a nearby guesthouse and went over to say good morning on my way down to panchakarma. I hadn’t seen him in several days, and he had just celebrated his 44th birthday two days before. Well, he wasw all excited, like a little kid, and extremely proud of himself when he told me he had finally rented a bike and made the trip up and back to mussoorie. He was so excited that he had finally overcome this fear and couldn’t stop smiling. He showed me the bike and said he could now think of returning it as he had done what he needed to do.
And then he went into rishikesh, with another guy on the back, and was hit by a truck. The other guy just has a nasty cut on his leg!
It was a difficult afternoon, but I am doing well now, and there are so many people who know Ben here, that it is just nice to be able reminisce and everyone only remembers wonderful things about him (even though he could be a real pain in the ass sometimes). On his birthday, he went downtown and distributed school supplies to needy children. Even got written up in the paper with his picture which I’m sure made him also very happy.
He lived his life fully, with very few regrets and did just about everything he felt he wanted to do…so he was blessed
I’ll miss him but I’m happy for him
And this is of course, an extremely powerful lesson in why each and every day is so important…why we must live each day to the fullest, not go to sleep at night without expressing our gratitude for all the blessings of the day, making sure to say all it is we need to say to loved ones and friends…not to go to sleep regretting not having done something that day…and of course to give thanks as well when we wake up again to another wonderful new day.

Namaste
Jane

I AM FEELING GOOD

Short Fiction   -   Pure Romance   -   A Love Story

By 

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, it is a cold morning and during my morning walk this story, one of my earliest writings, suddenly came to my mind and then perambulated in me. It made me feel good. I am sure it will make you feel good too!

I felt good.

My eyes feasted on the snow-clad Himalayan Mountain peaks painted honey-gold by the first rays of sunlight.

Behind me, deep down, was the resplendent Doon valley.

I breathed in slowly, mouth and nose together, relishing the pure, cold, nourishing mountain air.

I felt on top of the world, literally and figuratively, as I stood high in the middle of nowhere on a refreshingly cold bright morning, undecided what I was going to do, or where I was going to go.

What greater freedom than not having anything to do or anywhere to go!

I felt I was flying like a bird in the sky, with no one to take my freedom away.

“Something exciting is going to happen today,” said a tingling sensation within me, as if I were on the top of a high roller-coaster ready to plunge into unknown depths.

Suddenly, at the spur of the moment I decided to visit Victor, and with a spring in my step started walking towards Landour.

“Who’s Piyu ?” I asked Victor, picking up and opening the book lying on the bedside table.

“Piyu?” Victor said, his voice feigning ignorance but his eyes gave him away.

“Yes. Piyu! It’s written here in this book…‘ To my darling Victor, with fond memories of those wonderful moments at Port Blair. Love Piyu ‘… And Wow! Look at the lovely cursive feminine handwriting. So delicate. If her handwriting is so beautiful, she must be really gorgeous. A real beauty! Tell me. Who is she?” I asked teasingly.

“Shalini, you shouldn’t pry into others’ private matters,” Victor said.

“Private ? This is no personal dairy. It’s ‘Selected Stories of Anton Chekhov’. I’m taking it to read.”

“No,” Victor shouted and started to move his wheelchair towards me.

I know I had touched a raw nerve.

“I’m sorry,” I said and gave him the book.

He opened it and stared at Piyu’s handwriting.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” I said.

“There aren’t,” he said.

“Except Piyu?”

“Please Shalu…….”

“You want to tell me about her?”

“Okay,” Victor said. And then he told me. About Piyu. And him. And their days in Port Blair. Maybe not everything. But whatever he wanted to tell me, he told me.

“Piyu ? A funny name?” I said.

“That’s what I called her. Like you call me Victor.”

I left it at that and said, “Now there are no secrets between us?”

“No! Now there are no secrets between us!” Victor said and gave me the book, “Read it, Shalu. There’s a story called ‘The Darling’. You’re just like the heroine. Always trying to mother me.”

“That’s because you are a naughty boy,” I teased.

“Naughty boy? I’m almost an old man. You should play with girls of your own age.”

“Play? You think I’m a small kid to play Barbie Doll? And you’re not that old either. You are just thirty.”

“I am twice your age.”

“Girls mature faster,” I said. “And your mental age is the same as mine.”

“Come on. You’re just a kid compared to me. I am a man of the world with a lot of experiences.”

“Like Piyu ………” I bit my tongue and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Piyu is a closed chapter,” Victor said.

“I’ve forgotten her,” I said “Piyu will never come between us again.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

“Shalu, why don’t you come to meet me more often?” Victor asked.

“I don’t want to disturb you too much,” I replied.

“Disturb me?” he smiled. “It is impossible to disturb me. You see, I never do anything. Every day is a holiday for me, from morning to night, from the moment I get up to the moment I sleep, there is nothing to do, nothing to look forward to…”

“Don’t speak like that,” I said.

“Okay. But please come more often, Shalu. You make me feel good.”

“You too make me feel good!” I said.

It was true.

Talking to someone who needs comforting seems to make one’s own troubles go away.

“I’ll come on Wednesday. We’ve got a holiday,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Yes. We’ll discuss Anton Chekhov,” I said holding up the book.

“The Darling?”

“The Darling!” I said.

“Okay. Bye. Take care,” he said and lovingly looked at me as I began to walk away.

Victor had come into my life on a cold and rainy evening just a few months back.

I had slipped and fractured my leg playing basketball. It was a simple fracture.

Victor was convalescing from a severe injury to both his legs. His was a complex case, and for months he was confined to a wheelchair not knowing whether or when he would be able to walk again.

Actually, his name wasn’t Victor – he was Vivek – but everyone called him Victor, so I too started calling him Victor.

At first I called him Victor uncle. But as our friendship grew, somewhere on the way, the ‘uncle’ dropped. And now there were no secrets between us.

On Tuesday evening I rushed to see Victor bunking the self-study period.

“A clandestine visit,” I joked.

“Better be careful, Shalu. If your warden finds out, she may think something.”

“Let her,” I said, “I came to tell you I won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Oh, no! I was looking forward to discussing Anton Chekhov with you.”

“Daddy is coming to Dehradun for some urgent work. He wants me to meet him at the station. He rang up the Principal for permission.”

“That’s great. I’m dying to meet your Dad. Make sure you bring him up here to Mussoorie.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“You must. I want to ask him for your hand,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“How cute,” I said coyly.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“Take care.”

“You too take care. Okay Bye,” I said and rushed back to my hostel.

On Wednesday morning I left Mussoorie at six by the first bus and reached Dehradun railway station just in time for the express from Delhi which steamed in at eight.

Daddy was the first to get down from the AC coach and the moment he saw me his face lit up and he gave me a tight warm hug and smothered my cheeks with kisses.

“Please Papa,” I said embarrassed, “People are looking.”

“I feel so good when I see you, Shalu,” he said.

Papa kept the bag he was holding next to me and said, “Look after this. I’ll get the rest of the luggage.”

He beckoned to a porter and went back into the coach.

“Rest of the luggage?” I wondered.

Normally Papa travelled light, with just one bag.”

Soon there were three bags, a basket and a tall young woman with a small child in her arms standing beside Papa.

“Shalu, this is Ms. Bhattacharya. We travelled together from Delhi,” Papa introduced the woman, who smiled a sweet hello, and we began following the porter to the exit.

I looked at the woman through the corner of my eye. She was a real beauty, fair, with a skin like smooth cream. She looked straight ahead, as if looking at a distant object, and walked on expressionless.

But I noticed the way my Papa stole glances at her when he thought I wasn’t looking and I knew that she was much more than a mere fellow passenger.

I felt a tingle of excitement. Something was brewing. Maybe Papa was falling in love. Ten years after mummy had gone.

My father walked with a spring in his step, pulling his stomach in and thrusting his chest out.

“You seem very happy, Papa,” I said mischievously.

“Yes. Yes.” he said, “I’m so happy to see you, Shalu. You look so good.”

He opened the door of the taxi and looked at her, trying to mask the undisguised love in his eyes. It seemed a desperate case of thunderbolt.

I decided to have a bit of fun, quickly got in the car, and said, “Thanks, Papa, for treating me like a lady.”

Then I looked at the woman and said, “Bye Auntie.”

“Auntie is coming with us,” Papa said, “Shalu, you sit in front.”

“It’s okay, I’ll sit in front,” Ms. Bhattacharya said.

“There’s place for all of us at the back,” I said. “We can keep the basket in front next to the driver.”

I shifted, she sat next to me with the baby on her lap, Papa next to her on the other side and we drove in silence through Palton Bazar towards Rajpur road.

