Berlin 1961-Frederick Kempe

While much is said about the autocratic tyranny of the communist regimes, its equally interesting to note that the capitalist systems led by the US throughout the cold war had an inherent flaw that its leaders were significantly at odds and one sign of weakness had significant ramifications on the balance between the two sides. This book brings to light an important passage in the story of the cold war and it definitely was game set and match to the communist world.
The stage is set with the election of Kennedy to the all important role of the leader of the west in the cold war and Khruschev in his role welcomes this as a much improved alternative to Nixon who lost the vote by a whisker. Kennedy in a short span reveals a weak mind, lacking the courage to make critical judgements. The Bay of Pigs which was a legacy of the Eisenhower planning team was ill executed and left the US shamefaced in its dealings, with Kennedy's fingerprints writ all over the disaster. Khruschev who gingerly sought to placate a US president backed it up with upping the ante on Berlin and also sending in the first man into space. Round 1 Khruschev. Following this was the Vienna summit (the choice of which was an ill-advised one as compared to Stockholm) where Kennedy bore the brunt of a rather belligerent Khruschev, Round 2 Khruschev. The setback proved a bit too much for Kennedy who spent much of 1961 licking his wounds while the East Germany leveraged this to the fullest and erected the Berlin wall which came to represent the repression and tyranny of the communist system.
The book is packed with details and remarkable characters and seems to be a product of enormous research. But the story is narrated in a manner which makes the book fairly unputdownable. While Kennedy pretty much steamrolls his allies and displays considerable mistrust towards Konrad Adenauer who helmed the affairs for the West Germans, Khrisuchev pretty much hid the internal badgering that he was subjected to from his allies like the Chinese and the Romanians who believed he had sold out to the West. The villain of the piece (if we permit such characterizations) is quite clearly Walter Ulbricht who headed the East German Requblic, he quietly nagged and cheered Khruschev, egging him on to stem the rush of refugees from the East to the West and finally single handedly manipulating the creation of the Berlin Wall.
While the Cuban missile crisis and the Berlin speech by Kennedy do much to redeem his presidency's handling of the communist threat, the reader still is left with little sympathy for him. While he may have been one of the most popular presidents in US history, his handling of the Berlin crisis sentenced a few millions to a 28 year jail sentence into a system they hated. There are no clear heroes in history

Earthquake in Shangri-La and other harrowing tales

If the latent poignancy of the post title has enticed you into the post, there is much here to keep the reader riveted to this thrilling tale of couch-potato daredevilry. Couch-potato because the action struck while watching TV lazing on a bed, the daredevilry a knee jerk reaction to an earthquake. But more on that later.

I spend every day planning a block buster trip which would take me into a destination which I couldn't afford in the past (monetarily) and am pretty sure won't be able to in the future (age). The North east had been on the list, but was advised against it as the trip was planned in late September and we could expect some of the main sanctuaries in the area closed till November. A brief head banging session produced an odd itinerary which included a 5 day visit to the kingdom of Bhutan followed by a trek in the hills around Darjeeling, we had discarded a trip in to Sikkim in the bargain (fortuitous in retrospect). The plan lent a sense of immediacy of purpose to shopping all sorts of trekking equipment, and the purchases would have been adequate to have equipped both Tenzing and Hilary on their first climb. Nevertheless an amateur mountaineer is entitled to his foibles. After all the Ts had been crossed and the Is dotted, the day of travel dawned. Bhutan was about to be invaded

Chapter 1 - Bhutan

Bhutan lies curiously wedged between Sikkim to the west, Arunachal to the East and our point of entry was to be from the town of Phuentsholing which lay on its southern border with West Bengal. A flight from Bangalore had deposited me at Bagdogara airport after a soporific stopover at Calcutta and we had to take a road journey from Bagdogara to Phuentsholing. Bagdogara seamlessly melts into the town of Siliguri which is a rather large city of reasonable significance in West Bengal. By virtue of its location on the chicken neck and its proximity to 3 international borders, Bagdogara has a heavily manned air force base and little else distinguishes it. Lush green fields (we were still in the midst of a retreating monsoon) and a noticeable increase in the population density were all I noticed while we breezed through Siliguri. Phuentsholing was to be reached in 4 hours if all went well. The landscape duly became forested and we had tea estates pock marking the surroundings. A train chugged right by. rolling hills appeared while we skirted along the borders of Bhutan. The roads were bad and we finally made it to the cacophony of Jaigaon which is the last Indian town before the border crossing and I dwell on this trivia simply because of the contrasts. Seldom have I seen such a drastic difference between 2 towns. Jaigaon had potholed streets, chaotic traffic and garbage strewn all over, Phuentsholing was quiet, gentile with an air of prosperity. Apart from an ominous sign on cigarette smoking, this could have been an ideal Indian town. 

