It costs peanuts!!!

A ten day trip to India with a wedding thrown in is very, very frenzied, to put it mildly. There is stuff to be done, jet lag to be gotten over, family to be met, cranky child to be pacified and kept awake. Not to mention dealing with your own crankiness because of lack of sleep. In a jam-packed day, there is not a moment to be had for the self. After all, what is the point of travelling half the way across the world if you want a moment to yourself?

But in this sea of chaos, an island of some us-time was found. In an unplanned sort of way. After BigGeek, Chip and I met Kiran and Rohini and the delightful Krish and Ayaan and baby Tarana, Kiran dropped us at the Shopper’s Stop. In between afternoon tea, and dinner with the sister-in-law and her fiancé, there was work to be done. BigGeek had forgotten to bring his ties , so we had to buy ties and cuff links and I needed to buy some stuff for the wedding for my sister-in-law. It was work-work.

An hour passes by in five minutes when you are shopping. We climbed down the steps of the store and I said to myself, “I need to find something for Chip to eat. He is 5 minutes away from a meltdown.” Almost, as if in answer, singdana-wala stopped in front of us. Peanuts!! Perfect snack for Chip. Also an experience for him. I called to Chip and asked he would like some peanuts. Chip was mesmerized with the singdana-wallah’s basket with a small coal burning in its center. But there was a problemo grande. How much does singdana sell for these days? Will I get laughed down if I asked for a 2 rupee singdana? 5 Rs? 10? 25? How much? BigGeek was even more clueless. We stood like two dense, naïve people who had just gotten off the red ST bus from Alibaug. In the end I asked for 10 rupee singdana for Chip. Chip was handed a small cone of singdana to his utter delight, while I thought we were taken for a ride. Then he interrogated the singdana-wallah. In Marathi. What is the coal for? What are the other things you have in your basket? Why do you have a basket? Where do you get the singdana from? The singdana-walah was quite amused. He could understand Marathi, somewhat and Chip pretended to understand Hindi, so we played translator but got tired of it and herded Chip away.

We sneaked some singdana too – Singdana here is so oily, you can’t eat it without getting a headache.. I love the dry, crisp singdana we get in India. Chip was still hungry and we were still figuring out where to eat dinner. We saw an Aarey booth and there is no way BigGeek and Chip are going to go past an Aarey booth and not drink Energy. Chip’s and BigGeek’s petrol tanks having been filled thusly, we went about looking for an auto to take us to Pali Hill.
In the end, we changed 2 (or was it 3 rickshaws) because the “place we are going to eat dinner” changed with the minute hand and in the end, the buck stopped at Moti Mahal. Chip obviously was very sleepy – the rickshaw ride had kept him awake. Also the Q and A sessions he had with the drivers of rickshaws. And the analysis of visual and functional similarities of the rickshaw starter with the starter of the lawn mower.

But the minute we entered the cool space of the restaurant, he drank his lemonade and slept blissfully (without dinner) while we chatted and had a raving good time with my sister-in-law, her fiance and my brother-in-law.

A picture post

Hot Spring - looks like a witch's caldron. Steam and bubbles.

Elk at the watering hole

Firehole Canyon Waterfall

Forest Fire!!!!




A wolf - See that look on it's face!

The Grand Teton Range.. Can you spot the err..

Don't remeber its name Waterfall

The American Bald Eagle

Mule Deer in the grass

Firehole River and Geyser

Bison - they are 2200lbs!

Colter Bay

Colors at the edges of Geysers. Thanks to Thermophilic Bacteria.

More colors

Grand Tetons

It’s funny how French lends an air of respectability to everything. We were driving along the scenic Jackson Lake to Grand Tetons. What does ‘teton’ mean, wondered BigGeek. Now is a good time to disclose the fact that I am the family’s trip advisor, guide and booking agent in one. I am the silly donut (as Chip would mischievously say) that reads up on places and creates spreadsheets and emails a copy to everyone on the party. So, I knew what teton meant: it’s that part of the woman’s anatomy that lies above the waist and below the neck. Naah. I didn’t tell him that. I offered him a half dozen slang words to choose from, but since this is a family blog, I have chosen to employ a pithy euphemism. Really? Said the BigGeek. It doesn’t look like that at all.

Thus began our quest to debate the intentions of the explorer who saw in this mountain range, a err.. grand teton. The Grand Tetons are how I imagine Switzerland to be. Impressive peaks breaking out into the wide blue sky. The sole reason I wanted to visit Grand Tetons was Ansel Adams. No amateur photographer worth her pixel would not attempt Adam’s famous picture at the Snake River Overlook. At the magic hour. When the sun has set but its light lingers on for a little while. I was all set. Batteries, flash cards, lenses, tripod. Everything. I was going to attempt an Adams.