I kept quiet, waiting for Papa to tell me everything, but he too remained silent, probably because of the driver.

He got off outside an office. “You two can go to the guest house and freshen up. I’ll join you after finishing my work.

We sat alone at the breakfast table. The baby was sleeping inside. I looked at Ms. Bhattacharya. She looked so elegant yet youthful.

Late twenties? Maybe! Or maybe a bit younger.

I was dying to ask her everything, wondering what to say, when she looked into my eyes and spoke softly, “Shalu, I want to be your mother.”

I was touched by the way she phrased it.

I can’t begin to describe the emotions I felt, but instinctively I blurted out, “Why didn’t Papa tell me?”

She touched my hand and said, “He felt shy, embarrassed. You know how he is. He wanted me to tell you. And leave the decision to you.” She paused, and said; “I know it’s difficult for you. I promise we’ll do what you want. But try to understand. Your Papa feels very lonely.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I am lonely too,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Suddenly she started to cry into her handkerchief, “I’m sorry,” she said, got up, and went into her room.

I sat confused.

She had been so calm and composed. And suddenly she broke down.

Had I said something wrong?

Maybe I was too young to understand. All I wanted was that Papa should be happy, everyone should be happy; even she should be happy.

Ms. Bhattacharya came out of the room. She had washed up, done up her face and looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that I instantly felt like hugging her.

Something inside told me that she would make Papa very happy. And me too!

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes you wait for a moment and when it comes you don’t know what to do with it.”

 “I like you,” I said. “I know you’ll make Papa happy. Only I wish Papa had told me. Shall I call you mummy?”

She smiled, “Come on Shalini. Be my friend. Call me Priya.”

“Okay,” I held out my hand, “Priya, let’s be friends. And you call me Shalu.”

“Shalu, actually even I wanted your Papa to tell you,” she said.

“He must’ve been embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“To tell me that he’s fallen in love at his age.”

“He’s only 43.”

“And you, Priya?”

“28. Oh come on, I shouldn’t be telling you my age.”

“You look 25,” I said.

She blushed. The baby cried. She went inside.

I went into my room and lay on the bed. What a day! I just couldn’t wait to tell Victor all this. He’d die laughing. Maybe I should marry him. We are so happy together. If Papa can marry Priya, why can’t I marry Victor?

They – 43 and 28 – Adult Love!

We – 15 and 30 – Puppy Love?

It’s not fair, isn’t it?

I drifted into sleep.

When I woke up, Papa was sitting beside me on the bed.

“It’s past one,” he said. “Let’s go for lunch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Papa?” I asked.

His cheeks, his ears became red. He avoided my eyes.

“I guessed it the moment I saw you two at the station,” I said.

“You’ve really grown up, Shalu,” Papa said. “I’m so happy you have accepted her and your little brother.”

“Brother?” I said dumbstruck, and slowly comprehension dawned on me. I closed my eyes. All sorts of thoughts entered my brains. And suddenly everything was clear. “Oh yes. My little brother.”

Lunch passed off in a trance and soon we were on our way to Mussoorie. I’d wanted to go alone by bus, but Papa wouldn’t hear of it. He had work at the site office near Mussoorie and Priya wanted to see my school. She hadn’t been to Mussoorie before.

It was almost five when Papa got off at the site office and we were cruising on the Mall on the way to my school. Priya was looking out of the window as if searching for something. Suddenly she asked the driver to stop.

“I have to get something. Please look after the baby for a moment,” she said.

I took the baby in my lap and saw her enter Hackman’s, the biggest departmental store in Mussoorie.

She returned fast. “A small gift for you, Shalu” she said giving me a gift-wrapped packet and an envelope containing a greeting card.

I opened the envelope. It was a ‘Thank-you’ card.

She had written a message on the inside of the card:  “…To my darling daughter and friend, Shalini…”

I kept on starting at the beautiful handwriting, unable to read further.

Instantly, I recognized the same unique familiar lovely cursive handwriting, so feminine, so delicate.

Tremors started reverberating in my stomach, like a roller coaster. My pulse was racing. The car negotiated the steep road past Picture Palace up the winding slopes of Landour.

“Priya, look,” I said pointing out of the car window, “that’s the oldest building in Mussoorie. It’s called Mullingar. Isn’t it just like the Cellular Jail?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’ve seen Cellular Jail?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Many times.”

“You’ve been to Port Blair?” I persisted.

“Yes. I’ve lived there. It’s a lovely place,” she said.

“How lucky,” I said. “I’ve only seen pictures of Cellular Jail.”

Silence. Pregnant silence.

Then I spoke, looking at her child seated on her lap, “Baby. He’s so cute. How old is he?”

“Six months,” she said.

“You haven’t named him?

“Oh yes,” she said, “we call him Baby, his real name is Vivek.”

“Vivek?”

“Yes. Vivek ,” she said “It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I patted the driver on the shoulder and said, “Seedha Le Chalo. Jaldi. Drive fast. To Landour Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Priya asked flabbergasted.

“I want you to meet someone,” I said.

The car stopped outside the hospital. “Come,” I said, and Priya holding her baby in her arms followed me towards the door of Victor’s room.

I opened the door and said, “Come Piyu. Go right in. Your Victor is waiting for you, for both of you.”

I didn’t wait to see the expression on her face.

I quickly turned and ran to the car and shouted to the driver, “Driver – jaldi karo. Be quick. Take me to the site office. Fast.”

As the car descended down the steep slopes of Landour, past Char-Dukan, towards Picture Palace at the end of the Mall, I took out Anton Chekhov’s book from my purse.

I’ll have plenty of time to read it now.

Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir to remember Victor.

I opened the book, read on the first page: “To my darling Victor…Love. Piyu.”

I took out my cell-phone and sent an SMS to Victor: “Happy Reunion!”

Then I turned the page and began reading Anton Chekhov’s enthralling short story ‘The Darling.’

As I write this I am feeling good.

Yes, I am feeling good.

Don’t ask me why.

Happiness goes when you speak of it.

VIKRAM KARVE  

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Appetite for a Stroll

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

vikramkarve@sify.com

I AM FEELING GOOD

Short Fiction   -   Pure Romance   -   A Love Story

By 

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, it is a cold morning and during my morning walk this story, one of my earliest writings, suddenly came to my mind and then perambulated in me. It made me feel good. I am sure it will make you feel good too!

I felt good.

My eyes feasted on the snow-clad Himalayan Mountain peaks painted honey-gold by the first rays of sunlight.

Behind me, deep down, was the resplendent Doon valley.

I breathed in slowly, mouth and nose together, relishing the pure, cold, nourishing mountain air.

I felt on top of the world, literally and figuratively, as I stood high in the middle of nowhere on a refreshingly cold bright morning, undecided what I was going to do, or where I was going to go.

What greater freedom than not having anything to do or anywhere to go!

I felt I was flying like a bird in the sky, with no one to take my freedom away.

“Something exciting is going to happen today,” said a tingling sensation within me, as if I were on the top of a high roller-coaster ready to plunge into unknown depths.

Suddenly, at the spur of the moment I decided to visit Victor, and with a spring in my step started walking towards Landour.

“Who’s Piyu ?” I asked Victor, picking up and opening the book lying on the bedside table.

“Piyu?” Victor said, his voice feigning ignorance but his eyes gave him away.

“Yes. Piyu! It’s written here in this book…‘ To my darling Victor, with fond memories of those wonderful moments at Port Blair. Love Piyu ‘… And Wow! Look at the lovely cursive feminine handwriting. So delicate. If her handwriting is so beautiful, she must be really gorgeous. A real beauty! Tell me. Who is she?” I asked teasingly.

“Shalini, you shouldn’t pry into others’ private matters,” Victor said.

“Private ? This is no personal dairy. It’s ‘Selected Stories of Anton Chekhov’. I’m taking it to read.”

“No,” Victor shouted and started to move his wheelchair towards me.

I know I had touched a raw nerve.

“I’m sorry,” I said and gave him the book.

He opened it and stared at Piyu’s handwriting.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” I said.

“There aren’t,” he said.

“Except Piyu?”

“Please Shalu…….”

“You want to tell me about her?”

“Okay,” Victor said. And then he told me. About Piyu. And him. And their days in Port Blair. Maybe not everything. But whatever he wanted to tell me, he told me.

“Piyu ? A funny name?” I said.

“That’s what I called her. Like you call me Victor.”

I left it at that and said, “Now there are no secrets between us?”

“No! Now there are no secrets between us!” Victor said and gave me the book, “Read it, Shalu. There’s a story called ‘The Darling’. You’re just like the heroine. Always trying to mother me.”

“That’s because you are a naughty boy,” I teased.