The weather though had been unrelenting, the clouds were all over the place and a gentle drizzle with a rare downpour characterized most of the journey. We met our guide Mr Lodey waiting at the hotel. Dinner , beer was followed by an attempt to get the permits made for the rest of the tour.

Bhutan has a checkered history of influences from Tibet largely dominating its existence and it got a sense of being a nation only in the early 17th century. Spread over a large area it hosts a remarkably low population density and has insulated its Vajrayana Buddhist identity rather well. The current Wangchuk dynasty was credited with creating a strong monarchy and their leadership is currently revered across the country. King Jigme Singye Wangchuk had introduced a constitutional monarchy in 2007 which says much about the mutual trust between the king and his subjects. 

The morning was a rather wet one and we were due to embark on our onward journey to Thimpu which was abut 190 kms away. Lodey much to our surprise had turned up stockinged and dressed in the national dress(mandated while driving a car). The journey was to be through the hills and though spectacular in its majesty the road was treacherous. Landslides had gouged out parts of the road and large tracts of hillsides looked amputated. The roads were maintained by the Indian Border roads organization under project DANTAK and it was midway between Phuentsholing and Thimpu that I was remarkably able to obtain a Dosa from an Indian army maintained canteen. We reached Thimpu in the evening and were dutifully checked into Hotel Destiny which afforded a hot water bath.

Thimpu has a city center a few blocks long and is remarkably open. We walked around town enquiring about watering holes of repute and we finally found one called Rumors pretty close to where we were staying. As the eyelids started drooping , all I snatched as memories was a local whisky which was issued in the year of coronation which seemed to be prized intently by the bar owner.We returned to the hotel to find the gates locked, and it was early morning before we finally managed to crash. 

Dorje was a new driver who was assigned to us and he dutifully took us around the city and surroundings. A Rio styled Buddha which towered over Thimpu was being constructed, a local monastery which was very picturesque and the local zoo where I managed to get a glimpse of the Thakin which is the national animal of Bhutan (for lovers of gruesome tales, the Bhutanese version of the origins of the Thakin is a collectors item). The afternoon saw us at the the Thimpu Dzong which reflected its status as a fortress rather than a monastery. It was huge and there were slits visible in the wall which were used by the archers to fire at the enemy outside. We were in for a treat as there was a rehearsal on for a festival. Monks danced away in the rain to a slow beat, while a character with a dragons head went around regaling the audience with jokes. Post that we headed to a trade fair  in the middle of the city and I found most of the goods on sale were Indian and on the expensive side.We had meanwhile bumped across brochures for a youth art movement and after significant difficulty managed to find the studio. Some of the artwork was good though the entire place was undergoing a renovation.

The shopping was limited and the city had been a slightly underwhelming experience, and we dutifully headed off to the hotel to catch some rest before heading for dinner. It was around 6:30 in the evening when the earthquake struck and it found us at our most vulnerable. The building shook a few inches and was a very unnerving experience. The first 2 seconds were spent determining exactly what was happening and then a mad rush for the stairs. Have heard that when you near death , your entire life flashes past you , but all I could think about was lugging my weight out of Hotel Destiny (could there be a more infuriating name). We were in the streets in the next 5 seconds and looked rather undressed for the occasion - the entire street was looking up at the building swaying. I looked back to see the hotel owner looking down at us from the building and I wondered whether earthquakes were commonplace in Bhutan. Slowly realization dawned from and I could hear loud Hindi music from the trade fair. We gingerly headed back up and the news started pouring in. Sikkim had been the epicenter of the earthquake and this pretty much had the potential of ruining the second half of the trip.

