Shegaon

A blog from yours truly after a long long time. Well, to write something decent one needs some peace of mind and when you are in the middle of a job change, peace of mind is the last thing that one has. Yes, after 9 1/2 yeas in an organization, I finally changed jobs. It is something I never imagined I would do, given the kind of risk-averse person I am. Also, given the kind of recession the world is in today, I think I managed to find a pretty decent job, that too in my home-town. Coming back to my hometown is something, I myself would have never imagined when I left home 10 years ago for my Masters. Anyways, here I am, almost full-circle, back at least for sometime to the home I grew up in.

Now, my better-half, who is much more pious than me, wanted us all to visit Shegaon, which is a small shanty town in Vidharba, Central India. Shegoan happens to be the home of the Late Shri Gajanan Maharaj, a Saint of the late 19th and the early 20th Century. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gajanan_Maharaj gives some details about him. He has been attributed to numerous miracles including, "giving a fresh lease on life to one Janrao Deshmukh, lighting the clay-pipe without fire, filling a dry well with water, drawing sugar cane juice by twisting canes with his hands, and curing leprosy of a woman." (Quotes indicate straight cut-paste from Wikipedia). He left his physical body on the 8th of Sept 1909 and his samadhi and some of his last belongings can be found in a huge temple.My wife, her parents and my father all happen to be devotees of the late Shri Gajanan Maharaj. I, for one am not really religiously inclined, but am not totally agnostic either, so I had no real reason to refuse to accompany everyone, given that the trip was planned on a weekend.

So, here we were boarding the famous Maharashtra Express. Don't let the word "Express" in the train's name fool you, for the train is by no means an "Express" and it stops at stations that no express train worth its salt would dream of stopping. On our way to the Railway station, my father-in-law told us that we were visiting on "Ekadashi", which has some special significance for devotees, all of which we had all been blissfully unaware of till now. It also happened to be Friday night and Saturday was also supposed to be Bakri-Id. In short, we had to be prepared to face the brunt of multitudes of the Indian public who use the Railways of India for close to 12 hours.

The train journey started of rather uneventfully, but it probably was just a lull before the storm. Given that we were travelling 2nd Class, we had gotten our own bedding, which we now put in place to ensure that we got a good nights sleep. Having done that, we all duly went to bed hoping to have decent nights sleep to be able to brave the long day ahead of us. But that was not be. On one of the stations en route a lot of people got onto our coach. They were I believe talking in Tamil. They tried entreating the ticket checker to some-how get them some seats, but given that there were none, all that this resulted in was a lot of chatter for no reason. After this two people from this group started having some deep philosophical conversation in Tamil. My mother-in-law, who knows some Tamil, wanted to give them her piece of mind in their language, but then, I guess "Discretion got the better part of valor". People were continuing to stream into the coach at the many small stations that this train stops. Finding no seats, or rather having reserved none, people were actually now sleeping on the floor. Soon the entire train floor was occupied with people sleeping. If this was not enough, some people were also sitting at the feet of people sleeping on berths, with valid tickets. My father was the victim of two such people. At about 6:00 am in the morning, one guy sitting very close to where we were sleeping (rather attempting to sleep) got for God-knows-what reason, the strange desire to call up his mother. The conversation he was having, was certainly not for public consumption, since he was talking about his marrying his girl-friend and his mother not quite agreeing to the proposal. The guy was pretty animated and probably did not realize that he was being heard by the entire coach. Some part of the conversation, would have been a perfect fit for a Bollywood block-buster. Some guy finally got annoyed and shouted out, " Why don't you get a loud-speaker?". It was then that he realized his folly and shut-up. At about 7:00 am these folks got down and some semblance of normality returned to the coach. At the next station, more people boarded the train and once again chaos reigned. The toilets, which were close to our seats were by now stinking. People were standing, some people were sitting where they were not supposed to, utter chaos reigned. There was no way we could use the toilet. We could even find our footwear, which we had removed when we went to bed, with great difficulty. Enduring all this we finally arrived at Shegoan at like 11:45 am like 45 minutes behind schedule.