“Naughty boy? I’m almost an old man. You should play with girls of your own age.”

“Play? You think I’m a small kid to play Barbie Doll? And you’re not that old either. You are just thirty.”

“I am twice your age.”

“Girls mature faster,” I said. “And your mental age is the same as mine.”

“Come on. You’re just a kid compared to me. I am a man of the world with a lot of experiences.”

“Like Piyu ………” I bit my tongue and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Piyu is a closed chapter,” Victor said.

“I’ve forgotten her,” I said “Piyu will never come between us again.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

“Shalu, why don’t you come to meet me more often?” Victor asked.

“I don’t want to disturb you too much,” I replied.

“Disturb me?” he smiled. “It is impossible to disturb me. You see, I never do anything. Every day is a holiday for me, from morning to night, from the moment I get up to the moment I sleep, there is nothing to do, nothing to look forward to…”

“Don’t speak like that,” I said.

“Okay. But please come more often, Shalu. You make me feel good.”

“You too make me feel good!” I said.

It was true.

Talking to someone who needs comforting seems to make one’s own troubles go away.

“I’ll come on Wednesday. We’ve got a holiday,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Yes. We’ll discuss Anton Chekhov,” I said holding up the book.

“The Darling?”

“The Darling!” I said.

“Okay. Bye. Take care,” he said and lovingly looked at me as I began to walk away.

Victor had come into my life on a cold and rainy evening just a few months back.

I had slipped and fractured my leg playing basketball. It was a simple fracture.

Victor was convalescing from a severe injury to both his legs. His was a complex case, and for months he was confined to a wheelchair not knowing whether or when he would be able to walk again.

Actually, his name wasn’t Victor – he was Vivek – but everyone called him Victor, so I too started calling him Victor.

At first I called him Victor uncle. But as our friendship grew, somewhere on the way, the ‘uncle’ dropped. And now there were no secrets between us.

On Tuesday evening I rushed to see Victor bunking the self-study period.

“A clandestine visit,” I joked.

“Better be careful, Shalu. If your warden finds out, she may think something.”

“Let her,” I said, “I came to tell you I won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Oh, no! I was looking forward to discussing Anton Chekhov with you.”

“Daddy is coming to Dehradun for some urgent work. He wants me to meet him at the station. He rang up the Principal for permission.”

“That’s great. I’m dying to meet your Dad. Make sure you bring him up here to Mussoorie.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“You must. I want to ask him for your hand,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“How cute,” I said coyly.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“Take care.”

“You too take care. Okay Bye,” I said and rushed back to my hostel.

On Wednesday morning I left Mussoorie at six by the first bus and reached Dehradun railway station just in time for the express from Delhi which steamed in at eight.

Daddy was the first to get down from the AC coach and the moment he saw me his face lit up and he gave me a tight warm hug and smothered my cheeks with kisses.

“Please Papa,” I said embarrassed, “People are looking.”

“I feel so good when I see you, Shalu,” he said.

Papa kept the bag he was holding next to me and said, “Look after this. I’ll get the rest of the luggage.”

He beckoned to a porter and went back into the coach.

“Rest of the luggage?” I wondered.

Normally Papa travelled light, with just one bag.”

Soon there were three bags, a basket and a tall young woman with a small child in her arms standing beside Papa.

“Shalu, this is Ms. Bhattacharya. We travelled together from Delhi,” Papa introduced the woman, who smiled a sweet hello, and we began following the porter to the exit.

I looked at the woman through the corner of my eye. She was a real beauty, fair, with a skin like smooth cream. She looked straight ahead, as if looking at a distant object, and walked on expressionless.

But I noticed the way my Papa stole glances at her when he thought I wasn’t looking and I knew that she was much more than a mere fellow passenger.

I felt a tingle of excitement. Something was brewing. Maybe Papa was falling in love. Ten years after mummy had gone.

My father walked with a spring in his step, pulling his stomach in and thrusting his chest out.

“You seem very happy, Papa,” I said mischievously.

“Yes. Yes.” he said, “I’m so happy to see you, Shalu. You look so good.”

He opened the door of the taxi and looked at her, trying to mask the undisguised love in his eyes. It seemed a desperate case of thunderbolt.

I decided to have a bit of fun, quickly got in the car, and said, “Thanks, Papa, for treating me like a lady.”

Then I looked at the woman and said, “Bye Auntie.”

“Auntie is coming with us,” Papa said, “Shalu, you sit in front.”

“It’s okay, I’ll sit in front,” Ms. Bhattacharya said.

“There’s place for all of us at the back,” I said. “We can keep the basket in front next to the driver.”

I shifted, she sat next to me with the baby on her lap, Papa next to her on the other side and we drove in silence through Palton Bazar towards Rajpur road.

I kept quiet, waiting for Papa to tell me everything, but he too remained silent, probably because of the driver.

He got off outside an office. “You two can go to the guest house and freshen up. I’ll join you after finishing my work.

We sat alone at the breakfast table. The baby was sleeping inside. I looked at Ms. Bhattacharya. She looked so elegant yet youthful.

Late twenties? Maybe! Or maybe a bit younger.

I was dying to ask her everything, wondering what to say, when she looked into my eyes and spoke softly, “Shalu, I want to be your mother.”

I was touched by the way she phrased it.

I can’t begin to describe the emotions I felt, but instinctively I blurted out, “Why didn’t Papa tell me?”

She touched my hand and said, “He felt shy, embarrassed. You know how he is. He wanted me to tell you. And leave the decision to you.” She paused, and said; “I know it’s difficult for you. I promise we’ll do what you want. But try to understand. Your Papa feels very lonely.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I am lonely too,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Suddenly she started to cry into her handkerchief, “I’m sorry,” she said, got up, and went into her room.

I sat confused.

She had been so calm and composed. And suddenly she broke down.

Had I said something wrong?

Maybe I was too young to understand. All I wanted was that Papa should be happy, everyone should be happy; even she should be happy.

Ms. Bhattacharya came out of the room. She had washed up, done up her face and looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that I instantly felt like hugging her.

Something inside told me that she would make Papa very happy. And me too!

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes you wait for a moment and when it comes you don’t know what to do with it.”

 “I like you,” I said. “I know you’ll make Papa happy. Only I wish Papa had told me. Shall I call you mummy?”

She smiled, “Come on Shalini. Be my friend. Call me Priya.”

“Okay,” I held out my hand, “Priya, let’s be friends. And you call me Shalu.”

“Shalu, actually even I wanted your Papa to tell you,” she said.

“He must’ve been embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“To tell me that he’s fallen in love at his age.”

“He’s only 43.”

“And you, Priya?”

“28. Oh come on, I shouldn’t be telling you my age.”

“You look 25,” I said.

She blushed. The baby cried. She went inside.

I went into my room and lay on the bed. What a day! I just couldn’t wait to tell Victor all this. He’d die laughing. Maybe I should marry him. We are so happy together. If Papa can marry Priya, why can’t I marry Victor?

They – 43 and 28 – Adult Love!

We – 15 and 30 – Puppy Love?

It’s not fair, isn’t it?

I drifted into sleep.

When I woke up, Papa was sitting beside me on the bed.

“It’s past one,” he said. “Let’s go for lunch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Papa?” I asked.

His cheeks, his ears became red. He avoided my eyes.

“I guessed it the moment I saw you two at the station,” I said.

“You’ve really grown up, Shalu,” Papa said. “I’m so happy you have accepted her and your little brother.”

“Brother?” I said dumbstruck, and slowly comprehension dawned on me. I closed my eyes. All sorts of thoughts entered my brains. And suddenly everything was clear. “Oh yes. My little brother.”

Lunch passed off in a trance and soon we were on our way to Mussoorie. I’d wanted to go alone by bus, but Papa wouldn’t hear of it. He had work at the site office near Mussoorie and Priya wanted to see my school. She hadn’t been to Mussoorie before.

It was almost five when Papa got off at the site office and we were cruising on the Mall on the way to my school. Priya was looking out of the window as if searching for something. Suddenly she asked the driver to stop.

“I have to get something. Please look after the baby for a moment,” she said.

I took the baby in my lap and saw her enter Hackman’s, the biggest departmental store in Mussoorie.

She returned fast. “A small gift for you, Shalu” she said giving me a gift-wrapped packet and an envelope containing a greeting card.

I opened the envelope. It was a ‘Thank-you’ card.

She had written a message on the inside of the card:  “…To my darling daughter and friend, Shalini…”

I kept on starting at the beautiful handwriting, unable to read further.

Instantly, I recognized the same unique familiar lovely cursive handwriting, so feminine, so delicate.