Mornings always put things in perspective and while we headed out to our next leg we pretty much had figured that it would be a while before news from Darjeeling would make any sense. We moved on to Punakha. Punakha was the summer capital of Bhutan for a while and even now hosts one of the most important fortresses (dzong) in Bhutan. Most towns in Bhutan are in valleys and connected by roads which cut across the hills. Punakha lay 72 kms east of Thimpu and again was reachable through an extremely scenic patch through a national forest. Tashi was our driver this time and he seemed to be a rather mischievous sort, screaming away at passerby's . We crossed the Dochu la pass which boasts of 108 chortens dedicated to the armed forces who lost their lives battling the ULFA. A heavy mist hung around the surrounding mountains as we descended towards Punakha. We were headed to Wangdi town where our resort was located. We checked in to the hotel which boasted of a remarkably well stocked bar (again with the coronation whisky taking pride of place). After a quick lunch we were off to the monastery. The monastery is spectacularly nestled between 2 rivers with a backdrop of mountains. The king was supposed to marry this fiancé here in a month and there were preparations afoot. Thankas abounded as did murals which conveyed tantric symbolism. A sense of calm and peace pervaded the area. It was nightfall by the time we reached our hotel. Tashi took us up to a village monastery the next day and we walked past a village which seemed poor , but the people looked rather cheerful. The monastery had a bunch of young students learning english and offered a remarkable view of the entire valley.  We then headed to the Wandi monastery which was in poor shape and was in a state of restoration our next stop was to be Paro.

Paro easily is one of the most important cities in Bhutan for two good reasons - it hosts the only international airport in Bhutan and it boasts of the Tigers nest monastery. We skirted Thimpu before getting on the road to Paro which we reached rather late in the evening. Confusion prevailed in the morning as we were left driverless and only some frantic calls brought our schedule back on track. We were to climb to the Tigers nest monastery and then head back to Phuentsholing. To the unfit and the unprepared (count me in both categories) the Taktsang or the Tigers nest monastery is nothing less than torture. The myth is that Guru Rimpoche flew here on the back of a tiger and the spot on which he meditated is marked by the monster. One look at the monastery  from a distance and you realize why he needed to fly. Nestled on a craggy looking outcrop off a sheer cliff the monastery was a pretty but daunting sight. 3 grueling hours later when we were level with the monastery , we were shocked to see stairs going down a good 300 metres before rising up again to the monastery. It was drizzling and we were soaked but more by sweat than by rain. Monks passed by us rather daintily and by the time we reached the taxi , the legs had lost sensation. Tashi was a in a foul mood as he had the onerous task of dropping us back to Phuentsholing and he drove like the devil. Landslides had ravaged the mountains, triggered by the earthquake and I was positively squirming with every twist and turn of the road. Thoughts like having no will or the lack of insurance coverage were put to rest only when we were safely offloaded in Phuentsholing where I duly hugged Tashi more out of relief than any goodwill. This was to be our last night in Bhutan 

Chapter 2 - Darjeeling et al 

 The trip from Phuenstsholing to Darjeeling is pretty much retracing the trip back to Siliguri before which we were handed over to the driver of the Darjeeling leg of the tour- Raju. Raju happened to be a budding bird-watcher and knew a bit of the flora and fauna around which made the 3 hour trip into Darjeeling from the coronation bridge a delight. What a contrast to Bhutan this was even though this had the same shroud of mist on the mountains. People abounded everywhere , the roads were extremely poor and we were lucky to get in to the hotel before nightfall. I had a signal for the first time on my phone and switched over to the weather app only to be dismayed by a prediction of rain and showers for the next few days. Nandu our guide stopped by to meet us and he appraised us of the trek that we were to undergo over the next few days- little did we know what was in store.
 Raju drove us up to the village of Dothere the next day and we hired a porter (shamelessly for me- the rest carried their own luggage) and Nandu, Sange (the porter) , us were trekking up the Singalila ridge. We had 4 days of trekking and our first day's target was the village of Thumling. Before we headed out we were fed with fried Momos and fortified with a drink of Chingping (herb whisky) and suddenly love was in the air (someone call me up, I can't write sentimental mush). Thumling took us 3 hours of walking through clouds and the visibility was extremely poor. The temperature dropped suddenly and we huddled around a fire swigging the local brew. After a decent dinner we headed off to sleep. 

