It is never too late to learn.

I learned to cycle at the age of 24. Shocker, eh?

God knows what crazy looks I get every time I slip this little factoid into casual conversation. Apparently, most people around me had learned to cycle as little children, some even before they could say 'mamma' or 'papa'. Indeed, one had learned to cycle even while still inside the womb. I have rather interesting friends, don't I?

On the other hand, one of the funniest stories I've ever told is of the time I tried to learn to cycle as a kid but failed, only to give up completely. But a decade later, I received a letter that said my career, and indeed life thereon, depended on how well I could wield the two-wheeled monster. Isn't fate a cruel mistress?

I cannot but admit I was hesitant to learn at this age. I mean I could vividly remember all the pitiful glances I'd get on the streets when I was learning to drive, with a big red 'L' stuck to the front and back of my dad's old car. After much effort and embarrassment, and with the help of my lovely friend Sharmishtha, I gained confidence and started to drive on a one-kilometre stretch inside my university and park confidently without having to call for help. But one day, as I was driving back from class, I panicked on a narrow stretch of un-cemented road and ran full throttle into a tree. I also hit a guy returning on foot, to avoid whom I had originally swerved. All the confidence I'd gained over weeks went down the gutter in those few moments. I never tried my hand at driving again, partially due to fear and partially because I seldom had the chance thereafter (the poor old car was wrecked and I went away to study further).

It was in mid-2016, while I was pursuing my PG as a Young India Fellow, that I was told I'd have to learn to cycle to pass a fitness test for my first job in Bombay. I was angry, I was scared. I had lost all my bearings. Even so, I half-heartedly set about looking for help. For days, I'd approach anyone I met with only one question: Can you teach me how to cycle? A few of them agreed to help, but plans to start my lessons never materialised. When I finally did try my hand, the fear of letting my feet leave the ground and balance the bicycle on my own proved too much for me to conquer.

I was back again where I had been ten years ago - I had a cycle, I had people who wanted to help me learn, but I couldn't let go of my fear of falling and getting hurt. I was bound by my own demons.

It was a difficult time, those few weeks. I'd almost given up on ever being able to balance on two wheels. But then, one evening, my closest friends - Hargun, Nikita, and Malika - decided to take things into their hands and dragged me out to the cycle stand on campus. Hargun even called in the big guns, Ishan and Shravan - our beloved friends from the university program team. They began my lesson with a motivational talk on learning to trust and letting go of the ground. It was an ordeal for each one of them, I could see. The guys even had cuts and bruises on their hands by holding the bike handles and running with me - but I like to believe they needed the exercise as much I did.

I was in the company of loving, caring, and encouraging people who had made it their personal mission to help me conquer my fears. If I didn't succeed, I'd be letting each of them down. And I couldn't possibly have done that! Within the next twenty-five minutes, I was riding around like Fearless Nadia on a yellow bicycle, a wide grin on my face even as the wind hit me hard. I was told to take it slow, to be careful, but I kept cycling around campus as if I had just been freed from a cage.

I had never felt so free, so mobile, so... empowered.

I'd conquered my biggest and perhaps my only fear, and one that had plagued me since I was a little kid.

While I have my friends to thank - all five of them - for making me do this and bearing with me till the end, I also learned a big lesson through the entire ordeal: that it is never too late to learn new things. It is never too late to conquer your fears. And it is never too late to learn to let go.

* * *

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

6 reasons why Sikkim should top your travel wishlist

2016 was a beautiful year for me, with a new job in a new city and lots of travel and exploring on my own. 2017 so far has been rough - lots of low points, dilemmas, tough decisions - and it has left me drained of all creative energy and desperate for a new beginning. I'm longing to travel again, to find a place that would remind me of all that's good and positive in this world - beauty, clean air, quiet moments spent in the lap of nature, cool wind in my face, and the sight of still water.

I long to go back to the Himalayas - to the home of my heart. And where in the Himalayan belt have I had my best times ever? Why, Sikkim, of course!