Tremors started reverberating in my stomach, like a roller coaster. My pulse was racing. The car negotiated the steep road past Picture Palace up the winding slopes of Landour.

“Priya, look,” I said pointing out of the car window, “that’s the oldest building in Mussoorie. It’s called Mullingar. Isn’t it just like the Cellular Jail?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’ve seen Cellular Jail?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Many times.”

“You’ve been to Port Blair?” I persisted.

“Yes. I’ve lived there. It’s a lovely place,” she said.

“How lucky,” I said. “I’ve only seen pictures of Cellular Jail.”

Silence. Pregnant silence.

Then I spoke, looking at her child seated on her lap, “Baby. He’s so cute. How old is he?”

“Six months,” she said.

“You haven’t named him?

“Oh yes,” she said, “we call him Baby, his real name is Vivek.”

“Vivek?”

“Yes. Vivek ,” she said “It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I patted the driver on the shoulder and said, “Seedha Le Chalo. Jaldi. Drive fast. To Landour Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Priya asked flabbergasted.

“I want you to meet someone,” I said.

The car stopped outside the hospital. “Come,” I said, and Priya holding her baby in her arms followed me towards the door of Victor’s room.

I opened the door and said, “Come Piyu. Go right in. Your Victor is waiting for you, for both of you.”

I didn’t wait to see the expression on her face.

I quickly turned and ran to the car and shouted to the driver, “Driver – jaldi karo. Be quick. Take me to the site office. Fast.”

As the car descended down the steep slopes of Landour, past Char-Dukan, towards Picture Palace at the end of the Mall, I took out Anton Chekhov’s book from my purse.

I’ll have plenty of time to read it now.

Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir to remember Victor.

I opened the book, read on the first page: “To my darling Victor…Love. Piyu.”

I took out my cell-phone and sent an SMS to Victor: “Happy Reunion!”

Then I turned the page and began reading Anton Chekhov’s enthralling short story ‘The Darling.’

As I write this I am feeling good.

Yes, I am feeling good.

Don’t ask me why.

Happiness goes when you speak of it.

VIKRAM KARVE  

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Appetite for a Stroll

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

vikramkarve@sify.com

Mussoorie trip- November 6, 2009

I am posting only a few pics here so Here is a link to the full album of pictures – in addition to the few here in the post – really worth looking at them:
http://picasaweb.google.com/ladyjane59/MussoorieAndBuddhistStupa?feat=directlink

When planning this trip I was told that Mussoorie was a 2 ½ hour drive, and so we decided to leave at 7 in the morning and figured we’d have breakfast in mussoorie No one bothered to tell me that 2 ½ hours was going directly on the main road, not taking the scenic mountain road.

Which is the way we decided to go, and although it was a full 4 ½ hour ride up winding, twisting, hair-pin curve roads, it was worth every minute of the journey. Despite the fact that my stomach protested vigorously several times and I thought I could not go another minute, the views were more than worth the price I paid. And the decision not to eat breakfast before leaving, paid off as well, because if I had eaten beforehand, I would have wound up like the lady we saw hanging wither head out a bus window, vomiting!!

It was a totally fabulous day for me, for reasons even beyond the actual trip to mussoorie, which would have been enough in itself. In addition, I had my first view of the

I had my first view of the glorious snow-capped Himalaya peaks in 2 ½ years, and it wasn’t until that breath stopping moment of my first view that I realized how much I missed these mountains and realized that I had stayed away for much too long.

In addition to this, I also visited the Tibetan colony in dehra dun, and understood how much I miss the Tibetan culture, people, tranquil faces with peaceful smiles, saying Tashi Delek to people (hello in Tibetan) and seeing their faces light up with wonder and joy that a foreigner would greet them in this way, and of course, the utter tranquility and peaceful joy I felt while visiting the Buddhist temple,

stupa and moastery. The energies were so different for me at least from what I feel (or don’t feel) when visiting most Hindu holy sites….the Buddhist sites have nothing to do with idols and gods. It is simply a place where a person can connect completely and easily with his own inner divinity and feel whole, totally at peace, and one with all. The pictures in this blog can, in no way, give you the true feeling of the magnificence of the Himalayas, or the deep feelings of harmony and peace which Buddhist environs seem to release within me.
There is no question that I will be back in McLeodganj next year!

And now, just a lot of little impressions and glimpses into the trip itself…
We left and followed the mountain road arriving first in a town called Narender where, of all things, we passed the Mt Carmel Christian Academy!. We rode steadily up twisting, narrow roads, rising completely above the lowlands below. Small shrines to Shiva all along the road. Exhilaration of being back in the mountains again the only compensation for my stomach protestations. We were riding through the Garwhal district which is the home of numerous small villages and isolated homesteads….the mountainsides terraced

with all kinds of crops, and although there are some true homes there, most of the people seem to be living in what are barely shacks…hovels built of tin, black plastic and anything else I guess that is available as raw materials. On the other hand, the air is clean and pure, there is plenty of running water and probably enough to eat, although the life must be intensely difficult on a physical level. Driving up through the terraced slopes we saw lots of pink blossoming fruit trees which my friend Seema, who grew up in Garwhal, said are peach trees.

As we drove, we saw scores of school children from barely more than toddlers up through High School teenagers, walking for miles from both directions toward the local schools. This, after trudging straight up the sides of the mountains from their homes in the valleys below…all clean, clothes starched and pressed, hair oiled and slicked or plaited with white bows,all smiling, chatting, laughing and seeming completely unaware of the what seemed to me to be a really difficult task to do, twice each day. They looked a lot happier and content than most of the students I see at home being dropped off in fancy cars at the entrance to their various institutions of learning back home.

After two hours of traveling, the deodars began to show themselves on the mountainsides…I love these trees and these forests…you can see them in the pictures…

We found our way through Chamba which is a big resort city for Indians and certainly worth visiting for the amazing views and peaceful atmosphere.

At my first view of the snow-capped peaks, I was overwhelmed with tears of joy…quite to my surprise actually! And the crispness of the cold mountain air was so bracing and lovely…It was truly wonderful.

Next town along the way is Dhanolti, another tourist center, and the last town before reaching Mussoorie itself. Mussoorie is at an altitude of 2500 meters, just slightly higher than Dharamkot, but it is not IN the mountains….it is ON a mountain which makes the views amazing from every direction.

Once up in mussoorie, we actually had no idea what to do there. This in itself is a first for me as the “old” me would have spent time checking out guide books or the internet to know exactly what I “must” do while in mussoorie. And discovering the unknown was great fun and a new kind of exciting adventure for me. A well-traveled friend of mine once mention that her favorite part of traveling is arriving in a new place with no idea about what to expect. I told her that this was terrifying for me and I could never do it. AND NOW I HAVE, albeit nothing too ambitious, but for me a wonderful new beginning. (And now I will approach my upcoming journey to varanassi in the same way).
We began just exploring the main “mall street”,

which was pleasant enough to walk around, especially in the cool mountain air, and I myself would have tried any of the local restaurants along the way for chai and parantha (or, as we did later on, ask some of the other tourists we saw what they recommend), but Natasha was not comfortable so, we went to eat at DOMINO’S PIZZA of all places.

But she was happy, so I was happy as well!!
We then continued our walk and knew that there was a cable car which goes up, so went looking for it. We finally found it and before we could think further, found ourselves riding up the mountainside. It is a 400 meter ride up and once up there, well, you can see from the pictures that it is worth the ride up. We stayed up there for some time, and, again, I myself would have eaten up there as well, but simply had chai…figuring better not too eat before traveling back down the mountain, knowing what awaited me on the roads. Met some lovely people there including two monks, one India, one Western, and then an Indian preacher who had “found Jesus” and tried converting me, but I held my own without creating conflict and all in all it was an interesting conversation.

We made our way back down to town and thought we would do some further exploring but realized it was getting late and we still wanted to see the Buddhist temple on the way back before it got dark. Just as we decided to head back up (and it WAS up-mussoorie is very hilly –as you can see from the pictures from the cable car-it sprawls out over the entire mountain)

– our driver called to ask if we were coming back. We left mussoorie quite happy with our adventure, and sicne the ride back was not through the mountain road but through Dehra Dun, the capitol city of Uttarakand, we expected to be back home quickly. Well, it was by then apparently rush hour and there was lots of traffic so it took longer to get to the Buddhist temple area than expected,

but there was still enough daylight to enjoy the setting and take pictures.

However, once back on the road, it took twice as long as it should have to get back to rishikesh due to traffic. We arrived home at 8 in the evening, exhausted, but extremely happy – I ate a light dinner and peacefully went to sleep – quite pleased and very proud of myself.

