Sleepless on Steel Wheels

I got into the air-conditioned sleeper carriage at Bangalore station, expecting the overnight journey to be a comfortable one. The attendant brought sheets, a pillow and a blanket. Once the train pulled away from the station, I climbed into the upper berth and spread the bed sheet on it. After the conductor walked through the coach and checked tickets, I thought it would be a peaceful ride. As I got under the blanket, I was struck by how heavy the blanket was. It felt like the lead shield they make you wear when taking x-rays to protect parts of the body not being x-rayed. It was quite an effort to even turn once you were inside it. I suppose it prevents people from falling off the narrow berth!

This heavy, rough woollen blanket is quite in keeping with the style of the Indian Railways. The level of technology that goes in to the finishing of the carriage is somewhat crude. The ceiling looked like it had been painted by hand. The fluorescent lighting, the fans, etc. presented a tired look in tune with the blue-grey vinyl seats, with their hand-stitched seams. The fittings, the coat hooks, etc. were clunky and had sharp or hard edges. If you have tried to use the reclining mechanism on the chair cars, you would have noticed how clumsy, resistant and noisy that thing is. The faucets in the bathroom require an iron fist to operate. I could go on, but back to my present journey.

The rocking motion of the train started to make me drowsy and I expected to fall asleep soon. But unfortunately, that was not to be. The trick with sleeping on trains is to beat the other passengers to it because you never know how many of them are going to be snoring. Tonight, I was beaten by several others who were 'soundly' asleep before I could even count ten sheep. I could hear at least three distinct snores from the sonorous sleepers around me. As you have doubtless experienced, once your attention is drawn to snores, you cannot ignore them. After every note, your wait for the next one and the next one and so on. I was even trying to figure out if there was a rhythmic pattern in the stentorian rasps from my co-passengers. The a/c coach provided considerable insulation from the train noise and that only made it worse. As I struggled to find sleep, my mind went back to the time when we did not have the a/c coach and we travelled the regular sleeper.

In the a/c car, you are insulated not only from the sound of the train while it is in motion, but also from sights and sounds of the station when the train stops. Vendors do not come to the window selling tea and snacks. The hectic activity outside looks like a silent movie. The atmosphere in the sleeper coach was vastly different from the quiet of the a/c coach. You were one with the scenery, whether moving or stationary. When the train stopped, you were greeted by the flurry of passengers getting in and out and vendors jockeying for spots near the window. It was quite a challenge to stay asleep, especially since the fans slowed down when the train stopped. You see, the voltage in the compartment fluctuated with the speed of the train. Lights burned brighter and fans got louder and faster when the train picked up speed. And when the train stopped in the middle of the night and the fans slowed to a crawling speed, you were greeted by the snore chorus in the ensuing quiet.

None of these bothered me when I was little. I would look forward to any trip by train with great excitement. From the moment you entered the station, everything was  a veritable feast to your senses - the book stand,  the food carts, fruit-sellers, coffee/tea vendors, uniformed porters with gravity-defying loads of suitcases on their heads towering over the crowd, and the general bustle on the platform. Every moment of the journey was savoured. Sitting by the window you could imagine that you were standing still while the scenery unfolded in a moving picture. As the train sped past the city, the rural landscape emerged offering wonderful vistas. You could watch the pink sky grow dark, turning distant trees into silhouettes, and see the star-studded sky unimpeded by city lights, or wake up in the cool air of the morning and enjoy a sunrise over verdant fields. Not even the occasional mishap of getting ash (steam engines ruled the day in my youth) in one's eye could dampen the enthusiasm.

I used to travel the Bombay-Madras Mail regularly when I worked in Bombay many years ago. This marathon journey which took about thirty hours and spanned two nights, was quite the endurance test. The distance was about 1300 kilometers or 800 miles and so the pace was leisurely, some would say, slow enough to try your patience. There were about two dozen scheduled stops on the way and some were quite long. The train used to stop for more than thirty minutes at Guntakkal, enough time to go into the waiting hall and take a shower there in the bathroom! I know, because I have actually done it. There are other stations which, I believe, were created solely as a service point for passing trains.

Seasoned travellers come to know the route very well. You find out that there were special things you could get in certain places. You get to know where to buy breakfast or lunch. I remember the gentleman who told me to ignore the vendors proffering tea at the train and took me over the footbridge to the canteen that he claimed had the best tea in Guntakkal station, in fact, in all of south central railway according to him. If you were lucky, you had a Gujarati family for company for they always carried lots of food and loved to share the same with you and even invited you to join their card games.