Once we reached the Snake River Overlook, the sun was still pretty high in the sky. I waited patiently for it to hide behind the mountains and scouted the area. The Adam’s photograph was planted firmly in my mind. I had to find right spot and get that framing. How hard could that be?

Very.

I struggled in frustration. I changed lenses, played with tripod heights, crouched, bent, twisted to get the Snake River snaking beautifully from the foreground and twisting away to the mountain peaks. I clicked a few pictures but they looked quite ordinary. Simply No mojo. It was getting late and I clicked away furiously at every exposure, every length I could think of. BigGeek was getting hungry and the only restaurant around for 40miles would close at 9:00pm. I packed the camera equipment sullenly. Adams would have foregone hunger and thirst for the perfect picture. I thought. There was no way I could be a good photographer of I have to keep track of mealtimes, could I.

The pictures I had taken were all super terrible. Not one made the cut. Not one. Ansel Adams had better equipment .. or his amazing talent had more to do with it. Where did I go wrong while framing? Was it the light? Then I realized. Adams took (made) his picture several decades ago. There were no trees there. From the overlook, you had an unobstructed view of the river and the mountains. My view was partially blocked by tall pines and I had to work around that. Perhaps if Adams came here to this exact spot today, he would not give it a second glace. Who knows? I was a fool to try and copy a picture blindly. You have to see it with your heart (cheesy, I know). For the 40 minutes, I could not see what Adams had. Literally and figuratively. The scene had evolved over the years, but like the proverbial immigrant stuck in the decade when he left his country, I had sought to find the familiarity of the picture in the landscape before me.

The only thing left to do now, was drive to the restaurant and eat.

Big Sky

The thing about writing about a trip you took two weeks after you get back is that everything seems a bit old, you know? A couple of weeks ago, we travelled cross-country (in a metal tube that flies) to World’s first National Park. Yellowstone. We are outdoorsy people. Our shapes and sizes belie this fact about us, but it’s true. Cross my heart. We cannot spend a week sunning on the beach; for one, who needs a tan here, we have a perma-tan and its gets to be boring. Really, really boring. We need to “do” things and “see” stuff. And there is not much in terms of history (compared to say, India or Europe) here, but tons, I mean tons of natural wonders to see.

After a long grueling flight that took us to Ohio, then Utah, we finally set our hiking boots and backpacks and 2 cameras and 6 lenses and a tripod on the soil West Yellowstone, Montana. The county is called Big Sky. What an awesome name, I think that is. I would love to live in a place like this.

West Yellowstone is your not-so-friendly Western Town. Small. The place where they look at “tourists” with disdain or at least with a certain je ne sais quoi, which is ironical, because that seems to be the only source of income for this little town. Takes them a couple of days to warm up. After that, one is actually surprised to find out that the waitress-with-a –viper-tongue or the reluctant-coffee-man actually have the requisite muscles to mould their faces into a smile.

The first I ever read about Big Sky and Montana was in “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” when I was in college. The book has become a rather kitschy icon of philosophy. In not so insignificant ways, the book exhilarated me then, when I read it again a decade later, it sadly failed to have that effect, so a word to the wise, if you really really like a book, it’s best not to read it again. Not after a decade. In the novel, the protagonist rides his motorcycle, thinking about “Quality”, philosophically. It seemed like such an idyllic environment and the name of the county stuck. Big Sky. Like Big Sur. Another name, another place, another book. One day, I said to myself, I would like to visit Big Sky. More than 15 years later, I was in Big Sky, grinning.

Yellowstone is huge. We had 5 full days to explore. And we also wanted to see the Grand Tetons. To try and see the park in 5 days is impossible. So we decided to see what we could, but see it to our heart’s content. And if that meant going to a certain canyon and falls (Fire Hole Canyon) every day as we passed, so be it. It was not a race of been-there-done-that. Or those horrid two week tours of Europe: if it’s Wednesday, it must be Belgium, kinda of thing. That’s no vacation. That won’t life your spirits or make you purr and sigh and wonder about your place in the Universe and all that lark.