Shegoan is a pretty small place in comparison to the cities that I have dwelled in. Rheine, where I stayed in Germany, might come close to Shegaon in terms of population and city size, but then Rheine is Germany and Shegoan is India and that too rural India. So auto-rickshaws will carry 10 people when they are supposed to carry only 3, the roads will be ridden with pot-holes, open drains on both sides will be over-flowing. After every 50-100m there will be a heap of garbage. All this was very apparent in this town as well. We took two auto-rickshaws to the temple premises. The temple authorities have a facility for lodging and boarding for a nominal fee but given the rush, we were unable to avail of the facility. My Father-in-law and I scouted out some hotels close by (or guest-houses as they were being called). After finding some to be too expensive for the duration of the stay and others with either a poor toilet or no ventilation, we settled for two rooms and decided to share them three each. The hotel owner agreed to provide us with hot water. So after a glass of sweet milk tea and a hot water bath we were all set to visit the temple. The temple premises has two parts. The first part, called the “Dhuni” is basically the place where Shri Gajanan Maharaj left his physical body to attain salvation. It also has the bed, on which he actually did so. The second part is the actual temple, where he was laid to rest. There is actually a temple of Lord Rama right over his final resting place. The story goes that Shri Gajanan Maharaj had actually indicated where he should be laid to rest. A “darshan” to pay respects was going to be a long 3 hour wait at his final resting place. So we decided to visit the “Dhuni” first, then get something to eat and then pay our respects to the final resting spot. The temple premises was a stark contrast to what Shegoan actually was. The floors were sparkling clean. There were people who were constantly ensuring that. People where chanting some mantras. The staff was entreating the devotees to be quiet, but they were having limited success with that. In fact, this is one thing that eludes me. On a visit to any church, one is stuck by the silence that surrounds you. A silence that will make you introspect, think hard about your life. But, silence is generally not something one finds in Hindu temples. I know that there are a lot of exceptions, but this place with the number of people was certainly not one of them, atleast not on that day. Maybe on a less crowded day, it might be much queiter and nicer. As we approached the points of key interest, the spot where Shri Gajanan Maharaj took Samadhi and the bed where he did so, there was some amount of pushing a shoving around by the staff to ensure the crowd keeps moving. Although, some amount of it is inevitable, I feel this could have been done in a more polite and quieter manner. In any case, having finished off with the first part of our “darshan” we found some lunch to eat, simple stuff that gave our bodies the much needed energy.

Lunch over, it was time to get in line for paying respects to the samadhi of Shri Gajanan Maharaj, for which we had to get into a long queue. The queue itself was about 3km long and went all the way into town. Here once again the stark contrast between the town and the temple was visible. While drains over-flowed in town and there were heaps of garbage strewn at regular intervals, the temple premises itself was I daresay swanky. Nothing signifies this better than the fact that there was an open drain that flowed right near the temple and one could distinctly smell it as one entered the temple. Once you enter the temple there were altleast three large rooms full of barricades (for lack of a better word), with seating facility, that ensured that folks did not break the queue and also ensured that large number of people could take the darshan, without being disappointed. One got to witness the immense faith and devotion of the people in queue, each one uttering a mantra in unison. The patience of the devotees was immense. I wish India could utilize this devotion to better effect. It goes to show that laws and a constitution probably is not quite right for us, what we probably need is some force that will enlighten this devotion and faith for the good of this country. Big words from a lesser mortal like yours truly. Anyways, after close to two hours in queue we finally reached the spot. The place is magnificent and has a statue of Shri Gajanan Maharaj at the spot. Exactly above it there is a temple of Lord Rama, once again pretty magnificent. We must have walked close to 5-6 km for this. The agnostic part of me said “ Is all the effort worth it?”, and the spiritual part of me said, “There must be something in this place that makes so many people come to it repeatedly, with such great devotion and faith.” So probably yes, there is indeed something, something invisible that makes all the effort worth it.

On our way back we visited AnandSagar, a theme park run by the temple authorities, which reinforced the contrast between the village and the temple. The fountains, the park, the computerized food-stalls, makes one feel, “ I am in another country”. If the temple authorities feel that creating such theme-parks will enable ordinary people to forget their, day-to-day hardships, I think they have been immensely successful. But, I believe the people will be immensely more grateful to the temple authorities, if they help solve some of their day-to-day issues like good clean roads, clean closed drains and access to good schools to just name a few.

After some sumtuous dinner and a taste of the famous kachori, we started our return journey. I left the place with mixed thoughts, awed by the faith and devotion of the people and my own family, slightly disappointed by the fact that the town could have been so much better. Will I visit again? I probably will, just to witness the same devotion, but I hope to visit a changed Shegaon.

