New York's Human Side

This August I spent considerable time in the big bad Apple. Mostly alone.

I went in with a set of pre-conceptions about New York. Everything I had read or seen on my previous short trips highlighted the city's strong sense of individuality- it came across as a city where people had only time for themselves.


Subway

My brother and I walked into the subway station, navigating the milling crowd, hordes of people, but all well organized like a colony of ants, moving in a predetermined pattern.
"The card doesn't seem to be working", I said as I struggled with the metro card at the turnstile.

"Hurry up", said my brother, mindful that a line was beginning to swell up behind us.

Swiping it multiple times didn't seem to evoke any positive response from the stubborn gate as it refused to swing open.

Just then, a hand without a face appeared from the opposite side and swiped their own card in our turnstile. "Uh....", I said, a bit confused. "Go on, go on", urged the hand.

Only when I was safely in a subway seat did I have time to ponder on the fact that an unknown person had just paid the metro fare for this ride. An act of random kindness.


Bryant Park

Wandering into Bryant Park one balmy Sunday afternoon, it was difficult not admire the idyllic air. There were hundreds of bodies getting a sun tan, lying on the cool rectangle of grass that was ensconced by skyscrapers on all four sides. It was like a quiet communal picnic- mostly individuals and hardly any groups. Chairs lay scattered across the green, some filled, some invitingly empty.

I settled on an empty patch of grass and watched as two girls chatted softly, an arms length to my left, as a young man wearing an NYU cap read his text-book to my right. Barely two blocks from the buzzing, bright lights of Times Square, this was an island of suspended calm. The stark contrast- too tempting to ignore.

I closed my eyes and lay down.

A while later I noticed a group of people congregating silently at the farther end of the park. Many of them topless- both men and women.

"Equal Topless rights for All or None", read one of their banners that a man held up. Amazed, I wondered, at the completely peaceful protesters. No one gawked, no one passed lewd comments.


At the Subway Again
On a return journey at the subway station, I stopped to re-fill my metro card. The only person ahead of me in the queue was struggling with it- she walked away without a recharge.

On my turn, I tried to push in a five dollar bill, the machine wouldn't accept it. A one dollar bill, no luck. A ten dollar bill, still no luck. After several attempts, I discovered the problem- the machine wasn't working properly and was only accepting coins. I began to feed them in one by one.

Seeing me with an open wallet, a man approached. "Could you help me", he croaked. I summarily glanced at him and noted his unruly beard; his dark, lined face; his ill fitting worn out clothes. I waved him away as I impatiently recharged my card, not wanting to entertain beggars.

Then I remembered my last subway trip and thought of paying it forward. "Here", I said as I walked to him and handed him a dollar bill.

"No, thank you", he said, as he politely refused to accept the money. I looked on confused.

"I am unable to recharge my ticket, could you please help me with that", he said as he held up a metro card and dirty dollar bills. I was embarrassed at my presumptuousness.

I showed him how the machine was accepting only quarters. After his ticket was recharged, we walked to the platform, silently, together, as I helped him with his luggage.

As the train pulled away from the station and the man, I resolved not to judge people on appearances and thanked God for a chance for redeem myself.


Heavy Bags
Another day, I took the express train to Queens, tugging a laptop bag and two gynormous shopping bags filled to the brim, from Bed Bath & Beyond. Being peak hours, I did not get a seat during the hour long ride.

After dis-embarking from the train, I dragged the bags up. At the top of the flight of stairs, I gasped, breathing in the warm, heavy evening air.

I walked slowly on to my uncle's house, stopping every few steps as I laid my load down to rest my weary arms. The kilometer long walked seemed to stretch on infinitely.

"Can I help you with that?", asked a young cheerful man as he halted to my left.

I considered that for a moment and asked, "Are you sure? I don't want to be any trouble."

"Absolutely, where are you heading".

"Parker Towers", I said.

"Oh, that's only a short detour for me, I'll drop you there", he said as he took my heavy bags.