Yellowstone is a place with magic. Especially - without the crowds with their $3000 Canon L-series lenses- at twilight, shrouded by a velvet sky, the hot geysers spewing steam and hissing, boiling underneath – a place where the earth comes to PMS. If it decides to get mad, it will turn everyone and their kangaroos in Australia to toast. But it has kept its cool so far, thankfully. The park has over 250 lakes. They haven’t even bothered naming all of them. Countless waterfalls and canyons. Bison roam and graze and cause traffic jams. And gently walk towards your car while you sit there and wonder about how much harm can a 2400lb creature hitting your car at low velocities can cause. The bald eagles and ospreys sit atop trees while hundreds of people park their cars at the side of the road and get their expensive equipment and try and get that perfect shot a la National Geographic. We were no different. Wolves disappear into the maze of light and shadow in the woods. Their hungry eyes leaving you with pity and discomfort. Moose and Elk come graze lazily as the summer winds down. Winter is tough in Yellowstone. Of all the elks and moose and bison and wolves and eagles we saw, how many would actually make it to next spring? It’s a jungle out there.

Chip did remarkable well. He loved the place and he had picked a sturdy stick that became a fishing rod, walking stick, weed whacker and lawnmower with his mind. He made me follow a bison for a 1/2 mile on foot because he was tired of seeing its butt and wanted to see its face. He did not understand the bit about volcanoes or geysers or wasn’t impressed by it, but he found the wide stretches of burnt trees to be fascinating and tried to educate another 4-yr old boy about forest fires while standing in a line for bathroom.

We took pictures. In fact we took a LOT of pictures. 600+. Seriously. We are pixel crazy. But the daunting task that we haven’t got down to doing is to sort, correct and convert their sizes to from Brobdingnagian proportions to human. But the pictures will be stunning. And even if they are not, we demand you stay away from truth, or at least not ask us to come near it.
So, on a scale of things (things being as the national parks we have been to) where will I place Yellowstone? At #2. It’s a beautiful place, quite unlike anything else in the world, yes, but what captured our hearts truly and still has was Denali and Kenai Fjords in Alaska. That, my friends, you should plan to visit once in your lifetime.

Four Days in San Francisco - Part II

Day three found us driving towards the Monterey-Carmel area. To the south of the city. We drove through Silicon Valley looking for the Mystery Spot, but the tickets were all sold out. Just before we reached Monterey we stopped at Moss’s Landing to see the sea lions. Young ones climbing on top of their elders, the elders basking in the sun on a cold day. Some fighting, pushing. It was a riot. It was late in the afternoon when we reached Monterey. We parked and went to the beach. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies with few white clouds. The bay a deep cerulean blue in some places, a frothy sea green when you turned and looked the other way. Chip obviously wanted to dive right into the really cold water, not interested in shells and sea glass on the beach that I tried to distract him with. BigGeek hurried us as we tried to get sand off from our shoes. Everybody was hungry. BigGeek tried to find a small Syrian place where we had eaten the best spanakopita ever five years ago. He found it and we all did a take out of tasty Mediterranean food – perfect accompaniment to the Mediterranean blues and whites of the water and sky outside. We drove on looking at the famous Cannery Row, which not surprisingly had Steinbeck plastered everywhere you could see. We took some pictures and headed to the 17 mile drive.

The 17 mile drive is a stretch of a private road between Monterey and Carmel. With exquisite views the bay, the houses here are uber expensive. A getaway for the richest of the richest. Filmstars, hot shot lawyers and business men have beach homes here on the Pebble Beach, home also to the famous eponymous golf course. Five years can make a lot of difference in what you consider “money”. I remember being very impressed with the homes then. But this time, not so much. Some of the houses, no mansions were certainly breathtaking but this time it was somehow different. We stopped at the many vista points to get gorgeous views of the bay and the cypress trees that line it, including the famous lone cypress. I have yet to see a desi that does not have a picture of this one.

We reached Carmel-by-the-bay wanting coffee. At least my mother-in-law and I wanted coffee. I had promised Chip that I would buy some salt water taffy for him in Carmel. We stopped on a charming street flanked with small shops. We went to a candy store to buy taffy but when I looked at its ingredients it listed egg whites, and since Chip is allergic to egg whites, we, after a bit of tears and foot-thumping settled for a lollipop the size of a saucer! We bought two coffees at a nearby coffee shop and headed back to San Jose to eat dinner with BigGeek’s distant uncle – whom he had not met in over a decade.

Fourth day, was our last day in San Francisco. We were scheduled to catch a red eye that night. We planned to see Coit Tower and the famous china town and perhaps the aquarium and another ice-cream at Ghirardelli’s. By the time we checked out out of the hotel it was afternoon. We were not hungry since we had a good breakfast, so we decided to go doen crooked street and head to Coit Tower. Lombard street also known as the Crooked Street, is the world’s crookedest street. The mile long street has about 40 turns. They are made so that motorists can negotiate the almost 70 degree incline in such a short distance. They are houses on crooked street and people actually live in them. I can’t imagine parking there. For that matter I can’t imagine parking or even driving anywhere in San Francisco – the city and so many ups and downs – its not for the faint of heart. By the time we reached Coit Tower, Chip was asleep. I dared not wake him up and was happy to sit out Coit Tower since I am deathly scared of heights. I napped with Chip too when the trio came back an hour later from their trip. Chip was awake by then and we decided to head towards the Aquarium.