Indians as Travellers

This is another topic that I have been wanting to blog about, Indians as travellers. Ever since our current PM, Manmohan Singh unshackled the Indian economy in 1991, the general prosperity of the Indian people has increased many-fold and these upwardly mobile mass of people have taken to travel, within the country as well as internationally with a vengeance that knows no bounds. This is exemplified by some amazing instances I had during my extensive travels in Europe and US. I had been to Junfraujoch in Switzerland, the highest railway station of Europe and readers will be amazed if I tell them that the smell of Indian curry pervades the entire station due to the presence of an Indian restaurant on top. At some places in the station, one will find instructions written in Gujarati, that just goes to show the number of Indians visiting Junfraujoch. In a small place like Interlaken, again in Switzerland, there are two Indian restaurants. One of my colleagues had been to Innsbruck in Austria and the first question he got asked by a shop-keeper was " Which film crew do you belong to?". Choose a tourist spot in the world and if the place is not too expensive (the extremely cost-conscious people that we are), there is little chance that an Indian has not visited there. One of my friends called Niagara Falls, "Desis Kashi", since most Indians who visit the USA, do visit the Niagara Falls.

The other amazing fact is that Indians of all ages are traveling. I was aghast, when during the trip back from Mt Titlis in the revolving cable car, I heard a group of elderly ladies and gentleman at least in their sixties, with the ladies awkwardly wearing their Salwar suits borrowed from their daughters/daughters-in-law actually speaking Marathi. Believe me its an amazing feeling to find Aiswarya Rai's photo inside a Swiss train. But the thing I want to talk about is in this blog is, "Do we make good travellers?". I would rather hesitantly say, "We don't".

First of all, being used to poor service at home (I must say this is changing, but...), we tend to be impolite, sometimes even bordering on being rude. Just look at the way air-hostesses/stewards treat Indians and you will know what I mean. We just don't mind our "Pleases" and "Thank-yous" well enough. I know, in our culture, gratefulness is expressed by doing something for the person, who helped you out, but c'mon, "In Rome do as the Romans do". So if it means, saying "Thanks" and "Sorry", many times do so. I had this co-passenger on one of my flights to the US, constantly demand a "Cold Drink" (First of all, on an American flight, no one will understand, what that means). But cmon, the Flight staff is not your servant to get you a Coke after every 1/2 hour. Moreover, since she was not able to convey her message to the staff, it was always thru' yours truly, which got to be quite embarrassing after a while.

Secondly, cleanliness just doesn't come to us easily. Travel abroad on any flight originating out of India, just visit the loo and you will know very soon what I mean.

We tend to get personal too soon. Most Westerners, don't want to do that and feel very embarrassed when we start asking, "So, what does your wife do?". The guy might not even be married, he might be dating or might even have just gotten divorced, and so asking about his wife is none of your problem.

We can be very noisy and intruding. Agreed, we are a noisy nation and we celebrate our festivals by bursting crackers, but the serenity that a beautiful landscape gives a viewer will be simply lost if his fellow tourists, don't care to maintain silence. Once on a train journey in Switzerland, I had a family of three Gujaratis from Mumbai, sitting in the seat adjacent to mine. This gentleman was chatting very loudly with his wife and was constantly munching something. All of a sudden, this guy develops a liking for the guy sitting opposite to him. He asks him, "Which country". The person, who is asked this question, was a rather old guy. He would have liked to be left alone and rather reluctantly replies "England". The next question from the Gujarati was amazing, " Do you smoke?". I wondered what smoking and England, had to do with each other. The Brit, once again rather flummoxed, said " Yes I do", to which Mr Gujrati, retorts, "Smoking is very injurious to health". I could see the mans wife fidgeting with her dress, almost wanting to disown her husband for the most inconsequential conversation that her husband was trying to carry out and I wanting to disown him as my fellow countryman. But the best was yet to come. Mr Gujarati (I mean no offense to Gujratis here, they are great people, with a fantastic business acumen and am using Mr Gujarati for want of a better way to describe him), suddenly gets pangs of patriotism in picturesque Switzerland. He suddenly tells old Englishman, "I come from India, India is a great country, Mera Bharat Mahan". This made me want to jump out of the train. I guess, we ought to remember that not all the people in the world are as garrulous as us and that if they need to talk, on most occasions they will start the conversation themselves.