I travelled through South and East Sikkim at the end of last year. As luck would have it, both my SIM cards were out of order for the duration of the trip (for silly reasons), so connectivity was non-existent. But there were some times when I had Wi-Fi, and I made sure to put up pictures and stories on Instagram from all the gorgeous places I was seeing. Little did I know my pictures were inspiring many of my friends to plan their own trips to Sikkim. I was surprised at the beauty of Sikkim coming as such a 'revelation' to so many people. People clearly don't know enough about this tiny Himalayan paradise. So I decided to put together a list of 6 reasons why Sikkim should top your travel wishlist. 

1. Deep blue lakes against a rocky landscape

While people of my generation are busy obsessing over the surreal landscape of Ladakh, I've discovered that Sikkim has the same vistas to offer but without the throngs of tourists that don't let you breathe. I was there in December, when the lakes were just beginning to freeze over. At an altitude of 13,000 feet and set against the barren rocky terrain, it was a truly fascinating sight.

 

 

 

2. Unbelievable views of the Kanchenjunga mountains

Having seen the Pir Panjal, Shivalik and Dhauladhar ranges in the North, I believed I had seen a lot. But Sikkim threw such stunning views of the Kanchenjunga mountains at me, I was instantly humbled. I'm not an early riser, even on holiday, but catching the sun rise over the snowclad Eastern Himalayas was totally worth waking up at 4 am.

3. Buddhist monasteries and the spiritual aura

I've always maintained I will embrace Buddhism the day I feel the urge to turn to religion. Buddhist principles and prayer methods are simple, practical, and suited to my sensibilities. No wonder Sikkim, with its spiritual vibe, beautiful monasteries and high-altitude stupas, is a Buddhist wonderland. I even learned to chant the Buddhist mantra 'Namu Myoho Renge Kyo', which I guess is the only Japanese I can speak. Achievement, much?

4. The majestic Yak (Try petting it!)

You must have heard about the Yak rides offered as prime attractions on the banks of Lakes Tsomgo and Gurudongmar in Sikkim and Lake Pangong in Ladakh. It might sound like a fun thing to experience - it did to me when I went to Tsomgo lake. But I couldn't believe the cruelty with which these strong, majestic creatures were treated by their handlers and just how submissive their eyes looked. A few of the yaks even seemed irritable and surly. I strongly urge travellers not to encourage such abuse of the beautiful creatures for commercial purposes. Don't ride them. Click their pictures instead, or pet them if you are of the adventurous kind (do tell me how it was). Choose to be a responsible traveller. Always.

 

5. The famous Sikkim Flower Show in Gangtok

The Flower Exhibition Centre in Gangtok city is home to countless species of plants, flowering and otherwise. During March, when the orchids are in full bloom, it hosts the famous Sikkim Flower Show that should be on every nature-lover's travel wishlist. The indoor area where the show is held even has a pretty little water body with a bridge over it, and you can purchase any of the plants on display to take home.

6. A glimpse of China at Nathu-La

Nathu-La is a mountain pass that connects Sikkim with China via an open border. As you climb up the stairs that lead to the red-tiled outpost at 14,410 feet, breathing becomes a tad more difficult and you have to stop often. But once you're at the top, the knowledge that you're seeing China on the other side of the barbed wire makes the experience surreal. You can try striking up a conversation with the young Chinese soldier on the other side, but he won't entertain you. Trust me, I've tried. And then the Indian soldiers on your side will yell at you to get back. :D Photography isn't allowed at the border, but you can always sneak out your phone while no one's watching. Whether I managed to get pictures or not, I will not say (*wink wink*).

Mind you, none of my pictures are edited except for minor light adjustments. The skies in Sikkim are really that blue, the water really that clear, and the landscape really that stark. Isn't that reason enough why Sikkim should top your travel wishlist? I was as happy as a child in that little hill state, and so will you be. Give it a try, September and October in fact are perfect months to visit Sikkim.

P.S. I only saw a part of the state on the first trip. But I'm off to North Sikkim in September - so watch this space for my next travelogue! Meanwhile, check out more pictures and stories on my Instagram.

