La Dolce Vita

The Education of Diwali’s ‘Saaki’

2010-11-14T17:24:00.000-08:00

How often have you found yourself scratching below the surface to look for the significance of something that you have come to take for granted? I found myself doing that very recently when I was asked by my American colleague at work to explain the significance of Diwali. And the results of that exercise left me remarkably surprised.

When I think of Diwali, I remember banana trees, swooshing and swishing the streets as they are piled on the ‘thelas’ and dragged around for sale; the empty bedroom in the house (because everyone is outside celebrating) with a single ‘saaki’ (oil lamp) in front of the Godrej almirah, which having protected my mom’s wedding jewelry for many decades, is our household symbol of wealth; the pleasures of hunting and hoarding new types of firecrackers every year; the charred smell of burned fingers from those firecrackers exploding in my hands; and at the end of it all, that inescapable sad realization that I have finally run out of all my firecrackers and for one more year its time to say goodbye to Diwali.

All those memories ran through my head in rapid succession as I looked for an answer in response to my American colleague’s query - why over 800 million Indians all over the world have celebrated Diwali for centuries. My answer could have dwelt on the war and the ultimate victory of Rama over Ravana – its more popular mythological angle. However, given that it constituted of kidnapped wives, shape-shifters and flying chariots, I was not quite sure that answer would be appreciated in the context of the century that we live in. So I decided to revisit every memory in my mind that was attached with Diwali. And the memory that stood out was that of the single ‘saaki’ burning bright and strong in a pitch-dark room in front of the Godrej almirah. Visually, the aesthetics of the image associated with that memory has always been very pleasing. For purely romantic reasons, that piece of memory became, in my search for the significance of Diwali, my prime object of exploration. And what did that exploration offer?

A lonesome ‘saaki’ burns, obstinately and might I add, foolishly, to shed its enshrouding darkness. In fighting the darkness of a giant empty room, how far can a single ‘saaki’ go? Perhaps not too far, but isn’t that where lay the poignant beauty of a virtue so quintessentially human, only now, demonstrated by the audacious act of an insignificant, inconsequential ‘saaki’: to burn bright, to burn strong, to burn dauntlessly, to burn without limits, to aspire against odds to fight the towering darkness that looms large. It is this education, I said to my colleague, that is the essence of Diwali. To take self-driven bold actions to deal with life’s challenges and to flash and glow at the triumph of having taken charge to effect a change.

“This is not about fake optimism”, said the American, “this is about being grounded in reality, being aware of the problems and taking a shot at them head-on” - he had his answer. But as he walked away, I realized that I had just discovered, in this very old Hindu tradition, sparks of romantic heroism that inspires action over inaction and leaves us with hope, a hope that inspires dreams for a better tomorrow.

Pandit Ranjan Sajan Mishra in concert: An uplifting experience

2008-09-13T22:48:00.000-07:00

I went to the concert with much cynicism and came out invigorated with all things noble and uplifting. That was the magic of Pandit Rajan Sajan Mishra who are part of a 300-year old lineage of Khayal singing of the Banaras gharana.

The Mishra brothers started the evening with Raag Bhimpalashi. As they started performing the alap, I closed my eyes and suddenly found myself transported to the world of Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. I shared the ecstasy of Jonathan's successful maiden flight. How does a seagull feel when he first learns to fly - achievement of mastering the impossible, ecstasy of a new found libre and the uncertainty of what to do with it, trepidation of the non-conformist. The alap musically captured those mixed feelings much like human angst captured by Edvard Munch in 'The Scream'.

As the evening progressed from Raag Dhaani to Tappa, my soul escaped my body and joined Shelley's skylark on its upward flight to the highest point in the sky. As the brothers were dwelling on the Tappa it was necessary for me to hush my tumultuous inner self to enjoy the contrast - the restlessness outside (in the form of the Tappa's notes) and the queit silence within. That was a beautiful moment that will remain with me for many years to come.

After the 30 minute recess, the brothers resumed with Raag Bihaagra. The alap now took the form of a raging fire burning high and just like that the fire melted away to a placid river that was engaged with me in a frivolous banter. It then grew more sombre with the lightness of water casting a vaneer on the surface. It was as if the river grew older and wiser for she had seen too much - the changing fortunes, the trails and tribulations of the civilizations that bustled on her banks, thrived on her generosity and then disappeared into oblivion.

The brothers then moved onto Raag Kamod. They personified Kamod as a woman, of noble pride but with a pining heart wasting away her years trying to appease her beloved and win him over. For does not life cease to exist as love withers away or perhaps for Ghalib life itself withers away in mirthful satisfaction on the first sight of love.

The brothers concluded their performance with a Gurunanak Bhajan that brought back memories of Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot.

"Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentrated all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung."

Sir Walter Scott

I walked to the stage and touched the feet of Pandit Rajan Mishra in reverence of an artist whose art was too lofty to contain itself in our pale blue dot or the universe abound. The grandeur of that art humbled me in its majestic presence.

A portriat of wine

2008-08-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

So what's common between beautiful verses of poetry, soul-searching music, a gorgeous desert sunset, the esoteric orchid and a glass of red wine...I figured..a 100 equally plausible dimensions of interpretation as it appeals to your senses. So here's capturing, that fleeting love-affair with a glass of wine, on many an incandescent evening of my life.

And then there was.. Dr Khargharia

2008-07-06T19:25:00.000-07:00

My rendezvous with the paranormal has always been limited to the confines of my rich and often wild imagination. Let it appeal to the judgmental critique that I am not a lonesome day dreamer. In this age of measured, careful, syncopated emotions, this imagination is simply, my instant trip to the land of vicarious thrill, a minor detour, in our otherwise drab lives of algorithmic precision and repeatability. But today was special for two different reasons. Today this algorithm branched into the Kafkaesque territory and I came face to face with my vivid imaginations of the paranormal. Today was also special because I had been pronounced a doctor of philosophy and the story begins where these two reasons meet atop the majestic Mt Lemon. I and four friends drove up to the heights of the Mt Lemmon to celebrate my brand-new achievement. The night had already set into a somber note and a grand moon illuminated the mountains in a queer sort of way… they appeared strangely alive in their century old sedentary life-style. By then, we had already driven quite high up when we spotted at a brilliant vantage point in the cradle of the mountains while the faint city lights flickered away at a distance. We hopped out of the car, and took a moonlit walk towards a mammoth rock. We suddenly heard a faint repetitive laughter bordering on the hysterical. That was a little strange because the empty parking lot clearly suggested that we had no human company that night. We stopped, walked on and stopped again. The sound of the laughter grew incessantly stronger now and in the back drop we then heard a mumble of words – in English …perhaps, a very familiar voice. A thousand thoughts arose in our tumultuous minds, while we tried to fathom the possibilities of what our journey would reveal that night. We shuddered at those thoughts and yet marched on, relishing every moment of an agonizing fear that had no precedence in our lives thus far. Suddenly, I thought, I heard someone scream …yes in English… clear English…..’I am a doctor’…while the laughter at the backdrop grew incessantly shrill. It was the voice of a woman or perhaps two….distinctly two. We heard it again, this time louder…’I am a doctor’. Who is she? What does she mean? What are her circumstances? This is not Wordsworth’s Solitary Reaper, but evokes the same questions about her past, her joys and her sorrows, her losses and her gains, her successes and her failures. Can we help? We suddenly found asking each other this question as if we just woke up from a spell. We rushed close to the source of the sound with our hearts racing fast. We searched and searched and we could find no faces while the voices lingered on. Were we still in the world of imaginary thrill? We had it captured on video. It could not possibly be, because all five of us heard the laughter and the words – bold and distinct. Perhaps tonight we did have our first encounter with the paranormal, at least a great idea to romance with. But alas! just as every good thing has to come to an end, this momentary thrill now meets its sad demise as I sign-off as that faceless voice engulfed in the omnipresent darkness of that Mt Lemon night.

