My Trysts With Life

Somewhere in Jim Corbett National Park, Uttarakhand:  Thighs shouting for rest,feet praying for warm water and back saying no to the weight of the backpack- our group, trudged on the endless trek. We had embarked on a 30 odd kilometer trek, right in the heart of the tiger infested area. The journey was onerous, fun filled yet arduous- and on we went! The trek was fun (at the start), with loud chorus of  “Jai Mata di”  reverberating through the jungle walls. Backpacks on, a suitable stick taken from the jungle floor as the support and mobile phones out (selfie le le rey), the journey started. On we went, the rigor of youth rearing its head, making us cover long distance in a short span of time. It was an hour later, when Lady Fatigue started rearing her head. So with the initial zest ebbing away, tired thighs and sore fingers started coming up. Two from our group (and mind you, 20 something young lads) were the first to start mumbling. A while later, post lunch, most of the group

Rudrapur, Saturday Night : The word “dignity” traces its origin to medieval times, when the royal subjects were supposed to conduct themselves with character and nobility- thus dignity. I have a strong affiliation to this particular word, as on the personal front I aim to live life with dignity. Little did I know that a particular movie experience will change the way I understood this particular word and life in general. So we, (flat mates, friends, better halves of friends) were out for a movie, on a typical weekend in the foothills of the Himalayan city of Rudrapur. The movie, a misogynistic guy one, (“ban gaya kutta” for heaven’s sake!) was on, with our group commenting about the various comparisons of the opposite sexes shown in the movie.  Fortuitously I notice a middle aged man on our adjacent seats, looking down on the seat adjacent to him. Curious, I cram my neck, to see a small boy (I believe 8-9 years old), fidgeting around in the chair. The man, presumably his fath

Pantnagar,12th July 2015: The rain Gods had finally decided to fling their poignant arrows to our city, bombarding it with relentless display of lighting and thunder. The monsoon season was on- with the usual sites of water logging and humidity at full flow. The rains had been continuing for countless days, thus providing ample 'me' time to 'me' and as it always has been, I sat plump on my bean bag, creative juices flowing, wondering what to write next.  It was then when my flatmate came bundling along, wanting to discuss our mutual career aspirations. We started with the usual complains- this is not good, that could have been better, this surely is wrong and stuff, when suddenly, I noticed a thick speck of white outside my window. The rain had stopped, with the might sun finally able to put forward his splendor. The tense grey clouds had given way to the white, serene ones, all looking majestic in their fervor. I gazed at them spellbound (my friend still complain

Rudrapur, 19th March 2015: India vs Bangladesh, Cricket World Cup Quarter final It was a usual day in the usually unusual city of Rudrapur, Uttrakhand. The cricket world cup furor was in full flow, with every average Indian fan glued to the television. We (the treacherous souls who were placed in the city along with me) were perched in our apartment, sprawled across an assortment of bean bags, mattress, a typical ‘chattai’ and the floor. The match was on, with the usual gusto of shouts and explicitives, with ‘expert’ comments on the batting and bowling! Bang in the middle of the room was our source of joy- an old, rusted television, which despite its dilapidated state, was persevering in displaying the all-important match. Now let me remind you about this group of mine- all MBAs, earning decently and living in a city with no particular expenses. So prior to the world cup, elaborate  plans had been made to get a 42 inch ‘Plasma    LED TV’ , a snazzy DTH and then enjoy the

Somewhere in between Rampur and Bareilly, 27th December 2014:  I had just boarded the train to back home, assiduously using the privileged leaves in my account for the New Year holidays. Now as all you must have experienced, the maddening rush for the train tickets, coupled with the dense fog had left all train schedules go haywire. So I now board a train from Rampur, with a last minute sleeper class ticket- scared out of my wits on whether I would get a seat or not! So I reach my berth- and to my dismay (yup you expected it) find it occupied with- and this is real- with 8 kids! Their father, a middle age man, comes to me, asks for my berth number and gently asks his kids to move to the other side of the coach. So we now have 8 people (minimum) travelling without ticket. Nonplussed, I lie down and sleep. After about an hour, I am woken up by a middle age lady, who was prodding me to 'kindly' spare her some place as she would get down soon. Irritated, I tell ask he