Relived and grateful I walked along. We chatted until we reached my door. Only after he left I realized that we hadn't even exchanged names.

New York, you have a big heart.
There is much we can learn from wandering through different cities. Kindness was not what I had expected to be acquainted with in New York. Truly, Big Apple, you have a big heart.

The Roopkund Trek: 'High' in the Mountains

Delhi

“I’m really looking forward to this trek, I want to live in the mountains permanently!” I said, tired of Delhi’s traffic. “Yeah we can help you with that. We’ll make sure you stay with the skeletons in Roopkund”, Sarang said cheekily- as my mother looked on in astonishment, suddenly unsure if it was a good idea for me to go with such friends.

Loharjung

After an overnight bus and day long car ride we reached our guest house in Loharjung. Trekking season had not yet begun in full swing and our group of 12 were the only ‘tourists’ in the small sleepy town.

Loharjung © Sarang Bedekar

We were a motley group of architects, engineers, students, entrepreneurs and a housewife from Delhi, Bombay, Pune and Bangalore.

“So how was BMC?”, I asked Nitin, one of the trek leaders, as we all crowded around with tea cups warming our fingers, chatting and getting to know each other.

“Oh you’re a Doctor? You went to Bangalore Medical College?” asked Tambi as he gracefully executed his first foot in mouth manoeuvre on the trip. “BMC is for Basic Mountaineering Course, not Bangalore Medical College!” chimed in the rest of us simultaneously.

The next morning, we packed our enthusiasm and our back-packs as we set off towards the first camp in Didna Village. Maahi Ve from the movie Highway, blared from Paras’ portable speakers as we stirred the dust and made our way along the dirt track.

‘Aapka naam kya hai?’ I asked our local guide.

‘Mahaveer’, he said

‘Oh, like in Highway!’ we squealed in delight at the symbolism.

On the way, Nitin examined the branch of a tree. ‘We can use this as daatun, I’m not carrying tooth paste anyway. Curious, each of us tried the pungent fruit and bark. Yes, we were in the great outdoors, in the lap of nature! We would be living off the land for the next few days. Well, almost, and it was terribly exciting to imagine so.

After five hours of our first day’s warm up climb through meadows and steep hills, we reached Didna.

Didna

Didna © Sarang Bedekar

“Help, come quickly!” a scream resounded over the gentle lilting of cow bells. All of us who were admiring the sights and hills were snapped out of our revere by the urgent call to action.

Paras, a boy with a consistent, sweet smile, had collapsed as acute cramps crept over both his legs.

“Bring water, he’s de-hydrated!”, “Make sure you add glucose to the bottle”, screamed Sarang. The entire team was by Paras’ side, rubbing his legs, holding his hand. We were horrified by his screams, driven by the sharp pain the cramps were causing. They continued for over an hour and left him exhausted. None of us had seen anything like that.

The next morning, we got ready to make our way to the next camp- albeit, one man less. Paras could not accompany us and we were all a little disheartened. However, the breath taking views- water falls high above, tiny settlements and step farms in the valley deep below- eventually calmed and rejuvenated us. We made our way up through dense Rhodendron forests, soaking in the vibrant moss covered tree trunks, buds adorning the higher branches as they waited for summer to unravel their pink brilliance. We were still below the tree line.

“Look at those black clouds”, Nitin said nervously as he pointed north of us, “It may rain any time”.

And did it rain! An hour into our ascent, gentle droplets gave way to an angry downpour. All of us pulled our raincoats over our sensible warm jackets, to fend against the biting cold winds and freezing droplets interspersed with hail.

Rhodendron Forests ©Vivek Narayanan

All of us, except, Sarang-Mr-Macho-Man. He decided he needed only a half sleeved T-shirt covered by an excuse-for-a-raincoat that was meant for short scooty rides through Pune in summer. But this was not summer and we were not in Pune. We were in the great Himalayas.