Book Review: The Collector by John Fowles

2008-07-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Read in July 2008, San Jose, CA

I picked up this book from the San Jose Public Library. ‘The Collector’ is the first book I am reading by John Fowles. Although I own his ‘The French Lieutenant's Woman’ I never got to reading it. After having read this book I will never be able to catch butterflies or keep a caged bird. This book has been a journey through the minds of both the collector Frederick/Caliban and his beautiful collection – La Boh`eme Miranda. Frederick collects variegated butterflies and the story unfolds as he makes a new addition to his collection – Miranda, a human, as alive, as beautiful and as free spirited as his beautiful butterflies. The fascinating attribute of this book is that although Frederick is the soul-less devil that kidnaps and imprisons Miranda in the dark basement of his cottage, in a strange way he appears noble, generous, morally upright even. He is an intensely passionate individual, and a man of action. At the end, I am left with a feeling of sympathy for Frederick in spite of his almost diabolical selfishness. Miranda’s free spirit, juxtaposed against the confines of a dark basement, brilliantly flashes in the form of the silent philosophical discourses she has with her diary night after night. Miranda's numerous attempts at escaping from this almost fool proof arrangement that Frederick has put forth, makes me keep going back to my sixth grade chapter in Hindi literature – how the timid deer stages his most vehement fight for survival against none other than the mighty lion when he knows he cannot run any faster to escape. The deer will never win, but it makes me wonder, did it occur to him at death, if not through life, that he had such unfathomable courage as to fight a lion? Did he ever realize what he was capable of?

Miranda was very lonely, captivated in Frederick’s prison, with her loved ones – her family, G.C., her friends at LadyMont so far away. Frederick too was lonely in his own way. There was no one in the whole wide world that cared a damn if he lived or died. Miranda at least had her thoughts to keep company, fiery conversations with G.C. about the New People, art, sex, music and politics. Frederick had nothing, absolutely nothing but his collections. He really was, as Miranda would put it, a vast emptiness curved in a human shape. If I were to weigh their relative loneliness I wouldn't be able to say for sure, which was more tragic. At least they both had hope. Miranda waiting for the day she is free and Frederick waiting for the day he finds in Miranda, the woman whose company he desired.

At the end, I find my heart weeping for Miranda as much as for Frederick. Perhaps the book’s writing style, of first person singular, first used by Frederick and then by Miranda, had a role to play in accentuating that, as if they both were narrating their part of the story to an objective reader.

Everglades National Park, Florida

2007-01-07T13:38:00.000-08:00

Friday Dec 29th, 2006
A frenzied trip shopping, 7 hours behind schedule and and one wrong turn later, we were heading towards Everglades. The SUV was damn powerful, the roads empty at 1:00 in the night, the music raucous and we - the float-trippers were a great company to be in. It was to be a long drive of about 13 hours before we enter Everglades driving through the Carolinas, Georgia and finally the south-end of Florida on highway 75. With people (but me) taking turns behind the wheel, we stopped at an esoteric place within Florida for breakfast. The plan was to be able to make it to the Gulf Coast Visitor Center by early noon and jet set on our canoes that very same day. While we proposed, God disposed as follows. A terrible accident on the highway slowed the traffic down to 5 mph. We sweltered in the Florida heat and enjoyed the beginnings of the sub-tropical landscape for as long as we could. After the landscape had nothing new to offer, and we ran out of jokes, interesting anecdotes and gas, we decided to detour. Deadlines are a great accompaniment of the urban life. If not anything they do give that adrenaline rush constantly making one feel bad about how very unpunctual and disorganized he or she was. And once the he/she becomes a they, he/she finds another someone in the they to play the blame game while heading towards the destination. Anyway, our original deadline was to be in the Visitor Center by 8:00 am. And our current deadline was to be there by 4:30 pm. 4:30 pm because that's when the Visitor Center closes for the day. We can't make reservations for any camp-ground with the Visitor Center closed and would have to stay at a primitive camp-ground for the night. With time drifting away on the Florida highway amidst terrible traffic we unanimously voted the situation to be quite hopeless. We agreed to give up on the 4:30 deadline as well and just sail along with the traffic like carefree birds. By now we were almost 24 hrs behind schedule. Motivated by this statistic and to add meaning to a hopeless 18 hrs on the roads, Amar and Anand proposed we stop at a beach nearby and catch the sunset there. I must say what we found was more than what we had asked for. The beach had such beautiful white sands that one person almost judged it to be artificial or as they say too good to be true. There were grills by the beach to cook our food and what more, two people were walking the stairway to heaven on their guitars. One of them gave us an empty pizza box so we could get the fire started. So, we unpacked just the food stuff, grilled our chicken and the vegetables by the white Atlantic beach. It was quite a sumptuous dinner with meat and eggs and bread and great coffee after dinner. Hardly had anyone suspected then that it was to be our last great dinner in the coming few days in the wilderness. Oh I forgot to mention that whenever we begin to cook we seem to be asking a standard set of questions in a certain order to one another. Questions such as where is the flash light, where is the knife, where the glasses, where are the spoons. I think as a group we love asking these questions, just one of the many things we love to do besides floating. Anyway after dinner, we started driving towards Everglades. We talked about the gays, Da Vinci & Turing, feminists, the beauty of the female body and the utilitarian male body. Emotionally, the discussions surged up and plummeted down in regular patterns finally ending in effusive laughter and good humor. Here's me and Amar taking a stroll on the curb-side as we entered Everglades area.Tonight we camped at a primitive campground with portable toilets.

Saturday Dec 30th, 2006

Anand, the early-riser and the photographer coaxed people to be up by 6:00 am so we can be at the visitor center first thing in the morning and get a campground reservation within the national park area. We were on the roads again by 9:30 am. We drove through the Everglades city staright onto the visitor center. Turns out bad news reached the visitor center before we did. All campgrounds were taken for the night. We got a camping permit for Tiger Keys for Sunday night. For tonight, we have to find a campground outside of the park area possibly in the Fakahatchee state park area. I jumped at the idea of camping in Fakahatchee for virtually I had already made a trip to the swamps of Fakahatchee with John Laroche and Susan Orlean (writer of Orchid Thief) to view the beautiful ghost orchid and unlike Orlean, surging with passion. My problem with handling romanticism is that within moments I feel light on the head and the feet, skip the runway and instantly take-off. This time, as always, the nautical map of Everglades steered my flight downwards and I fell with a crash and a thud. The nearest campground, the ever elusive Lulu beach is 8 nautical miles away. A nautical mile is 1.15 miles. Since we were starting at 2:00 in the afternoon, we have had to row 9.2 miles in 4 hours to hit the campground before night falls and we all were amatuer rowers. However, we were still young, and the sun shone brightly as ever up in the sky, there was absolutely nothing to mar our spirits. Reason gave way to emotion and we set out in search of adventure on uncharted territory. We decided to detour from the marked water trails enroute to Lulu. And thus started our journey after Abhay took the last puff of his Malboro and did a sanity check on the items he must carry to survive the ocean - smoke, GPS and water. Speech and tickets are of not much use while in the sea. Our canoes had quite some baggage, the half-empty bag of charcoal, camping gear, soups and noodles.

The start was rough with the high tides as faithfully predicted by the tide chart. However, we quickly managed to row out into placid waters. It was a pleasant sight out in the sea mottled with the ten thousand islands of devilishly intelligent trees they call the mangroves. The mangroves have been able to exploit a habitat of intertidal zones by growing physiological adaptations such as aerial roots to feed on sunlight and air.

Now, these mangrove swamps had hidden in their heart swarms of blood-sucking black biting midgets call no-seeums. We discovered their existance by experience. A zillion tiny bites on every exposed inch of the body. The midgets lauched this first attack of the day when Amar went on a reconaissance trip to one of these islands to determine the future course of the journey. And immediately we knew we were in forbidden territory, the gates of hell. The journals say that they put our blood to good use to nurture thir larvae. That's hardly a consolation.

After rescuing ourselves from the deadly bugs we kept rowing for a long time always staying away from any mangrove swamps. While rowing, we saw pelicans in flights, jumping fishes, menatees, dolphins and many more exotic species. Amar and Abhay would ocasionally do a check on the directions. I thought they had difficulty making the map and GPS to agree at times. But I was already beginning to feel jaded and confused. Very soon, people started growing impaitent as there were still no signs of any campground within our field of view and we were fatigued and hungry.

Anand was the first person to voice his discomfort. He brandished his cell phone while on his canoe. He meant we should call for help now or it would be too late once his cell phone died.That must have been 5:00 in the evening. We however silenced him for the moment and rowed on.

Suddenly I had a desperate craving to feel land, solid land to stand-up on, twist and turn, stretch and aimlessly ambulate. The mangrove swamps were as close to solid ground as I would get here in the middle of the ocean. I didnot want to be sacrificed at the altar of the midgets one more time. So I tried to engage my mind in vagrant thoughts. Soups and noodles were as vagrant as I could get with my thinking.