The Aquarium-by-the-bay is a glass tunnel constructed under the bay to showcase local marine wildlife. It was a blast. We saw starfish clung to the wall of the tunnel. Eels, giant fish that were atleast five feet in length (I forgot their name) bat rays, sharks, colorful anemone. Schools of fish swam over head – it was like scuba diving without getting wet or without getting your toe bit off by a shark! The best part were small pools where they kept bat rays, sharks and star fish. You were encouraged to touch them. Chip was wildly excited. He was ready to take off his clothes and dive in with the sharks. And in his quintessential Chipness boldly went to touch all fish – bat rays, sharks and the star fish which were his favorite! It was getting late in the afternoon and out breakfast had worn itself. It was time to refuel. With what else- but another ice-cream at Ghirardelli’s. This time BigGeek refused to share a sundae with me. We all got dark chocolate stuff – and ate to out heart’s content. With a few more hours to kill before the flight, we decided to go to Silicon Valeey again to meet another relative who my MIL had not seen in over a decade. We ate Chat –after all a trip to Silicon Valley or Little India as I like to call it is incomplete without some desi food. As we sat sated in the Chaat Palace on El Camino, watching as the place filled with all manners of desis, reflecting on the last 4 days, I looked at BigGeek and said “I know you will hate me for this, but I could move here in a heartbeat.”

Four Days in San Francisco - Part I

On a cool spring morning, just as the sun broke out in the eastern sky, five people and four bags piled themselves in to a large taxi and hurried away to catch a plane. To San Francisco. Chip, his parents and his grandparents. A red backpack, one large bag – the kind you would take for a 2 week trip to India (don’t ask, it was filled with diapers I had no intention of putting on Chip’s butt) and two small strolleys, one of which Chip called the dibs on right away and hauled it to the ticketing counter. Any one would think here was a happy family spending a week or a better part of ten days away vacationing. But no. This happy family was spending a mere 4 days – whole 4 days because of the time difference in what I think is one of the most charming cities ever – San Francisco. Or Frisco. Some one told me, I think it was my father, that San Francisco natives did not like people calling their city Frisco. If anybody can confirm this, please do so.

Six and a half hours, and one mad dash of a connection later we reached Point B. Rental car picked up, the family once more piled themselves in it and drove away. It was only 11:00 am. We were a bit tired but excited. We could not check in until 2:00 pm, so we had a good four hours to kill until then. I turned to my vacation excel sheet. In my uber planning mode I had completely forgotten that we would reach 4 hours before the check in time. My sheet said that we were to check in, eat and go to Fisherman’s Wharf. But with time to kill, we decided to drive around, eat, check-in, nap and then go to Fisherman’s Wharf.

From the list of eateries, DDMom had given me and from some more places I had looked up on tripadvisor, we decided to go to in the Haight-Ashbury district, hoping to also see some hippies colorful people with alternate lifestyles, along with some good desi food. The food was good, the owner over bearing. In the middle of the meal I wished there was some way of telling the owner to just let us eat in peace. We ate and drove to the hotel and napped. By that I mean BigGeek napped, the mother-in-law and father-in-law caught a couple of winks on a cramped sofa, while I suffered Chip. He refused to sleep and in one tired, exasperated moment when I threaten to give him a pop on his behind, he calmly told me, “Aie, I am going to go sleep next to Baba. He has more patience.” And off he went. An hour later, our senses somewhat restored we stepped outside on chilly, breezy afternoon headed towards Fisherman’s Wharf.


This was our second trip to San Francisco. The last time we were able to see the piers of the Golden Gate the first day we saw it. I never knew what a big of a deal that was until my cousin explained to me that he had visited the city a dozen times to find the bridge shrouded by a dense fog. We were lucky this time too. The sky was cloudless and as we walked towards the Fisherman’s wharf, we could see a giant red bridge looming up on the horizon. We went to a small pier to see if we could ride a boat to get nicer views of the bay, the bridge and the Alcatraz. We were lucky here too. It was almost 6:30 pm and the boats were running their last trip of the day. We hurriedly paid and found seats and a minute later, we set sail.


Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter in America was summer in San Francisco. As the little boat sped on the bay, a cold breeze swept our hair up and chilled our noses. Chip, who was wearing a fleece but no wind breaker refused a blanket, pulling it off vehemently every time I tried to cover him in it. But the cold was more than worth the views. The bay, lined with multimillion dollar houses, the Alcatraz on the other side and the most beautiful of it all- the Golden Gate.

When we debarked, we decided to get an ice cream. We walked towards the very crowded Ghirardelli Square and managed to order ice creams and find places for all of us to eat them. BigGeek and me shared a banana split, Chip dug into his vanilla scoop topped with fresh strawberries, father-in-law ate a dark chocolate mint and the mother-in-law enjoyed a bowl of chocolate chip.

The next day we decided to drive to Sonoma. DDMom had told me Napa would be crowded and Sonoma was a better bet. As we headed north across the Golden Gate, the busy streets of the city gave way to gentle plains dotted with vineyards and orchards. Looking at them only added to our excitement. Our first stop was Ravenswood – their zinfandels are a family favorite. Chip was blissfully asleep and I was not about to wake him up, so BigGeek and the in-laws went for a wine tasting. 40 mins later, they returned disappointed. It was too crowded. And chatotic. So much for tasting the nice zins. Our next stop was Sebastiani. Chip was still asleep and I voted to stay back with him while others went. This time everybody was happy. The wines were good and they even bought a bottle to enjoy later with dinner. One thing about the wine business or rather the tasting business is the amount of snobbery that goes around. One vineyard that we stopped at (we had a guide with us and picked this winery just because) was most unfriendly. After BigGeek, my father in law and I waited for about 10 minutes, some one came and asked us if we had reservations. I said no. The ad did not mention that reservations were required, but I did not tell him that. We needed reservations and they only did food and wine pairings. A point they had again missed while putting in their ad in the guide. There was a party of about 10-12 people sitting on a large table in the tasting room. The harried sommelier went back to them and poured wines hurriedly. The people were tense, a bit afraid that in their simplicity, they would fail to appreciate the wine and the food and both.

On the way back from Sonoma, we stopped at Muir Woods to marvel the magnificence of giant costal redwoods. Some over a thousand years old. Wonder how they must feel to stand in one place for so long. Chip enjoyed the trip thoroughly, running to and fro on the tracks not really awed by the trees but by the odd squirrel or the deer he spotted.

Continued...

Chalta Hain

Despite trying hard to have some sort of a family reunion dinner, my father dashed away to London the day after we landed. Chip and me and my freshly root-canalled brother and my mother and my uncle all drove him to the airport for a quick good-bye and most importantly some family pictures. But this post is not about reunions but about umm.. for the lack of a delicate word, well, it is about, err, pee-pees. Consider yourself warned. Now is the time to stop reading if you do not want to hear supremely funny tales of a young lad’s momentous journey as he battles his conscience and his body. Bolt now, if you must.

No? OK. Read on, oh, brave ones. As our car negotiated the orange cones at the CSI airport, Chip announced he had to go pee-pee. We were almost out of the airport, headed on our way to go eat dinner. “Chip”, I said. “There are no restrooms here. Would you like to do pee-pee by the road side?” Chip shook his head vigorously. “No. I want to do pee-pee in a restroom with a commode. No road side pee-pee, Aie.” “That will have to wait.” I warned him. “Will you wait until we get to a restaurant?” Chip nodded a yes, not for a minute doubting his will to hold on to his pee-pee for 30 minutes. Thirty minutes breezed by and we were still nowhere close to the restaurant. We were sitting in traffic. “Aie, I want to go do pee-pee now.” My uncle was alarmed. “Chip, let me pull the car over and you can do it by the roadside, OK?” Chip shook his head. He was not letting go of his visions of restrooms with commodes and toilet seat protectors. “It’s OK Chip, really. This is an emergency. There is no restroom here. So it is OK to do it by the roadside. Not always, mind you, but only because this is an emergency.” Chip looked doubtful. We were 10 minutes away from the restaurant. “I’ll go in the restaurant. “ He declared. I doubted Chip’s ability to hold for so long but two year olds often amaze you with phenomenal miracles. But not this time. No miracles were forthcoming and Chip had an accident. His tiny bladder just gave away. He was dumbfounded and embarrassed and angry and frustrated. He just wept and apologized and screamed. I changed him in the car and wiped the seats but he was gloomy until we got to the restaurant.

