Friday, November 17, 2017

Private parts


"Bubzy, come here immediately! All is lost, my reputation is in shreds!". I went charging towards the wailing sounds emanating from under the bedroom door. Beyond the door was Sid staring at the computer screen, with his mouth wide open and his coffee mug dangling precariously from his pinky. On the screen, I saw a familiar bald head gleaming to perfection. South of said head was a well oiled muscular body enrobed in what could only be described as a lion cloth (it was a beige lion's mane'ish shaggy piece of cloth to gird the loins). One leg was perched at ninety degrees atop a small table. A single red rose was positioned between the model's lips, which were smiling rakishly at the camera while the eyes said "Come hither". I kept staring at it. "Bubz, it is me!". I looked at him and back at the screen, "No it's not". He snorted back, "Yes, it is you daft thing". I glared at him, he looked immediately apologetic and mumbled "Sorry, sorry. But it's me, love. What do I do?!"

I reassured him that though it was definitely the face that we all knew at home and loved very much, it was obvious that the body and other bits were fictitious. He looked confused, "Yes, I know it's not mine, but how will the others who see it know that it is not me". I could see I was treading on sensitive ground here. "Well, isn't it obvious? It's rather bulky don't you think?" He puffed himself up to blow fish proportions and hissed "What do you mean?". I hurriedly proceeded, "Well the legs for example. I think I recognize them from sculptures of Greek heroes, you know like the calves have inhaled a grape fruit?" My explanation didn't help as he looked absolutely livid, "Are you saying I don't have grapefruit legs? I have great legs". I tried to make up for my tactless ways with a soothing "Of course love, of course. Wonderful legs. Strong and all. Great physique. But anyone who has seen you in shorts, which is everyone, will know that the legs in the picture are really no match on yours". He looked at me suspiciously, trying to figure out if there was more to my ambiguous remarks, but decided to whistle on. "But bubz, it is out on the world wide web now! Someone has hacked my Facebook account and put this as my profile pic. I now have friend requests from at least 50 women, at least 85 men, and a fur label, which sent me a message asking if I would model their line of products!"

I was quite amused by the whole thing, but decided to be more supportive. "Just put in a complaint with Facebook, and in the meantime stop sharing your contact details with every single person, store, restaurant and app you come across". He stared indignantly at me, "I NEVER! How dare you? I am as private as they come". I rolled my eyes and reminded him that he had given his details out to the person on the street doing a survey at the traffic signal last week. "He said I could win a Mercedes Benz! Or a personalized coffee mug"! I went on to remind him that he had filled in a feedback card at a restaurant with not just his name, but his mobile phone number, the landline for backup, his email address and a backup email address, as well as a note on all his social media handles where they could message him in case he didn't respond at any of the above. "Bubz, we could get called in for their events and specials and a free drink on my birthday!" He obviously wasn't getting where I was going. "And what about the Game of Thrones quiz you were taking on Facebook the other day. You do know they take all your details if you agree to do the quiz?" He snorted, "It revealed that I was just like Cersei! It's good to understand your inner self. You should try it!" I reminded him that he didn't even watch Game of Thrones, to which he didn't care to respond.

I held on to the little patience I had left. "All I'm saying is most of most of us don't think too much
about giving away our details. Now we have all these groups fighting for our right to privacy, whereas most of us don't even realize how lightly we take that right. In India, we don't understand the concept of privacy at all! Hell, if I told my parents that they couldn't come in my room as a kid because it was my private space or they couldn't go through my things because they were private, they would have just laughed and kept going through my things. And as adults we still don't think too much about divulging too much. Now think! Did you leave your password lying around anywhere or mention it to anyone?" He looked uncomfortable. "Well, not exactly. I didn't leave it around. I may have written it down in a form". I looked aghast. "Are you nuts? Why would you write your password down in a form?" He looked even more shifty eyed, "Well actually, I found a form slipped under the front door. It said I could win a trip to a "foreign place" if I filled in the details. You had to include your password as well if you wanted to win." I couldn't believe the twit. "And you didn't think this was even the slightest bit suspicious. "Foreign place", "need your social media passwords"? He drew himself up to full height and said n"Well of course I took the necessary precautions. I photocopied the filled out form, just so that later they couldn't say I didn't provide all the details and disqualify me. See!" I looked at the black and white copy he fished out of the drawer, which was a handwritten form in block letters interspersed with Sid's confident scrawl. I looked closely at the corners. There were some smudgy bits. I examined it more closely and looked at Sid. "Don't these look familiar to you? Like perhaps a certain lion's paw, or rather the paw marks of a shaggy brown dog that has baby lion paws".