The sun was almost at the fag end of his life, and at some level we were too. At that moment Amar fished the camera and captured our pathetic yet smiling faces in the magnificent backdrop of the setting sun upon the Atlantic waters.

We are now officialy rowing by the night. Technically this was moonlight kayaking only stripped off any of that embellishment of romance. Just the night before Amar and me talked about moonlight kayaking on Big Sur. We had our wishes come true too soon in a manner most unexpected and undesired.

Suddenly we noticed a sharp white line at a distance bordering a mangrove swamp. As we rowed closer, the line expanded into a tiny white beach with a big enough clearing for all of our feets.Amidst bug bites, we rested there for a while. I had already lost of speech owing to incruciating pain in the arms. When winter comes can spring be far behind. We saw this little beach attached to a mangrove swamp. So, we hoped to see more of such beaches now. And, we set off again. This time, there was a slight change in configuration when Shaunak was to steer the canoe and Anand would be the rower.This arrangement proved disastrous for they were unable to steer and follow our boats. Very soon, we lost them to the darkness of the sea. We could neither see nor hear them anymore. Meanwhile, the sea had started getting rough again. As our tiny boat swayed in the cradle of the angry ocean, and I rowed forward with the last bit of strength I had left in my arms I heard perhaps a dolphin or perhaps a bigger mammal following the boat very closely. The intensity of the sound did not change and it was produced in quick succession. Amar tried to appease me saying I was imagining things and God knows how much I wanted to believe him.

Suddenly we saw a very brightly lit circular spot a little further on, in the middle of the sea. I closed my eyes and opened them again to make sure it was still there. I thought perhaps my transformation was complete from sanity to hallucination. We kept rowing closer and lo and behold we see our garden of eden, our brigadoon, our Shangri-la right in front of our eyes. We couldnot rush faster to the arms of this little beach of immaculate white sands. In retrospection it sounds comically tragic the manner in which me and Amar came to logical conclusions about the nature of that white spot on the ocean in the darkness of the night. And finally land happened. Oh sweet sweet land!

This promenade was just the tip of the ice berg. It led into this once upon a time campground called Indian Keys. After being devasted by the hurricane it was no longer a designated campsite as we found out the next day.The nautical map had a printing mistake there one that cost us a 100$ each. But what do we care. We just found our our feet back. Part of the beach was submerged under water but we could wade our way to the island if we liked. We decided to wait there for our crew missing in action.

We kept signaling with our powerful flashlight until finally we saw another light at a distance sending acknowledgements. Abhay, who had gone back looking for them, came back on the canoe with Anand and Shaunak, hauling the empty kayak by the side.He found them just in time before a million dollar rescue and search operation was to be launched based on thier 911 call.

Of what happened later I donot know. Amar passed me a cup of warm soup and noodles inside the tent. I dozed off and the next thing I knew it was morning.

Monday, Dec 31st, 2006

Today is New Year's Eve. I was greeted in the morning by two law enforcement rangers. They spotted our tents from their motor boat and perhaps mistook us for illegal immigrants from Cuba on the hideout. Of Cuban cigars we had none, just a packet of Buddha Bar (tobacco) and a simple pipe. Shaunak was worried he might be arrested on charges of smuggling narcotics . But none of that happened. It was plain old "we are worried about your safety, so we will fine you, so you remember to be safer next time". And so the rangers left after wishing us a happy new year. I picked few sea shells on the beach and we explored the island a bit. Soon we rowed 'homeward bound'. We reached the visitor center at 4:00 pm. As we were unhauling, I noticed the packet of half-empty charcoal that sailed faithfully with us and came back safe and unused.Thus ended the story of the five brave rowers and a big bag of charcoal.

We drove upto Orlando that night with the car reeking of wet clothes. We celebrated the midnight of new year's eve watching fireworks in Disneyworld and slept in Daytona beach that night.

I have never had a more beautiful 1st of January than this. A new sun upon the eastern sky heralding a branch new day, a brand new year of possibilities. And right then I lived a metaphor the most beautiful one so far.

We spent the rest of the day in Kennedy Space Center and finally drove back home at 6:00 that evening.

An ode to the sacrificial sheath

2006-11-12T11:53:00.000-08:00

Watching the rubber plant in my living room grow, is a constant source of joy. Every morning I wake up to find a new leaf has unfurled. I noticed that the leaf develops inside a sheath, which grows larger as the leaf develops. Today morning it had unfurled into a mature leaf and the sheath around it looked dry and dead. As I touched the dry sheath it dropped off from the plant. Watching the elegant flight of the sacrificial sheath was almost poetic in the depth of its pain and the grandeur of its achievement. Inside this now mature leaf, another fragile immature leaf patiently awaited its turn to develop and I awaited its poignant arrival.

As I went floating along in the universe last night ...

2006-10-22T15:44:00.000-07:00

I met Orionids, star dust from comet Halley. At 6800 ft above sea level atop one of Kitt Peak's observatories, I gazed at the stary sky waiting to catch Orionids in their fleeting flights across earth's atmosphere.Robert, our star-guide for the night helped us spot the Orion constellation in the night sky through the naked eye. Orion's belt was to be the radiant point for the Orionids shower tonight. He showed us how to spot the Pole star across from Cassiopeia, the Andromeda galaxy and of course our very own Milky Way. He also positioned the 20m telescope for us to view Orion's beautiful nebula following its belt. Robert was a good story teller. He told a fascinating story about how this supernovae in the Tauras constellation reached its end of life and all that remains of it now is the Crab nebula with a mirthful pulsar (neutron star) spinning at its heart about 30 times every second. He then positoned the telescope for us to view the nebula. There was something very elegiac about that sight ... as Khuswant Singh would say of Delhi .. "ruins proclaim the past splendour of an ancient monument". Our mighty Sun would meet the same fate many billions of years from now telling tales in its ruins of the magnifient yonder years of its brilliant youth.Robert showed us many a beautiful objects in the sky, the sparkling sea of a globular cluster, yellow twin stars, the bright and twinkling Sirius ...Amidst listening to Robert's stories and gazing at the universe through the eye-piece, sometime in between a fragment of meteor flashed boldly in the night sky,left a trace of its trail in the 10 seconds memory of the sky. 'We too are stardust' and I thought to myself .. there goes a part of me shining brilliantly with life just in that moment and then .. gone, leaving the 10second memory of my foot steps behind.So long, Orionids until next year.

Hillsboro NPRA Rodeo

2006-07-28T22:35:00.000-07:00

July 28, 2006

The ususally quiet Faircomplex MAX station is a scene of joyous festivities today. An unusual flurry of men and mustangs. The scene is a rodeo. I walked along a sinuous lane toward the rodeo. There were people seated all around , two rodeo queens inside the arena and the competitors awaiting their turn in nervous anticipation. There were two people up on the high pedestal assumed responsibility of the microphone and made desperate attempts at cowboy hilarity I presume. The result was sad Britney Spears jokes and audience coaxed into applauds for many a sorry cowboy with a history of bad performances.

The competition featured many an interesting rodeo sport - bareback riding, the down roping, breakaway roping, saddle bronc riding, steer wrestling, team roping, barrel racing and bull riding. I caught myself half-way into breakaway roping. As the cow is released to rush into the arena the cowboy races behind with vigorous gallops swinging a nylon rope with his arm trying to noose the animal as it runs about crazy. This is a timed sport with both cow-boys and cow-girls competing alike. The next sport was a little more violent. The saddle bronc riding. The idea is to ride on an untamed horse or bronco which is held in a small enclosure. As soon as the gate is opened, the horse rushes out and attempts to throw off the rider.

I looked at the cow-boy on the horse, the perfect equestrian.. one animal tames another and the transformation is complete from two feet to four. And Sophoceles reads from the pages of Antigone ...

Wonders are many, and none is more wonderful than man; the power that crosses the white sea, driven by the stormy south-wind, making a path under surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest of the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear, turning the soil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs go to and fro from year to year.

We have been around only 150,000 years but our achievements are wonderous.

My phone vibrates to announce the arrival of my turkish friends Canturk and Deniz. We drive off to the Iranian restaurent for a sumptous dinner of polaaw and kabobs...

That's NO Lady.. it's Darcelle XV & Co.