The train was like a lifeline to some folks. The local vendors would often bring their seasonal produce to sell on the train - a quickly sliced cucumber or tomato salad, peanuts, fruits and the like. They would board the train with their wares, go through a few coaches making sales and then get off a few stations later to wait for a train that would take them back. This was their livelihood. There were others who did not have anything to sell, but would bring a broom, clean the compartment (littered with peanut shells and other debris after the vendors had been through) and then ask for some money. Obviously, they did not want to beg and felt that they could provide a (much needed) service to the passengers. The passengers did not usually mind the unsolicited service, although only a few paid for it. The Travelling Ticket Examiners (TTE's) that rode the trains did not seem to mind them either. Talking of TTE's, I used to feel a little sorry for them. A lifetime of riding these trains is quite taxing in itself, but they had to wear a tie and a coat as part of their uniform on top of that. If I remember right, the shirt and the trousers were white, perfect for the dusty ride.

As one grows old, the magic of trains mostly goes away, but even now I enjoy looking out of the window from a moving train. If life is a journey, I would like it to be train ride. The destination is here and now. Life is just the passing scenery outside.

I must have fallen asleep sometime during this reverie despite the snores around me for the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by the attendant announcing that we were approaching Chennai Central. I got down from the berth and prepared to leave the train and face the next ordeal, the Auto Standoff, of which I have already told you everything.

Lost Letters

"It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time saying anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to." (Treebeard, From The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien)

I love the sentiment expressed by Treebeard. If one has something worthwhile to say, one should take the time to say it well. And those hearing it should take the time to absorb it. In the age of instant messaging and Twitter, this probably sounds incongruous. I mean, even if one says something halfway profound, others may instantly 'like', forward, or 're-tweet' it. It will reach thousands, may go viral and so on. A few may truly appreciate it. But it will certainly be replaced by the next soundbite that comes along and forgotten the next day. So why bother spending time on it?

It is hard to believe that a mere twenty-five years ago, we kept in touch through hand-written letters. Phone calls used to be expensive, often requiring operator assistance, and email was unknown. Letters were the primary means of long distance communication. With letters, we had to wait for days to receive a reply. The waiting heightened the sense of excitement and anticipation and made the actual arrival of the response more satisfying. As you read the letter, you imagined the writer's voice speaking the words. A simple description of the kitchen garden producing tomatoes painted a vivid picture in your mind. You filled in the gaps in the news from that side, because you knew how the uncle in question would have reacted to it.

Taking the time to write a letter does not necessarily mean a lot of pages. In fact, often we had limited space as in an aerogramme or an inland letter. How to convey all the news and other stories of interest within that was a challenge that required some serious application of mind. In addition, a letter cannot read like an essay. It has to sound conversational. It needs to convey information, but communicate at a very personal level. The stories may be newsworthy only to the sender and the receiver, but some letters become public documents. While letters by famous people have been published as books, I doubt if emails will be cherished in this manner. Imagine a book titled, 'Barack Obama - Collected Emails'!

It was not just letters from friends and family. There were also others offering admission or employment to anxious students or job applicants. And then there were the money orders delivering cash at your door step. Talk about convenience! In the villages, the postman often played a role in the actual communication beyond merely being the carrier to the many who could not read or write. He was a virtual member in their families! He would read the letters to the recipients and would also transcribe their replies. You have to marvel at the level of trust between the postman and the villagers. The postman was probably privy to many of their personal details. But then, there were few secrets in the village.

Receiving a letter from a foreign country was especially exciting what with the colourful stamps, postmarks, and various stickers - 'By Airmail', 'Par Avion', etc. that were affixed on them. It was airmail then, but the same thing is called 'snail mail' now. Since you wrote only once in a while, there was much to say. The occasional mix-up in the mail provided some excitement as well. One of my letters to India was sent to Indonesia by mistake and then made it to its correct destination a couple of weeks later with cool markings from different countries received from the long journey.

It is little wonder then that the arrival of the postman used to be awaited with much excitement. Nowadays, I cannot say that I anticipate the postman's daily arrival with such eagerness. In fact, I sort of dread it, for I know that almost all of the mail today consists of marketing flyers, offers for credit and so on; in short, junk mail. I thought I could just throw it in the trash, but a friend warned me of 'dumpster divers' who manage to retrieve sensitive information and use unsolicited credit card offers to open accounts with stolen identities. I stopped throwing junk mail away after that. But this has resulted in a new problem. I am now in danger of being buried in junk mail.