As we trudged up with our loads, bracing against the violent rain, the water breached our defences, wetting our clothes and the wind chilled to the bone. Wearily we kept climbing and the Rhodendron trees gave way to bushes and then grass as we crossed over the tree line. And it still kept raining. We were all suffering, but the most tortured was Sarang as his blue plastic fluttered helplessly over his cotton Tee.

I silently thanked mom for forcefully shoving a pack of trail mix into my back-back.

“Look ahead!” someone said.

Meadows ©Vivek Narayanan

The sky had finally cleared and we were in an expansive meadow, snow-capped peaks adorning our view. The Himalayas never cease to amaze, the whimsical weather, one moment like an ill tempered shrew, the next moment timid and generous with warm sunshine like a caring mother.

Our footsteps hastened at the sight of the welcoming camp site at Ali Bugyal.

Ali Bugyal

Our campsite was masterfully located to get a front row view of the majestic Trishul peak.

Ali Bugyal ©Sarang Bedekar

“I’m exhausted”, I croaked as I collapsed into a tent and refused to move.

“Chai, chai!” announced our cook.

Somehow we crawled out of our tents to get some of the warm magic liquid followed by lunch- a hastily thrown together khichdi, which at that moment tasted like ambrosia. Refueled, we could now explore the surroundings.

“Look at those horses!” said a delighted Ankita.

“Come, climb up here, you will get better photographs of Trishul in the golden hour!” beckoned Manish. Trishul lit up in the setting sun, a flaming orange.

Trishul ©Sarang Bedekar

“Is today full moon night?” asked Ankita.

“It certainly seems like it”, I said staring up at the gigantic moon hanging over us as we strolled around without our headlamps in the brilliant moonlight.

The wind slapped at our tent flaps and the toilet tent became untethered as I walked by and almost flew away before I rescued it by throwing a stone over it. “Toilet tent ud gaya, toilet tent ud gaya”, I announced loudly, asking for help. Of course this became the big joke during breakfast the next morning.

The next day we moved forward. An hour into our ascent towards Pathar Nachni camp, it started raining again. “Abort, abort”, screamed Nitin. We quickly descended back towards shelter at another campsite at Bedni Bugyal, where we met Sandeep.

Bedni Bugyal ©Sarang Bedekar

“Sandeep, how will we go ahead if the weather is so bad”, asked a disappointed Jayesh.

“The weather isn’t on our side and even the mules carrying supplies aren’t budging because the trail is covered with snow”, said Sandeep. “But you have come this far and we will do everything in our capacity so that the team can summit, just have faith in me”. This was greeted with cheers from the team.

Towards Pathar Nachni ©Vivek Narayanan

The rain did stop and we moved on eventually reaching the next camp.

Pathar Nachni

Here, the grassy landscape gave way to snow covered rock. Our campsite was covered with a fresh early morning delivery of fluffy snow on which we pitched our tents. “It’s going to be a long cold night” sighed Vivek.

Pathar Nachni ©Vivek Narayanan

Again, the camp site was at a gorgeous location with an imposing rock face right ahead of us. Through the small mesh in the isolated toilet tent we could see wind cut slopes standing dramatically over a valley. It was literally potty-with-a-view.

Potty with a View ©Sarang Bedekar

The next morning our team had shrunken again as 4 more trekkers decided to turn back after consulting with our knowledgeable trek leader.

“The regular trail is inaccessible right now, we’ll have to take that route”, said Nitin as he pointed towards a 70 degree slope.

We stared at him incredulously. Then we saw a dextrous local scampering up the slope with a gas cylinder strapped to his back. There was no choice, we had to attempt it. I being on the shorter side and having a lower center of gravity, literally climbed on all fours, saying ‘mehhh’ at regular intervals to imitate the goat that I probably looked like.

Cylinder Climb ©Vivek Narayanan

Scamper Up ©Sarang Bedekar

“Just don’t look down”, I repeated to myself as my heart beat hard threatening to rupture my rib cage.

We could breathe in relief only an hour later when we reached the flat ridge on top. A couple of us had tears of pain, joy and relief.

Our climb was rewarded soon enough.

