UNLIKELY BEGGAR

He looked like a beggar. When he stretched out his hand to me, the melancholic look he gave me melted my heart. I fished in my pocket and came up with a five-rupee coin which I promptly handed over. Happy that I had done my good deed for the day, I went to the bus stop to wait for the bus that would take me home. Suddenly, a sleek limousine drew up and came to a halt near the guy who had just been the recipient of my munificence. A driver leapt out of the vehicle and saluted the beggar who, looking around surreptitiously to see whether anyone was watching him, rushed into the vehicle. I stood flummoxed wondering whether the per capita income of beggars in the country had risen so sharply that they could afford chauffeur-driven cars.

I had caught sight of the chauffeur before the car sped off and he turned out to be an old buddy of mine. It was he who let the cat out of the bag. "That was indeed my boss you saw the other day in the guise of a beggar", he began. "My boss is a millionaire but his father had lived and died a beggar. The boss had longed to give a better deal to his father but the old bloke died before our man could make his money. So, as a mark of respect to his father and his profession, our friend goes out begging every second Wednesday. Usually he manages to escape detection. But I would like to sound a warning to you. If you value your well being just keep this to yourself and if at all you see him again and it is most likely that you will, drop a coin on his plate and be done with it. My boss is like Mogambo in real life." A shiver ran down my spine. These days when I spot a beggar and that too a beggar who can be a chooser like the one above, I take to my heels without a second thought.

ABOLISH AGE

The story of an 88 year-old Indian fathering twins is revealing. As is a 67-year-old Romanian who became the oldest mother when she gave birth to a girl. Then there is Madona who at 48 is dancing and singing live with the energy levels of a 20-year-old. And she doesn't look a day over 25. The point is that there isn't any place for obsessively keeping tab on chronological age.Old paradigm and landmarks no longer hold. For instance, 40 is no longer middle age. Notice a 40-year-old Janet Jackson who matter-of-factly poses nude on the cover of a magazine. And her body looks no different in terms of fitness and youthfulness than Britney Spears who is about half of Jackson's age and who also recently posed nude for a magazine cover. French president Chirac's possible successor Segolene Royal was snapped by a photographer in a bikini while on holiday at a sea resort. And Royal, though 53-year-old, could give Hollywood stars a run for their money as far as having a trim and cellulite-free body is concerned. People are dressing, feeling and doing things that have no correlation to their stated age. That's why an 88-year-old can dream of having more children without taking a hard look at his so-called advancing years.

Those on the cusp of retirement feel that they have the ability to work for at least another 10 to 15 years without a problem. Those having children in their 30s and 40s think nothing of it. Keeping a rigid timetable of age may have served a purpose in a different era. Now the word young can be used as easily for a 20-year-old as for a 40-year-old. Marketers have cottoned on to this change and talk about targeting those with youthful spirit rather than those who strictly fall within the golden demographic of 18 to 34. People's age now should be judged by how young they look and feel and their achievements. Madona would be hard-pressed to fit into a bunch of 48-year-olds as she has nothing in common with them. And neither does the 67-year-old new mother who probably has more in common with other new parents rather than with geriatrics. Age then should finally be no bar to the way we live, work and play.

REALITY CHECK TIME

Last month was truly a cracker season for the economy. Almost everyone who had something to sell had boom stories to tell. Two-wheeler makers, for instance, sold over eight lakh motorbikes with market leader Hero Honda accounting for more than half of it. Companies are reporting healthy profits for the fifth consecutive year. Exports are growing at over 20 per cent this year. The RBI expects that GDP growth would be between 7 and 7.5 per cent. What's more, the Singh parivar at the core of the country's economic management-Manmohan Singh, Montek Singh Ahluwalia and P. Chidambaram-believes that the good crop is yet to deliver dividends.

Such is the force of good news that you could understandably be blown off your rational two feet and wonder if the Government matters. After all, this 20-party coalition has made more news for the wrong reasons than right ones. It is, however, critical to remember that the momentum for progress is coming from exogenous drivers like global growth and the impact of endogenous factors, including tax reforms and a huge liquidity overhang that makes borrowing affordable. Very simply, people are taking loans and buying homes, using credit to furnish their homes and borrowing money to buy cars and mobikes to get to work and back.