-----------------------

Update: The first travelogue from my September trip to Sikkim is live. Check out - Stairway to Heaven | Yumthang Valley

Book Review: Reminiscences of a Seeker - Kapil Kumar Bhaskar

I haven't written about my literary pursuits in forever. I do read, off and on, but life has been a roller-coaster ride over the last one year. Between a 10-to-6 job, a new home in a new city, and my new venture, 'A Delhi Girl in Bombay', I've had no time to write. But then a book came along that spoke to this overlooked side of my existence, something not many know of, and I knew I had to write about it. 

Reminiscences of a Seeker is, in the author's own words, the story of an ordinary man plunged into extraordinary circumstances of the Dark World. It is a 'true' story about the supernatural world of mystics and higher beings, unbelievable miracles and the parallel worlds of darkness and light, in the pursuit of seeking the 'One'. I picked this book up around the time I heard about it from a book club e-mail list I subscribe to.

Being a public person, most of my pursuits are chronicled online in photos and blogs. But my spiritual beliefs and experiences have remained private and off of my blog. It would indeed come as a surprise to many that I belong to a family of highly trained spiritualists and am also trained in Reiki healing, meditation techniques and other spiritual practices. I began reading this book precisely to see how the author had written about his practices and whether he managed to make it sound believable to a lay reader or ended up writing other-worldly 'mumbo jumbo', which so many people think it is.

The literary market has in recent years been flooded with books on themes of spiritual awareness, mastering the mind, using the energies of the universe to your benefit, and whatnot, but a book of this kind by an Indian author, written in an easy, accessible form, was missing. I think this book bridges that gap, and quite decently too.

What is the book all about?

There are individuals in this world who live a normal life, dream, achieve their goals (or fail), learn from their mistakes (or not), and die, leaving behind family, a legacy (or not), and material possessions. And then there are individuals who are searching for meaning in this life - they are not satisfied with material gains, fulfilled dreams, love, and health. They seek deeper meaning, a calling, a source of faith and energy. Reminiscences of a Seeker is about the journey of one such individual who is in search of a master to guide him in his spiritual growth.

In the first few pages of Reminiscences of a Seeker, the reader is taken into the protagonist's home and shown an encounter that spurs off the spiritual adventures that make up the rest of the book. The protagonist's journey spans several years, during which he has run-ins with different spiritual masters, both in the physical and spiritual planes, some leading to good experiences and some not. He gets sucked into the trappings of a powerful Tantric lifestyle, but manages to extract himself from it, only to be lost on his path, looking for guidance yet again. It's a page-turner of a book that leaves you yearning to know what happens next. It reveals many an unknown fact about Tantricism, Aghori practices, spiritual messages and mystical signs, and a lot of other things that most of us have heard of or even experienced (such as telepathic communication, and being visited by dead loved ones in dreams - why it happens, and what it signifies or how it helps you).

Whom is this book for?

It certainly isn't for the hardcore cynic or atheist, because you need a certain amount of belief in the supernatural or at least a healthy curiosity for it to enjoy reading this book. It's a breezy read, very personal yet not over-descriptive or sappy. It's a true story, which makes it believable, with all its flaws and pitfalls.

The Good and the Bad

The book is a simple read, written like a constant stream of thoughts and occurrences as if the author was telling you the story in person. It'll keep you hooked, and even if some things might seem unpalatable or unbelievable, knowing that it's a true story helps keep you going.

It took me a while to get through the first half - it was slow and began in a rather Marquez-esque way, with no context and no background knowledge. It would have been much, much more reader-friendly had it been developed in a chronologically consistent manner and with some context at the beginning. Speaking from an editor's perspective, the book is also in dire need of professional editing and proofreading.

The book does have some moments of rare clarity and depth. Ignoring the relatively juvenile expression, I was often taken aback at the author's honesty about things that I believe very few people know or understand. The author has explored themes like teacher-student trust, boundaries, and the loss and rebuilding of trust and faith which takes people years to learn. Its vivid and faithful portrayal of Aghori and Tantric practices and revelations about the ugly face of the 'baba culture' in contemporary India are admirably courageous. 

What did the book leave me with?