Being used to spicy food at home, we fuss over the bland food that you get abroad. We don't quite do our home-work on the place we are going to. Have you ever seen an Indian with a travel book? I don't recommend it, but we ought to study at least a little about the place we are visiting, to understand their history, their customs and so on. Even when we visit a tourist spot, it is imperative we understand the significance of the place we are visiting, by asking the guide relevant questions and not just being worried about when will I get my next meal.

In general the list is long, but in my opinion, we need to be more sensitive as tourists about the place we are visiting, respect the sanctity of the place and start being more polite, for wherever we visit, we are in a way ambassadors of Mother India, and I believe we would not want everyone else to have a wrong impression about us, unless of course, we believe in "We are like that only".

Dhoni and his Hummer

I guess it was a week back, I was in the gym burning a few calories on the treadmill. This was one of those treadmills that has a TV attached to it and while flipping channels, I happened to see this news of Dhoni unabashedly driving around in his latest acquisition , "A Hummer". As is the case on most occasions nowadays, the same news was on other news channels as well, with the same pictures of him having a car in front and a few in tow. I went like "Wow".

Now, I have tremendous respect for Dhoni. He has a tremendous cricketing sense, has a lot between his ears and does not fear about calling a spade a spade. With him at the helm, I believe India will win more matches than we lose (I say this despite, the recent debacle in the 20-20 World cup). Players like him are icons, and the younger generation look up to such icons. This is especially true, since he comes from a small town like Ranchi (I know its a state capital, but then its not Mumbai, Delhi or Kolkatta) and just demonstrates the art of the possible in new age India.

But I must say, by driving around in a Hummer without any compunctions, he is setting a very poor example to the youth in this country, who aspire to be Dhonis and Tendulkars of tomorrow. This, for the simple reason, that a Hummer represents everything that's wrong with the way the Americans live their life. Its big, ugly and boy, "Does it guzzle!!!". By just using it, Dhoni just increased his Carbon-Footprint many-fold, more so with the security that these folks have with two cars in front and a few in tow, to ensure that the Captain of Team India is safe and sound. But, what it does more than anything else is, it sets the bar on the aspirations of the entire nation, a nation full of young people. Imagine "India's Demographic dividend" aspiring to own a Hummer. Indians on an average have a Carbon footprint of about 3-4, while Americans have a Carbon-Footprint of about 12. It means that, if all the world starts living like Indians, then we would need 3-4 earths to live (apply the same argument to Americans and you see why its dangerous to aspire to live like them). This Carbon-Footprint of 3-4, however hides some crucial facts. It is at 3-4 because, so much of India lives in the villages and so much of it is just plain poor. As these people start becoming upwardly mobile, the average carbon footprint of Indians is bound to increase. It is thus imperative upon us, to get development to the "have-nots" without increasing this Carbon footprint any further or to take the argument even further, get it to around 1. By owning a Hummer and driving it, Dhoni and the TV channels that are airing this news repeatedly, are doing a disservice to the nation and to Mother earth, for the way forward for a young country like India is to not repeat the mistakes that the Americans made, but to imbibe concern for the environment during the process of becoming a developed nation.

Guess what, to reinforce what I said, I read a news in the papers today that, now even Bhajji, is a proud owner of a Hummer!! Talk of setting an example !!

An accident on the streets of Bangalore

Here is something that I have been wanting to pen for almost two years now. It is an incident that happened to yours truly about two years back. Those were the days when my better half used to travel around, having just turned a consultant. She was to travel on a one month official trip to Malaysia. Those were the days when the Airport in Bangalore was still at HAL and the BBMP had just started the loop that goes from Airport Road to 100 ft road and had shut down the U-turn at Manipal Hospital. So to take a U-turn to go to the Airport, one had to go to Domlur or take the new loop and take a U-turn on 100 ft road. All this will be Greek and Latin for people unfamiliar with Bangalore, so relax, this portion is not relevant to the story that I am about to describe. As is the case with most international flights originating from India, my wife's flight was to take off late in the night like 12:30 am or so and she had to be there at the airport by 9:00. We started from home about 8:30pm. Our car was about 6-8 months old then and I was still a very polite driver, having done most of my car-driving in Western countries. But then, I was beginning to gain in confidence about my driving and I must say this; when your confidence starts turning to complacence, Bangalore traffic has this strange knack of getting back at you thru' atleast some small inevitable incident.