Here is a link to the full album of pictures – in addition to the few here in the post – just another reminder that it is really worth looking at them:
http://picasaweb.google.com/ladyjane59/MussoorieAndBuddhistStupa?feat=directlink

Namaste
Jane

Megérkeztünk tehát munkánk 2. állomásához, ahol tovább folytatjuk előkészületeinket: délelőttönként bejárunk a kórházba, részt veszünk a reggeli áhitaton, megbeszélésen és viziten, majd a napi munkában. Landour valójában nem egy település, hanem a térképeken már megtalálható Mussoorie város része, egy hegy a többi közül. Tehát helyesen inkább Mussoorie-t kellene mindig mon-danunk Landour helyett. Sokan mégis büszkék arra, hogy Landour-iak. Landour híres a nyelviskolájáról, ahol 5 hétig intenzív hindi nyelvtanfolyamon veszünk részt. Nagyon nehéz a nyelv, sokat kell tanulnunk. A kórház az EHA 20 kórházának egyike, nemrég épült újjá, a neve: Landour Community Hospital (LCH).

Wildlife

Wildlife is always exciting to watch. They were the earlier masters of the wild outside until humans started their domination over the world, an era that still exists. In spite of constant poaching and endangering, they are still pleasant to see our wild friends roam about in their natural habitats.

The animals are now being conserved environments thanks to the self centered and cruel action of some members of our proud clan.

Now, the people all over the globe share the same view and that is to save whatever is left and increase it to what it was. There is a vast improvement as more and more people are constantly being involved in conservation activities.

Treasure

India is also a part of the international view of saving the precious treasure chest of bio diversity. There are many wildlife sanctuaries in India. Uttarakhand (Uttaranchal) is home to the first wildlife sanctuary in India namely the Corbett National Park.

This park has been christened after Jim Corbett, who helped a lot in demarcating the boundaries of the park. It was found in 1936 by Sir Malcolm Hailey, the then governor general and was called as Hailey National Park until the independence of India. The park has always been home to lots of lush vegetation and lots of animals. The flora and fauna is always the highlight of the state.

Wildlife Conservation

With all the beauty of nature and its significance, the wildlife is also well protected in their natural habitats. The Corbett National Park has reptiles, fish eating gharial, mugger, sporting fish such as mahseer and malee that thrive in the river and lake. Tigers are the biggest attraction and also include elephant, leopard, hog, bear, deer, sambar, fox and muntac. This park has over 300 species of birds and the common birds are snipe, herons, ducks, egrets, spotted eagle, darter, harrier, cormorants, wood pecker and thrushes. The Nanda Devi National Park includes snow leopard, Himalayan tahr, Himalayan black bear, chir pheasants and nonal. The Kedarnath Sanctuary has leopard, snow leopard, serow, musk deer and snow cock.

Rajaji National Park is on the Dehradun Valley. The sanctuary has elephant, bear chital, tiger, sambar, panther, kakar, python, wild boar and monitor lizard. The Chilla sanctuary is on the bank of the Ganga and entertains elephants, bear, tigers and gorals. The beautiful nature, the abundance of flora and fauna and the clean environment has encourages wildlife and is of great attraction to tourists.

Pilgrimage

Tourism is the greatest refreshment of all. A tourist has a chance to visit distant lands, experience different cultures and treat themselves to different cuisines. There are many places of tourism in the world. The tourists visit all kinds of places.

As a result, several places are known as tourist destinations of great repute and several nations have gained prominence as they have tourist spots. There are several tourist spots all over the world due to extensive traveling.

India is a spot where the mind takes an extended vacation from the body. The land of India is one of the greatest spots for a tourist to visit.

Sanctity of pilgrimage

Uttaranchal can be considered as ‘The Hindu Holy Land’. Uttaranchal is the holiest spot for a Hindu. It is the home of the majestic ‘Chardham’ as it houses the grandeur of Gangotri, Yamunotri, Badrinath and Kedarnath. These spots are by far the most holy of all Hindu temples and enjoy a vast inflow of tourists all over the year. Even natives flock to visit this temple as it is not open all over the year. The extent of snowfall on the Himalayas can not be accurately predicted and so the temples are open for about 6 months.

Destined Pilgrimages

Uttaranchal is the preferred destination of any devout Hindu. The landscape is speckled with gorges, deep valleys, snow capped peaks, beautiful meadows, ice laden glaciers, clear lakes, waterfalls and springs. This land is a land of temples giving evidence of the opulent religious heritage. Rishikesh, Rudraprayag, Haridwar and Pauri Garhwal are significant place so pilgrim to every Hindu. A visit to all these four places is believed to lead to salvation as per Hindu mythology. These temples were set up by Adi Shankaracharya some centuries back, but time and again it faced natural calamities and was reinforced. The spiritualness and the aura are perfectly pure that you cannot come unmoved. Every step is a shrine, a spring, an ashram or a temple.

The other Holy cities such as Haridwar and Rishikesh are also hill top shrines and are the major attractions of pilgrimages in Uttaranchal. The faith in visiting these temples, especially the Chardham Yatra is believed to wash all the sins. Legends behind these places make it more interesting. The majestic Himalayas soothe the pilgrims, but the journey is treacherous at times.

The other attractions of this temple are the Surya kund, a hot water spring. The hot water spring is evidence and reinforces the faith that in an area surrounded by snow peaks this spring is hot. Other places are Hanuman Chatti, Sayana Chatti, Janki Chatti, Chamba and Dodi Tal. This is not the ultimatum as there are numerous places of visit; you can term this as an eternal place for pilgrimage.

Tourism is a great way to relax oneself after a busy scheduled to prevent one from busting. A bit of tourism is necessary as it revives the mind, body, heart and soul back to its original form and it gets ready to face all the hardships that lay ahead.

There are many spots for tourism all over the world. Tourists also have a wide range of tourist spots to choose to visit. Despite, there being several tourist spots, there is always a natural affinity for nature and the reigning beauty.

The mere thought of reaching a spot that is blessed by nature and has several important places to visit with a perfect climate makes the tourist evade the world and escape into wonderland as the imagination takes over.

Explicit features

The state of Uttaranchal in India is the kind of place that the doctor advises to visit if anyone suffers from excess fatigue. The official name of Uttaranchal may have been changed to Uttarakhand but there have been little changes to the grandeur of the place. The state has still remained the great, snow laden and Himalayan blessed state it was. The state other than the extensive tourist spots has excellent hotels. These hotels provide tourists the accommodation they expect. If one arrives at the appropriate season, there would be no need for a fan as the natural air conditioner would be in full flow.

Hotels

Uttaranchal is opulent in flora and fauna and facilitates the tourist ambience as it houses the significant pilgrimage centers. The grandeur of its natural beauty and the simplicity of people makes visiting Uttaranchal a distinct experience. There are adequate accommodations and the star hotels or budget hotels, both cater the needs of the tourists.

They maintain a professional relationship and offer competitive tariffs. Accommodations are available for luxurious hotels as well as budget hotels. They are designed to the taste of the travelers and to suit their budgets. They are well equipped with contemporary amenities. They also provide business, dining and other recreational facilities.

The suites and rooms provided in the hotels are well furnished and bestow with ultimate comfort. They also offer authentic north Indian cuisine and the multi cuisine restaurants are convenient as they are in house and offer dishes of your taste. There are enough local eateries to assist the tourists to savor the local snacks as well as light food. The hotels are also facilitated with board rooms and to hold business seminars or meetings and formal banquets.

People & Culture of Uttarakhand

‘Change is the spice of life’. This saying is the base pillar of the tourism industry that is increasing by leaps and bounds every single day. The state enjoys great tourism inflow from all over the state as the region has the beauty of the Himalayas to appease the tourists who visit in large numbers.

This state is officially known as ‘Uttarakhand’. The culture of the state is no less proficient than the state itself. The culture of the state also makes it a great tourist destination within the nation. The land of Uttaranchal has several temples and spots that are holy for Hindus and these spots are accessible to the tourists.

Holy Destination

The state of Uttarakhand can be considered as ‘The Holy Land of the Hindus’ as there are several temples of optimum importance such as Badrinath, Kedarnath and many other holy temples that act as a great crowd puller.

The state also has a culture that merges well with the beauty and the grandeur of the region. Uttaranchal offers the entire necessary infrastructure such as superb accommodation, food, tourist spots and also culture upon which the fortress of tourism can be built. The state’s rich culture makes the state one of the greatest tourist destinations on the face of the Earth.

Culture of Uttaranchal

People of this state are known as Kumaoni or Garhwali. They are a distinct people and are known in the name ‘ Pahari’ meaning ‘people of mountains’. The maximum population of Uttaranchal is Hindus with magnificent and principal centers of Hinduism. The main language spoken is the Garhwali and the tourists charting a plan to Uttaranchal need not worry as Hindi is the extensively used language in all parts of the state.