With the scare of identity theft, I have been collecting mail offers and now must find a way to dispose off them. I have bank statements dating back a few years. I bought a shredder and started to shred them, however, the accumulated backlog of several years made this a daunting task and almost impossible to get ahead of the flood. I have now changed all my account settings to stop receiving paper statements, but unsolicited junk with scary potential to be misused continues to pile up. I have to take boxes of old junk mail to a nearby facility for shredding.

Today's technology has indeed been a blessing. At the same time, I wonder if we tend to consider things that come easily as not very valuable. A quick email or message deserves a quick reply, no more. The flip side is that any delay in acknowledging the missive creates the impression of indifference or neglect. It can even lead to needless worrying over the welfare of the other person.

I suppose we must accept that as with everything else, change is a constant. But I do miss the hand-written letters. The physical act of putting pen to paper has a level of involvement that cannot be matched by today's instant communication. The fact that the letter is actually transferred to its destination, travelling hundreds of miles, I think, enhances its value. I see the hand-written letter as the equivalent of Old Entish described by Treebeard above, in today's world.

Perhaps, I could keep writing letters by hand just for the sake of it. And sing with the Moody Blues, "Letters I've written, never meaning to send".

A Seat In The Sky

I pressed the little button on the armrest and pushed back on the seat, but nothing happened. Something seemed to be wrong with the reclining mechanism. I checked to see if I was sitting in the exit row, but I was not. In fact, the person sitting next to me had the seat reclined. The lady sitting in the third seat, however could not lean back either. It appeared that this plane had some seats which did not recline for some reason. I wondered if there was an extra charge for the added comfort of being able to lean back.

Airline companies have been making money off little things for several years now. Since almost everyone travels with bags, they started to charge for bags first. No more free allowance for baggage. Then they decided that they did not have the obligation to feed the passengers without charging for it separately. Perhaps you are not hungry and just want to doze off. Good luck, because they no longer make blankets or pillows available. Of course you can bring your own pillow and blanket but they will use up space in your carry-on bag thus forcing you to check in a bag for which you will pay.

Charging for bags has actually been fine tuned. The cost goes up as you get closer to the date and time of departure. Here Spirit airlines appears to be a pioneer of sorts. Spirit is probably the only airline (so far) that charges for carry-on bags too. They tell us that you 'never pay for someone else’s “free” bags'. I guess that should make us feel good. But that only means you are going to pay for your bag. After all, who travels with no bags (if you do, you will probably be flagged as a potential security risk)? And, 'If you know you’re going to need a checked bag or carry-on, buy it early and online to save major moola. It costs time and resources to process at the airport, which means it costs you more money', says Spirit. But I don't understand why it costs more to 'buy checked bags' at the time of online check-in than when booking. Does the computer require an operator for online check-in? Or do bags check themselves in if paid for early?

The fundamental thing a ticket must provide is of course a seat. But all seats are not equal so airlines have become creative with add-on charges. If you want legroom or a wider seat, it will cost you more, sometimes an arm and a leg. If you want a reclining seat, that may be extra too, but beware, pads are not supplied to protect you if the person in front leans back and brings the back of the seat crashing down on your knees. You find the rows of seats too close to each other? Well, that's how you get those low fares. I must say that Spirit is quite upfront about this. Their web site informs us, "We’re a cozy airline. We add extra seats to our planes so we can fly with more people. This lowers ticket prices for everyone, just like a carpool".  You can get really close to your fellow passengers in this cozy cabin! It is all very noble since they just want to save you money. But you never knew saving money could be so painful, did you? 

The only thing expanding faster than the profits airlines make out of these extras is the waistlines of passengers patronizing them. It is only natural then that the airlines have started to make overweight travellers pay more. Even if they don't, if one is a bit too well-rounded, the seats with their reduced pitch and width may be punishment enough (although they punish those sitting next to them too). Additionally, while sitting on the seat that fits a little too snugly, one may also be motivated to lose weight. So the airline can claim that it is promoting good health too.