Anyways, since we were not going to see each other for the next month or so, both of us were in a rather sombre and melancholic mood. My illustrious father-in-law's CD was playing on the stereo and we gamely reached the U-turn beneath the new flyover without any untoward incident. Just as I was negotiating the U-turn, there was a big thud “DHADAM” and before the two of us could realize anything, the traffic police was standing beside our car, directing people to put two people in our car. It was at that time that we realized that had been part of an accident and two fellas had hit our back left-side passenger door with their rather innocuous looking TVS-50, which for beginners is a bike/moped that might no longer even be sold in the country. I tried to reason with the policeman that I needed to drop my wife to the airport and that she would be late. So the policeman showed some consideration and helped my wife with her luggage and helped her get an auto-rickshaw. He asked me take the two fellas in my car to CMH Hospital and said that he will follow me to the hospital with his superior. Even in that small duration of time, there was a person who gave me a piece of his mind, saying, I should be careful and that it was my mistake.

So, I very obediently started driving those two gentlemen to CMH hospital. As I was driving past the accident spot, I saw a glimpse of the badly mangled TVS-50, realizing the severity of the impact and began imagining the extent of damage to my car, but had still not seen what had actually happened. Meanwhile, in the car, the two fellas were not utterring a word and the entire car with the empty passenger seat beside me, was engulfed in an eerie silence. All kinds of thoughts were now passing thru' my mind. “Had I injured the people at the back greviously?”, “ What will the police say?”. All this while, the stereo was still very much playing Hindustani Classical Music (to enable readers to put two and two together, my father-in-law is a renowned Hindustani Classical vocalist). Now, my father-in-law is blessed with a melliflous voice and the CD that was playing, is one of my favorite Cds. But then in that situation, it felt as if the stereo was blaring at me. So I just turned down the volume. 100 ft road to CMH Hospital is not a very long distance, but on that day with almost no sound in the car and two apparently injured fellows in my car, the distance seemed endless.

After that short, but seemingly never-ending drive, we finally reached CMH Hospital.

During this time, I did not have the courage to even look back at what kind of people were in my car. Having reached the hospital, I had to literally wake the two fellas from their slumber and it was at that time that it dawned on me that both of them were drunk. As they got out of the car, I realized that the one person was an oldish kind of guy, while the other one was a middle aged guy. I got out of the car and for the first time gauged the damage on my car. The left-side backdoor had been beaten badly out of shape. I then took our two gentlemen to the emergency ward. Apparently, the oldish guy was hurt more than the middle-aged guy and was going to need and X-ray and stitches. The doc/paramedic asked me to pay up for the oldish guy, for which I needed to know his name, so that I could make a case-paper. So I asked the middle-aged fella for his mate's name, but this fellow, drunk that he was, told me his own name and age (42) and I religiously conveyed it to the guy at the payment desk and gave the case-paper to the X-ray facility. The oldish guy was then wheeled in for an X-ray of the right leg. I was standing at the door of the X-ray room and I heard the doctor performing the X-Ray, calling up his collegue in emergency, “ Sir, patient is saying he has pain in the left leg, but you have mentioned X-ray of the right leg?”. The doctor in the emergency told him to do X-Ray of both legs. I was thus asked to cough up more money for another X-Ray, at which time, the doctor told me that this guy looks more than 42, thats when I realized I had messed up the names. X-ray was done, with the doctor saying that there is no fracture and that the guy was fine except for the stitched.

All this while, my wife had reached the airport and she called me up to find out what was up, frantically worried if I was ok. I told her I was fine and that the police would come soon.