Any student of physics would tell you that momentum is mass into velocity and unless there is a next wave of reforms, the economy could well be stalled at the next traffic light-rather the next red light as they say in Delhi. Also, given the buoyant picture, this coalition's non-contractual beneficiary-the left brigade-could come up with yet another populist freebie to spend hard-earned monies on. So it is essential for those popping the bubbly lo pause before they say cheers. The pro-reforms brigade needs to seize the moment and force the issue on reforms-from opening up retail and unlocking the potential of agriculture to reforming the sinking public sector, pushing investment in infrastructure and fixing the tax-GDP ratio. Boom time optics might suggest that the Government doesn't matter but the reality is that it can definitely mar the next Holi. Unless it is forced to act on reforms. Now.

BRAND BADSHAH

First it was Chote Miyan Govinda who drew our attention to it, now it's Bade Miyan Amitabh Bachchan's turn to extol the soothing effects of Navratna hair oil. In the ad, the superstar is shown in various situations of stress from his famous films all of which we are told can be banished by the wonder oil. This is but one of the megastar's endorsements. Amitabh's track record gives an altogether new meaning to multitasking. Witness the ease with which he sells a plethora of brands and convincingly at that. If electronics is your passion, buy BPL,says Amitabh, and never be caught in anything less than Reid &Taylor suits. The famous Amitabh autograph is always signed using Parker pens, he moves around in a Maruti Versa derives his boundless energy from Dabur Chyavanprash, would live in a Sahara city home if he didn't have to be located in the heart of Mumbai to fulfill his shooting and endorsement commitments. Among them are Emami Boroplus, Hajomla digestives, Nerolac paint and Tide detergent.

To be fair to him, Amitabh does his share for the greater public good, pitching in for Pulse Polio, Unicef and people for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Is the Badshah of Brands stretching himself too thin? Sure, Amitabh can still draw them in. But, today he is in danger of diluting his brand equity. Amitabh has always been known for being credible and infinitely charming. Do we really want to see him prancing about peddling an unknown oil brand or do a cover-up job for chocolates which came under a cloud for possible contamination? Or a detergent a la Surf's famous Lalitaji? No, Amitabh is all about exclusivity, class and comportment. That is what he was best known for and admired all these years. Unlike other kiss-and-tell stars, he stayed away from media speculation. Whenever he did speak to the media, he rarely gave anything away. This is precisely what kept the public fascinated by his persona. He is the biggest brand Bollywood has ever produced. Don't lend it indiscriminately to the highest bidder. The Shahenshah can't behave like any old Amar, Akbar or Anthony.

INSPIRING RIDE

It was a sweltering hot day and there was not a rickshaw in sight. Then from nowhere a ricksha-puller, wearing kutra-pajama, came and asked, "Were you looking for a rickshaw?" With a definite nod I hopped on. I have become accustomed to bumpy and rash rides-a trademark of rickshaw-pullers. But this ride was turning out to be as smooth as silk. I was impressed with his skill of driving the rickshaw and could not hold back my questions: Where was he originally from? How come he pulled the rickshaw so differently from others? He told me he was from Bihar but did not answer any more questions. It was then that I noticed that the left pedal was empty and that he kept pulling the pajama up from the left side. My heart was suddenly full of gratitude for the man.

I decided to ask more questions. This time I got some answers. A farmer by profession, he had met with an accident in Bihar. He had been left with a stump in place of his left leg. Not wishing to be a burden on his family, he had decided to move to Dehradun along with his wife. While his wife started working as a housemaid he did not want to sit idle. He managed to convince a rickshaw owner to loan him one on a nominal monthly charge. "I wanted to learn carpentry. Until I can find a good teacher, I might as well do this", he said. "My wife is pregnant. I want to be able to earn enough for my child to study and become a responsible human being." He had an opinion on many issues including begging. He was sad that people, despite being physically fit, took to begging. "If you are willing to pull out your hand for money why not find a way to be self-reliant?" My journey was enriched with his pearls of wisdom which he shared right through the ride. He insisted on dropping me right outside my friend's house even though the last stretch was cobbled. I let him and smiled at his sense of fulfilment and achievement.

