Those were the days: The baby beach

In Cannanore (now Kannur) in North Malabar, Kerala just a few meters from my ‘boarding house’ at school, there was a small beach we called the baby beach. The beach was so small that it could take not more than fifty people at one time. Besides our school, the possible claimants to the beach were the local church, St Theresa’s convent and school and the DSC Centre. In those days none other than our school laid claim to the beach. There were no ‘visitors’ from the other institutions in the vicinity for reasons of their own. The DSC Centre had another exclusive beachfront of their own. The Church, oh well, is it blasphemous to lay claim to a beach…I wouldn’t know…but they did not. Anybody from the convent was always welcome to the beach. But visitors from the convent to the beach were rare…during normal hours – that is another story.

Imagine a private beach 24X7. It was a clean beach with white sands which I can today assure you will rival the beaches of Rio, Hawaii and Goa. It was a beach with no hawkers and no shit. The best time on the beach was on full moon nights when the tide was coming in high. Occasionally we stole (please forgive us, of father! It is never too late to pardon) wine from the rectory larder and made our way to the beach by way of the tree leaning onto the terrace of the boarding house. We went there on rainy nights during the monsoons too. The roaring Arabian sea was a sight to behold from close quarters on those thunderous wet nights. We were not frightened by the foreboding dark waters hitting us on the shore. We felt comforted and relaxed. It was as if there was a bond between us and the sea…a bond of understanding each others’ ways.

 But then one day we flirted with danger – all in jest we thought. Occasionally we went to the beach on a new moon day too; just sitting on the shore and watching ship lights on the horizon, across a clam sea. On one such night we decided to play a prank with Venu (No, Not the Bard or NV; a third Venu who is today a child specialist). He was a bit timid type and thought ghosts from the graveyard of the church roamed the area on new moon nights. We told him that ghosts existed only in stories and persuaded him to come to the beach on a new moon day and see for himself. Satish ( a Kerala state schools pace bowler those days  who actually bowled faster than Sreeshant, even in those days, but never really pursued cricket and is today settled in Singapore) was already at the beach, covered in while bed sheet, atop a scraggly tree standing beside a disused well. What was meant to be a prank turned serious when Venu spotted Satish before we could and ran for his life in all directions before falling into the disused well. With a fractured skull and limbs he lay in the hospital for a month. The bond was such that the incident as it happened was hidden from the subsequent inquiry. Venu told the inquiry that he just fell into the well on the dark night by accident while visiting the beach. We did get reprimanded for going off to the beach at night, as if it were the first time we did it, and wee made to promise that we will never do it again. Such promises came easy those days.

Post the incident, Venu was convinced that there were no ghosts…After Venu came back as a full boy, we continued with our escapades as usual and now with Venu joining us.

Atop Marsimek La @ 18634ft (Chang-Chemno Range)

Mule is the better known beast of burden. The Yak is another in the same genre but more versatile in its multifaceted service offering to mankind than the mule.    Domesticated yaks have been kept for thousands of years, primarily for their milk, fibre and meat, and of course as beasts of burden. Also their dried dung is an important fuel, used all over Ladakh and is often the only fuel available on the higher reaches of the Himalayas beyond the tree line. Unlike a buffalo the Yak will not eat grain. It eats only grass. My first close encounter with the Yak was at heights beyond 15000 ft in the Ladakh ranges. 

In the winter of 1976 I,  was part of a Long Range Patrol (LRP) across the Marsimek La pass and rendezvous with a Patrol from Northwest somewhere ahead along the Shyok river. I have not enjoyed a trek or a walk more than during that outing in the divine higher reaches of the Karakorum ranges.

The mainstay of the patrolling party was the load carrying Yaks and tattus. Tattu is a variety of pony generally found in the High Altitudes in India. They are domesticated for riding and load carriage. Tattus are credited with a bit more intelligent than mules but are places below the lowest class of horses. The local guides completed the retinue of the patrol party along with the soldiers.