He stared at the page. Mixed emotions swept over his face - betrayal, bitterness, anger, grief, a flash of a smile, and then a bellow "Miaaa! Come here at once! I should have known when I found a stash of a "Hacker's Guide to the Galaxy" shoved under her mattress. That dog is going back on the streets!" He charged off to find her while I scrolled through more pictures on his account, each more ridiculous than the next. Mia may have hacking skills, but her Photoshop abilities needed some work! Sounds of arguing emanated from the next room "What do you mean you can't tell me anything because it's your private business. There is no such thing as privacy you hear me. You unhack my account you mongrel! Bubz, bubz come here, she is chewing all the evidence!" I decided to go help him before more of his private parts were made public!

Sunday, September 3, 2017

A Sitla state of mind

I tagged along with Karen a couple of months ago to a lovely little place tucked up in the mountains of Uttarakhand called Sitla. Though I didn't initially intend to write about it, I enjoyed my trip so much that I wanted to write something. It came out a few days ago in the Hindu Metroplus, and it was nice to get back into some travel writing, which I haven't done for a while. I've included the original version I sent in, which is just slightly longer. Of course I left out bits - like Karen charging ahead at the train station and leaving me behind, both of us clambering on at different points, wondering if the other had also boarded or not. Or Karen waking me an hour early to jump off the train in a panic thinking we had reached, only to discover we were at the wrong station and luckily clambering back in. Other than Karen being a panicky train traveller (I'm not much better, I have to admit), it was quite the perfect getaway.



“If you see a leopard, just keep doing what you’re doing. If you’re singing, keep singing. If talking, keep talking, etc”. Solid advice from longtime Sitla resident and owner of Sitla Estate, Vikram Maira, who was patiently responding to my rather silly question on the sensible thing to do if one were to bump into the big cat. And at Sitla, that could be a possibility. Awash in green with wisps of cloud drifting through, this tranquil village up in the mountains of Uttarakhand is truly magical. With panoramic views of the Himalayas, fruit laden orchards, deep forests and soothing calm, Sitla lends itself to agenda-less days. For city slickers, it’s easy to appreciate, but hard to first adjust to the boundless silence, staggering beauty and the vast expanse of time that just stretches lazily ahead. Used to running around from pillar to post or swearing your insides out at traffic, the silence can be distracting and I was quite restless and fidgety on my first day. But by the evening, my restlessness stilled and I felt calm. It was three days of doing whatever I wanted.  True luxury!

Sprawled over 40 acres is Sitla Estate – a veritable mountain kingdom owned by Maira. Quitting the bright lights and the big city over two decades ago, he decided to return to his family home in Sitla. Since then he has opened it to visitors, inviting them to experience the warmth of his home amidst this idyllic and magnificent setting. We watch the resident kitten, which the team has christened ‘Toto’, dart in and out through apricot trees, silhouetted against the glorious mountains in the background. And Toto, we’re definitely not in Kansas (or in my case Delhi!) anymore! Gazing down from the sit-out area, dotted with stone benches under the dappled shade of apricot and plum trees, there is a vast expanse of green as far as the eye can see. Layers of blue and purple mountains rise up in the distance, and when the clouds clear in this monsoon weather, the dazzling snowcapped Himalayas magically appear.

We laze for hours sprawled under the trees, gazing out at the orchards and forest. Our noses became increasingly sun burned as it’s difficult to look away from this hypnotic view. With a book in hand, a chilled beer or gin and tonic (or a poison of choice) in the other, you could play some music or let the birds orchestrate a concert for you. The hours pass by in a heady mix. And that isn’t the G and T’s, but just the drunken feeling you get taking in your surroundings.  One tends to vocalize the reaction to a great view or something you really like with a sharp intake of breath in a loud “sssssssss”. And boy, did I hiss a lot in Sitla. In greedy gasping amounts that left me rather breathless most of the time!