ROAD LESS TRAVELLED

Imagine a road dedicated to walkers. Imagine no blaring horns, runaway buses or trucks, no speeding cars, no cycles even. Further imagine this avenue linked with gnarled old tamarind and neem trees and the occasional flowering gulmohar or flaming dhak. Imagine charming little giraffe and elephant faces holding aloft dustbins at every few hundred metres. Imagine gentle, soulful piped music playing from speakers along the stretch of the road- morning ragas, classical symphonies, instrumental beats. Imagine the road measured and marked for the dedicated jogger or walker to keep track of how much she has done, imagine pretty roadside shelters with benches for the tired ones to rest and chat a bit or do a spot of pranayam. Imagine all this in the heart of Uttar Pradesh.

Impossible to imagine yet it exists. Lucknow, erstwhile city of nawabs and now better known for its dirty politics and dead poetesses, is home to just such a road. About four or so years ago the cantonment board in Lucknow put in place this unique experiment, and each year it only grows better. A 2.5 km stretch of the Kasturba road in Lucknow Cantt is simply shut to all vehicular traffic for two-three hours every morning and evening, and reserved for the pleasure of walkers. To me, this road is poetry in concrete, an ode to the fine pursuit of walking. It is equally an ode to democracy, for walking is a form of exercise all can avail.

The Waling Plaza, as the stretch is known, is a simple and great idea, and it would be simply wonderful if more cities were to emulate it. For only a fraction of the cost of creating new parks, our bustling, overcrowded cities can have green lungs for citizens to breathe fresh air in.

STAYING ALIVE

They say with advancement and development in society, life expectancy is getting longer. Even so, in this day and age it is rare to come across a centenarian, and rarer still is a super-centenarian who has crossed 110. Unlike the time when my elder brother grew up, there were many among them Garhwali who could then boast of more than one member in the family who had crossed a hundred. Documented in history are around 800 super-centenarians, doubtless a fraction of the number who have really lived, but the majority of claims to this age do not normally have sufficient documentary support to be regarded as valid. Three different types of documentation are used to verify age-birth or baptismal certificate, marriage certificate and census data.

Even though there may have been many more who lived beyond, it is widely believed that Jeanne-Louise Calment was the oldest human being having lived till the age of 122 years and 164 days and died in 1997. The oldest living man recognised by the Guinness Book is Shigechiyo Izumi who lived between 1865 to 1986. And the oldest human alive today is Hendrikie Van Andel of Netherlands who was born on June 29, 1890. A social visit to Sterling, Scotland for my friend Peter has assumed special significance on learning that his great-grand-aunt Lucy D' Abreu lives there. She just happens to be the oldest living human being today in the UK, who turned 113 on May 24. Of ethnic Indian origin and a Dehradun born in India in 1892, I know of her in the family as the widow of Abundius. And Peter's maternal grandmother Joyce who lives in Morpeth, Northemberland is Lucy's niece, her late mother Josephine being Lucy's first cousin. Lucy's age has been authenticated by the Guinness Book of World Records. There are only 11 other people around the world older to her, as per the records maintained by the Gerontology Group, affiliated with the UCLA School of Medicine, of the oldest people alive.

AUNTY INTERRUPTED

We were all having tea when Myra came up with the idea of going for a movie. "Today! But....It's Valentine's Day", I said. "What is the problem in going for movie today?"asked Myra. Tina, who was a quiet spectator to this debate, replied sternly, "You boys are useless. When we girls don't have a problem, why the hell are you scared". "But, it's risky today. No matter what it may be, a boy and a girl together are branded as a couple", replied Anil. "Forget it, if they don't want to come it's their wish",replied a dejected Tina. Her words made us change our minds. We reached the theatre just in time. Myra and I sat in one row while Anil and Tina were in the row behind us. As we surveyed the hall, Myra whispered to me, "My aunt is sitting in the row behind us". This was the only aunt to her's we knew well. She was nicknamed Khadoos by Tina as we found her to be orthodox and narrow-minded. Girls talking to boys or befriending them was a big no-no for her.

I strained my neck slowly to get a glimpse of the aunt but couldn't. I grabbed a tissue from Myra and scribbled on it that Myra's Khadoos aunt was sitting in the same row as them and passed it to Anil and Tina. "A Valentine Day's experience" was Anil's reply. During the course of the movie I had a good look at the aunt. Myra sat comfortably in the confines of the dark hall but was swift to lean forward whenever the screen brightened. During intermission, we had to sit stiffly like statues with our palms partially covering our faces. Anil tapped Myra on her shoulder. He was offering us popcorn. I said in a stern whisper,"Can't you sit quietly? If I turn around aunty will see us". "You can turn. It's aunty who has sponsored the popcorn. The ice-cream is on its way". We turned around in tandem and saw Myra's khadoos aunt waving at us with a bright smile.