The worst seat and therefore the most uncomfortable flight that I have experienced was with Cathay Pacific when they introduced the so called 'clam shell seats'. It is not a coincidence that the phrase includes the word 'hell'. At least, you cannot accuse them of false advertising. The seat was actually in two parts. One that was fixed and one that slid forward when you tried to recline. It was bizarre and disorienting - the seat bottom slid forward pulling my body along, but my head remained resting on the top of the seat. This alone was enough to do a number on my back. To make things worse, the seat had no cushion and was hard as (s)hell. Half an hour on this seat and my bony backside started hurting. But that was not all. This moving seat necessitated the additional safety of an airbag. The genius who had come up with the new seat decided to attach  it to the seat belt which made it a thick cylinder weighing half a kilogram. Imagine carrying that in your lap for a 14-hour journey across the Pacific. After a few hours on this seat, I would have gladly exchanged it for the dentist's chair, drill and all!

Given how difficult it is to get comfortable on an airplane seat, I was surprised to find that there are some who actually would be happy if seats did not recline at all. I can understand and do sympathize with big or tall people wanting that, given the limited width and pitch. But there are others who would rather work on their laptops and a reclining seat in front interferes with that. They even complain that those who push back their seats are inconsiderate. I find this very unfair. Just because they have to keep working, apparently they would prevent others from having a relaxing journey. Not to mention that their typing and the light from the screens may be disturbing others around them and that it is really hard for others to get in and out of their seats.

Providing more room between seats for all is the solution, but obviously the airlines are not going to do that. Perhaps they will be willing to create a separate section of non-reclining seats with laptop trays. They can even charge extra for such seats. The workaholics can buy those and leave us ordinary folks to our journey in peaceful if not laid back fashion. Now, don't start complaining that I am giving the airlines ideas. I am sure that they have thought of every way to charge passengers more. They just have to figure out how to make it sound like a great deal first.

A Madras Morning

The birds were making a row. They were really loud and definitely not singing. Having been startled out of my sleep, I looked at the clock and saw that it was just 5:45. I hoped these early birds got their worms and tried to go back to sleep. But they continued to get louder as more of them were now joining the chorus. It was a raucous sort of symphony.  Maybe it was music to this particular species, but I am sure the cuckoo would have disagreed.

I continued to lie in bed and stared at the ceiling fan whose noise was being drowned out by the birds. But there was something soothing about the fan and I was just dozing off again when there was a new sound that startled me. This was from a woman who was selling greens of various types from a pushcart. She was rousing the residents of this block of flats to see if any of them were interested in purchasing the vegetables. It was just after 6 O’clock, but resistance was clearly pointless. So I got off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

Through the window in the bathroom, I could hear the water running in the bathrooms in the neighbouring apartments. The cacophonous symphony outside was being joined by an increasing number of performers – the water pump that filled the overhead tank, a tanker of water on the street, the traffic from the main street a block away punctuated by the honking of horns every few seconds and early morning television. When I came out of the bathroom and walked into the living room, someone on TV was lecturing on the importance of following dharma. I went out to the balcony where the cool early morning air was as refreshing as the hot coffee my wife had handed me. I sat down on a chair and surveyed the scene outside.

In a city that was plagued by water shortages, there was no dearth of greenery. In fact, no one would have guessed that this city was starved of water. Many thoroughfares were lined with large rain trees or other shade-giving trees. Coconut palms and mango trees could be found in every lot with a house or even a block of flats. The noisy birds that woke me up were no doubt perched somewhere on the mango tree in the corner of the compound.

The main street just a block away was no exception. There was an entire section of the street that got no sunlight as it was under the heavy canopy of the trees. I decided to take a walk down that road and so quickly got dressed and legged it there. Given the early hour, the traffic was light. The shops were yet to open and I was able to walk without bumping into the usual throngs. I could even step on to the road without fearing for my life and cross the road at the intersections. When it gets really busy, I sometimes think that the safest way to cross this road is to engage an auto rickshaw.

While walking down the street, the tops of buildings are blocked by the trees and you may well imagine that the years have done nothing to them. But change has actually been continuous over the years. Most of the buildings have been renovated, expanded and thoroughly modernized. The shops are glitzier with many international brands being sold, the buildings are taller and even the sidewalk shops have more upscale ware for sale now. There is a divider in the middle of the road ensuring more orderly (as much as possible!) traffic flow and preventing pedestrians from crossing the road.