The weather next morning was even worse, the visibility had dropped significantly and it was raining now, after a few hours walk we stopped for lunch at a village house. I managed to pretty much upset my stomach and the rest of the walk was tortuous to say the least. Kalpokhri was the destination and the reason it is so named is because of the pond in the village which is black.  Though our hostess had laid out the works (there was chhang served in a bamboo container with straws) the weather and the stomach pretty much had me way low.

 Day 3 it rained hard and by now I was well past any misery, I just plodded through enjoying myself. We were to reach Sandakphu, which was the highest point in West Bengal and the walk had some excruciating climbs and it was a totally drenched group which trundled up into Sandakphu. Sandakphu offered wide views of the entire himalayan range from the distant Everest to the rather overpowering presence of Kanchenjunga. It wasn't to be though. The clouds weren't yielding and the sun played hide and seek. But for one brief moment the clouds parted and the peaks of the mountains revealed themselves in a golden hue - that was by far the moment of the trip, suddenly there seemed a god above.

If I were to believe that was a sign of better weather the next day, it wasn't to be, it was pouring cats and dogs and we proceeded to Rimbik. We descended through slippery rivulets , bamboo forests , mountain shrubbery , you name it every bit of inclemency was thrown at us. 25 Kms of purring rain , a river in spate (Sirikhola) a few remnants of landslides and then it stopped as we touched Rimbik, and the weather cleared.  Someone seemed to be having a good laugh at our expense. It had been four days in and around Darjeeeling and we hadn't yet got to see the Kanchenjunga in all its glory.

Rimbik was a sleepy little town and with some beer to help we actually slept through it. Raju came by in the morning to take us back to Darjeeling, but not before we took a brief stop over at Dothere. The Chingping gushed in torrents into us and we were right royally drunk on the way back (more love and mush but what the hell). We deposited ourselves into a rather soft bed and another cloudy day came by.

We had chosen to sight-see around Darjeeling and a trip to the Japanese temple was followed by a wishful attempt to ride the toy train to Ghum station from Darjeeling (a princely distance of 5 kms). Someone mentioned that the waiting list on these trains was about 90 days and my hopes had sunk. But thanks to a rather benevolent railway official we were granted quota seats and we got an hours ride in a world heritage train (I could have as well walked all along the train). Raju took us to by a tea garden in the evening and plied us with more Chingping and Momos (I am hereby forsaking Momos) and this would have been the 6th day in succession that we had gone asleep stone drunk.

As a last Hurrah we had chosen to take a trip to Kalimpong which was about 70-80 kms from Darjeeling and. I hardly knew what was in store and Kalimpong didn't seem to offer much- a cactus collection which was remarkable, another monastery and an old orphans school (currently a rich mans school) and a viewpoint where we chose to grab a few bottles of beer again. I managed to get a few samples of chilies that were much hotter than the varieties on offer in Bangalore. A parting night of merry abandon was organized for in Raju and Nandu's honor and we proceeded into our last sleep in Darjeeling.

A sombre mood hung over the return trip to Bagdogara. We had survived an earthquake , walked through pouring rain in the Himalayas and somehow time had cruelly sealed all of them into a vault of memories. The moments had clearly passed while I took the car back from the airport home, but as I sit down to write this down, it all comes tumbling out, my tryst with the Himalayas is far from over- I had seen the Kanchenjunga after all.