MUSSOORIE MUSINGS

There are two Mussoories. One is the quickie Mussoorie, with the the usual suspects-the Mall, Gun Hill, the mandatory trolley ride in the cable car, the overcrowded and overrated Kempty Falls.... I take the road less travelled.

My first stop at the end of the picturesque climb from Dehradun is the Surya Hotel in Mussoorie. A 10-minute drive from the Mall, it nevertheless seems a world away, affording spectacular views in Landour and of the Mall. The sunset point is ideal for romance. At Captain Young's bar, named after town's founder, regulars include Tom Alter and Ruskin Bond.

Settled in, i decide to give Kempty Falls a miss, and drive instead to the quaintly-named Jharipani Falls. The denselywooded path the leads to the falls makes for an easy 1.8 km trek. Only bird calls break the soothing sounds of silence, till you hear the roar of the water. The best time to trek is morning to noon; this is leopard country after dusk!

In the late afternoon sun, i drove down a gravel road to Everest House, home of Sir George Everest, the first surveyor general of India, after whom the mountain is named. Although the house has been in ruins for many a year, it was here that great mountains like the Everest and rivers like the Brahmaputra were mapped out for the world. On the way to Everest House, i stop at what the locals call a wishing well, frequented by local newlyweds and politicians.I too, toss in a couple of coins and advance a wish list of my own. The well's location, amidst teak and deodar trees, makes it a must-visit.

As evening falls, i decide to make a concession to the mundane and stroll down to the Mall. What the Mall in Mussoorie lacks in style as compared with say, the Shimla Mall, it more than makes up for in simplicity. piping hot coffee is available at the Garhwal Terrace Restaurant, which offers a great view of the pine forests and hills. If you must shop, the Tibetan Bazaar offers smuggled goods, perfumes and clothing.

One Day Two, i visit picturesque, quiet Landour, the first residence in Mussoorie of the East India Company when Captain Young set it up in the early 1830s. A half-hour taxi ride (at Rs 100) takes you deep into the deodars. Ruskin Bond has penned many a story against this background. A 30-minute walk to Lal Tibba affords you a great view of the snowcapped Trishul range of the Himalayas on a clear day. Deodar Woods, a 75-year-old English cottage, is a great vantage point for the snow peaks and boasts an incredible bakery, where the pizza chef Raju is known all over Mussoorie for his cheese sausage pizzas.

Then on to Mussoorie's most exquisite destination-Clouds End. A little lower than Landour, and built in 1838, clouds End is one of Mussoorie's four original buildings which is still standing. The wooden main hall is imposing and has some of the oldest photographs of the Mall and surroundings areas, the establishment also boasts trophy heads of local game and an 80-year-old tiger skin inside. Clouds End is located on a hill top and offers a great bonus for visitor-Echo Point-in its compound.

COLOUR MY WORLD

Spiderman needn't worry about birthday presents. His lifelong costume, comprising blue tights and a torsohugging blue and red jumper, could have betrayed his birth date to excited fans the world over. The only hitch is that these may be his favourite colours, but they aren't his birth colour. A wardrobe overhaul with a generous splash of the right colour may shield villains from getting too close to his skin. This time it's chic colour therapists to the rescue. The procedure is based on a combination of star signs, numerological vibrations of one's birth date and earth or element signs, an ingenious method that takes forward the quest for the ideal personality and inclinations. A birth colour is a personal colour, corresponding to the real you, to recognise, celebrate and honour the same. Everyone's been taught to recognise colours, but the knowledge of a particularly favourable colour needs tweaking. Along with reading toes, knuckles, thumbs, wearing coloured stones and armlets, this method seems equally scientific. When you're blue, don't you need a fiery orange to charge up or a peachy pink to soothe those nerves?Colour is vital to moods. Only now, you may have to suffice with revolting baked clay. The Green Goblin, Spiderman's arch enemy, has an underhand agreement with colour therapists. His colour corresponds to personality traits that are unassertive, prosperous and kind. Didn't he almost kill Spidey?