Fast forward to a few days later. We were at my in-laws home and Chip and I took a little walk to the local market to get me a cell phone card. The trip, I thought would also be illustrative to Chip about open air markets , tiny shops, real money, crowds and suchlike. We walked for about 10 minutes, recharged my cell phone, drank the sweet water from a fresh coconut , which he unbelievably hated. A few minutes later, Chip announced his desire to answer nature’s call. “Chip” I said again, a little sternly. “There are no restrooms here. Will you do pee-pee by the roadside?” This time Chip did not waste a minute thinking. “Yes” came the quick reply. A secluded spot under a tree was soon found and Chip answered the call with utter fascination. “Where is the flush Aie?”He asked trying to look over on the other side to see if a flush lever was lurking there. “There is no flush here.” I was embarrassed. “Is it an automatic flush then?” “Sort of” I said hurrying him away.

Fast forward yet again. These events were narrated to me by my sister in law. She had taken him down to the tot lot in the front of my in-laws’ home. After Chip had played on the slide and the swing and jumped and hopped on the little steps that held the pole for the annual flag hoisting, Chip had to go do pee-pee. “Come on, let’s go up, do pee-pee and come back down again.” My sister in law urged. Chip would have nothing of it. What if this were a conspiracy hatched by his aunt to take him upstairs? What if his own mother saw him go home and decided now was the time to give him a bath? “No!” yelled Chip. “I want to do pee-pee here.” He pointed to the flag pole. My sister in law was understandably aghast. “Nooooo, noooo. We have to upstairs and do it at home. ” Chip would have none of that. She pleaded again with him and he shook his head. “We don’t do pee-pee here, we do it in the bathroom and we will come down again. I promise. We’ll go upstairs and come back in a minute OK?” Chip thought about the proposition for a second and decided to educate his Aatya. “It’s OK to do pee-pee here, aatya. This is India. Ithe chalta (yahan chalta hain)”.

At which point, I, who was talking to a neighbor was summoned. With sister in law's help Chip was promptly frisked away upstairs not just for pee-pee but a bath and dinner as well.

On a slightly more serious note, a big kudos to all mothers of small children in India. I don’t know why we don’t have such basic facilities yet. Barring high end restaurants, I had a hard time finding a place for my son to pee. Why do we ignore such basic bodily functions? How do you all cope?

The Goddess and the Demon

“It’s bigger than I imagined.” I said, looking down the window as the plane started its noisy descent into Jammu. From the air, hundreds of feet above the ground, it looked like your typical B-class Indian town. Neither big nor small. No visible character, not from that distance anyway. A few minutes later, we touched down, deplaned and walked into a small, dreary airport. My mother-in-law, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law and me. We were here for the Vaishnodevi Darshan, of course (read this, if you forgot why). We got into a rental car and began our journey to Katra from where we would start the famed arduous walk to the shrine.

We were Vaishnodevi illiterates so to speak. We had small pieces of disconnected information: from the shrine websites and Google and friends who had made the trip years ago. But no real plan. We did not know what to expect really, except perhaps for a 6+ hour walk up the steep slopes of the Trikuta Mountain. We checked into a hotel in Katra, showered, came down to the lobby to ask the front desk about logistics. A rickshaw could put us by the base of the mountain in Banganga after which we just had to follow the signs. Food, water, blankets, everything was available on the way. We would not have to carry any supplies. I was only half listening to the desk manager, my attention diverted by thoughts of what I would expect to happen to me in the next few hours. “But you are lucky. Very lucky.” The desk manager was saying. “Purani gufa has been opened. After 21 years.” I wanted to know what Purani gufa was. “It’s the original path Mataji took. It is small and you have to crawl through it and there is water in it. You are very lucky it has opened today. After 21 years.” My mother-in-law was delighted. Surely, this was an auspicious sign.

And thus began our journey. On the Mahashivratri day. We bought chunari and chattras and some prasad and set about the climb. My mother in law decided she wanted to climb as much as she could. After which she would get a horse. We started the climb. The path was flanked by shops selling devotional music, dried fruit, walking sticks, pooja stuff, trinkets, clothes, blankets, photos in Kashmiri outfits and of course food. We window shopped, bought some water and walked and walked. My sister in law and I walked a little rapidly, anxious we might get tired sooner if we walked leisurely. We tried taking steps instead of the paved ramp to see if that worked out better. After climbing one such flight of five hundred stairs, my sister in law sat down on the low wall and decided to take a break while I climbed on. I could see her sitting down talking to a fellow pilgrim beside her. I thought nothing of it then and it was only later that my sister in law narrated what the woman had told her. Many years ago the woman had asked for a son to Vaishnodevi promising she would visit the shrine. A son had been born to her but she did not keep her end of the promise. A few years later, her parents passed away, then her husband, then her brother and her sister. She lost her entire family. A few weeks ago, her daughter had dreamt that if the woman did not visit the shrine, her daughter would die too. The daughter had implored her mother and they were both making the trip.