It is impossible to describe the complete transformation that has taken place here. I wondered how it was that some shops had remained unchanged with all the building boom. The barber shop, the little pharmacy, the small shop that offered to frame your pictures, and the shop that sells coffee beans and powder – these had somehow escaped the trend. The flower shops with garlands of roses hanging are still around to provide a pleasantly cooling fragrance as you walk past them and the vegetable market and fruit shops are very much part of the scene as always. It is actually amazing that while so much on this road has changed over the years, the trees are still in place.

I could see that the activity was picking up now. Milk and newspaper delivery boys were returning from their rounds. The vegetable vendors, who would soon compete with one another in a shouting match to attract potential buyers, were busy arranging their produce. A few early morning customers had arrived for haircuts at the barber shop. Restaurants were open for business serving breakfast to their first customers. A small group of people had gathered in front of the temple in the corner for morning worship.

The city was waking up. Soon, the road would be a chaotic blur of noisy action. Up in the canopy, the birds continued their raucous song, unmindful of the drama unfolding below. They were not going anywhere as long as the trees remained intact. I was now thankful for their presence.

***

'The old order changeth, yielding place to new'. The Sidewak Shops have been relocated to a new building and Pondy Bazaar is set to get a face lift. The Pedestrian Plaza planned there certainly looks promising, but these shops were a unique feature and many will miss them. I only hope that the majestic trees will be spared and the birds will get to keep their home. 

Earth Day Musings

"But it is illusion to think that there is anything fragile about the life of the earth; surely this is the toughest membrane imaginable in the universe, opaque to probability, impermeable to death. We are the delicate part, transient and vulnerable as cilia." (From: The Lives of A Cell, by Lewis Thomas)

The observance of Earth Day seems to be a feeble attempt to draw attention to the deleterious effect that we, human beings have had (and continue to have) on the environment. Like the fool sitting at the end of a branch and cutting it off the tree at the same time, we have been exploiting the earth's resources at enormous cost to our own long term survival . But now, we seem to be scurrying to find ways to save ourselves. As in many of our endeavours, we need a larger than life symbol to rouse us from complacency. Mother Earth fits the bill and Earth Day certainly sounds nobler than Human Day.

The idea of earth day brings a slight chuckle to me. I mean, here we are, very recent arrivals on the face of this earth, trying to mount an effort to save the earth. Obviously, the only reason for our concern is our own survival. I do not think it matters to nature whether human beings make it as a species or not. In the incredibly long cosmic calendar, we may be but a momentary flash. Nature will no doubt shrug us off and carry on. Another species capable of surviving the harsher environment may appear some day. It is unlikely that the rest of the universe will mourn the passing of homo sapiens.

We like to set ourselves apart from nature though we know that we are part and parcel of it. We are just a little cog in the macro-organism called Earth, like the flora and fauna that inhabit the human body. I wonder if the billions of teeming bacteria in my body will ever decide to observe a day in my honour. I mean, I have been faithfully feeding them all my life. I would hope that they reciprocate in kind by keeping me in good health. Does Mother Earth not deserve similar consideration from us? So it is fitting that we observe Earth Day.

We are perhaps the only species with the awareness to realize our precarious situation even if it is of our own making. It may sound ridiculous, but I cannot help considering myself (and humanity) to be the centre of the universe. I think we are programmed to think that. Throughout our short history on the planet, we have assumed that we have the power to shape our destiny. This has helped us achieve incredible things and it may also be what will save us or doom us now.

Worrying, it seems, is another unique trait found only in our species. Normally, I am mostly concerned about me and my family. Occasionally, however, I worry about big things like the future of humanity. What will we do when the liquid gold we keep mining out of the earth runs out? Will we have developed alternate fuels to the necessary extent? Will we have found a substitute for plastic? And so on. At some level, I feel certain that the genius of the human mind will come up with the innovations required. It is likely that the way out will involve the rich countries scaling back on their consumption. At the same time the newly developing populations feel that this is their time to acquire the trappings of wealth. How will we balance their aspirations against the rising tide of global warming?  Such thoughts fill my mind on this Earth Day.

I guess the critical question is whether humanity will muster up the collective will to act in time. I am optimistic that we will rise to the challenge. We have only been here for a moment of geological time and surely still adjusting to our new life. We may not quite know how and there may be some pain along the way, but nature will show us the way, if only we would listen. Like the bacteria in our bodies, I am sure that we do perform some useful function for Mother Earth. We just need to be willing to accept her embrace.