Broadly, everyone born on the same day shares a birth colour. I share my birthday with Sonu Nigam. Our birth colour is canyon rose. He is sexy, musical and grand, bang on target as per the description. I quit singing class after two months when I heard my voice filling the room. Birth colour indicates where there may be imbalances of colour, which point to a potential problem; whether emotional, physical, mental or spiritual and even personality issues, which need to be addressed. So whatever is missing from one's personality and lifestyle can be filled by the description in one's birth colour chart. Is it, therefore, time to give Spidey some new spicy orange tights?

WORLD CINEMA

FIVE INTERNATIONAL FILMS THAT JUST MIGHT MAKE YOUR LAZY WEEKEND COME ALIVE:-

1- CINEMA PARADISO (ITALY,1988):- In the dark confines of the Cinema Paradiso, a young boy and the other townsfolk try to escape from the grim realities of post-war Italy. The ambience is largely autobiographical, drawn from the memories of writer/director Giuseppe Tornatore who shows great affection for his characters, even when they suffer misfortune. Among the film's indelible images, perhaps the most memorable occurs when a film is projected on a town wall, creating an endearing contrast between differing realities.

2- IL POSTINO (ITALY,1994):- The relationship between the Chilean Nobel Prize winning poet Pablo Neruda and Mario, the postman who delivers his copious mail, is the focus here. Mario is a poet at heart and strives to win his way into the affections of the great author. Eventually, Neruda shares his leftist political philosophy as well-and helps him win over the captivating Beatrice, the woman of Mario's dreams.

3- CHILDREN OF HEAVEN (IRAN,1997):- After seeing so many American films in which family dysfunction is the norm, it can at first be unsettling to see a family whose members all love one another. Aside from the material loss, one of the things which causes the young boy Ali such pain is that his young sister Zahra worships him, and yet he has failed her.

4- ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER (SPAIN,1999):- Pedro Almodovar affectionately salutes the female spirit and alternative families in this one.The film is about Manuela's journey to Barcelona to find her dead son's father and assuage her grief. The unexpected fortitude and empathy she discovers with the help of a transexual, a stage diva, and a pregnant nun, turn All About My Mother into a joyful portrait of female bonding.

5- AMORES PERROS (MEXICO,2000):- Three stories of life along the margins in Mexico City converge in this inventive thriller. In his astonishing debut, director Alexandro Gonzalez Inarritu focuses on fractured human relationships. He brings his camera into the slums and condos and mines authentic perceptions about the strain of loyalties under the duress of an ironic, twisted reality.

BLOOD ON OUR HANDS

Just over a decade ago, Project Tiger was hailed as the success story for the preservation of not just the big cats but also all other wildlife. When the project was launched in 1973, the tiger population in the wilds had dropped to an alarming figure of just 1,800 as compared to the estimates of 40,000 before Independence. Apart from passing a stringent law banning the hunting of tigers, nine wildlife reserves were established. A scientific management plan saw, among other things, core areas, free of all human activity, being earmarked in each sanctuary.Regular patrolling by forest guards dissuaded poachers. Most important was the level of political commitment, with the late prime minister Indira Gandhi personally taking interest and even hauling up Forest Department officials for non-performance. More tiger reserves were soon established and today there are 27 of them in the prime forests of India. Tiger population in such reserves has grown from 268 when the project began to over 1500 now. The overall tiger population in the wilds is put at 3,500.
Now all this is being undone rapidly. Last year, the missing tigers of Sariska and Corbett National Park are an ominous signal that things are going terribly wrong in our wildlife preserves. Prime Minister Manmohan Singh rightly termed it as the "the biggest crisis in the management of our wildlife."
Political commitment at all levels is the key and any revamp must begin from the top. Like Indira, the Prime Minister should make preserving wildlife his personal mission. Also as wildlife conservationist Ullas Karanth says,"What needs to change is the self-denial approach by ministry and forest officials who continue to maintain that nothing is wrong."
The prime minister and Minister of Environment and Forest should call for a total review of all wildlife preserves on an urgent basis and take remedial measures. If we don't do this soon enough the roar of the tiger in Indian forests may echo only in Kipling's books.

BODY LANGUAGE

Women in Hindi cinema are usually mass-produced by the same cookie cutter that functions on one golden rule: women are not sexually beings. Whether as mother, sister or lover, they are the repositories of values and remain unfailingly chaste. Sexuality is sublimated to thrust-and grind songs. The heroine may do the shimmy in a bustier but will walk into the sunset a virgin.