India: A History - John Keay

When it comes to history books on India there are a multitude to choose from and depending on the inclination of the authors, most of the books deal with a light thrown on a particular aspect and hence miss the broader point. Also given that there are still archaelogical finds that oddly turn up, its an evolving subject. This book by far is a refreshing read in the area.
Indian history though ancient and to a great degree continuous, lacks any documentary sources of significance and its all the more to the credit of scholars like William Jones, Mortimer and Kosambi to have made stellar contributions to the subject. And here I believe the book scores over others in the same space. While meandering through history, the author takes the time to recognize what finds contributed to the recording of the event in the annals of history. Ashoka's narrative is linked to finds across India corroborated by Greek records of the time, a lot of the history in the Maharashtra region was largely due to tireless field work by Prof. Kosambi. Its a difficult terrain to plod through and there are still unexplained facts about the distant past like the Harrapan culture, but its to the credit to the author that he leaves the facts bared and to an extent its left to the readers to make a judgement on the authenticity.
History lends itself to propaganda which in turn tends to lead to distortion of the thread of history. There are multiple hagiographies that circulate in the Indian political milieu and it takes a determined effort to break past this shroud and the book serves as a great tool to this purpose. The author takes pause at key events to analyze legacies and the impact of key events to give a balanced perspective. Ashoka rightfully has his place as a great ruler, but was the cost too much? The Cholas had a huge cultural impact, but this was largely at the cost of debilitating raids on the neighboring kingdoms, so in the grander scheme was it worth it? Was the British rule truly a modernizing influence that it is touted to be?
There are gems that surface in terms of details. The Aihole 500 as a trade guild that existed in South India which guided much of the Chola expansion, the path that the Kohinoor diamond followed - from a southern mine to a ruler in Gwalior to Humayun then Persians, Afghans , the Sikhs and then to the British,the influence of the indentured labour in seeding ideas into the country. You are bound to find surprising links and unknown facts due to the depth of the research.
Though titled the History of India - this could have been more aptly titled the History of the subcontinent-  as Pakistan and India are fairly well covered (even post-Independence). Reading through gives you the backdrop in which you get to appreciate the colossal impact of personalities like Gandhi, and the unprecedented and improbable nature of the current entity called India.
The book is a must read and should be the standard text book on the subject

Shibumi-Trevanian

The urban dictionary defines Shibumi as "

A term from the Edo period in Japan refering to places, persons, or things of effortless perfection. Anything that is Shibumi is noble and fulfilling in a manner that is not shaped exclusively by analytical thought. Simply put, a state of great refinement underlying commonplace appearances." There are seldom books which so remarkably stick to the credo laid out by the title. Even remarkably its worthwhile to read a brief bio of the author in Wikipedia after you have read the book. This by far is not a usual thriller and could well be staged in a 3 act play. Act 1- The present which though could well have been a Ludlum novel in setting up a corrupt system against an individual. With current world events it still resonates well Act 2- The development of Nicholai Hel the protagonist of the novel. Half german , Half Russian raised in China and Japan , his warrior psyche is largely an oriental mindset put through a crucible of post-war Allied torture Act 3- An Arab vs Israeli conflict set in the backdrop of the Munich Olympics massacre, wherein the Israelis are the underdogs and finally team up with Hel followed by a bloody clash The prose is spare and lends itself to the aura of the character, but the build ups are exceptionally long and the denouement exceptionally quick (and sometimes disappointingly so). There are some passages which are inordinately long with little bearing on the plot. The author lets vent to his anti-American inclinations, but all said and done Nicholai Hel would stand out as the best in the league of sleuths. Interestingly reading a bio of the author reflects a striving for Shibumi. Rodney William Whitaker wrote under the pen name Trevanian and you largely wish he'd done a few more books in this series

Mahabalipuram weekend

Mahabalipuram weekend, a set on Flickr.

One hot muggy weekend trip to Mahabalipuram. The rocks and the temples are still impressive

Time Passages - Meanderings around Banavasi

Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;Nought may endure but Mutability.~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability"

Monsoons can be a treacherous time to travel and the reputation is well earned. For a usually lazy couch potato , reading a book on the verandah with a cup of tea is largely more enticing than stomping around greenery abound with leeches. But a long weekend lazing on the verandah seems a stretch and the Independence day weekend offered an opportunity to step out. The trip that we finally took wasn't quite planned , rather it came through via Meera's contacts. Sketchily described to me as a trip into rural Karnataka with a strong historical backdrop. Chose not to read up much and keep expectations to a minimum.

We boarded a minivan close to Cubbon park and dutifully set off at the proposed 5 pm time. Our progress to Banavasi was slow and steady and we reached Banavasi @ 2:30 AM. We were put up at a rest house , with limited but apt facilities and the sound of a drizzle on the roof is all I could register before I dozed off.