2006-07-23T13:07:00.000-07:00

July 22, 2006

The evening of July 22nd is written down to be an outrageous evening in my life. The reason.. me and roommate Ruth are going to a Drag Queen show in Old Town, Portland. The name of the show .. That's NO Lady.. it's Darcelle XV & Co.

They call themselves world famous female impersonators. An amatuer literati as I am, I eagerly looked forward to acquaint myself to this new form of art .. cabaret revues of Glitz, Glamour and Comedy where the performers are glamorous males! So, the technical point to be noted here is.. drag queens may be straight or gay men. However, after seeing last night's performances, I realized if those female impersonators were straight men they were really world class impersonators.. they were so nearly perfect in their expressions.

The show begins at about 8:30 in the evening. Me and Ruth reached there at about 8:00 paid the 15$ each and waited to be shown on to our seats for the night . After a while a gorgeous "lady " in his shimmering blue gown and 5" high wig appears. He walks us to our seats very close to the stage facing it sideways. While a waitress took our drink orders, I decided to request for a seat change .

So, after finding us comfortable seats we waited for the show to begin. The excitement was building up. It was a dingy little room with about 150 people (mostly females, few straight men and few not sures). The show began right on time. The yellow curtain rises in front of us and among shrieks and screeches in that smoky dingy hall, the performers take to the stage. One fabulous performance after another. Darcelle, the 75 year old producer and performer of the show breaks in , in between to crack us up with jokes of all kinds but mostly dirty. Ruth was good at filling me up at points where I couldnot comprehend the joke. That was very educating.

All in all it was great fun and a unique experience. There were some great artists performing up there perhaps experimenting, perhaps making a statement or perhaps simply finding that niche for themselves in life that we all attempt to do.

When heading back home in the MAX Ruth mentioned that culture should know no human bounds to flourish. I think her point was that Darcelle's show was nothing less than any cultural show with brilliant performers. Me being a romantic I could not agree less, where culture, an art form is art for art's sake ... L'art pour L'art.

Dublin, Ireland

2006-07-13T19:15:00.000-07:00

June 11, 2006

My first day in Dublin, my first time in Europe. Thought I should head off to the city center and do the character searching for this city. I was quite tired from the long flight but the place soon lifted my spirits. I packed my camera, a bottle of water in the backpack and set-off. I was staying at the UCD (University College Dublin) Glunomenia student residence. Some of those gaelic names were quite hard to pronounce. Anyway, as I waited for the bus I faced the first problem in this foreign country. The only bus -schedules, maps or things of that nature that faithfully take you around on foot anywhere in the world, were here in Dublin, reduced to a small paper stuck onto a pole by the bus-stop. The only cool feature about that bus-schedule (or maybe the pole, not quite qure) is that the paper is glued to a rotating cylinder. What that meant to me was, while walking in the city every so often I should run to a bus-stop and read the rotating schedule. If that is not the bus I am looking for, run to the next pole and so on. What an inefficient algorithm. So, I asked this gentleman standing next to me, if there is a similar schedule inside the bus that I can carry with me. He paused for a minute and then very diligently walked me to the oh so familiar rotaing scheduling installed at our bus-stop. When three other people repeated this behavior I learned how the moon appears in this city. Anyway, after tendering exact change at the bus (1.75 euros) I got myself a fine seat at the upper berth. The big glass windows gives a beautiful view. Shortly after, I was infront of the historic O' Connell street. And lo and behold, the first thing I see is a street party of the spiritual sorts. A gospel choir has blocked the roads. The river Liffey runs through and through the city with beautiful bridges across. Each bridge has a different name. I walked around aimlessly. Handsome european couples donned the streets of O' Connell. On a first glimpse, the city was dirty and unfriendly. I was a little dejected for all my Irish dreams. But in my heart, I knew I was wrong.This is just the strangeness of the first day. After buying a small lunch I headed back home to work on the presentation for the conference and also to catch some sleep.

June 12, 2006

I woke up early today for the conference starts today. After a quick shower I walked towards the conference hall and I had no idea where that was located. After a couple of wrong turns I reached the destination. I looked at the tutorials in session and I looked at the beautiful day Irish day waiting for me. I turned back and headed back to dorm. This day of June the 12th I endow upon myself a day of pleaure, frolic and aimless rambling in a foreign land. So, I walked to the office for the dorm to see if I can get a map. Map they had none, but some good tips about how to plan my trip. So, there were couple of place that I wanted to go to. The Wicklow County to enjoy Irish countryside and to see the Glendalough monastry, NewGrange tomb dating back to 3000 BC, the Irish sea, castles etc. Since I had the whole day today I thought I should save the attractions in the city itself for later days and do the distant place today. However, there was a problem. While Wicklow is beautiful and very very far to the south of Dublin, the sea was significatly closer and to the north. There are some old castles enroute. Once again in life, just as Robert Frost, I had to pick one lane. I thought I will use the time to debate until the reach the train station. So, I got onto a bus and the kind bus driver explained to me how and where I may take a train from. After a short while, he dropped me very close to a train station. Meanwhile, I was still debating. I decided I'll ask the person at the ticket counter and this is what he said. "Sea is good, but Wicklow you are taking of big money, long time..." I decided, I'll buy a day ticket for the train and just ramble around after I come back from the sea. We shall see about Wicklow, maybe with friends-to-be later..

Mount Rainier, Washington

2006-07-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

July 8th

We were at Amar's friend Amar's grand house in Redmond, Washington by 9:30 in the evening. After a warm welcome by our host Amar and his beautiful Estonian girlfriend Hailey, and a great Indian dinner we dceided to get some food for the camping trip at Mt Rainer the next day. As always, I could sense the coming of an elaborate dinner and a very comfortable "stay" out in the wilderness.The plan was to leave the next day, no later than 9:00 in the morning. But.. we shall see:)

July 9th

So we wake up lazily the next day morning. Hailey was up at 7:30 in the morning making pancakes the estonian style. The breakfast was awesome, pancakes and pickles. We all were quick enough to leave home at 11:00 am, 3 hours behind schedule. Enroute to Mt Rainier we had to stop by host Amar's office at Microsoft to get couple printouts. After a short stop at a gas station we rode happily to the wilderness.
We reached Rainier about 1:00 pm. We drove straight up to the Cougar capmground checked out our "room" for the night. Next we drove off to Paradise literally. We wanted to hike up to the Panorama point crossing Glacier viesta on the way. Once done there, we head-off to Ohanapeacosh that has the hot-springs and the Grove of the Patriachs.
With all of Paradise under construction, we finally figured our way on to the trail head and started following that. The snow was already melting. The trail to Panorama point is beautiful to speak the least. There are beautiful wild flowers which perhaps are called Mount Rainier's high sub-alpine meadows, there are snow capped Mt St Helens, Mt Adams and Mt Rainier of which Mt St Helens is an active volcano and the others are dormant. A beautiful blend of green and white as you can see in the picture, me posing infront of Mt Rainier. We walked strutting and rollicking walking with tennis shoes on the slippery snow. We took a short lunch break at Glacier Viesta. You can see the viesta at the back-drop with Amar posing for a photograph.
From there on, the rest of us walked back, Amar and Amar walked further up to the Panorama point. We started walking down with a leisurely gait soaking the beauty abound. The Amars finally caught up with us.
From there, we drove to Ohanapeacosh where the hot springs lay, Amar's sole purpose of existance is life at that moment. On our way to the hot springs, we stopped by what is called Reflection Lake. We all tried hard to look for the reflection of Mr Rainier on Reflection Lake. The reflection teased our eyes but I did get a good shot of the lake.
Hot Springs was nothing more than a small rivulet flowing over the ground. I was nevertheless excited to feel the warm water. While poeple were getting tired and hungry they accomodated my request to stop by the Grove of the Patriachs, an old growth forest with Douglas firs, and red wood cedars about 1000 years old. I couldnot see much of it. Perhaps next time.
We reached the camp-ground after about a 1/2 hour drive. We immediately set to work. The women were busy with food and the men with lighting the fire. Once our tents were pitched and air mattressed inflated and we felt perfectly at home in the wilderness, we all got busy with cooking. Hailey was very well-prepared right down to carrying the cork-opener for the beer boottles. Amar cooked the chicken and the rest of us took our turn cooking soup, noodles, salad etc. The food tasted amazing. We had panochias too. It was a full moon night and a very comfortable summer night. Mt Rainier was basking in the silver glory. We had plans to walk around after dinner. But the Amars' were too tired and a little bit drunk. And so the evening ended. Tomorrow was the big day, the soccer world cup finals. The plan was to leave early and catch as much of the game as possible.