The Uttaranchal state has a distinct dialect of Garhwali in each state and this trait is best illuminated through the songs and local verses. Uttaranchal is an enchanting region of Himalayas. This land is called as Dev Bhoomi as scores of rivers originate here.

The Uttaranchal culture assimilates the influences of its pre-historic roots. The essence has showed no significant changes and the nature has bestowed its best. The dance, music, arts and craft are great attraction and are performed during seasonal cycles.

All the communities participate in festivals related to natural or religious events. The mountains are of immense beauty and inspire deep spirituality. The fairs and festivals are celebrated with great pomp and enthusiasm.

People are never the same always. They may prefer to stay quietly one day and might want to get adventurous the next day. The same psychology is with life. Life can never pursue, if it is quiet and monotonous all the time.

There has to be certain changes to make it interesting. Even tourists feel the need to change their activities. It may be fun to visit some place but it will be much better if tourism and adventure tourism occur in a synchronous manner.

The adventure tourism is always fun and it gives the tourists greater pleasure and also boosts the tourism of the place.

Features

As a result, the tourism gets an additional vigor while the tourists enjoy their stay on a grander scale and also spread the proficiency of the place by means of their mouth. India is an exciting place to be in. Tourists flood this place all the time. Uttarakhand is also known as (Uttaranchal) and is no less an exciting place to visit. The state offers some of the best tourist spots, pilgrimage destinations and also several adrenaline sports such as skiing, trekking, river rafting and also the quiet safaris that keep the feeling of melancholia away from its valuable tourists. This enhances the tourism of the region.

Varieties of Adventure

Uttranchal is officially known as ‘Uttarkhand’ and comprises of hilly terrain mainly and is pristine as it is far away from the hustle bustle of the crowds. It has natural wilderness making it a unique trekker’s paradise. The trekking varies from 2000 to 7000 ft. The steep climbs, snow capped peaks, lakes and streams make trekking more interesting. It is a physical challenge as every trek is distinct in its own way. The journey is a spiritual and cultural venture and bestows an opportunity of meeting mountain folks and Himalayan tribes. You can trek to various glaciers and spiritual kunds.

Besides Trekking, Skiing is also pulse racing. Resisting the temptation of Skiing on snow covered field is exhilarating. The desired destination for Skiing is Auli. The appropriate season is December to March. Dayara Bugyal, Mundali and Munsyari are also appropriate places for Skiing.

Safari is another activity that brings an adventure thrill and allows you to explore wildlife parks. Jeep safaris are convenient to travel in Corbett National Park and Rajaji National Park. Elephant and horse safaris are also available.

River Rafting is thrilling and chilling and is a challenge in the wild river. Rafting across the glaciers, deep gorges, boulders, rocky course and moraines gives you a thrill. Mountaineering offers great opportunities from strenuous to easier ones. Angling and fishing is also a part of the adventure tours. Rock climbing is ideal in autumn and summer, but is challenging. Canoeing is also a great sport and is an adventure for the tourists. On the whole the entire Uttarakhand is an adventure tour.

Quick Facts of Uttarakhand

Capital: Dehradun
Area: 53.483 km²
Population: 9.396.000 (2008)
Languages: Hindi, Pahari, Urdu, Panjabi, Bengalisch, Nepali, English

Uttarakhand Tourism

Uttarakhand became the 27th state of the Republic of India in November 2000. Carved out of the state of Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand mainly comprises the hilly regions of Uttar Pradesh. The state borders Himachal Pradesh in the north-west and Uttar Pradesh in the South, and has international borders with Nepal and China. A picturesque state, Uttaranchal has magnificent glaciers, majestic snow-clad mountains, panoramic views of the Himalayas, dense forests and the valley of flowers, as well as some of Hinduism’s most sacred pilgrim sites. The State’s 13 Districts can be grouped into three distinct geographical regions, the High mountain region, the Mid-mountain region and the Terai region. This is the land where the Vedas and Shastras were composed and great Indian epic, The Mahabharata, was written.

The state is very rich in natural resources especially water and forests as it has many glaciers, rivers, forests, mountain peaks. The famous peaks of Uttarakhand are Nanda Devi, Kedarnath, Trishul, Bandarpunch and Mt Kamet. The major glaciers include Gangotri, Pindari, Milam and Khatling. The Ganga, The Yamuna, Ramganga and Sharda are principal rivers of this region.

The name Haridwar means “gateway to God”, and it is from here that the pilgrimage to two famous temples, Kedarnath (Lord Shiva) and Badrinath (Lord Vishnu) starts. It is situated on the banks of river Ganga, at the foothills of the Shivalik Mountains. It is one of the four places where the Kumbh mela is held every 12 years. During this fair, millions of devotees take a holy dip in the river Ganges to wash away their sins. It is said that the pitcher of Amrit was kept in hiding here by Devtas when it was unearthed from Sagar Manthan. The same pitcher was taken to the other places, i.e. Allahabad, Ujjain and Nasik. In the struggle with Asuras the pitcher broke spilling some sacred water (amrit), since then these places became very holy and the Kumbh mela is held every 3 years in these cities in succession. Every evening, after sunset, aarti of the Ganga is performed in Har-ki-Pauri.

Khirsu is the best place suitable to escape from the daily busy city life. This small and insignificant place yet has the power to lure and melt any human being into nature. It is a slice of land taken from heaven and brought to earth. Khirsu looks beautiful in winter where all the thick dense Oak and Pine are filled with snow. The real beauty of the Himalayan ranges can be viewed from this small town. At an altitude of 1700mt. Khirsu remained unnoticed compared to other famous tourist destinations in Uttaranchal like Mussoorie and Rishikesh. Khirsu is located 19km from Pauri town. The apple orchards are a big attraction here. On a clear summer day one can see more than 300 peaks from Khirsu; some of these peaks are even nameless. Today Khirsu is gaining momentum in tourism growth like the other places in Uttaranchal.

Khirsu is a must see, if you are interested in spending some peaceful time away from the daily hustle bustle. The nearest airport is in Jollygrant airport in Dehradun and Kotdwar railway station is 127 km away from Khirsu. The town also have mountain resorts for tourists.

Chamba is known as the hill station of North India. It is situated in Tehri Garhwal District of Uttarakhand, India. It is a nagar panchayat. You can say it a small town also. It is situated on the cross road of Mussoorie, Rishikesh, Tehri and New Tehri. It is on the mid-way of Chamba-Dhanaulti road. Most of the tourist places are near about it – Dhanaulti, Surkanda Devi Temple and New Tehri. A tourist can reach here very easily from each part of Tehri and the Char Dham. Chamba is known as the ideal place to spend holiday also. So, it is one of the best holiday places of North India also. You can view very beautiful sunset here from several peaks such as Banderpunch and Bhagirathi.

Historically it is known as the part of Tehri Riyasat. It was called as Chamba or Chamua. Chamba town is mix up of Garhwali and north Indian culture. Chamba is known as the host location for Gangotri and Yamunotri for tourists. Its environmental beauty is just like heaven.

The most attractive place for tourist of Chamba is the town, Gabbar Singh Negi Memorial and Shri Bageshwar Mahadev Mandir. Chamba town is known as the main location of North India for any tourist. GMVN Tourist Guest House is the most famous of Chamba town to spend some times for tourists. The market is also situated on the hill.

Another place is Gabbar Singh Negi Memorial hall which has great importance, historically. Gabbar Singh was a brave solder of Garhwal Rifles. Gabbar Singh Negi Memorial hall was established in 1925 in Chamba. It is the best location for tourists in Chamba.

Shri Bageshwar Mahadev Mandir is also the most famous temple of Chamba. It is dedicated to the lord Shiva. The temple is very beautiful which attracts lots of tourists.

You can reach very easily to Chamba from roads, air or train. It is well connected with the most famous tourist places – Mussoorie, Rishikesh, Tehri and New Tehri. You can enjoy here as holiday traveling or hill station traveling. Chamba is known as the most beautiful hill station of North India also.

Major Himalayan Hill Stations

Gulmarg & Sonamarg
The beauty of this place can only be seen to believe. No words, no phrases would be enough to capture the sheer brilliance of this unimaginable canopy crafted by the God. Resembling a huge bowl of meadow, lush and green, where the only voices that you hear are the cowbells tinkling away in the fields, Gulmarg looks like a fantasy world.