We had an early start in the morning , and the weather was overcast lending a stupendous lush hue to the surroundings. I barely registered where we were supposed to head to, but the first surprise of the day was where we were supposed to have breakfast. We were driven to a villager's house - a Khanavadi, where the food was delicious - fresh fly fried Padoos and Idly along with chutney and an onion dip. We headed to the first temple, which was the Dakshina Kedareshwara temple at Balligavi. The route was through villages and there were school children being packed off from their homes, some schools had a practice parade on in the grounds , paddy fields had farmers sowing the crop, dilapidated local buses trundled past the narrow streets and suddenly the destination was on us. The Dakshina Kedareshwara temple was a substitute for southerners to the trip to Kashi. Kashi for a person in these parts would take a year of travel on foot with no guarantee of a safe return. The temple was built by the Western Chalukyas with modifications done by the Hoysalas and their style is quite clearly visible. The temple is dedicated to Siva and has a large Nandi baring its teeth.

Balligavi was a notable town in the Chalukya kingdom and boasted of a university and multiple monasteries in its heyday around the 10th and 11th century. We were running a bit off schedule and managed to cover another temple which unfortunately had closed the inner shrine - again a reflection of Hoysala embellishment. Lunch was at a home stay which was run by a pleasant family. The home stay boasted a plantation of 40 acres covered with areca nut trees. The land seemed to sprout vegetation at ease, flowers and fruit bearing trees offered a shock of color. Lunch boasted some delicious mango curries and absolutely delectable banana chips. Time seemed to have stopped (or rather the soporific influence of a full belly). We were close to the outskirts of a bird sanctuary and barely managed to scrape in before it closed down. The bird sanctuary is rather small and boasts an area less than a square kilometer and contains the Gudavi Lake , but just for the sheer density of birds this is a spectacular place to visit. Thankfully we weren't greeted by the sight of plastic wrappers thrown all over and the place did offer some reasonable conveniences to the avid birdwatcher.

The lake was ring fenced and there was a walkway which led into the lake virtually bringing us close up with the birds. The lake stank, but the sight of soaring Ibises, Spoonbills, Darters left me in awe. I hadn't even heard about this place till date and I was staring at a gadzillion birds in command of their environment. Dusk and we headed back to the villagers house to grab dinner(Thin rotis with some cooked gram and beetroot - great stuff) before we crashed for the day

Banavasi was the centre of the Kadamba dynasty - purportedly established by a Brahmin , it is one of the oldest towns in Karnataka. The Kadambas established the town between the fourth and the sixth century and had Banavasi as their capital. Myths prevail about the founding and the origin, but the emphasis on Kannada as the official language and the presence of the poet Pampa during the Chalukya era, places Banavasi at the epicenter of Kannada culture. The river Varadha meanders through the town and being located deep in the Western ghats, the agricultural produce is profuse.

I walked across to the main road from the rest house to the watch the splendid verdant paddy fields next door. Gudavi had accentuated the appreciation of birds and I noticed some Egrets and Kingfishers in the field, the pace was appreciably slow.Breakfast was delivered this time to the rest house, which was welcome because the group (including me) had disintegrated into a bunch of shutterbugs eager to capture the atmosphere into the camera. Frogs, stick insects, grass hoppers all had their minutes of fame and we headed out to the Madhukeshwara temple at the pace of the Varadha.

The Madhukeshwara temple is the center piece of the town and it was remarkably close to the rest house. The temple itself is ancient and reflects multiple architectural styles predominantly Chalukyan and Hoysala, but the presiding deity was a remnant of the Kadamba era.

A walk around the temple revealed smaller shrines to minor deities like Varuna and Indra. The town had been built around the temple and had a curious set of homes. The Architectural Society of India virtually dictates development in these areas as every home is potentially a treasure trove of hidden artifacts. We walked down to the Varadha which was muddy and unfortunately the approach to the river was filthy. The local shops offered a delightful snack of sliced pineapples with chilly powder, we packed off again.

We were now heading to Magod falls which lay further West. The drive was beautiful, again forests and fields flanked the road, and we had a brief diversion en-route.

The Sahsralinga is a major pilgrimage spot and is so named because of the thousand lingas that are carved onto the river banks. Created by a local chieftain to propitiate the gods for the birth of an heir, it offered a sight to behold. The river Shalmali was in spate and though the river had overrun most of the idols, the river itself was amazing. Magod itself lay an hour further away and we were greeted with a sight of mist surrounding the area. The falls are created by the Bedti river and has a spectacular setting largely because of the surrounding evergreen forests. The din of the falling water was deafening and the falls were largely invisible for a long while due to the surrounding mist. A walk in the pathway along the rim of the hill we were on revealed a beautiful landscape. Thankfully heading back to the van the mist lifted and the falls were revealed in full splendor. It was late in the afternoon and we had one more destination to cover- a Tibetan Monastery.