Reminiscences of a Seeker left me thinking how every great journey, whether spiritual or material or otherwise, tells you only one thing: "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." (Karl Marx knew what he was talking about) We get attracted towards things that are flashy, that shine, that lure us into feeling good and powerful and beautiful. But the feeling doesn't last long, and only when we turn ugly and lose our natural goodness and positive energy that we realise we were running after the wrong things all along. Real meaning and happiness comes from inside. Alas, it takes people entire lifetimes to come to that realisation.

The Bookworm's Verdict: 3 stars out of 5.

Publisher: Angel Books Publications

Price: INR 365

Buy it here: Amazon   Flipkart

****************************

This post is the latest in the series 'The Bookworm's Word', the book review segment of this blog. Check out my other reviews.

Oh, and connect with me on Facebook.

River's song

(Inspired from River Parvati in Kasol, Himachal Pradesh, circa 2016.)

Open up your ears; hear the river sing as it goes

The melancholy song of the river holds a million woes

My ear picked up a feeble note as I sat there flinging a stone

Into the water for every time I'd ever felt alone

The voice I heard was familiar, but the chord it struck was new

The river sang to me the way my mother used to do

Off tune but full of love, she'd sing and I'd turn quiet

I'd drift off to dreamless sleep with the same song every night

~ 

Once upon a weekend in Kasol...

It took us three failed attempts at planning a trip to actually make one happen. It was Shristi's birthday, her little brother was flying in all the way from Bangalore, and she demanded (yes, literally demanded) that we all get our shit together and take her to Kasol for her birthday. We had little choice.

And so, with minimal planning and no fixed itinerary, we were off to the Himalayas for the third weekend of April - 9 of us too, no less. Some of us were wary of travelling in big groups; so many things could go wrong. But we were determined to make it work. Since the plan was made at such short notice, we couldn't get seats in a Volvo. So we hustled it all the way to Bhuntar aboard an HRTC non-AC seater bus. Needless to say, the going was tough, but the morning breeze blowing in my face as we entered the mountains and the hot cup of tea I had at our first stop all but made up for it. After a long overnight journey, we reached Bhuntar by noon. Famished and bedraggled, we found a restaurant, freshened up, and ate, before catching a local bus to Kasol from the bus stop down the road.

The sights I saw on this 1.5-hour bus journey are indescribable. I've been to the Himalayas a lot, but you have to believe me when I say, Parvati Valley is something else entirely. The gushing river smoothing pebbles on its way, the cattle grazing on its banks, the lush green mountains in the background, the grey skies at noon...it was a heavenly ride all the way to Kasol.

En-route Kasol. The sound of the river was music to my tired ears.

I was literally craning my neck out of the window to get good shots of the river. It was too beautiful to just sit back and look at.

Simple homes, simple lives: I love pahadi houses. Hope to have one of my own, someday, very similar to this one. Okay, maybe a bit more romantic. But I'll certainly have cows and dogs.

My first impression of Kasol, formed within my first two hours in the place, wasn't too great. I found the place too 'hippie' for my taste. While I sat enjoying ginger honey lemon tea and butter toast at a roadside cafe, my friends left their luggage in my care and went off in all directions, looking for a cheap and comfortable place to stay. By the time they returned, my mouth was agape. I'd seen people walking down the street drinking beer, I'd observed guys scoring weed from the restaurant owner who had just served me toast, and I'd seen people rolling joints with ease at an arm's distance from me. This place truly was as no-holds-barred as it gets! I was intrigued, if not entirely fascinated.

Kasol is as hippie as it gets - and very commercially so. Shops selling hippie clothing, from crop tops and bikinis to woollen pajamas and shrugs, and bags and socks and chillums and dream-catchers and what not, abound throughout the small town.

Stand in the main square of New Kasol and look up - this gorgeous sight will greet you. I found myself wishing I were skiing up in that snow at that moment. Of course I don't know how to ski, but that's just a minor hiccup. Main thing is to get there. Then I can make my excuses.