About the Image: First ever image of Earth Taken by Mars Color Camera aboard India’s Mars Orbiter Mission (MOM) spacecraft currently orbiting Earth prior to upcoming Trans Mars Insertion engine firing. Image is focused on the Indian subcontinent and captured from an altitude of 70,000 kilometers. Credit: ISRO (More at: http://www.universetoday.com/106761/indias-mom-mars-probe-images-earths-children-prior-to-nail-biting-red-planet-insertion/

Kasi Chombu

We had a little bit of rain today. It was not the kind of rain that I described in Summer Tempest. No, this was a silent rain, the kind that creeps in quietly, descending as a very fine mist, recognized only by the wet ground later. Living in San Diego, I have become accustomed to long dry spells, but this year has been particularly dry. I remember the first rain during the year we moved to San Diego. I was at the grocery store when all of a sudden people were rushing to the front. I was surprised to learn that the commotion was caused by the fact that it had started to rain and quite sharply. Apparently, it was a novelty for water to come out of the sky here. 

Naturally, today's bit of rain made news. But it was certainly not significant. It did not cause water to run in streams or collect in puddles. And so I was surprised to find water running down the street when I walked out after the rain. It turned out that it was actually the runoff from someone's lawn where the sprinklers had come on! I thought it looked like a miniature river as it flowed down the side of the street. I walked alongside for some time as the water meandered down toward the storm drain that would eventually take it to the Pacific ocean. I felt a childish pleasure watching that  little stream of water on the street, remembering the days when we used to sail paper boats down such streams.

I wondered if rivers actually began their journey in this humble manner. Or did they dash down madly all at once? How magical it would be to witness the birth of a river! King Bhagiratha did just that (as related in the Ramayana) when he got the celestial river Ganga to come down to the earth. Of course, it was no easy task getting Ganga to descend from heaven. It took many years of hard penance. Finally, when she came down, she was swallowed up by Shiva's matted locks and was released in seven gentle streams so that the world would be spared her destructive force. Of these, one followed Bhagiratha's chariot.

Descent of Ganga (Mahabalipuram Sculpture)

"The effulgent royal sage Bhagiratha, sitting in a divine chariot, moved ahead and Ganga followed him."(Valmiki Ramayana 1-43-30/31)
"In whichever direction Bhagiratha went, Ganga followed"
(Valmiki Ramayana 1-43-33)

This is the part that really thrills me even today. Ganga followed Bhagiratha faithfully, full of vigour, dancing to his tune, overflowing the banks here and there as he made his way to the ocean.  Imagine being present to watch the first drop of water emerge from the river's source. Imagine guiding the river down the hills, along the plains and into the ocean. I wonder if Bhagiratha said, "Alright, let's take a left here around these villages here and there, hang a right by the woods", and so on. Were there natural channels for the river to flow into or did she carve out the banks instantaneously? Did Bhagiratha really lead her or just ride along as she made her way? Either way, it was a sight like none other. It is said that there was a veritable stampede in the sky as celestial beings jockeyed for the best viewing positions.

Born in heaven and sanctified further by her contact with Lord Shiva, the Ganga is held sacred by Hindus and a pilgrimage to Kasi and other holy places on her banks is a must for devout Hindus. While Bhagirtha might have brought the river from heaven to earth through extraordinary effort, ordinary people take her water to their homes in far flung parts of the country with much greater ease. Those who go on the pilgrimage to Kasi carry back some Ganga water in sealed copper pots or 'Kasi Chombus' (chombu - pot or vessel) as they are known when they return. They would also bring lengths of black threads called 'Kasi kayaru' (Kayaru - rope/string) which were given to kith and kin to wear as bracelets around the wrist, symbolizing a pledge to make the pilgrimage one day.

It is common to see the little sealed pots alongside idols and pictures of God and Goddesses in the pooja room in traditional homes. When I was young, I used to be intrigued by these little 'Kasi Chombus' . They were part of the retinue in the altar and obviously held an important place. You could shake them and hear the liquid sloshing inside. The pots were never unsealed or at least it seemed that way. I did not understand their purpose until the day my grandmother passed away. On that day, one of the pots was opened so that she could be given a little Ganga water which is believed to purify one of all sins. When I heard the story of Bhagiratha, I learned that he too had brought the Ganga down to earth so that her waters could wash over the ashes of his dead ancestors and enable their souls to go to heaven.