Karnataka remarkably has settlements dotting the countryside populated by Tibetan's who escaped the Chinese repression. Having seen the one at Bylakuppe near Mysore I had a fair measure of what to expect. The Mundgod settlement has about 20,000 Tibetans settled into 11 camps , 2 of which are exclusively reserved for the Lamas. The sight of the red robed lamas was in stark contrast to the surroundings. The light was fading by the time we reached the Drepung Loseling monastery. The scale of the monastery left one in awe, the prayer hall being capable of handling 5000 monks in one go. I chatted with a few monks and some of them had come down from the Nubra region of Ladakh. It was dark by the time we left the monastery.

We were homeward bound now, the drudgery of the highway descended and it was 4:30 AM in the morning by when we landed in Bangalore. Independence day had dawned and aptly we had returned with a glimpse of the splendor that this nation offered.

A garden of the world - a morning walk at Lalbagh

Globalization is mistaken to be a current trend and being from an Industry which attains its very meaning via globalization, my perspective on it has been coloured by the pre and post liberalization of the Indian economy. But take a step way back into the past and there are vivid examples of India being a driving force rather than a meek participant in globalization. Not a stellar example, but definitely a by product of global influences is our very own Lalbagh.

I have visited the garden a few times in the past and have noted with a passing concern the furore caused when authorities repeatedly try to infringe into this precious lung space, but the garden for all its size and majesty failed to create much of an impression, large sections of it looked unkempt, kitsch prevailed where the plants could easily have created a better impression, but all of that changed when I was recently cajoled into taking up a morning walk at.

The walk is conducted by Vijay Thiruvady and lasts a good part of 3 hours, but its 3 hours of an awe inspiring barrage of details about the history of the garden, layers of history lie exposed and each tree we stop over at has a tale to reveal. The walk began at 7 AM at the base of the geological rock formation that is pretty much a landmark by itself. Part of the Gondwana land mass , it is half as old as the earth itself. Crowning it was a monument marking the southern extreme of the city as demarcated by Kempe Gowda. The garden was commissioned by Hyder Ali in 1760 and vastly enhanced by his son Tipu Sultan. Gardens were the closest representation of paradise on earth and the Mughal gardens were an inspiration to the southern rulers. Tipu Sultan encouraged his subjects to bring in seeds and saplings from across the world and we looked back to observe the Tabebuia which adorns the streets in riotous yellow in spring , a rain tree and the bougainvillea. The frangipani revealed a Carribean source and we moved to observe the Peepal (Ficus religiosa) tree. This tree may count as one of the most revered of tree species, having deep religious significance to both the Hindus and Buddhists. The fig varieties have a deep interdependence with a species of wasp which chooses to breed in the fruits of the fig and in turn pollinating them. The glass house lay a few metres down the path which was the next stop.

This has largely been modelled on the Crystal Palace at London by James Cameron (a park superintendent) , we side stepped a bit in history to a work of dedication from a certain Robert Gill who spent 18 years sketching the Ajantha cave paintings, all the sketches were burnt down in the fire at the London crystal palace. We passed a ficus variety which had virtually consumed a palm. My head reeled with the barrage of facts and I found myself capturing panoramas of the majestic trees and some snaps of the flowers which adorned the garden.

I grasped a little of what followed, a banana species from which most of the current species have derived, a large gum tree from Australia , an elephant apple tree whose serrated leaves lend itself well to ivory polishing. The walk culminates with a fantastic specimen of a Silk Cotton tree which is over 200 years old, the girth seemed to be about 15 feet and the branches provided a beautiful symmetry.

The walk culminates with a breakfast at MTR, which frankly isn't tops in my rating for a hearty breakfast. The history trivia continued much to my delight. The Rava idly is an outcome of a shortage of rice in World War 2 and was an innovation at MTR. We were lucky to have Vijay at the table and another gem came through- a part of the Star spangled has a reference to rockets. These were the rockets captured by Lord Wellesley from Tipu Sultan and used by the British to attack Baltimore.