Or at least this used to be the case. Increasing market segmentation and the evolution of an urbane, multiplex audience are allowing filmmakers to stretch the mainstream straitjacket. A plethora of performers is no longer squeamish about onscreen love. Sex is out of the Bollywood closet and even though the Hindi film heroine largely remains a stylish Sati Savitri, making love no longer means having to say sorry.

Of course, skin and sexuality are not the same thing. Film-makers aren't hesitant about exploiting the former. As producer Mukesh Bhatt says, "The bottom line is that whether in Hollywood or Bollywood, sex sells." But understanding and portraying female sexuality is tougher. In truth, Bollywood is yet to come to grips with the modern Indian woman. Filmmakers speak of creating confident women, but this is hardly the case. Heroines might be glam dolls but few female characters have the depth of Nutan in Bandini or Nargis in Mother India. Bollywood remains a male-centric industry. Though the number of women directors is increasing- recent converts to direction include Remma and Farah Khan--a sensitive Bollywood film about female sexuality seems a few years away.

Why? For one, there are hardly any strong roles being written for women, leave alone those that explore something as tricky as sexuality.Distributors, burned by incessant flops are finding safety in multi-starrers. As two or three male stars strut their stuff,heroines are consigned to being clothes-horses in the margins. And even if such a script were written, filming it would be a Herculean hurdle.Though the mindset of actors has undergone a sea change, most filmmakers haven't still figured out how to film sex aesthetically.

In an essentially conservative society, popular entertainment is something that can be consumed by the whole family. Moreover the censor situation is complicated. Today people see censorship as repression, not guidance, and there is no control at the theatre. You can't have steamy scenes until this is fixed.

However, films like Jism, Murder, Page Three and Corporate hint that Bollywood is taking baby steps. Infact, Hollywood too went through a period of noir films before emerging with more complex female characters. Certainly, the door isn't wedged shut as it was before.

The Paradise On Earth 'KEDARNATH'