It was close to five in the evening. We had been walking for four hours and we had reached Adhkuwari. We convinced my mother in law to get a horse while we walked up the mountain. The unkind rays of the afternoon sun had given its way to a gentle evening light and a soft breeze had begun to blow. I felt no hunger or exhaustion. As we climbed up from Adhkuwari, the shops and food shacks grew fewer and fewer and I could finally feel my mind uncluttering. As the three of us walked at our own pace, I often found myself all alone with just my thoughts and the steady rhythm of my step. I was trying to make sense of it all. The weird quasi-dream that had driven me here, the purpose of such pilgrimages, the clichéd metaphors of life that they generally are. Here was my own metaphor for it. At the base of the mountain I was like a small child. Full of excitement and promise, not really knowing what lay ahead. A few kilometers down the line I was a teenager – the excitement was still there and along with it a fearless, can do attitude. I had a glimpse of what the climb would be like, and I was ready for it. And here, just a little over half way I found myself exactly where I was in my life right now. In my thirties. The can-do attitude had vanished. Doubt about my own abilities had crept in. I was unsure. But what choice did I really have than to go forward? I had reached a point where there we no horses available even if I wanted to ride one. I just had to walk on. Strangely though, my own silly metaphor comforted me. Because, if the climb represented the stages of my life, then I was going to get a glimpse of my future when I reached the top. What would it feel like to grow old and what would it feel like to shed this body?

My thoughts were interrupted by my brother in law. He wanted something to eat. A few minutes later we reached a small shack that sold rajma and rice and we ate some. I wasn’t really hungry but I thought the protein would do me good. Dusk was slowly creeping in on us. The air had turned cooler as we started to walk again. I could see the path we had taken and the shops and the town we had left behind. There was a sense of a quiet pride in the accomplishment. We had been walking for over six hours. We could see the top. I still didn’t feel tired. A strained muscle bothered me now and then, but it was not enough to slow me down.

As we walked on, my thoughts turned to the legend of the goddess. I had googled it. Mata Vaishodevi, climbed the Trikuta Mountain as she tried to flee from the tantric demon Bhaironath. She hid the in cave at Adhkuwari for nine months, was enlightened and finally slayed Bhaironath. As the dying demon repented, she blessed him saying that devotees who came to her shrine would also have to come to his shrine for the pilgrimage to be considered complete. The demon was as important as the goddess. Because, without him how could she have ever attained godhood? She had conquered the demon and he had stopped bothering her. He was dead. How had she done it? She had tried to flee from him, but he had pursued. It was only at Adhkuwari, after nine months, had she been born again – with knowledge and perhaps with vigor to demolish her pursuant. She had been enlightened and perhaps it was at that moment the demon had been really killed. In that one moment of true knowledge.

As we climbed to the top of the mountain, we got gorgeous views. It seemed so easy – looking down like this. It had been a good ride. And despite the doubts, I had done it. It was getting dark, and a refreshing chill had set in as we approached Bhawan. We found my mother in law who almost went to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. The horse ride had been bumpy for her. The horse was too big for her petite frame and her back ached. We took a little break and then went on to put our stuff in the lockers and stand in line for the darshan. My back was stiff and I longed to do the marjarasan (cat pose) I had been taught in Yoga classes to ease the stiffness. But to break out in a yoga pose here would look very odd and I decided to save that for the privacy of my hotel room. After three hours, the long line of people showed some promise of ending. I felt a slight sense of excitement and anxiety, but soon my thoughts which had been drifting away, turned to more immediate concerns. Hitching up my salwar to make sure it stayed dry in the icy waters. Plans to manage the yellow plastic bag with my chunari and chhatras and prasad as I prepared to contort my body to fit the jagged walls of the dark cave. My mother in law was having a difficult time navigating the cave but she soon found a way and I followed her. As I entered the shrine, I was surprised initially at how austere is really was. And then a sense of void washed over me. I felt utterly empty. As if everything inside me had simply vanished or better still had been neutralized (does this even make sense). It was a brief moment of utter calm and emptiness. There really is no word in English to denote what I felt. It was a nothing-ness. Shoonyata. I finally felt what that word really meant. It must have been only a few seconds and I had no idea what the priest was saying. I offered my plastic yellow bag and my mother in law asked for one chhatra and the chunari to be returned as prasad. I collected the things and walked out behind my mother in law.