Our first evening in Kasol turned out to be the most memorable of all. After having found rooms to crash in at a homestay (with a balcony view to die for), we rested awhile and set out in the evening for food. We ate at the well-known Evergreen Cafe, and though expensive, the food was exquisite and perfect to taste. And as it so happened, my best friend Sushmita, whom I see rarely even though we live merely 30 km apart, had decided to visit Kasol on the very same weekend as I. It was again by sheer luck that we'd learned of each other's weekend plans in advance, so we decided to 'bump into each other' in the hills. It was amazing to see her in an entirely new setting with an entirely new set of people. She had come with two of her college friends. One of them had been my junior in school and I saw her in Kasol after about 7 years. Talk about surprises at every turn!

The group that was.

(L-R) Umang, Sushmita, me, and Rashi (my school junior). It was a happy, happy reunion.

We parted ways with a promise to meet the next day, and I went on with my friends for a walk down the streets of Kasol. Good luck struck again, and we heard a distant melody. Walking in the direction it was coming from, we found a hippie couple playing the guitar outside a cafe and singing songs while a small group of people cheered them on. Now, I cannot stop myself from singing when I find such a lovely atmosphere. Shristi's brother, Digvijay, had brought along his guitar, and so we sat there for the next hour or so, jamming away to our hearts' content. The evening ended late with smiles all around the place. Kasol had finally grown on me, and how!

The next day, our group diverged - six of my friends left early for the Kheerganga trek, while the remaining 3 of us stayed back to explore Kasol at a relaxed pace. After they left, Digvijay chose to catch up on lost sleep, and Nikita and I set out for breakfast at Moon Dance Cafe. Over Israeli food and ginger honey lemon tea (yes, I was hooked), we talked about this, that, and the other. On our walk back, we stopped by the bridge in the main square of Kasol and gaped at the rushing river for a while. We had a vague idea that the river flowed somewhere in the vicinity of our homestay, because we'd heard river sounds the night before. This morning, we set out in search of it - and found an utterly enchanting sight right in our backyard.

Nikita and I went crazy with the camera. I have no regrets.

The river, surging away indifferent to our very existence, was so unnervingly beautiful...I ended up writing a couple of poems inspired by it later. We checked out of our rooms in the afternoon, kept our bags with the obliging owners of the homestay, and set out for Manikaran, a 10-minute journey uphill by bus. There, we visited the famed Gurudwara Saheb and were confounded by its sheer white beauty and majesty. Being a Punjabi, I couldn't help striking up a conversation with the Prabandhak ji (head of the Gurudwara committee) while he handed us packets of mishri prashad. He was elated to know I was a writer, and he told us a lot about the Gurudwara's history and how food was cooked there without the use of fuels or electricity. It was an enlightening two hours we spent with him, at the end of which he absolutely insisted that we stay the night at the Gurudwara and eat at the langar. We were enticed by the idea and, after a hearty meal, quickly ran back to Kasol and fetched our bags.

Beauty is thy name, majesty thy second nature.

That's a rather fetching picture of me...oh, did I hear a compliment? Thank you.

Our stay in Manikaran was a delightful experience. Prabandhak ji and his helpers were warm, hospitable and extremely caring people. We had a room that could accommodate 15 people entirely to us. We spent the evening exploring the local market as Digvijay regaled us with his funny antics and imitations of people. I found a set of intricately carved wooden bowls complete with a tray and ladle, and I knew they would make a great birthday present for Shristi. We returned late and crashed soon after. The next morning, we were supposed to wake up early and be shown around the gurudwara's kitchens and hot cave. But we were too exhausted and didn't wake up until late.

Now, we had seen the communal hot baths people came from far and wide to take a dip in. But we were too timid to bathe in a (relatively) open space with other aunties staring at our booties, so we decided to skip it. But then my mom called, and she would hear nothing of it. She forbade me from coming back home if I didn't experience a hot bath at Manikaran's famous hot springs. So, keeping all my reservations aside, I convinced Nikita to accompany me for a rather liberating hot bath at the ladies' communal pool downstairs. Today, we refer to that experience as 'brave new world' (a Shakespeare reference, in case you were wondering).