Joshua Tree National Park, California

2006-07-11T21:09:00.000-07:00

Feb 16, 2006

Amar returned from the conference about 12:30, while I spent the morning looking for motels to stay, car rentals and other logistics to conduct the ensuing ‘wild trip’ where we don’t know what the next destination would be. After frittering away a lot of time, it dawned upon Amar that we need to get out of that place in the next 5 minutes. That is his usual pattern and something I am quite prepared to handle now. So I stayed cool. In the flurry of plans, confusion and indecision, Amar sets out on his mission to check-out of the Town and Country conference hotel and to figure the nearest rental car location that’s accessible on foot. After a while he returns, jaded and even more confused and we end up waiting for a certain someone form Enterprise Car Rental to call us. After waiting for a while, we realized the stupidity of waiting inside a hotel room in San Diego for an car rental rep to call us. So, we agreed that we must take some action. The adrenaline pumping up Amar’s veins as a result of ‘things not happening’, manifested in his reconnaissance attempts of stepping out of the room and looking around in the hope that he would be able to spot an Enterprise Car Rental somewhere in the vicinity. The desperation reached the zenith in a barrage of swearing words in Hindi and he finally concluded in a ‘I think I will take a nap’. After that brief period of madness we decided to be more reasonable and leave our bags at the bell desk and go look for the car rental that is supposedly across the street from where we were at then. After walking for a little while we did manage to find the car rental office almost sort of in the making.. inside another hotel nearby. It was hilarious to find a perfectly dressed sales rep handling the business of the day in the perfect form and manner in the back drop of an office in the making…carpenters, electricians and all that menagerie. Anyway, we finally picked up the car at about 4:00 pm, a red chevy in a rather deplorable condition. For the rest of the trip, Amar would always demonstrate the different cling clangs of the car when turning, braking, parking, or speeding. Now, me dreamy as I am, I forgot my camera charger in the hotel room and happened to remember that just in time before starting out on the trip. So, we had to drive back to the hotel. I was surprised but Amar somehow managed to quieten his excited nerves that predict doomsday on occasions like this. So, we drove back to the hotel. Now, I walked up to the front desk and explained the situation. The lady at the desk made few calls and assured we will hear back from someone shortly. While I waited there, Amar decided to walk straight up to our room. Anyway, someone from the hotel’s room service department entered the room and found the charger where I had left it. Now, she finds Amar loitering there and gives the charger to him. She then calls up the lady at the front desk and expressed , perhaps with a sense of gratification of a job well done, that she has handed the charger to some guy who happened to be present there. The lady at the front desk almost stutters with rage and says that the guest, that is me, is waiting at the front desk and that it is I who is the rightful owner. Just at that moment Amar calls me and says he has found the charger. I figured what happened and thanked the lady at the front desk saying I found the charger. I could see a perplexed face at the desk who I finally excused myself from with a ‘have a good day ma’am’!
So, that was that. Now we were in the car, our bags in the trunk, a tank full of gas, ‘1942 Earth’ playing in my IPod and no plans for what should be the next destination. As Bob Seger would say “Say, here I am, on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Here I go, playing star again. There I go turn the page”. These lyrics always set my mood whenever I am out on a road-trip. So, after much discussion we drove to Point Loma to smell the Pacific and see the evening sun disappear in the vastness of the ocean. Before we reached Point Loma we stooped at a convenient store to buy maps for we knew we wanted to go to Joshua Tree National Forest but we did not know where it was located. We first picked a map of San Diego local and could not locate it on the map. We then asked people around inside the store. An overly helpful asian gentleman suggested we call 411 from our cell-phones for help. He generously described the entire process right from dialing 411 to what questions we need to ask and we generously and blankly nodded our heads in the perfect harmony of an orchestra. We finally figured that we need a map of California to locate Joshua Tree. So that solved that problem. While coming back from Point Loma, we stopped at another convenient store to buy a flash light given that the chevy had no functioning light bulbs in the interior. A rather withdrawn Iraqi shop owner expressed to us, his despise and contempt for a hedonistic America that does not know and does not care where is Iraq after all, in the map of the world. Anyway, he donated his 1 mm diameter light to us from his key-chain because he never uses it and because he did not sell flash lights. Of course, the reason why he did not use that light was because he could not use it, in fact no one can put it to any good use it was so tiny. However, we accepted his gift of help in the most polite and grateful manner.
We drove up to Old Town in San Diego downtown from there. We decided to spend some time there and drive half-way up to Joshua Tree Park that same night. Old Town San Diego happened to be the birth-place of California, not that this fact mattered but just a moment of awe struck me as the juxtaposition of Old Town and present day rich California brought out the stark contrast and along with it, heroic tales of a heroic journey. Anyway, we just walked around the streets of Old Town, lights and music and a feeling of antiquity livened up our spirits. A serendipity was this museum store of collectible masks from Africa – Aladin Stores was the name I think. The masks took me back to Pablo Picasso’s painting Les Demoiselles d'Avignon of five naked prostitutes in a brothel two of them wearing African masks. The masks hanging in that shop were grotesque and beautiful the grotesqueness almost felt like a measure of the beauty of the stories they were crying out loud. Anyway, the owner of the shop was a rather suave African American who gifted me a Kenyan (masai) bracelet made of bones and reprimanded Amar because our 4 year long affair had not yet culminated in the wedding ring. I must admit, that stranger’s words brought a tear in my eye, first because I am an emotional bundle of nerves and second because this has been a recurring topic of our discussions for so long a time. Later, Amar gifted me a beautiful red rose. I trusted the stem was not broken because I saw him buy it in front of me. Anyway, we stopped for food at a Chinese place and set out on our road trip. We decided to drive up to the point where we turn on I-15 for Highway 79. We wanted to save the rest of the trip for the next day morning because it was marked as a scenic drive on the map. That night we stayed at a motel on Highway 79.

Feb 17, 2006
Next day morning, we started off from the motel at about 10:30 am. The previous night’s food was an early branch for us. The Gujrati owner of the motel gave us a bag full of Tulsi seeds from the Tulsi plants growing in their court-yard. We drove for a while on Highway 79 and had planned to stop by the hot springs areas marked enroute. We took a detour in <> Indian reservation and drove quite a while inside till we saw a golf-course, a casino and a resort.. so much for finding Indians living in toupees! We drove back and stopped at one place where there was an SUV parked and a little rivulet was flowing underneath a short bridge. The rivulet appeared quite out of place in the middle of this desert. We figured it might lead us to the hot springs if there is any. We followed the trace of the rivulet for a long time. We came across an abandoned structure of something that looked like a kiln. Here is a picture of Amar looking at the mouth of the kiln. Here is another picture of me crawling out of the klin that deceptively looks like a cave in that picture. We also spotted empty boxes of ‘ammunition’ and perhaps human hair lying along the rivulet that did not look very savoury.. However I was fascinated with the idea that we walk along the rivulet in expectation of locating the hot springs or the source of the water and find a remote Indian village hidden amidst mountains and vales. At such moments when I get carried away, Amar’s pragmatism comes to the rescue. So, we left the place.
We drove further on 79 and spotted a factory outlet mall that had a Bose store. I am not particularly fascinated by gazettes but Amar wanted to take a quick look. We ended up spending few hours in the mall and bought shoes from the Timberland store there. We realized we were quite late into the afternoon to be able to do anything useful in the park today because it was almost 2:30 pm when we left the mall. We stopped on the way for lunch once again in a Chinese place. We also drove back a little bit to inquire if we could rent dirt bikes at this motor-bikes show room. Unfortunately they only sell and do not rent them. The showroom had a WWII Harley Davidson on display standing proud and grand with the tragedy of a war and the pride of a fine machine just as man.
So, we drove again pretty sure there was nothing more we could do that day. We entered the park around 4:30 pm. The Joshua Tree National Park includes parts of two deserts - the low-lying Colorado desert at 3000 ft and the Mohave desert at 4000 ft. We entered the park through the north western entrance that mostly covered the Mohave desert. The Joshua trees apparently reminded the mormons travelers, the biblical tale of Joshua in supplication with hands facing heaven-ward and hence the name. Joshua or not, the tree definitely looked grotesque, twisted and bend in the most awry ways. The rocks around were broken into loose boulders of the most amusing shapes and figures. Indeed it is a mountain-climbers heaven. Here is a picture of Amar atop one such hill of boulders while the desert moon silently creeps in from behind. I must admit, we both felt transported to another planet once we entered the park. Acres and acres of grotesque looking Joshua trees, hills of boulders, the silhouette of mountains around.. the evening natural light accentuated the awry feeling. It was windy and very cold outside. I suddenly felt like running among these trees and up the boulders. It was an indescribable feeling. Amar accompanied me in this madness though he was really cold and so was I.
We were unable to decide if we should car-camp tonight with the intention of ‘roughing it out’ and also to save money. It was very cold outside and the few campgrounds neither had water nor restrooms. We decided to go for a movie in the Joshua Tree town and I also managed to haggle a good price for a motel owned by another Gujrati at 47$ for the night including taxes. This ‘including taxes’ part is very important because the ‘gujju’ haggled with me on numerous combinations of prices starting at 55$ sometimes the tax included, sometimes the tax excluded.
Anyway, we went for this movie titled ‘Final Destination’. Poor Amar stood out shivering in the cold for the line in front of the ticket-counter ran outside the building. The movie was a harrowing experience of groase death-scenes and a very sad plot. For the most part, I enjoyed my pop-corn sitting next to Amar.
We went to Carrows for dinner and made plans for the next day with our maps on the table. All this while, the surreal image of the forest with the Joshua trees in it, kept haunting me and while we made plans for the next day, I wondered if I would want to see that place any other time again and disturb that first beautiful impression now etched in my mind of the odd and the awry.