Some have suggested that the Ganga that had been locked up frozen in the folds of the mountain during the ice age, had started flowing again with the warming of the earth and this might have been immortalized in the story of Bhagritha and Ganga. Stories apart, the importance of the Ganga, a lifeline to hundreds of millions, is very real and tangible. Like the rain, the Ganga too has her origin in the heavens. Like the rain, she too sustains life on this earth. But unlike the rain, it is said that she takes care of our lives in the next world too. She provides both external and internal purification. She is Mother Ganga. May we respect her and keep her waters pure.

Ganga's Descent Image Courtesy: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/69/Descent_of_the_Ganges_01.jpg/320px-Descent_of_the_Ganges_01.jpg

A Ramble On Walking

I like to walk. To be accurate, I should probably say, I like to go for walks, because walking is now a deliberate activity. I hardly ever walk to go any place. Everyone is so used to the car that we now have web sites (like this one) to teach us how to walk. But luckily, I have not forgotten this apparently fast disappearing skill and more importantly, I thoroughly enjoy it.

Walking provides more than physical exercise. If my mind is agitated, walking tends to have a calming effect. If I am relatively calm, then it puts me in a contemplative mood often adding a spiritual dimension. A quick stretching of legs outdoors can serve as a refreshing tonic in the middle of a tedious work day. Just going about myself, on the neighbourhood streets, in the park, by the beach, or in the woods, accompanied only by my thoughts, I am quite content. Having a companion to walk along with you is certainly a bonus. However, I find a bigger group distracting. Three is definitely a crowd in this case.

Even on cloudy days, when it is kind of depressing to stay in, walking can lift our moods. With a stiff wind rushing past my ears, and a faint hint of rain (and only a hint - walking in actual rain is not my cup of tea), I find a brisk walk positively bracing. The faster you go, the louder the roar of the wind gets and soon you are enveloped in it and forget the ambient noises, and with it, any negative feelings.

Occasionally, I would go to the beach for my walk. On the beach, where you have the water on one side and the road on the other, the sound of the waves provides a soothing contrast to the noise of the traffic. There is always a lot of people on the sidewalk, some jogging, some on bicycles, and others walking their dogs. Then there are the surfers getting into their wet suits. It is fascinating to watch them ride the waves. The one drawback for me with walking by the beach is that I have to actually drive to get there in the first place.

One of my favourite places to walk is the nearby canyon preserve. Just minutes into the preserve, you are transported to a different world. The sound of traffic can be heard no more. Instead, there is the pleasant babble of a small stream and of course the sounds of birds. I am grateful to be living in close proximity to these peaceful woods. Even though it is in the middle of a large metro with a population of almost two million, the preserve is never crowded. It is even possible to encounter the odd coyote there.

On this crisp February morning, I chose to walk in my own neighbourhood. The air was thick with the giddying scent of pink jasmine blossoms, occasionally broken by the pungent smell of alliums. As I walked past the houses with manicured lawns and bougainvillea bushes with flame-coloured blooms, the birds were out in full strength and seemed to be gathering for their morning conference. The air was cool but the bright sun muted its sting. A light breeze made the walk very enjoyable. Every now and then, a car rolled by. I walked at a brisk pace and up the climbing road. By the time I reached the bridge over the freeway, I was feeling quite exhilarated.

As always, I paused at the bridge to look at  the freeway traffic. Cars and trucks were rushing down the freeway in both directions in a deafening roar. I lifted my gaze to the western horizon, where, when it is absolutely clear, I can catch a glimpse of the distant ocean. Some evenings, you got to see a gorgeous sunset or hot air balloons making their way across the sky. On cloudy days, however, it is impossible to make out the horizon in the enveloping grey. Today, there were some low clouds covering the sky to the west, even though the sky was otherwise clear. To borrow a phrase from Forrest Gump, "I couldn't tell where heaven stopped and earth began".

I turned my eyes to the east and was greeted with the morning sun bathing the hills near and far and rooftops on the street below. It was curious to see the houses from the higher point. The steep gradient and the twists and turns of the street, made them appear randomly placed. While you would see a neat row of houses when you are walking on the street, the view from above resembled a jumbled heap.

I decided to take one of the lower streets today. Although the street was in the shadow, some of the houses were catching the light reflected from somewhere. The thing with sunlight, is that it bounces off various surfaces and somehow makes its way into the house quite unexpectedly. All we have to do is keep the blinds open and light will surely find its way in just as knowledge finds its way into an open mind. It reminded me of the Gayatri mantra: "We meditate upon His (the Sun's) most effulgent light. May He stimulate our intellects".