One of the mornings we set off on a bird watching trail following our guide, Raju, through a part-road, part-forest path. The non-resident dog, Tiger, who appeared to be quite the favorite by everyone we passed along the way, accompanied us and disrupted our bird watching several times as he bounced gleefully among spotted doves and nervous sparrows.  Slippery slopes were interrupted by gradual paths through lush greenery and generous hordes of cannabis, which Raju told us is a hot favourite with the parakeets. And once they’re in this stoned haze one could even reach out and catch them! There were black eagles soaring above, barn swallows perched atop electric poles, spangled drongos dashing between trees, bushes quivering with red belted bulbuls and long tailed shrikes looking at us seriously. There were black headed munias, rusty-cheeked scimitar babblers and spotted doves; there were shrieks and chirrups and peckings and whoops and tweets! It was a beautiful walk and we were back in time for a glorious breakfast of perfectly fluffed crescent omelets with homemade bread and preserves and jams – all proudly derived from produce of the estate. Tiger joined us for nibbles of toast interspersed with a mad dash up and down the terraced orchards in pursuit of a family of jackals.

You can interrupt the lazy pace with guided jungle treks through the lush forest, walks through the village or a spot of retail therapy at some of the NGO outlets like Kilmora, which sell a range of hand woven and knitted apparel and charming dolls and toys; preserves and pickles; and an apricot skincare range. Sitla Estate also has its own shop, which sources from Kilmora as well as other local NGOs and we came away with considerably heavier bags than when we arrived.
Slightly further out and great for day excursions are trips to Binsar Wildlife Sanctuary for some birding, trekking and wildlife spotting. More spiritual pursuits could include a visit to neighboring Mukhteshwar Dham – a 350 year old Shiv temple perched at an altitude of 2,312 meters with great views all around. The cluster of 124 temples and statues in Jageshwar is a tourist hotspot and the ancient temple complex makes for a fascinating wander.  Nainital and Bhimtal are about an hour away if one might like to take in some of the sights at these more popular hill stations. 

We took advantage of our time at Sitla Estate to take a tour of the private orchards along the sloping terraces. Professional parakeet chasers whoop and yell intermittently through the day, shooing the green flocks away from nibbling on the fruit. The orchards and greenhouses are spilling over with everything from apples and purple cabbage, to basil and zucchini – much of which ends up on our plates at meal times.

Despite the lazy pace, the time does seem to end much too quickly. We spend much time tucking into a glorious selection of food at Sitla Estate, which includes everything from perfectly seasoned eggs, vegetables that almost jump off our plate because they are so fresh, “chocolaty” bal mithai – a local favourite; and elaborate four course dinners replete with elegant twirls of spaghetti in fresh pesto; aromatic herbed fish baked in paper; a hearty bacon wrapped chicken roulade; apple crumbles; and so much more. Evenings are well spent in fiercely competitive rounds of scrabble, our vocabulary becoming more inventive with increasing amounts of rum and coke.

We walked back to our rooms and look up to gasp involuntarily (very loud hissing!) at a sky awash in silver stars. It’s the perfect end to our visit.  Sitla is utterly captivating, making us wonder why we’re roughing it out in the city, when one should be fleeing to the mountains. Of course, then places like Sitla would hardly be an escape. For isn’t that what we all need? Somewhere to just let our minds luxuriate in being still, only to be interrupted by sharp gasps at an achingly beautiful starlit night.
 
Getting here:

Sitla, at 7000 feet above sea level, is in the Kumaon region of Nainital District in Uttarkhand. With panoramic views of the Himalayan peaks - Panchachuli, Trishul and Nandadevi - and filled with dense jungle and verdant orchards, the area makes for excellent trekking or more gentle rambles with trails of different grades; and birding opportunities. 350 kilometres by road from Delhi, the closest train station is at Kathgodham. The Shatabdi operates between Anand Vihar station in New Delhi to Kathgodham and there is the overnight Ranikhet Express from the Old Delhi Railway Station. Taxis from Kathgodham will ferry you to Sitla in a little under 2 hours.