Feb 18, 2006
We decided to be serious today and started the day quite early. We had a quick breakfast of pancakes and fruits. The lady at the counter wanted a name on the order. Amar stopped short after announcing the name as Amar and changed it to Mike. Both the lady and we had a small laugh .. to Mike! So, Mike and me, sorry Amar and me drove towards the park. We parked at the picnic area near Hidden Valley and decided to hike Hidden Valley first. Here is me wearing four layers of sweaters and a ‘kaafiya’ around my head. It was very cold and windy. There was a short 1 mile loop that takes you through the cattle rustlers hideout but we decided not to take that. Naturally we lost our way. On the way we met a lot of mountain climbers. Here is a picture of Amar, inside the valley, in between Joshua trees. And here is me trying to pass through a narrow slit amidst rocks in the Hidden Valley trying to cross through. We also passed across this dragon face beautiful Joshua tree. Now, because we lost our way, we walked for a long time before we actually spotted a parking lot. We were very happy in seeing the parking lot except that the parking lot was in a dirt road in the middle of now-where. We had not many choices and started walking along one direction. After a while we reached a ranger’s station. We met some people there and asked for directions to the nearest paved road. One among those people was a kind gentleman and an art contractor who offered to drop us off at the parking lot where our car was parked. It then that we realized how far we had drifted away from hidden valley. We both were so glad we made it.
We next decided to hike around in Barker dam area. That was dam built by settlers for cattle breeding as early as 1920. It was a beautiful walk. We sat beside the lake on a rock and enjoyed our trail-mix while watching a die-heard mountain climber taming a boulder in front of us.
Our next stop was to be Keys View overlooking Ryan Mountains. That was a breath-taking view of the mountains from the look-out. The more interesting thing was Salton Sea in the middle of the desert. Later I learned that that the sea was formed by an accident when the Colorado river overflowed with heavy rains and melting ice causing the water to break a dike and flow down into the Salton sink. Apparently it washed away an entire dwelling of native American village there.
We later took this another trail walking among on a trench cut-out along the flat ground , with different types of interesting flora all around. Amar noticed some kind of a shrub that was dying and had fallen off into the cut-out trench. He remarked ‘Oh! Poor’ with such earnestness of feelings that I felt a tear-drop appear on my eye. As crusty on the outside he is as much soft in the inside. After a while we decided to return back to the car. This was our very last activity inside the park. We both had early morning flights from San Diego. So, we decided to drive back to San Diego from there and spend some time in the La Jolla area of south San Diego hoping we could do moonlight kayaking and if not just hang around there and have a ‘fucking’ good dinner as Amar puts it.
So we drove, and were debating all the while whether we should drive up to Los Angeles city walk, back to ‘Howlin’ at the Moon’ dwelling piano bar in the Universal Studios city walk or head to San Diego instead. At some point we both realized the craziness of that idea and decided to drive to La Jolla in San Diego. However, courtesy me, the wrong navigation took us very close to Los Angeles Orange County and we had to drive about an extra hour to get back on the road to San Diego. Finally we reached La Cholla around 8:30 pm, tired and shabby. Now that was a very up-scale place as can be seen from the restaurants people dressed in expensive clothes and finery. We infact felt we would not be treated fairly given that we were not nicely ‘wrapped’ that evening. But do we care. Anyway, the walk also had lot of art museums. One of the most amusing paintings I came across was that of a painter signed as Goddard who experimented with martini as the central object placed in different themes and strangely enough it landed perfectly in every single painting. Anyway, we went to a Mexican place for dinner. That night we had a 50$ worth of dinner. As soon as we stepped out we heard a band playing across the street, Led Zepellin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’. We enjoyed that from the street and walked around a little bit more.
That night we decided to sleep in the car by the Pacific beach and wake up to a rising sun by the beach in the morning. It felt very weird initially as if we were sleeping in a bedroom that is out in the open. However, very soon we got used to it and I think we both slept more or less ok.

Feb 19, 2006
We woke up to a fine morning by the shores of the Pacific in La Jolla. We had about 15 minutes to look around before we left for the airport. We spotted seals lazily lying on the shore and apparently a mother had just given birth to a baby seal and that presented visitors to step into the shore and scare the mother away into the waters. All in all, it was a very different experience to have slept all night in the car and wake up by the sea. While walking back to the car we noticed a sign that said, ‘No Sleeping Overnight’. Did someone say ignorance is bliss? We headed to the airport from there.

Crater Lake, Oregon

2006-07-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

July 1st, 2005
The excitement was already building up with the anticipation of another great encounter with Wilderness. I got off from work about 6:30 pm. I and Giuseppe drove to R.E.I to pick up the camping gear for Saturday’s trip to Crater Lake. Mike joined us later and I had a Fajita Burrito dinner later at Chipotle. Giuseppe did not seem too happy with his bean burrito but politely mentioned that it was quite different. Later that day I meticulously packed for the next two nights camping in Create Lake National Park.