“Bhupi bhaiya, maine aisa kuch aaj tak kabhi nahi dekha”, I told our cook as I stood frozen, staring in wonder at the white expanse around us. We were above the clouds now and in the snow covered peaks that we had seen earlier.

Kalu Vinayak ©Jayesh Jain

This was the location of Kalu Vinayak, the temple of Lord Ganesh. In summer, trekkers kneel at the temple but right now, all that was visible of it over the snow was a stick with a red cloth tied to it and the three spokes of the trishul on top of it. Reverently, we trekked around what we could gauge was the area of the temple.

Now breathing more heavily in the thin air we slowly made our way to Camp 4.

Bhagwabasa

Our tent supplies could not make it this far, so fortunately the lone forest shelter was not filled with snow.

After a brief rest, we trudged around in the calf deep snow to locate a stream to get water from. “Paani nahi mila kahin bhi”, Bhupi bhaiya announced. “Melt the snow, we will drink that”, said Sandeep.

Making Water in Bhagwabasa ©Vivek Narayan

No one complained as we drank the boiled brown water with little black insects floating in it. We were too absorbed in the natural wonder we were in.

Running on Snow at Bhagwabasa ©Sarang Bedekar

“Tomorrow is summit day; it will be an early start. We need to leave by 5”, said Nitin.

Roopkund?

“Water pack? Check”

“Warm gloves? Check”

“Wind sheater? Check”

“Crampons? Check”

“Extra socks? Check”

We double checked everything as we dressed and prepared in the twilight, aided by our headlamps, for the special day ahead. However, we got delayed as breakfast and supplies took longer to prepare at that temperature and altitude.

The virgin snow had started to soften as it was caressed by the early morning sun rays. We were the first this season to reach this far and there was no trail to follow. A local boy and Sandeep lead the way, gingerly checking for hidden crevasses before each step and then cutting the snow with ice axes. However, all the preparation was in vain as we sunk in with each step we took forward, the snow kept giving way under our individual weights.

Cutting Ice ©Vivek Narayanan

We were expending energy each time we raised ourselves back out for the next step. Breathing heavily at that altitude we sipped frequently from our hydration packs.

Two team members turned back at early signs of mountain sickness which were spotted by our capable trek leader, Sandeep.

“Let’s start a pace count”, Sarang suggested as our breathing got heavier. So we rested for about 30 seconds after each set of 8-10 steps. “Very good, keep moving”, Sandeep kept urging the remaining five of us forward.

“Paani hai?” I asked Sarang. He checked his hydration pack but there was no liquid.

“Mera bhi khatam!” said a worried Vivek.

We were not even half way there and had already exhausted our all our water supplies! By now the morning sun was overhead and we were getting de-hydrated fast.

“Keep a small piece of ice in your mouth and let it melt each time you feel thirsty. Normally eating ice may cause hypo-thermia but as it is very hot right now, it will be safe”.

So we trudged forward, taking little bites from the ice our crampons broke off.

“It’s already 10, we should have summitted by now, let’s increase our pace before the weather turns nasty”, Sandeep urged.

We looked at each other. We knew we were all operating on reserves on energy, how could we go any faster?! At that time, we encountered a steep patch where the snow was so soft that even the local boy couldn’t climb despite repeated attempts.

“Aage poora rasta aisa hi hai” said the local boy.

“What does the team want to do?” asked Sandeep.

“Should we turn back?” someone floated the question in despair.

“How can we, we’ve come this far!” said Sarang

“Let’s try for another 30 minutes, before we turn back”, I suggested.

“It’s the last push, you can do it!” Sandeep motivated.

So we decided to push on and thankfully so! After a few metres the slope eased a bit and we increased our pace. We threw our empty water packs and discarded our heavy jackets on the snow as we moved forward.

“Ye last climb hai” said Sandeep pointed to a wall ahead. “Roopkund iske aage hai”.

Full of hope, we surged forward as I slipped and fell from exhaustion and got up again.

“Ruk jao, aage mat jaana” Sandeep instructed the local boy as he moved aside.