Srinagar
This place is the capital of Jammu and Kashmir and is also the largest city in the state. Situated at an altitude of 1730 meters from the sea level, this place is world famous for its Dal Lake and the floating House Boats in its waters. Also home to one of the most exquisitely designed landscape of flora and fauna; Mughal Gardens, the city has a sleepy yet energetic charm about it.

Ladakh
A land like no other, Ladakh is guarded on both sides by two of the world’s mightiest mountain ranges, the Himalayas and the Karakoram Range. A place full of breathtaking sights, Ladakh is a different world with its strange Gompas perched on heights; the barren and rocky surfaces sprayed with patches of grass in between, and also the patches of white powder snow that seem too hard to resist for the on-lookers to play with.

Shimla
Just think of anything beautiful related to the mountains, and the chances are, that you will see and hear all those sights and sounds here in this Capital of Himachal Pradesh. The amazing town of Shimla, which was also the summer capital in pre-independence era of the British Raj, is certainly full of with all the natural beauties that you can imagine.

Perched on a scenic hill location overlooking a deep valley, the hill town has plenty of green pastures around it. The added beauty of this place is the Narrow Gauge rail that connects it from the town of Kalka located in the foothills.

Kullu
Once known as Kulanthpitha, the end of the living world, Kullu is nestled in the valley on looking the vast Himalayan range. Situated on the banks of the Beas River, this town is famous for the Kullu Dussehra which is annually held with celebrations lasting almost a week. Travel Articles

Manali
This is another hill town of Himachal Pradesh which is very popular among tourists due to its closeness to the snow capped region of the Himalayas. Also famous for its apple orchards, this town is a popular honeymoon destination and also serves as a base camp for numerous treks in the higher peaks of the Himalayas.

Dharamshala
A place which is more famous for the exiled Tibetan Leader Dalai Lama; Dharamshala is a pretty place with its dense pine trees and Deodar forests. Surrounded with plenty of fresh water streams and a bustling bazaar, Dharamshala is a perfect place to unwind and exploring the Tibetan temples.

Dalhousie
This is a quiet mellowed town, with a great sense of serenity. This hill station is also a place to spend a nice weekend at a relaxed and easy pace.

Nainital
This is a fairytale town situated around a big reservoir of water which is Called “Naini Tal”. The Tal is actually the main attraction of the hill town, which is thronged by plenty of tourists every year. Situated in the hills of Kumaon, Nainital is also surrounded by Bhim Tal, Sat Tal, Naukuchia Tal and Khurp Tal.

Mussoorie
This hill station is located just 35 kilometers from Dehradun, the capital city of Uttranchal. Owing to its majestic beauty, this place is also famous among tourists as the queen of hill stations. AN excellent place to chill out away from the sweltering heat of the plains, this place presents a very good option of catching a quick chilling tour because of its easy accessibility from the plains.

Rishikesh
This religious and yoga centre is located just 24 Kms away from Haridwar. This place is famous for its Ghats and Sadhus, and also serves as the vantage point for deities going to pay their prayers to the Chaar Dhams of Badri Nath, Kedar Nath, and Yamunotri & Gangotri Dhams.

Kailash Mansarovar
The mystery of this vast reservoir of almost frozen water perched on the Tibetan plateau still beckons hundreds of visitors every year. The story of Lord Shiva’s abode Kailash Parvat over-looking this Sarovar also attaches a religious significance to the place for Hindus.

Départ pour les montagnes vendredi soir et ce jusqu’au mardi. Quatre jours d’oxygénation près des montagnes de l’Hymalaya. L’air frais et surtout pur (contrairement a l’air sur-pollué de New Delhi) étaient les choses les plus agréables du séjour. Balade en voiture et à pieds pour visiter les sentiers et découvrir les hautes montagnes.

Petite escapade dans un hotel prestigieux comme jamais je n’en avais vu auparavant, a la rencontre d’un gourou très bien coté dans la région. Petite, enfin grosse appréhension quelques minutes avant qu’il me lise les lignes de la main et me déchiffre mon passé et mon avenir…

It is like moments of truth. Everybody has one or maybe several. So it is with times of inspiration. Everybody has that reference of sight, smell, sound, touch, feeling or piece of imagination that inspires. For me, one of the strongest times of inspiration is when the sky opens to pour its heart out in a manner unrestrained and unabashed. The good thing is, I am not the only one raising a toast to the rains.

From Bollywood’s ‘Tip Tip Baarish’ to Hollywood’s a la Gene Kelly Tap dancing to the beats of the peltering rain; from Pop music’s ‘Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain’, and ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head’ to our very own Raag Megh Malhar; from art to fiction to poetry……… monsoon has always inspired the positive and bright side of things all over the world and from time immemorial. So, who am I to remain stoic towards such a divine sensation.

But the charms of monsoon have everything to do with the place where you are. Imagine the traffic jamming, gutter flowing, drain clogging, humid rains of Delhi and you will instantly know what I mean.

My association with monsoon spans different continents and saddles varied time zones. Walking on an old street in quaint little Alexandria in Virginia to the tunes of talented buskers playing to the gallery with dogs of various shapes and sizes and their owners – so much the same, that is shapes and sizes – for company. Cruising over River Seine in the heart of Paris with soft rain, like a companion, caressing my face. Raindrops falling on my head in oh-so-picturesque Engelberg at the foothills of Mt. Titlis in Switzerland, falling in step with the jingling of cow bells. But not quite the torrential rains in Amsterdam ruining our otherwise pleasant canal cruise – said to be the best way to see the beatific city. Or the angry downpour in Volderdam drowning all plans to seek vicarious pleasure in the country’s famed and legal night life.

The best and the strongest memories are those that belong to the hazy realms of childhood. The whiff of a freshly baked apple pie from a loving mother’s kitchen, the fragrance of aftershave used by dad – certainly the strongest man in the world at that all-knowing age of five or six, the blotches – sometimes hard to wash away – from jumped in puddles on spic and span white uniforms – a mandate at super-strict convents or the smell of earth after the first fall of rain – with several lines of poetry and film lyrics wasted on it and staying to be inspiring until that telling moment when a desensitized science-type friend opened my eyes to it stating so unromantically that it was actually earthworms that smelt thus and not the heavenly marriage of waters from the sky and mother earth that led to it. Remember what I told you about sensory references. So be it.

My fondest association with monsoon is in idyllic Dehradun, nostalgic memories of which act as perfect stress busters even today. Living in my mother’s mansion had its privileges. For one, you could always see the many moods of Mussoorie – the Queen of Hills – through the day or night by just peering over the boundary wall and looking up to the nearest cluster of clouds on your right. Trying to spot Muss (that’s what the hill station is called in local parlance) in the peak of monsoon wasn’t easy but certainly a lot of fun. Raindrops falling on my head in misty Mussoorie as I walked the length of scenic Camel’s Back Road was also an oft-repeated heady romance that brutally ended when on one such trek I was horrified to discover a leech crawl up my ankle.

Walking barefoot on the freshly rained-upon soft, velvety front lawns at home is an experience that gives a long run to squishing sand in between your toes at some touristy beach.

One of the nicest things about my mother’s abode is its big windows with a view on every side. After having worked with the hospitality industry for more than a decade, I can tell you authoritatively that hotels charge a premium for a good view. So imagine rooms with wonderful views all my growing up years. My mother had nimble green fingers and we seemed to enjoy, amply, the fruit of her labour. She had developed her backyard into a mini orchard with a myriad fruit trees – mangoes, peaches, plum, pears, apples, litchi, grape fruit, papaya, even grapes – providing shade from the Summer sun, swaying to the Spring breeze, shedding their coats to autumn and lending that extra chill to the winter. But it was monsoon when they looked their prettiest best. Freshly scrubbed, in lovely shades of green, either cradling crystal clear pearls on their belly or with rows of raindrops hanging from their edges. It doesn’t take the eye of an artist to appreciate this breathtaking sight. If I was deft with the brush then you would have seen several canvases titled RAIN in my home studio. But I chose to sing an ode to it right from the times of amateurish poetry to the time when as a professional creative writer I sold mush to couples in as far and wide places as India, Europe and the Americas.

Another nice monsoon sight is the lovely white wild flowers that take over a full hillside or come up around brooks. The off-white wild mushrooms along the grass or by tree trunks are quite irresistible too. I remember picking the flowers and the mushrooms in my cane basket and bringing them home. They would sit pretty in a corner as I would get lost in my Enid Blyton or Lewis Carroll through the afternoon with the big toadstool, typically, assuming a character in my favourite story.