July 2st, 2005
My morning began with a half hour shower, perhaps the only shower in the coming three days. I was almost ready in time; Allison arrived right about 8:00 am as we had planned. However the guys were a little late. When they showed up, we packed Mike’s cooler with some of the food Allison had bought the previous night for the trip. The trunk of her car was almost full with the cooler, our bags, the camping gear etc. We finally took-off around 9:00 am. Allison was driving her car, Mike was in the pillion seat navigating and I and Giuseppe were at the back seat looking out of the window. There were few jokes floating around about Oregon rains. In fact, it started drizzling when we were on the roads. That made me a little worried, because we were planning to camp at a much higher elevation and can get really chilly at night. Nevertheless, we drove on. After some time of driving, we stopped for gas. Mike came back with a huge smile on his face and a large Pepsi in his hands. Apparently, the reason why he bought the large Pepsi was because it was cheap. Giuseppe had already begun getting desperate for an Italian style double Espresso shot. He did manage to buy an Espresso from the same small store as Mike, and looked he pretty happy after the coffee. We got back onto the car and started driving. We wanted to be in Crater Lake before noon to find us a good camp site because long weekends normally make them pretty crowded. So we did not stop anywhere on the way fro detours or hikes. However, Mike was concerned about the status of firewood for the camp-fire at night. So we stopped about 45 minutes away from Crater Lake, at a small antiquated road-side shop to buy fire-wood. The chicken legs and thighs on display looked quite yummy so I bought myself a big chicken leg and some fry’s. That was sort of a mini lunch for me. From there, we drove straight onto Crater Lake National Park and learned at the entrance that all the camp-grounds are full. Even all the boat-ride tickets are sold out. We decided to camp in the nearby Diamond Lake Recreation Area about 6 miles from Crater Lake. We drove there and found a quite nice campsite in the almost full camp-ground. I must say we were very lucky. We set the tent and the sleeping bags to return home in the evening to a ‘cozy’ bed ready and waiting to crash upon. The plan was to drive up to Crater Lake next and find out what can be done there. We all prepared our back-packs for short/long hike whatever appears interesting there. I got myself a ‘turkey-breast’ sandwich prepared by Mike, a bottle of water, some chocolate, a towel and my beach shoes. We entered Crater Lake and the landscape seemed very interesting. There were random piles of snow here and there on the hilly terrain on both sides of the street and suddenly we see vast stretches of near barren land with occasional appearance of short pine trees and some short plants strewn here and there. And lo and behold, suddenly appear in front of us, elegant pine trees, standing tall and proud welcoming us into the wilderness swaying their arms in the chilly breeze. We drive-up to a parking lot where we see lots of other cars parked. Tourists were walking around, talking pictures admiring the beauty of the Crater Lake in front. I also heard some people talking in Bengali. Makes me feel close to home and I threw them a friendly warm smile sort of thanking them for that nice feeling. Anyway, that was a good vista point for Carter Lake. We walk up to catch a view of the lake and it is a brilliant blue piece of serene something that appears neither to be the sky, nor the sea that we are familiar with. Guarded by strong mountainous arms on all sides, the lake lies there holding mysteries underneath it for thousands of years now. I wonder what was I when the Mt Mazama erupted 7,700 years ago? Was I a spectator to this explosion, or was I an extinct animal feeding on my own children? Suddenly I feel this urge to scuba-dive to the heart of the lake and beneath to see if the lava has any stories to tell, anything to explain. Anyway, from there we drove-off to the place where we need to buy tickets to the boat ride on Crater Lake that takes you to Wizard Island on the Lake. This island is also very interestingly formed and among the many visible cones that formed on the crater after the mountain exploded. The mound is formed of volcanic materials of some kind and has interesting green plants growing on them. There life-forms are so strange, they can survive on anything they find. Adaptation at its best perhaps and also a lesson for us humans, who spend their life only trying to perfect things around us to meet our needs. We found at the ticket office that to get onto any of the boat rides we need to be in queue about 7:00 in the morning. There was a crazy rush due to the long weekend. We decided to park the car there and take the short hike to the lake and enjoy the lake from close. It was a fairly easy hike and we reached the lake very soon. There was a strange yellow streak on the blue waters of the lake. A little girl was filtering that yellow substance from the waters on to the rocks. Her mom wanted her to come back but she would not stop doing the important work she was engaged in. Mike thought the yellow streak was pollen, Allison thought it was Sulphur, Giuseppe asked me what I thought. I said nothing because I had no idea. We sat there for sometime, I was munching my sandwich while Allison told us about a famous Scottish song that has her last name ‘Auld’ in it. We shortly took-off from there after I finished my sandwich. The hike back up to the top seemed very difficult for me. Maybe it was the sandwich, maybe it was just me. Mike and Allison very soon disappeared from our sight. Giuseppe spotted a giraffe looking tree and an elephant head looking tree on the way up. Right near the top, I enjoyed a short nap on a huge tree branch lying on the ground with my American Eagle hat on my face to save it from the sun. Once we reached the top, we promised we would get here early the next day to be able to make it to the boat ride. He drove back to the camp-site. Mike started making the fire, me and Giuseppe started looking for small rocks to build the height for the charcoal bed. Turkey and Beef burger were in this night’s menu. As me and Allison walked towards the nearby faucet to clean the Spinach leaves and marinate the chicken (for tomorrow’s dinner) she pointed out that the guys are making fire and we the girls are preparing the food. We are from opposite parts of the globe and yet similar in subtle ways. The rest of the night, me and Allison just sat around the fire while Mike was doing most of the work with Giuseppe as his apprentice. We tried bar-b-q corn which tasted quite uncooked. I nevertheless had it. Now Mike had this great idea about wrapping the corn in foil and putting it in the charcoal. It turned out pretty nice. Then he was in this frenzy of wrapping things in foil and throwing them in the fire. He tried to cook spinach that way that Allison trashed after the first scoop. Besides that we had a great dinner. The dinner was followed by Marsh-Mellow for dessert. Burning marsh-mellow is always Mike’s favorite. We sat around the fire till quite late and finally went to sleep I think around 10:30 am. The starry sky above was looking so beautiful. We had noisy neighbors that night. I gazed at the stars lying on my sleeping bag in the tent. I thought I saw something flying. Giuseppe said that may be a flying bear. This was quite a joke that lasted us through out the trip.

July 3rd, 2005
We got up quite late today, had a quick breakfast and left for the boat ride. I was almost sure the tickets would be sold out and so it happened. The tickets were all sold out. The blonde lady at the ticket counter was trying to appease angry tourists who had come all the way for the boat ride and now cannot make it. She had a black mosquito feeding on her cheek while talking to the tourists. That was funny I thought. Now we needed an alternate plan. There was a Klamath Falls about 80 miles south of Crater Lake. But we all voted to go there though Mike was a little reluctant. While in the car, Mike was reading Giuseppe’s “Lonely Planet” Travel Guide for the Pacific Northwest. He found that Klamath Falls has no Falls in there, the name is highly deceptive or has been made deceptive by some miraculous works of Nature. So we decided to stick around Crater Lake area. We pulled over to a vista point to decide our next plan. The look-over from the vista point was very beautiful. It sometimes amazes me how often this word ‘beautiful’ comes to my mind when I am in the wilderness for 2 days as opposed to the 363 days of city life. Is city life so drab and sad or is it just the change? Perhaps the latter. Anyway, so I was looking down at this gorge deep below, surrounded by mountainous terrain all around. It looked very strange I thought. The mountains around were very barren but the valley in between had an exceedingly green color to it, almost felt like an Oasis in a desert. I wanted to hike down there and others agreed. So we drove back to Mazama village to follow that trail. It was called Annie Creek Canyon Trail. The trail-head starts behind an open air amphitheater in the Mazama village camp-ground. It was a 1.7 miles loop trail. We reached the base of the trail very soon. There was a musical creek flowing down there and we walked along the creek for sometime. I wanted to follow the creek as long as it goes. Perhaps it would take us to the Pacific in its course. We figured that would be a bad idea because we would have to wade through the water and get frost-bites as Allison mentioned happened to her in some trail in England. There was a small wooden bridge across the creek at one point. We decided to wet our feet there. Giuseppe spotted a frog when posing for a photograph. We got lot of pictures there. Mike and Giuseppe were captured at their ‘gay’ best in some photographs. Occasionally there were hikers trying to cross the bride when we had to give way to them. We were eating chocolate and Trailmix. I noticed Allison had beautiful pink flower painted on her toe nails. I would hunt for those next time. Anyway, we decided to move on after a while. As usual Mike and Allison ran up very fast while I and Giuseppe were enjoying the slow walk up. At one point up the hike there was this strange looking bench that was skewed at an angle towards the creek side. I and Giuseppe posed there for a photograph. I also narrated my experience in Mystery Point, Santa Cruz, CA last year with DP, Shailaja and Shirshanka. On reaching the camp-ground I noticed showers and immediately decided to take a shower. The others were in a shop buying post-cards. I bought one too and thought I would send it home. Now this shower was interesting. You buy 4 minutes with 75cents. So, if you still have soap on you the shower will in any case last only for 4 minutes with the 75 cents. So I decided to be on the safe side and take lot of change with me. The shower was great, warm water touching my dusty body for the first time in a while. I changed to a clean set of clothes and walked back to the car. From there we decided to go canoeing in Diamond Lake. In the order of having canoed before Mike was the first, followed by me, Allison and Giuseppe. However I was as novice as the other two because I was just sitting at the front of the canoe rowing for speed and not too worried about the technicalities of steering it. Nevertheless we made the brave decision of me and Allison in one canoe, with me at the back and the guys in the other with Mike at the back. It did not work out quite well because we seemed to be circling in one spot. Once in the lake, Mike rowed his canoe close to us and told us Giuseppe has excelled his canoeing skills and is ready to take the back seat. So I moved to Mike’s canoe and Mike moved to mine. It was fun doing the switch in the water with the canoe’s swaying. Anyway, once in the canoe we wet-off. Mike was way ahead of us. Giuseppe started singing some songs from Bolonia, his home town in Italy. It surprises me so much to find an European as slow-paced and finding pleasure in simple things of life. At that point he did not seem much further away from my memories of fishermen in the Bay of Bengal singing aloud in the sea. But anyway, a sudden surge of wave topples our canoe and the next thing I know is I am under water and cannot find the ground under my feet. I panicked but quickly floated up to the surface and I and Giuseppe were clinging on to the canoe now full of water. It was funny because Giuseppe started speaking in Italian suddenly. It is strange but how effortlessly your mother-tongue flows mellifluously when we are in strange situations. I was clinging on to the water-filled canoe and enjoying those moments under the Sun. The water was quite cold and finally Mike and Allison arrived to our rescue. I was asked to slide over towards Mike’s canoe while the three of them were trying to throw the water off the canoe. After few unsuccessful attempts they managed to get the water out. I was holding on to Mike’s canoe which maintained the balance while the three tried to clear the water. Finally Giuseppe managed to push himself into the canoe I floated back towards the canoe and got back on it. My cap and one the oars were rescued by Mike and Allison already. Once on the canoe I and Giuseppe headed back to the shore because it was very cold. I thought, so much for the warm shower a while ago. I changed to dry clothes and was lying on the green grass starring at the sky for some time. I noticed a small rainbow in the sky but the others teased me saying I was hallucinating after the fall in the lake. A little boy was picking up his little shoes throwing them in the water and picking them back from the water and repeating that exercise till his mom yelled at him to come back. Me and Giuseppe waited for Mike and Allison to come back from there swim. Then Giuseppe has this great idea of capturing our fall into the lake with a photograph. He asks Allison to take our picture. While we pose for the photograph Giuseppe suddenly lifts me off the ground in his ‘shaking’ shoulders to pose for the photograph. It was a very uncomfortable feeling for me but I decided to forget about it thinking perhaps this Italian wanted to mean in this photograph that he rescued me from drowning. He did rescue me but with his funny Italian words when I forgot about the freezing water for a moment and started laughing clinging on to my boat there. We then set-off towards our car. We arrived at the camp-site and today it was bar-b-que chicken for dinner. I was very hungry. Today we managed to get the charcoal fire going very fast. In no time we were relishing our chicken. This was followed by the bigger fire. I had a cup of soup after much effort of heating it. Giuseppe decided to give all of us an Italian neck message known to be very effective for weariness apparently. We went off to bed quite late that night about 12:00 am. Next day we were leaving.