In the meanwhile the middle-aged guy had called up some folks to the hospital. They met me and started entreating me, not to complain with the police and to actually pay these folks since they are poor. I told them I could not pay, since I had done nothing wrong, it was they who had hit my car and I was already paying for their first-aid. I wish I could speak Kannada for I would have been better able to convey the message across. The police-man at the accident spot arrived. He talked to the middle-aged guy. In their classical way of smelling a man's breath (pretty gross I must say), he figured out the guy was in an inebriated state. This policeman was followed soon enough by his superior. Mr Superior, got an eye-witness account from his junior. I requested, Mr Superior for an FIR, so that I can file an insurance claim (the highly damaged door was beginning to get into my consciousness). Mr Superior, called his Superior “Super-Superior”, telling him what had happened in Kannada. I could make out a few sentences here and there “ TVS 50 reckless aayta”, “TVS-50 Wagon R (my car) guddaiade”, which I made out to be collided. Superior told me “ Sir, Super-Superior has rejected your demand for an FIR, since I will have to confiscate your vehicle and then, only after the RTO inspection can I release it”. Being new to an accident situation myself, I did not force the issue, but I was beginning to see a huge repair bill in front of me. Then, the police-men gave our two protagonists, the perpetrators of the crime of having hit my new car, a piece of their mind, which I did'nt quite follow, since it was all Kannada. Then, they informed me that our drunken fellows will be charged a princely sum of Rupees 50 as fine for “reckless driving”. Having reliazed that I was in no danger, I was about to laugh at this miserable little joke, but was just able to give a sly smile. I guess the policeman understood the feeling behind the smile and said, “ What to do sir, reckless driving for 50 cc vehicle is only 50 Rs fine!!”. So then, midddle-aged fella and our elderly fellas in their inebriated state were asked to cough up a fine of 50Rs, which their by now accululated friends, the friends who were trying to convince me to not complain, got out of thier pockets and these fellas were taken away in a Maruti Omni. I still wonder where the Omni came from. Anyways, just before going away, our middle-aged fellow, fell a touch of remorse and he came upto me in his drunken state, smiled awkwardly and said “Thank You Saar”.

That left only yours truly, the policeman at ground zero and Mr Superior outside the hospital. Mr Superior is proudly telling me, “ Sir, I am not going to lodge any complaint against you. You can go sir, but before going, if you are interested, please pay the constable.”

I politely told him, that I had done nothing wrong and had infact paid the medical bills on humanitarian grounds. He did not insist and so I left the scene with my car door all in bad shape, having coughed up Rs 600 all for no good reason. But what left me most disturbed was the guts the policeman had in asking for a bribe, inspite of I having done nothing that was actually wrong, while those two people were actually drunk and all they were asked to pay was Rs 50. (I agree they would not have had even that, but still............)

William Dalrymple and his works

Another author who has managed to hold my attention is William Dalrymple. I have read quite a few of his books. Chief among them being "The Last Mughal", "The White Mughals", "The Age of Kali" and "The City of Djinns"

I believe when it comes to History and travel-related writing no one can beat him. He virtually brings to life the era or the place he is writing about, and demonstrates immense intrepidity when it comes talking to the most unusual people that are generally a part of his book.

In my opinion, Dalrymple is a great fan of the syncretic Indo-Islamic culture that dominated much of Northern India, and met its end in the unfortunate Partition of the sub-continent. The author has spent considerable time in the India and gives an unbiased and objective account of events, which makes it all the more worth-while to read his works

"The City of Djinns" is an ode to the great city of Delhi thru' the ages. Dalrymple literally peels off various layers of the history of the City, while visiting many of the remnants of the various ages that the city has seen. Meeting a range of people from calligraphers to eunuchs to Anglo-Indians to the current descendants of the Mughal dynasty, he traverses the city, while describing the historical significance of some of monuments that are now in a rather sad state of affairs. He analyzes the architecture of the places he visits and puts them in perspective with the social condition of that era. He describes the politics and the debauchery of the Mughal court and the adventures of some of the early Brits, who started feeling more comfortable in their new surroundings than amongst fellow Brits. All in all, he takes the reader on a fascinating journey thru' the streets of Delhi transporting him to the age when those streets dazzled in their glory.

While "The City of Djinns" is about a specific city, in "The Age of Kali", Dalrymple makes the entire sub-continent his stage and writes a travelogue par excellence. Travelling from the north to the south and then to Pakistan and Sri-Lanka, he meets up with people some of us would dread to meet. From Laloo Yadav, the much-tainted, but still much admired former Chief Minister of Bihar and the Rajmata of Gwalior to Bahveri Devi, an unfortunate victim of gang-rape, the array of people he meets is mind-boggling. He talks to folks who witnessed the Sati of Deorala and in his classic unbiased way, juxtaposes the New Age India of the Software engineer with the Bharat of Caste wars and Sati. Just like "The City of Djinns", this one too makes heady reading.