Monsoon is also about food. Who can resist the wafting aroma of hot pakoras or delicious samosas to be devoured with tangy mint chutney and a piping hot cup of tea? Back home I would often bake the most luscious of sponge cakes (and I do have the nicest of recipes) on a rain-soaked afternoon. The smell would engulf the whole house, as I would bring the cake out to the kitchen table, drive a knife through the hot center and serve it with melted chocolate. These days I do hot aubergine slices with salsa toppings or baked cheese on potato dices with a dash of oregano and chilli peppers. The result is as mesmerizing.

Rainy season is on our threshold. Delhi may still not be up to it with constantly irritating constructions happening everywhere. But a short sojourn to Doon over a wet weekend is certainly within my reach.

Anybody who wields a pen almost always has a book in them. So, come rains and I am off to the family pad in my favourite valley succumbing to the muse in the lap of inspiration in Nature’s inimitable style.

**************

WHY DID YOU DUMP ME ?

[Flash Fiction – A Short Story]

By

VIKRAM KARVE

The moment I saw the e-mail I did two things.

First I took a print-out of the mail, kept it in my purse and deleted the mail from my mailbox.

Then I called the airlines and booked my ticket on the next flight to India.

The e-mail contained a name and an address. That’s all – just a name and an address.

I cannot begin to describe the emotion I felt as I looked at the name.

I had so many questions to ask him – Unanswered questions that were haunting me for so many years.

It all began when my fiancé Anil suddenly broke off our engagement without any explanation.

“Why?” I asked him totally shocked.

“I can’t tell you,” he said.

“You can’t dump me just like this. I’ve done nothing wrong,” I pleaded heartbroken.

“I’m sorry, Rita. I can’t marry you,” he said trying to look away from my eyes.

“What do you mean you can’t marry me?” I shouted shaking him.

He didn’t say anything, just remained silent, averting his eyes.

“Is it someone else? What do you mean you can’t marry me? Actually you don’t want to marry me, isn’t it?”

“Okay, you can think what you like. I don’t want to marry you.”

“You have to give me an explanation. I am not going to accept being jilted like this.”

“You have to accept it. Don’t delve too much.”

“How dare you say ‘don’t delve too much’, you unscrupulous cheat?” I screamed in anger, taking hold of his collar.

“Cool down,” he said pushing me away. “It’s you who tried to cheat me.”

“I? Cheated you?” I said dumbfounded and furious.

“You shouldn’t have tried to hide things from me,” he accused.

“Hide what?” I asked, getting livid.

“You never told me that you are an adopted child,” he said.

“What nonsense! Don’t talk rubbish. I’m not adopted!” I shouted in anger.

“You are.”

“Who told you?”

“We got some pre-matrimonial enquiries done.”

“Matrimonial Enquiry? You spied on me,” I accused him, “to blackmail me, to humiliate me? With all these lies!”

“Don’t worry. No one else knows. It’s a reliable and discreet investigation agency.”

“It’s not true. I’m not adopted,” I said feeling shattered numb, as if I had been pole-axed.

“Why don’t you ask your parents?” Anil said as he walked away from my life, leaving me heartbroken, desolate and shattered.

I never asked my parents, the only parents I knew. They were the one’s who loved me, gave me everything. I could not ask them; hurt them. I did not have the heart to. They did not say anything to me but I could see the sadness and a sense of guilt in their eyes, as they withered away having lost the will to live. I felt deeply anguished and helpless.

My parents loved me, meant everything to me, and we carried on our lives as if nothing had happened, and I lovingly cared and looked after them till their very end; but deep down I felt terribly betrayed.

Years passed. I relocated abroad past and immersed myself in my work. I tried to forget but I could never forget.

One day I could bear it no longer.

I decided to find out.

And now I had found out.

The investigation agency had done a good job. Confidential and discreet.

For the first time I knew the name of my actual father – my real father, my biological natural father.

And now I had to meet this man and ask him why he did it, commit that cruel unforgivable act of abandoning me to the world.

I landed at Delhi airport in the very early hours of the morning.

It was cold, the morning chill at once refreshing and invigorating, the driver drove fast and it took me six hours by taxi to reach the magnificent bungalow near Landour in Mussoorie.

I checked the nameplate and briskly walked inside, eager to see my real father for the first time.

There was a small crowd gathered in the porch.

“What’s happening?” I asked a man in the crowd.

“Bada Sahab is no more. He passed away this morning. He was so good to us,” he said with tears in his eyes.

I pushed my way through the crowd.

My father’s lifeless body was lying on a white sheet bedecked with flowers, ready for the last rites.

As I looked at his serene face, tears welled up in my eyes.

Suddenly I lost control of myself and cried inconsolably, “I have become an orphan. An orphan!”

“Me too!” a familiar voice said softly behind me.

I turned around and stared at my ex fiancé Anil.

Anil looked into my eyes in awe.

Slowly comprehension began to dawn on us, Anil and me, and we kept looking into each other’s eyes.

Frozen, we looked at each other in silence; grotesque silence; deafening silence; illuminating silence – an enlightening silence.

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

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After experiencing the heritage of our capital (New Delhi) & the chastity of the world-famous ‘Tajmahal’ (Agra) ,we headed to Haridwar….. but, just to spend a couple of horibble nights. We were completely unaware of it being the ‘Shraban’ month & the ‘bhole bam’( disciples of mahadev) people made Haridwar completely impossible.. wherever your eyes go you will be able to see saffron innerwears (believe it or not, the dont wear anything except for innerwears). So, after 2 days at Haridwar, we literally flew to Mussoorie…. & which I felt to be ‘The 2nd heaven in the lap of Himalaya’s’ ..

Its 28 km away from Dehradun & takes approximately one & a half hour by Bus to reach.. Buses are available at day time in the ‘Old Bus Dipot’ of Dehradun. We reached Mussoorie around 10.30 am… booked hotel, had lunch & without wasting time, booked tickets for the side-scene tour on that day only..

That tour, for me, was a never forgettable 5 hours.. My words are too trifle to express the endless flow,the never ending ‘music’ of the ‘Kempi falls’ , the silent existance of the ‘Manasha Temple’, the sweetness of the swans when they slightly dip their head in the lake, the beauty of Mussoorie when the clouds covers it with care, thinking her to be its darling …. those fellings are inexplicable, enigmatic…. & at nights , believe it or not, every single place of Mussoorie becomes a pricessless balcony seat to experience the view of Dehradun which looks like thousands of scattered diamonds… glittering all together..

I loved that place … & I will advice you … if you are really a nature-freak, if you wanna see nature at her best attires, visit Mussoorie once..

We did not plan it as a pilgrimage, but that’s what it turned out to be. And a fabulous one at that! It all began one day when Sreesh – my son – saw a small hillock and said “Look Dada, Himalayas” and we decided, let’s go up north and show the kids the real mountains! And coincidentally Pawan and family were going to their hometown Dehradun for a vacation and then suddenly things fell in place. Pawan did all the planning and booking and all we needed to do was to just be there and have fun!

Just before we were supposed to leave for Delhi, I was down with a bad case of viral fever – the Doc said, Raj, if you had travelled back from US, I would have had you quarantined. And then the last minute scramble to cancel the train ticket and rebooking ourselves on a flight. Delhi was hot at 41deg celcius when we landed and then the cabbie didn’t knew where New Friends Colony was and drove us all the way upto Noida. In between the guy managed to hit a couple traveling on a bike, and had two narrow escapes with larger vehicles and then has the temerity to turn around and tell us, do you know since how long I have been driving the cab? Three years!!! So don’t worry, I will make sure you reach the destination.

In our mind, we hoped that his and our destination did match!!

And then just before we hit the toll gate at Noida from where we forced him to turn back towards Delhi, we saw a beautiful hoarding with who else, but Guruji’s picture on it – the presence was unmistakable. And I said mentally, Guruji, we know that you love fun, but not today….let us just get to the hotel without further events. Mercifully it was a pre-paid cab and after a little bit of going around we managed to reach our destination for the night halt. Early next morning we were on our way to Dehradun in Shatabdi express.

My last trip to Dehradun was in 1982, when tangas used to run on the road. Obviously things have changed and we really loved the “Vikrams” – shared autos, very efficient, very cheap. We should get them to Bangalore and get rid of the “auto”cracy in the city!

After a bit of sight seeing (Ghantaghar, obviously was a must see place on our itinerary, to go back in time and revisit a romantic story that started near Ghantaghar about 11 years back, we will keep that story for some other time, but it was a must see, even important than Taj Mahal and we had to do it and look at the Ghantaghar from all the 6 angles, lest people get upset!!) eating chaats, kulfi, faloodaa at Kumar’s and doing the regular tourist circuit of Mussoorie we were ready to hit the roads to go up the mountains!!

Ghantagar at Dehradun

Sunset at Mussoorie

Coming up Next the trek @ Kedarnath