Monday, February 27, 2017

What you can learn in 811 days


My dad died two and a half years ago. Two and a half is a general, all encompassing amount of time. Drill it down a little and you get 2 years, 2 months and 19 days. If you have to get really specific it's 811 days. However hard it is to lose someone, it is also horrible not knowing how you actually lost that person. For 811 days we didn't know how it happened or what happened. 811 days of waking up and imagining what might have taken place on that horrible night between the 23rd and 24th of November, 2014. All I could think of was how terrible to not have your loved ones around you or someone to hold your hand, instead to be surrounded by darkness and evil and no one to help.

We've muddled through these 811 days, trying to continue and on the most part surrounded by so much love and support that we will be eternally grateful for. But it also seemed to bring out the most insensitive side of people - having to listen to the negativity and the long list of theories was exhausting and gutting. You couldn't blame the "speculators" either, but it didn't make it easy for us. Particularly for my mom who had to deal with a physical illness on top of everything else. I actually got a call last year from someone who wanted me to help with something and then went off on to a rant about how inconvenienced he was by my dad's death. I was so furious I could have reached through the phone and slapped him. But we learned to ignore all that was inconsequential. It taught us resilience.

Trying to wrap up the gazillion things that needed to be worked on was arduous and continues. People were unsure and shying away because of the circumstances. But we plodded along and learnt patience.

Not getting a chance to say goodbye or to grieve because you had to deal with investigations, or mom's immediate illness, and the constant stress of trying to manage their work in Delhi and in Bangalore didn't give us a moment to think straight. But maybe it was a way of helping us cope, keeping us so occupied that we had no choice but to keep going. We learned to take it one day at a time.

However hard it is, we have come even closer together, fiercely protective of all the memories we have left with my dad. We learnt appreciation and gratitude for all he gave us.

But we bumbled on, never sure if we would ever find out what happened. But on day 809, my crazy Sarina, who has worked in my house for several years now, scared the living daylights out of me when I was sitting down to lunch. She was tidying up in the bedroom when she walked over to the front door and opened it. I wasn't paying attention as I was immersed in lunch, when I heard her announce loudly that my dad was at the door. I thought I had misheard, so asked her again. She repeated herself and pointed to the open door. I froze, unsure of why she would joke like this. She carried on for a while and I just told her calmly to shut the door and sit down. She looked visibly upset that I couldn't see what she could and kept saying that she really thought he was there, while I tried to console her and explain that she had probably been remembering him and thought she saw him. She looked at me sadly and walked away.

Two days later Sid's phone rang. It was the police. They had caught the guys involved in my dad's case. 811 days later, when we thought we would never be able to make sense of what happened that night, we finally had some explanation. I learnt that day to not lose hope and to have a little faith, even if I couldn't see what Sarina could.

A whirlwind of two weeks with a visit to Bangalore to meet with the police and the subsequent public announcement about the arrests brought back Day 1 in sharp definition. It was in some ways good to have some answers, but it reinforced the sadness and futility of it all - a robbery gone so wrong. Avarice and greed that was never even fulfilled because my dad got in their way.

It made us imagine how it all could have played out differently - what if he had not woken up and given them a reason to silence him. They would have just taken what they wanted and left our house and he would have been around to rant and rave today with us about all that is unjust in this world. But then that wasn't him. He did what came instinctively to him - to protect.

And so we continue to bumble along. Closure is a strange word. In reality it has cracks and crevices through which the past oozes in. Finding out what happens changes so much and yet changes so little.

But however hard and shocking a life incident can be, you have to look back and see what you learn from it (and hopefully will continue to do so).  We carry on and I'd like to believe, like Sarina, that he pops by once in a while to check in on us (and that he's not pissed I shut the door the last time!). Over 800 days later he shines on in our hearts and heads more brilliant than ever, and that's something they couldn't rob us off.