DESTINATION:- KEDARNATH, UTTARAKHAND (INDIA)
I started my journey on 26th May 2007 for 3 days. Early morning i started from Kotdwara Garhwal. I passed through places like Pauri, Srinagar, Rudraprayag, Karanprayag, Agastya Muni, Guptakashi, Son Prayag and Gaurikund.It is believed that Srinagar was established by Shri Shankaracharya. The legend says that there was a man-eating rock at Srinagar called Sryntra. Sri Guru Shankracharya threw it in the river. The very name, 'Srinagar' meaning the dwelling place of God conveys the immense sanctity of the town. It is believed that the river Alaknanda writes 'Om' near Srinagar.From Srinagar Garhwal i reached Rudraprayag, the holy Confluence of the Alaknanda and the Mandakini. I halted there for about an hour had a quick look of the place and the beautiful river flowing by. An iron chain has been fixed at the confluences where steps lead to the water. The place derives its name from Rudra, one of the names of lord shiva. It was here that the pride of Narad was humbled. There are various temples of Shiva and Annapurna Devi at Rudraprayag. I had my lunch and took photographs.The road to Kedarnath is along river Mandakini. The valley is enchantingly beautiful. The scenery is rugged and captivating the first place of interest is a wide open plain called Agastya Muni where Rishi Agastya meditated. The legend goes that at time of Shiva's marriage to Parvati, all creatures of the world reached Kedarkhand. The earth tilted towards the North and Shiva himself asked Agastya to go to South to restore the balance. The Muni pounded down the Vindhyas and reached Pothia which is also called Kailas of the South.The first major place after Agastya Muni is Gupta Kashi, a small town with a bazaar on both sides of the road. It was here that Shiva disappeared from the Pandavas, thus giving the name Kashi to the place. It is believed that in the first part of Kalyuga, kashi would be most sacred, in the second part Uttarkashy and at the end Guptakashi.Passing Rampur, I reached Sitapur from where one track leads to Triyugi Narayan to the left, and the other to Kedarnath. It is said that the marriage between Shiva and Parvati was performed at triyugi Narayan which was the capital of Himavat.As i move on, I reached Son Prayag, also called Sondwara or Swarna Dwara. It is said that there was a Swarnadwara here which was taken away by the Rohillas. After five km i came to Gauri-kund by evening. It is the last motor head on the route to Kedarnath. After reaching Gaurikund i looked for a lodge. After keeping my luggage, I had a glance of Gauikund.There are two Kunds-Tapta kund and Gaunkund. Tradition says that Parvati meditated here to propitiate Shiva. There is also a huge rock Uma Shankar Shila. It is said that the spirits of 12 rishis who followed Mahadeva from Srilanka after their expulsion from there, reside in the Shila. Near by are image of Gauri, Radha Krishna and JwalaDevi.After seeing Gaurikund, I had my dinner and went to bed. My spirit was high thinking about the next day's trekking to Kedarnath temple which was about 14 kms.The next morning, at about 6O'Clock well-equipped, I started climbing. People of old age were seen on Palkees and horses. On the way i could find only small petty shops and after about 7 kms i reached Rambara. Its a small seasonal chatti. I could see several water falls near to this place. After having light refreshment, I proceeded further.Just short of Kedarnath, the ascent is steep. The tree-line is left a little a head of cheer Basa Bhairav. The temple comes in view from a distance of about three kilometers viewed against the background of snow-covered peaks. The temple looked gorgeous.Shri Kedarnath is the shrine of Lord Shiva located in the Garhwal region of Uttarakhand. A common saying in Gahwal is "Jitne kankar, utne shankar," meaning that there are as many temples of Shiva as there are stones in Garhwal.Situated on the left bank of the Mandakini, the Kedarnath temple is located at the head of a cup-shaped valley measuring about five kilometers by two kilometers. It is an imposing building with an impressive facade. The Mandakini flows in a serpentine fashion along the side of Kedarpuri, a satellite village of the temple. The shrine is one of the 12 most sacred temples of shiva called Jyotir Lingas. It is a stone structure with huge slabs believed to have been put by Bhim. The temple was erected at the site where Bhim ultimately located Pashupati Nath. It is also said that the temple owes its construction to Janamijaya, the great grandson of Arjuna.The shrine had fallen into decay during the Buddhist era and it was shri Adi Shankaracharya who re-established it. The most commonly believed tradition is that the Pandavas who followed Shiva up to here and were absolved of their sins, built the temple. After its completion, the Pandavas climbed Mahapath, or the great path which is located on the mountain behind the temple. The Pandavas ascended the heaven from here to merge into the Divine.An imposing statue of Nandi stands outside the temple which can be divided in two parts. The front portion is known as the garbha gril and rear as Sabha bhavan. In the garbha grih, images of Parvati, Pandavas, Kunti, Draupadi, Krishna and Ganapati have been carved on stones laid on the walls. The five headed idol of shiva is in the middle. There are 24 images of avatars on the main gate and 64 images on the gate of the garbha griha. In the sabha Bhavan, a triangular icon of impressive dimensions covered by a canopy, represents the hinder parts of the divine buffalo.
The temple is closed for winters on the first day of Kartika falling during Oct-Nov. It's normally closed about a week prior to the shrine of Badrinath and is also opened earlies in Vaisakha. Corresponding to the end of April on early May. During winter, Kedarpuri is completely covered with snow; the accumulation of snow being about two metres high. The area around is marshy and devoid of any vegetation and fuel.
After having a good view of Kedarnath temple by afternoon i moved back to Gaurikund and reached by Sunset. Without having halting here, I headed towards Chamole Garhwal and stayed there. The next morning, after having breakfast, I headed towards Dehradun.

THE POWER OF ONE

It is not everyday that one hears about someone marring himself in a wedding ceremony. But Kevin Nadal, a New Yorker, did just last year. He invited 32 of his close friends and got married to himself in a loft (which incidentally has been used as the location for one of the characters apartment in the well-known TV series, Sex and the City). What was Nadal thinking when he decided to publicly marry himself? The point the 27-year-old was trying to make is simple. He has been quoted as saying,"We always celebrate married life, why not single life? Single people are marginalised in our culture. People think you don't have the commitment to be in a relationship or you're too picky. Women have it tough. Heterosexual men, they get a free pass and are congratulated for being a 'player'. But for gay men and single women, there's a stigma because we don't have a partner." Singles across the world would agree wholeheartedly with Nadal. Infact, the success of Bridget Jones's Diary and its sequel and the spawning of the entire chick-lit genre in publishing comes from the fact that this "marginalised" section of modern society had found a 'voice'.
In a country like India, where getting married is de rigeur irrespective of gender, class, caste or religion, being single is considered to be a deadly malady, not to be contracted at any cost. Maybe a couple of Nadal-style weddings in India could help change a bit of that outdated mindset. After all we as a country have worshipped Ardhnarishwar, the half-man, half-woman avatar of Shiva for centuries now. There are other hidden and not so hidden benefits of this catching on as a trend. Apart from highlighting how singletons are being ignored as 'non-people' by the 'smug-marrieds', marrying oneself may solve a number of other issues like divorce, prewedding jitters, cheating spouses, interfering in-laws, dowry, forgotten birth and wedding anniversaries and such like. The world will also be able to get rid of complaining and nagging spouses forever, which can only be a good thing. Next time you are insensitive or boorish as spouses can often be to each other, remember that you will only have yourself to blame.