I headed back to the car park and the route took me back through the garden. I followed a trail through a Japanese garden. The garden stayed unkempt and pure kitschy sculptures adorned a shaded grove within it. But the plants had got a voice and Lalbagh had my respect.

Check out the walk here

Battleground Telangana : Chronicle Of An Agitation - Kingshuk Nag

Unity in diversity is a much bandied term when used to describe the mosaic of the Indian nation. Boasting of over 20 major languages and innumerable dialects , a multitude of castes a communal melting pot and an unenviable economic divide, it is but natural that any Indian, by a series of permutations may find himself a minority and hence a wonder that we as a nation stay together.

Telangana is a tale of a one such vivisection of society, to some it may seem to question an accepted theory that a language transcends all other differences as a unifying factor. The book does give a very timely update on the issues at hand and in some sense is a must read on the topic, though at times I did sense a bias.

To understand the issue we have to take a step behind the veil that Indian Independence shrouds much of our formative years with. British India had effectively broad brushed the division of India by administrative conveniences, states were either controlled by the crown or by rulers who swore allegiance to it. The Nizam of Hyderabad was of one such ruler and Madras state formed a large part of British ruled India. Adminstrative initiative and energy differed between British and Nizam governed territory as a result of which the Andhra region which covers the coastal districts of the current state (and which was under the erstwhile Madras state) largely benefited by the irrigation projects bestowed upon the region by the British, administration was largely rendered by a meritocratic bureaucracy. In contrast the Nizam's territory bore all the symptoms of the ills of misrule by a despot- bureaucracy was imported , little entrepreneurship prevailed and the area withered. Though the ruler thrived (as the author points out, at times the Nizam of Hyderabad had funded the Saudi rulers in times of duress), the subjects did not.

Indian Independence offered a clean break from the past and to some chafing under a lack of opportunities in the Madras state this offered an opportunity to seek a linguistic basis for creating a state. The quandary was as to which town could offer a good base for a capital. Madras was bound to be disputed and a good compromise seemed to be Hyderabad and by extension the Telugu majority in these regions extended to a larger Andhra Pradesh. 1956 marked the beginning a a linguistic basis of demarcation of Indian states post the lead taken by Andhra. A lot of assumptions proved to be amiss by 1969, and the state erupted into violence. Telengana had started off as laggards when they were included in the larger state and the Andhra dominance continued, little benefit trickled down. Police brutality nurtured a nascent communist movement and this further fueled calls for a separate state. Political power stayed with the Andhra region , with the Congress party dominated by Reddy's from the Rayalseema and the Andhra region, followed by the TDP led by the enigmatic NT Rama Rao who benignly imposed an Andhra culture throughout the state. Though much lay below the surface for a long while, simmering discontent burst out with the glare of modernity. Chandrababu Naidu faced with the stark reality of political oblivion took up the development plank and placed a global Hyderabad at the centre of his vision, though this largely succeeded it threw into stark scrutiny the differences between the haves and the have nots. The better educated and the more enterprising Andhraites were able to garner a lions share of the development. The TRS was largely formed as an offshoot by the mercurial K Chandrasekhara Rao and Telangana now had a political voice. Political alliances of convenience and the associated upheavals and reverses have lent color to an unfurling story. A constant media scrutiny has thrown up improbable equations with power hungry castes in Andhra seeing political opportunities being thrown up by the bifurcation of a upper caste dominated ruling political class.

A centrally commissioned report by the Srikrishna committee largely leaned towards a unified state, but with provisions for better economic and political representation for the Telangana area, though strangely it chose to debunk theories that the Telangana area was backward. This has largely left most of the Telangana activists unsurprisingly dissatisfied and the saga continues.

What happens post this promises to lay further challenges at the doorstep of the Indian social fabric. Previous experiences of smaller states have not thrown up path breaking results and those weren't even challenging the linguistic basis. Andhra on the other hand will throw a spotlight onto many other regions which lie in a shadow of underdevelopment in a seemingly prosperous state. Is fragmentation the future? If so to what degree?

Cats

Cats, a set on Flickr.

Just got two kittens over , Sam a girl (misnomer as the exuberance of the kitten was taken as an indicator of gender) and Po a boy. Harks back to early years when the house was full of cats

Australia

Australia, a set on Flickr.

Pictures of the trip