While the "The City of Djinns" and "The Age of Kali" are essentially travelogues, "White Mughals" and "The Last Mughal" are works of history. "White Mughals" is set in the late eighteenth century Hyderabad, where the British Resident in the court of the Nizam, James Kirk patrick, falls in love Khair-un-Nissa, the great niece of the Nizam's Prime Minister and ended up marrying her and fathering two kids, despite the many obstacles, including the fact that she was almost always in Purdah. It is an absorbing tale that leaves you slightly sad in the end, since the story does not quite end on a happy note. But what stands out again, is Dalrymple's love for composite cultures, in this case the inter-mingling of the British and the Islamic culture of Hyderabad.

"The Last Mughal" is an almost day-by-day account of the 1857 mutiny or the first struggle for Indian Independence, whichever way you may want to call it. Dalrymple renews his love-story with Delhi, describing very objectively the happenings around a water-shed event during the British rule of India. He describes how the Last Mughal was a reluctant Emperor on whom the responsibility of leading a war was almost thrust upon by the rebel soldiers, how the residents of Delhi itself wanted to be no party to the war and how the Indian soldiers were so close to victory, but did not force the issue, simply due to lack of intelligence. Its a book you want to finish in one shot. Dalrymple once again brings to life the streets of Delhi during the Mutiny and makes one wonder , "Why don't they teach History like this at school?" In short, extremely compelling reading.

One wishes Dalrymple a long career in writing and wish History were taught like this at our schools.

Amitav Ghosh's works

I have been reading this book called "In an Antique Land" by Amitav Ghosh and am slowly but steadily getting sucked into the book. To be frank it is but expected of Ghosh. I have read quite a few of his works and stand deeply impressed. Be it "The Hungry Tide", "The Sea of Poppies", "The Calcutta Chromosome" or the current book, I am just amazed by his story-telling abilities.

He has covered quite an array of topics, from malaria in "The Calcutta Chromosome" to dolphins in "The Hungry Tide" to Egypt and Egyptology in "In an Antique Land". These topics are so deeply researched that one starts to imagine that Ghosh is an authority on all of them. But what stands out is his ability to weave together at least three different story-lines, sometimes across three different time-lines. His characters are earthly and real and he does not miss a tryst with the mystical in most of his books. His ability to bring to life the history of the place in which the novel is set in, is simply mind-boggling.

I believe he is the recipient of numerous Awards including the Padmashri in 2007 by the Indian Government. His "Sea of Poppies", which was the first book I read written by Ghosh, was short-listed for the Booker Prize for 2008. This prize eventually went to "The White Tiger" by another Indian author Aravind Adiga. In my opiniion and I dont intend to start a controversy here, the choice of the "The White Tiger" over "The Sea of Poppies" was baffling to say the least. While "Sea of Poppies" is a fabulous tale of hope set just before the Opium Wars on a diverse set of characters sailing on a ship to Mauritius, "The White Tiger" is a very dark tale, a realistic tale, but a very dark tale that leaves you slightly shattered at the end of it. But that can be a debating point and I dont intend to start one here.

I look forward to more works by Ghosh and wish I am one day able to write like him.

About Blogging

So finally I did join the band of netizens who blog. What took me so long and why did I start at all?

Lets delve on the second question first.

Well, I used to write quite a bit once upon a time. I still remember one of my teachers telling me that I wrote well. Then, there is my better half who keeps reminding me of some my early emails to her. I say early because, only in those early days, was the size of those emails considerable and the subject matter interesting and romantic. I must say the romance stayed, but the emails got shorter as we got to know each other better. I also used to write a diary although infrequently. So cutting the long story short, there are people who tell me I have a flair for writing and I think its time to unveil some of this flair to the big bad world of the Internet.

Now to that first question, what took me so long, the answer to that is plain and simple, good old procrastination and lethargy.

Anyways, what am I going to blog on?

As the name says, wherever my mind wanders. So one day it will be on some technology that I am working on or reading about, another day it could be on Music, on which I am putting some of my energies these days, or it could just be anything that I feel like on that particular day, such as a trip we undertook on a particular weekend or even my wife's culinary experiments.

I hope to make it interesting and I look forward to any feedback.