Marsimek-La is on the northern-most tip of the Changthang Plateau. From Darbuk we take the track (as it was then, it is probably a road now) to Lukung on the NW tip of Pangong-Tso from where another dirt track breaks to the left. The pass is still 32 kms away from this turn. The track is so small that if you are not alert, you will miss it. This track  takes you to Marsimek-La via Phobrang.  We set camp at the foot hills of the pass proper at dusk on a wintry day. That night and for three nights thereafter it snowed continually.  We were cooped up inside the snow tents, that served as bed cum living rooms and kitchen, to the last man while the guides stayed in Nomadic tents made of yak wool with the yaks and tattus tethered just outside.  There we were holed up, at an altitude touching 18000ft, crowded inside a tent with many feet of snow all around and still snowing heavily, trying to keep ourselves warm and at times wondering whether we will get out of it at all. I thought “what the heck if it is this way let it be this way” and ventured out into the snow on the third morning…morning it must have been I guessed from my biological clock, as we had not seen the Sun for a couple of days by then ( I have never ever worn a watch). I usually tell the time of the day judging from the position of the Sun or the Moon; much easier; Otherwise it is always “time kya hai baisaab?” – this always works. Notwithstanding this uncertainty of time of the day, I looked out for snow leopards and mountain goats.  Of course in that type of snow even the snow leopard wouldn’t have ventured out of its lair. Yet, hope or wait (what do they say? “jo majah intezar mein hain, who mulakkat mein kahan?) is what we ride on and there was nothing wrong in being imaginative or romantic. Of one thing I was sure; that I will never ever be in that position again (Siachen is different and in any case was yet to happen). I just stood out there in the snow and soaked in the atmosphere – I knew I will not get wet in that temperature!!!!! And what an atmosphere…it was white all around the air was thick with that peculiar odour when there is lesser oxygen content, the ranger near and very near were silhouettes, so much so that even if a snow leopard was sitting next ti me I may not have known. Was there one lurking nearby then? That is Army…could life have been more adventurous. You bet…..some events of the following day were more death defying (or so I felt)…

The Sun shone brightly on the fourth morning. We struck camp and prepared to move. The young blood and the feeling of an aura of invincibility on seeing the Sun prompted me to volunteer to lead the way. A wrong move by real standard of our training!!! Ten I was a nonconformist like most people from my state are supposed to be.  Soon I was leading an advanced guard perched on a yes, you guessed it, a tattu. I was told that a tattu followed by a yak was the best way to cut through snow. The ‘guide’ was on the yak following. We were soon on the Marsimek La pass proper.  I have often wondered in later years why in hell was I leading and not the guide and as you will see, with good reasons too. The means of communication with the guide was in my chaste Hindi and his broken Hindi. In knee deep snow (the tattu’s and NOT mine) when he wanted me to turn left, I suppose, I turned right, or was it my inability to control the tattu I will never know. I soon found myself in knee deep snow (this time my knee astride the tattu) and sinking further. I looked back to find my guide a good six feet behind standing on the yak and shouting at me. I too stood up as well, on my tattu(ha!ha!) which by then was in neck (tattu’s neck)deep snow. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath prepared myself to do a standing broad jump on to the yak which was also neck deep (yak’s neck) in snow…I reckoned that yak’s neck being lower than a tattu’s the overall depth of snow there would be shallower. But before I could take the leap the tattu seemed to have found firm ground and did a 180 degree turn as I found myself facing China, with the yak behind me. We returned to camp and reported that the pass was un-passable. That night it snowed again.

After an aerial reconnaissance next day, it was decided to call off the patrol in view of the inhospitable weather conditions. I learned later that the patrol did go the following month and complete the mission.

 I was not on that one.

Grandma is not thawing!

Grandma (G) was in pain. Christiano Ronaldo’s (CR) Portugal had lost to Germany in its opening match vying for the Euro cup. It was well past midnight. She had something for CR since his ManU days and the kiss with Bipasha Basu. I tried to console her.

I: Graanmaa, this is only the first match and in any case two teams from each group will go into the next round…..

G: But son, with the Euro in such a bad shape why do they still call it Euro cup? They could have called it the ‘continental cup’, just as their breakfast is known. UK may object and that can be overruled as they are fielding a depleted team anyway.

I:  But Grandma, these guys think that this soccer tournament will give Euro a boost. See our sensex has recovered some since Euro cup!

G: What sensex…it neither makes sense now nor is it anymore sexy to play on the bourse. Your grandpa had both and this house he bought from sales proceeds of shares…ah! Those days!!!