I walked out into the open air and more confusion. That’s it? This is what it came down to? The simplicity of it all felt ridiculous. Surely there must be more to it. That now familiar voice of the old teacher was certain to reveal more. Somehow. As I walked on the cobbled stone to the lockers, the voice did return, but it was only with a single line. “I am glad you came and visited me.” Nothing more. I prodded inside my head for more but no other information was forthcoming. This was really it. Later, way past midnight, after we had eaten a simple dinner and rented horses for us to go back down the mountain, I had a chance to go back and think about my encounter. What startled me was the fact that it had been such a personal experience. BigGeek and Chip and my other family were not a part of it. It was something between me and her. There was no one else in the picture. This seemed it was my path alone and no one else could walk it but me.

Looking back, I am unsure if I should be putting a logical spin on the events that occured. I have tried to, but the attempt has been nothing but futile. Perhaps as the years go by, the answers to some of my questions will be revealed, or perhaps the answers will wait for me in another lifetime. The only thing I can say with certainty is this. I definitely haven’t seen the last of her. She will come again. And I will wait. And one day, when the time comes again, I shall pay her a visit.

Wild, Wonderful

Friday rush hour treated us kindly. Well, atleast it didn’t batter us. It was a dream come true for Chip. He got back from school, ate some fruit and was getting dressed to go out for a car ride. Life can’t get better than that for Chip. My mom had already packed our bags. I readied Chip’s dinner, loaded our car, caught up with our friends and drove away to Chip’s “Choo-Choo Train” chanting.

West VA is wilderness in your back yard. We sped away from the choked Washington DC suburbs into single lane roads that led into small towns and villages where it was impossible to find vegetarian food for me and my mom. We finally found a sandwich chain and ate there. It is impossible for anyone to feed dinner to Chip when we are out. He gets so exited, that he barely eats. I was still in a terrible shape from the strep, so I shoved down a small sandwich for the sake of antibiotics, guzzled some benadryl and was nicely knocked out by the time we hit the road again.

When I woke up we were still driving. Chip had fallen asleep, with his beloved truck book on his lap.

“Where are we?” I asked groggily.
There were three families traveling. Us, K, his wife (KW) and their five year old son (KK) who were in the car in front of us and Z and his wife(ZW) in the car behind us.

“In West Virginia”, he replied. It was 11:00pm. There was a thunderstorm outside and the pitch black darkness of the night was interrupted with huge streaks of lightening. We were driving on a small road which ended in a T-junction. We made a left and started driving right through a corn field. The directions told you to go through a cornfield???? Let me see the directions. I said. We are using maps, replied BigGeek and K was using the GPS on his phone until the signal died.

Here we were in a cornfield, with no cell phone signal, no definite directions of where we were going in what is the Bihar of USA, where people just disappear sometimes. And yes, no gun either.

I don’t think getting your car would have helped. BigGeek was saying. My car has a built in GPS which makes life so much simpler. And, even if you briefly loose satellite signal (like in a tunnel) it has a series of gyroscopes that determine the position and orientation of the car on the map. The log cabin had no postal address. It had a mile marker address. So, the GPS could not plot a route. The website had given two routes and the adventurous guys had chosen the “alternate route”. Nobody had thought of making an old-fashioned print out and the log cabin website could not be accessed, because, none of our handhelds and crackberries had a signal.

Get some rest, sweetie. BigGeek said. I dozed off again for an hour. When I woke up, Chip was still asleep and we were in the middle of a mountainous road. It was 12:45 am. Wow, quite a drive I thought. How far are the cabins from the state park BigGeek was asking. About 12-15 miles. Then we are off by about 40 miles. Cass is about 50 miles away. WHAT? BigGeek signaled other cars to stop. We need to go back, BigGeek was saying. So we made a (rather dangerous) U-turn and headed back to Cass. If anything there would atleast be a police station where we could ask for directions. As we neared Cass, BigGeek realized what had happened. At a T-junction, we made a right instead of a left. So, we kept driving to the other side and sure enough in 20 mins, we saw signs to our log cabins. YIPEEE!

Chip waits for train to arrive

Here comes the train

No Chips for Grandmom and Daddy

Day's end - playing rummy at log cabin

West VA

Got back late last night. Will upload pics and a bit of narrative later today.

Up, up and away

or so I hope. A bunch of friends and BigGeek, Chip, me and my mom are planning a weekend getaway to West Virginia for the weekend. We plan to see the Cass Railroad- a steam powered railroad that still runs-only if for tourists like us. Chip is crazy about trains, and does not think the DC metro or the NY subway are real trains. So I am hoping he has a blast riding a real train!! The lodging near the railroad park is a log cabin owned by the Elk River Inn and is I think without internet access. The main inn may have a wi-fi, but I haven't asked. I hope my strep gets better and the Friday rush hour treats us kindly.