That afternoon, we bid farewell to our wonderful hosts with a vow to come back for a longer duration when the snow sticks to the ground, and left for Kasol. There, we met the rest of our party, cut Shristi's birthday cake, and bought souvenirs to take back home. Then we caught a bus to Bhuntar, from where we were scheduled to board a Volvo back to Delhi. Our bus was delayed by an hour, and it began to rain while we waited at the bus stop with at least a hundred other travellers headed back to the plains. It was surprising, and strangely comforting, to see among them many faces I'd been seeing around Kasol over the weekend. Some of them had even been on the same rickety bus that had brought us from Delhi. It sort of felt like we had all been on a trip together, even though all we had exchanged over 3 days were occasional glances. It is a rather romantic idea to harbour, but then, what is travel if not the source of some romantic inspiration?

And on that weekend in Kasol, I did find inspiration. To write. To keep in touch with friends (Yes, I've been meeting Sushmita more regularly after that). To not worry about little things and leave them to fate. To live indecisively. And to hold my own, even when everyone is going the other way. Because, you only live once, right?

Learning to cycle at 24... (Part I)

Back in the late 90s, my parents bought me a flashy orange Hero kids' bicycle to encourage me to take up cycling, like my sister, who was rapidly gaining height wheeling through the narrow lanes of our neighbourhood. But truth be told, I wasn't much inclined towards physical activity as a child; I always saw myself as the creative one, not the active one. (And that didn't change as I grew up - the one game I ended up playing at the national level was Chess.)

It was therefore no surprise when I came up with every excuse not to have to mount that bicycle. But who was I to go against the order of the universe? On a particularly sunny afternoon, the bicycle was taken out into the street. I sat on the rider's seat and placed my feet cautiously on both sides. I remained in that position, fidgeting with the handle grips and the plastic wrap clinging to the metal frame, until I felt a sudden grip on the backseat, and my mother's voice rang in my ears: "Move". Taken aback, I pushed the right pedal in abid to propel forward. The bicycle didn't budge. I was told to push harder, and I did. The wheels moved this time, and my spirits soared - for less than a second. The little machine simply refused to move in a straight line. Itzig-zagged, and my heart leapt into my throat. Paralysed with fear and confusion, I could not steer. And I was on the floor in a heap the next moment, the bicycle sitting triumphantly on top of me.

I didn't give up so soon though. It took many more tries and almost as many falls to bring me to the point where I remember not wanting to sit on that horrible thing ever again.

But if you know your parents well, you will know I wasn't allowed to get away that easily by mine. Supporting wheels were promptly installed to the rear wheel of my bicycle. They told me it will be easier to balance with them... God knows it wasn't. My father tried helping this time. My pro-cyclist of a sister also chipped in. She would take me around for joyrides on her own bigger bicycle to show me how much fun it was to ride a cycle. But I just couldn't do it. The flashy orange Hero cycle was eventually restored to our first floor balcony, where it stood, forlorn, for years to come.

*

Fast forward more than a decade: I'm 24, an engineering graduate, a liberal arts student, and a writer. I've recently been selected for an inspector's job with the Central Excise department in Bombay. The pay is great, the timings suitable for the hobbyist in me, the location perfect, and all that remains is for me to join in a couple of months. Life seems to be shaping up rather well.

And then the letter arrives. 

The first page reads out a happy confirmation of my selection for recruitment. It also makes a passing mention of some medical and fitness tests for which I'll have to turn up in Bombay in a few weeks. I turn the page in anticipation of what is yet to come. My eyes latch on to one word and all of a sudden everything else becomes a blur.

Cycling. 

My eyes go wide with disbelief and then close shut in momentary denial. It takes no time for the irony to dawn on me - I'm going to lose my first job because of the one little skill I decided not to learn as a child. But...but...normal everyday jobs don't just require you to cycle! Whoever heard of such a bizarre thing?

Devastated, I call home and relate the contents of the letter. And all of a sudden my life becomes a joke; everybody is laughing at my predicament. I'd spent the last six months telling myself and everyone else that I was not interested in this job and that I won't be joining at all. And now that I've finally changed my mind and was dreaming of moving to Bombay, I've been whacked square in the face with this fly-swatter of a letter.

Life, and its surprises.

(...to be continued.)