I:  But Pranabda says “India’s growth story is intact”…

G: Oh! That fellow…he is upsetting my plans to be the President. Just wait and see. In two years he will become the Prime minister…then I will have my chance.

I:  But Granma from President to PM?

G: Why not. Look at what Putin is doing in Russia. They are our friends no? We can emulate them!

I:  Antony could be the next PM.

G: From one mauni to another….ha! Ha! Great idea. By the way for a change Antony spoke some sense today.

I: Did he grandma?

G: Han putr. He said about Siachen "Do not expect any dramatic announcement or decision on an issue which is very important for us, especially in the context of national security,"

I: Is there a context other than National security in Siachen Grandma?

G:  There is.

I:   Now come on Grandma…there you go with wild imaginations…..

G:  No.No. Son. Look at it this way. Siachen is given away by MMS during his visit to Pakistan in the name of peace and we get this ‘Sir Creek’ or whatever in return….

I:  That will be OK, grandma….

G: Oh son, don’t interrupt. This ‘Sir Creek’ is a bogus and does not make any difference whether we have it or they have it as the matter involves only us and Pakistan. But Siachen is different.  China has a direct influence in the region. But MMS may give it away, and if he does so, he and Sonia think he can get the Nobel Prize for peace and that will boost the chance of the Congress in the next general elections.

I:  And they say team Anna is anti National…..….but granma you can’t fool the people of India…

G:  That is the point son. 90% of Indians think Galziers are found only in the Arctic or Antartic region floating in the sea. 5% of the remaining 10% think glaciers are where winter Olympics are held – ski slopes and all. The other 4% of the 10% don’t care. It is only the soldiers and Mr. George Fernadez who was up there once, know what it really is. George Fernadez, unfortunately, will not remember anything now.

I:  What are you saying?

G:  I only hope MMS consults soldiers who have fought for over a decade in those extremely inhospitable conditions before taking decisions on Siachen  and Saltoro.

I:  How can he possibly do that Grandma…There is the Chief who has to tell him.

G: That is my point son; you will not understand…Also Pakistan wants Pakistanis and rest of the world to believe the glazier is shared by India and Pak. Your father once told me that not an ‘ice cube’ of the glazier is with Pakistan. They are just shadow boxing to divert India’s attention from Afghanistan.

I:  Come on Grandma, you are imagining again.

G:  If that be so, let MMS order a CBI inquiry into Siachen…..OMG! What did I say? I am talking like Team Anna and the opposition.

I:  Grandma. Go get some sleep now. Good night.

“Who” for President

I think the Government acted in haste to nominate Sachin Tendulkar (ST) a member of the Rajya Sabha. He would be one candidate the Nation as one would have loved as the President – except, of course, Didi who would have rooted for Dada. Then India would have been the only country boasting of a sportsperson as Head of State. The only other possibility, that may have been, was the late King of Tonga putting the shot in the Olympics. With the foreclosure of that option, of ST as President for the next term, the field is wide open.

I see that former President, APJ Abdul Kalam is a favourite for a second term in opinion polls published by some magazines. Maybe the polls were taken among children or DRDO employees. But another tenure will facilitate publication of a sequel to India Vision 2020 titled India Vision 2050. One advantage with his Presidency would be that he will not have a huge entourage accompanying him on his foreign visits to maintain protocol. With due respects to an elder, I fail to see any achievements by him in his term as the President of India. Charismatic and forthcoming, yes….but so is SRK.

Now SRK as the president. He will definitely take India onto the world stage and may be world screens too. He is well known in the US (especially to the immigration staff) and the West and as our neighbours like anything Bollywood – he could be useful. He has contributed immensely to the economy of Europe and New Zealand by shooting movies there – that is a connection. But beyond that……… Besides, he lives in a place without environment clearance and he smokes in public…

Why not Sonia Gandhi…a dark horse in the race (not meant to be racial). Then Priyanka can take over as Congress President and Chairperson UPA. Rahul, of course, will be the PM. But if it has to an Italian Berlusconi is more colourful……people will say.

Why not ‘elevate’ MMS to the post. He will suit the appointment as he does not have to speak much, no decisions need be taken by him, he can hobnob with foreign heads of state at will without any bindings… yes he may be required to smile now and then…that could be a problem….