July 4th, 2005
Today is America’s Independence Day celebration. They mark this occasion by fire-works. We had decided to go to a wild-life safari on the way back home. I had spotted this on the brochure of ‘Things to do in Oregon’ that I picked up from a Max Train. But it turned out to be very far then. Now that it is on the way we could definitely make a trip there. We dismantled the tent and packed everything back into the car. After a quick breakfast we set-off on the roads again. We decided to drive up to Rosenburg on Highway 5 and depending on the time left, we would either go to the Safari or head home straight. We had to return the camping gear before 6 pm today to avoid late charges. On reaching Rosenburg Mike called up R.E.I and they agreed not to charge any money even if we return the gear on Tuesday. So we decided to visit the Safari. The Safari was first created by an American called Frank Hart who undertook the mission of saving endangered species from all over the world by transporting them to this area in Pacific Northwest, and providing a breeding ground for them there. We arrived at the Safari, bought our tickets at AAA discounted prices. The boy at the counter lived in Hillsboro where our office was and his father worked for Intel in Jones Farm. Anyway, we were all very excited for this 1.5 hours safari trip. The safari was divided into animals from three continents – Africa, The Americas and Asia. Except for the bear and lion areas we could keep our windows down all the time but had to be inside the car. We saw exotic animals from all over the world – giraffes, zebras, bison, black and brown bears some taking a bath in a man-made pond inside the safari, lions and tigers lazing around in the sun, white fallow deer from Asia with their carpety beautiful horns, polka dotted Sika deer, Ostriches, elegant cranes, Tibetan Yaks, Rhinos, yawning Hippos, the royal Bengal tiger, Llamas etc. An Asian bird called the Rhea was really curious and walked right up to our car when we were parked to take their pictures. It would not go away to let us drive past. I managed to capture a hippo while yawning and two giraffes cuddling. It was all very beautiful. At one point we noticed a strange looking animal that had a black head, brown body and white back. Mike was of the opinion that that was the result of the mating of two species of animals that were not supposed to mate. We noticed a red-necked bird with a long neck. I did not know what that was so decided to call it a red-neck. We were out of the Safari in about an hour and half. We then drove straight home. I was sleeping for a long time. We actually drove straight to R.E.I to return the camping gear and then headed to my home where Mike’s car was parked. We distributed the remaining food-stuff between us took a final picture and headed our individual ways. The rest if the day was quite lazy for me. The sound of fire-crackers soared up roaring on to the sky, while I started writing this travel log.

Thoughts on an Orchid

2006-07-11T17:52:00.000-07:00

My First Orchid

An orchid, a beautiful orchid, proud and conceited, stares right on to your face making a fashion statement, redefining beauty in her vivacious prowess, in all its novelty, in entirety. She is a beautiful woman and yet not fragile, she stands up a confident head on her slender waist, for what she believes, for what she knows. She proclaims with a clear tone that she is gorgeous, she is sexy and exotic. She practices no modesty neither any shy humor. She presents herself in her perfection and flirts with your eye. She is merciless, she knows too much, she’s not innocent not gullible… O! she is so not woman… a beautiful enigma that always mesmerizes your senses. What dark secrets she holds in her heart, what forlorn, forgotten music… what purpose does she embody, why does she so perfectly eradicate one dimension completely from beauty as our eyes have seen and our hearts have felt through centuries? What are her crusades for? Yes, perhaps she is a woman, she is a woman indeed……..

Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me..

2006-07-11T15:35:00.000-07:00

Imagine this...
The world's the negative, the image on a mirror with right switched for left and left for right.
Imagine yourself, thirsty on a hot summer day. You see a glass full of water right in front of you. You extend your arms to reach it and quell your thirst to your heart's content. But you cannot grasp the glass in your hands. Because its the image, just the negative of a positive that exist only in the existence of the negative itself.

Its an emptiness that's unfathomable and almost romantic in pain. That feeling kept lingering in my heart after I read George Orwell's 1984. A brilliant and beautiful rendition.

Wine Tasting

2006-07-11T14:52:00.000-07:00

July 4^th, 2006

We stopped by a winery called FIRESTEED while driving on 99W back to Hillsboro, OR. We both were about to embark on our first wine tasting experience. We also wanted to look at the different types of grapes grown in the vineyard too. Anyway, we drove straight in about 15 minutes before the vineyard closes for the day. It was 2$ per person wine tasting fee. So, we both started with the sweet and smooth white wines and graduated into the beautiful dry burgundys’. We started with trying 2002 PINOT GRIS, sweet and very mild white wine, followed by a 2003 PINOT GRIS that was fruitier owing to its age. As wine ages, the grape matures and loses its fruity characteristics. We then moved to the very popular PINOT NOIRs. We tried the 2004 OREGON PINOT NOIR. It had a bright burgundy color. It was aged in oak cellars that are mostly mildly roasted before storing the wine in. It tasted like regular Pinot Noir. Next, we tried a slightly older PINOT NOIR, 2003 and once again it tasted less fruity than the 2004 PINOT NOIR. Now come the better dry red wines. The first, Amar’s favorite was 2001 WILLAMETTE VALLEY PINOT NOIR. This is older wine is made from carefully chosen grape clusters and oak barrels. It was about 13% alcohol by volume. My favorite was a wine from a winery in Asti, Italy also bottled there. Its called 2001 BARBERRA D’ASTI. It was about 13% alcohol too. There was another interesting variant that we tried later. It is called 2004 CAYALLA RTW. It gets it name from two different Indian tribes Cayuse and Walla Walla. It is a blend of four red varietals – Cabaranet Franc, Cabaranet Savignon, Merlot and Syrah(Chiraz). Finally, Amar tried the 2004 SC WILLAMETTE VALLEY PINOT NOIR about 13.8% by volume.

We both were a little tipsy at the end of the wine tasting experience. We went to look at the Pinot Noir and Pinor Gris grapes but they were all very very tiny. We finally left the place with a piece of advice from an old geography professor from University of Kansas ..”wine’s a bad addiction, nevertheless have it”.