Turning to Sarang, Vivek and I he said “20 metres ahead is the final point. I want you three to be the first to summit Roopkund this season. We lunged forward. I did not control the tears in my eyes as I sunk to my knees, Trishul above us, frozen Roopkund below us.

Summiting at Roopkund ©Vivek Narayanan

This was it. We had done it. Thank you team.

Dear Backpack

As we lay on the cool grass today,

Watching the fluffy clouds and hearing the trees sway,

I thought of all that we had dreamt of together,

Of faraway lands and wandering forever.

Of red lanterns adorning hutongs,

And oriental villages dancing to Mandarin songs.

Of befriending strangers each place we went,

New stamps on each postcard we sent.

Of worn books and reading by the noisy sea,

The only constant companions, you and me.

Of tents under a starry night sky,

The simple joy of a stream murmuring nearby.

Of conquering tree lines and verdant meadows,

Obstinate rocks and freshly fallen snows.

Of cairns and azure lakes and glaciers in the nude,

The ecstasy of exhausted muscles defeating altitude.

Dear dream weaver, it’s time to go home now,

We’ll chase those dreams, someday, somehow.

The Aam Aadmi is a Fool

For centuries now, vehemently ambitious upstarts have been using guile and carefully crafted reasoning to mis-guide the naive populace that inhabits the great lands of the Indian sub-continent.

Barbaric Babar
In 1526 Babur, a savage warrior, used his newly acquired technology of cannons and muskets to defeat the then King of Hindustan, in the Battle of Panipat. In the battle that gave the foreigner a hold over Delhi, Babur had defeated Ibrahim Lodi, a muslim like himself. He had promised his armies riches beyond wonder in return for their allegiance.

Scarcely a year later, Babur saw a threat in the form of the Hindu king, Rana Sangha of Mewar. When his many advances in battle resulted in failure, Babur's armies started losing motivation and could no longer be bought with bountiful riches. At this point, Babur decided that he needed a new way to rouse his fickle followers, so he did the following:

• Babur announced that the war against the Hindu king was a holy war against the infidel, and hence commenced the first jihad in India's history.
• Known as a lover of wine and ganja, Babur publicly renounced these intoxicants to prove his staunchness as a muslim. However, in his own diary he talks about privately still savoring wines from Kabul.
• Babur had several Hindus in his armies, he detached them and set them to attacks on different fronts so that his majorly muslim army would have no doubts the masquerade of a 'holy war'.

Roused by this fake call to jihad, Babur's armies rallied and Rana Sangha fell in the Battle of Khanua. And Babur had secured what he desired- a dynasty to pass on to his four belligerent sons.

Wily Politicians

Barely 420 years after Babur's grand deceit, India stood again at a crossroad. After years of laborious revolt by the common man, after shedding the blood of countless, nameless common citizens, India was to finally get freedom from foreign oppressors. Two ambitious individuals- Jinnah and Nehru- were vying for supreme power in the soon to be independent nation.

Each wanted power and the decision was not easy. So, in haste to gain power, they submitted to the absurd plan to partition India based on religion. The decision led to unprecedented exodus and bloodshed, scars that have not healed even 67 years hence. The two men were given charge of their pieces of the pie, no matter that they have left a country of one billion aam aadmi distraught in disarray having to deal with the murder of countless soldiers on hastily and sloppily drawn lines in ink over paper.

So Will You Be a Fool?
In each of the two illustrations above, what amazes one is the unflinching ability of ambitious arseholes to mislead us- the common man- so that they can achieve their personal agendas. Whether they use religious masquerades, or feign allegiance to our cause by naming themselves for the aam aadmi, we in blind sentiment believe the blasphemy meted out to us time and again without a hoot for fact and fiction.

So as we stand on the verge of another general election, this is a humble supplication to our country's common man- let us not be fools; let us not believe at face value what the AAP, the Congress, the BJP or what our regional parties are feeding us. Let us use our intelligent discretion and save this country from the almost certain doom that we are heading towards.