By this process of elimination you will find that my Grandma is the best choice for the President….if you have missed her case in this forum forum please follow this link  http://vishkl.blogspot.in/2012/05/grandma-for-president.html

Those were the days : Binaca geetmala

We have lived in the best of times and we are living in the worst of times.

In my boarding at school, on Wednesdays the dinner was served at 7. 30 PM sharp and not at 8 PM as on other days. By 8 PM we assembled in the radio room to listen to the Binaca geetmala hosted by Ameen Sayani over the airwaves from Radio Ceylon. I remember that even with this most popular programme, Binaca could not dislodge Colgate as the market leader! But if a vote were taken, I am sure, the radio programme would have surpassed all TRPs (or equivalent for all media put together) ever and found an irreplaceable place in the Guinness Book of world record for TRPs or whatever. In the boarding that was the only radio to which we boarders had a regulated access. Other time for the radio was 6 PM to 6. 30 PM every day. So, the Binaca geetmala , bugle and all, was a welcome midweek relief.

 Music was different then they say. Yes it was. There were no mixers in the studios in the decades of 60s and 70s. The vocals were pure self modulated rendition by artistes…and then there were Noorjehan, Lata, Asha, Talat, Mukesh, Rafi and Kishore. But it can’t be that there are no good singers now. Definitely there are and one of them, in my oipinion, is a close competition to Lata.  Then why do we prefer listening to yesteryears’ songs, besides nostalgia? Better lyrics could be a reason too.

I feel the all important aspect of 'music of yore' is that then, music was listened to collectively. No walkman, ipod and earphones. Music was always a shared pass time, enjoyment or passion. A joy shared is multiplied. The kings and emperors of yore listened to music in a mehfiland not in the confines of their bedrooms sitting by themselves or with cohorts. What a shame that Mian Tansen’s voice could not be captured for posterity…but on that day when I stood next to the platform in the Mughal fort at Fathepur Sikhri, from where Tansen is reported to have sung the raag Megh Malhar and brought down rain, I thought I heard strains of his voice wafting in the air.

I could also hear the pin drop silence of the mehfil presided over by Emperor Akbar and his Queen Jodhabahi perched on specially erected permanent stands, that exist even today.

Binaca geetmala of another generation….

Coconut, fish, spices and intellect

Kerala is unique as it is a strip of verdant land just a few miles in width with the luring Arabian sea n the West and the misty Western Ghats towering 500-2700 ms in the East. The land is enriched by over forty rivers crisscrossing the land strip. It has an equable climate, a long shoreline with serene beaches, tranquil stretches of emerald backwaters, lush hill stations, exotic wildlife, waterfalls, sprawling plantations and paddy fields, enchanting art forms, magical festivals and an exotic cuisine. Damn Hawaii and damn Rio, watch the damsels of Kerala on the beaches , backwaters and the mountains sashaying in lungi and tops as itsy bitsy as bikini tops. It is for such reasons a government department of Kerala in charge of promoting tourism has adopted the slogan God’s Own Country for its campaigns. The name must have come naturally to the babu…

Nothing can beat the  karimeen pollichatu and ayila varuthathu in the sea food variety washed down by of course coconut toddy, while sailing in the backwaters on a moonlit night or on a dark night with the monsoon rain tip-tapping the thatched roof of the house boat.. . so much for the exotic cuisine and an intoxicating ambience. The combinations can be varied and the taste made different with a variety of spices and the beautiful species of all hues and relations.

Well what has all this got to do with the intellect?

Everything I say. For one, with a lifestyle in these bewitching environs who needs intellect?  An average Keralite while gallivanting with the Gods (and the Goddesses) in their own country, obviously is not expected to tap intellectual resources. When the guy gets out of Kerala and there are no Gods or Goddesses around the unused intelligence accumulated over years is used in abundance. “Nonsense”, I hear somebody say…”No sir”, I say, this phenomenon is known in psychological circles as Reverse Cosmosis. This cosmic theory says that normal human beings who use the little intellect day in and day out are required to go on a holiday to recharge and distress. This activity is known as Cosmosis. I am sure now you now understand the theory of Reverse Cosmosis!

It is not fish! It is not coconuts! It is not spices! Even the Americans eat fish and chips! It is the whole package of growing and living in God’s own country!