Reel, Real Jodhabai

Historians are more or less unanimous that Jodhabai, the so-called Hindu queen of Akbar and Jehangir's mother, is nothing more than a yarn spun by scriptwriters of Bollywood. Director Ashuthosh Gowarikar is, therefore, only restating an historical fiction in his next film. But one sees no harm in tweaking history to make a flick so long as it is interesting and the movie-maker keeps the records straight. As did Ketan Mehta when he made The Rising. After all, one does not watch a movie to learn history. This, of course, is not to deny that the Kachhwaha Rajputs of Amber, who were ancestors of the later rulers of Jaipur, had given a daughter to the Mughals. She was the daughter of Bhagwandas, ruler of Amber, who was uncle and predecessor of Man Singh. Her name is lost in obscurity but she was married to prince Saleem and was the mother of Khusro. Was there a real Jodhabai? And if yes, what role did she play in the Mughul court? Noted historian James Tod provided the answers in his magnum opus Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, first published as Annals of Rajputana in 1832.
The author mentions that there indeed was a Jodhabai, daughter of Raj Singh. She was married to Jehangir. And yes, she called the shots in the Mughal court. To give just one instance, she used her influence with Jehangir to secure the throne of Amber for Jey Singh, the grandson of Jagat Singh. It was no small feat. For, it was achieved against the wishes, and much to the dismay of the all-powerful Noor Jehan. This Jodhabai must have been a remarkable woman. It is said that when Jehangir asked Jey Singh (who was later conferred with the title of Mirza), to make a salaam to the queen as a token of gratitude to her, he refused saying it was against the tradition of the Rajputs. This was no small effrontery to a Mughal queen. But Jodhabai not only made light of this by laughing but also bade the new prince of Amber well.
Perhaps it's time the film-makers of Bollywood gave up their obsession with the fictional Jodhabai and planned a film on the real one. It would make a far more interesting movie.

URBAN HEROINES

Till a year ago, The Oval Maidan in Mumbai was an eyesore. This heritage site was a haven for drug pushers, pimps, sex workers, card sharps and all sorts of anti socials. Morchas headed for Mantralaya were a daily nuisance and virtually every inch of the pavement opposite Churchgate Station was usurped by hawkers leaving pedestrians with no space to walk. In other words Oval Maidan was not what it was meant to be- a much-needed green belt for residents in south Mumbai.
A fact that disturbed Neera Punj, Nayana Kathpalia and Kunti Oza very much. Punj, after a long stint abroad, had returned to live near Churchgate, and Kathpalia, an activist with INTACH in Delhi, had shifted base to Mumbai where her home faced the historic Oval Maidan. Oza had lived all her life in the city. The three enterprising women rallied around to set things right. It wasn't easy. They were mocked at, officials were amused and dismissed these 'English-speaking mems'.
But the committed trio, fully aware of their rights, knocked at the doors of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC), local government representatives and finally the Bombay High Court- all this in the early 2000s.
Their relentless crusade eventually paid off. Today morchas have been banned in the area and are stopped at Azad Maidan, the Oval Maidan has been restored to its pristine glory and pedestrians are able to walk on the pavements opposite Churuhgate. Success breeds success. The three are now much sought after for guidance and help by residents' groups spread across the city. Their initiative- Citizens Forum for Protection of Public Space, better known as CitiSpace-now has over 500 paid members who are consulted by the BMC each time an issue of open space arises in the city.
Moral of the story,'If citizens wish to improve the quality of life around them. They can do it. But they have to step out.'

GENDER GAP

Browsing through the World Economic Forum report on gender gap which places India a dismal 53rd amongst 58 countries, I was reminded of my tour to Tehri Garhwal on the eve of the formation of the state of Uttarakhand.As i approached Dehradun i got a feel of the euphoria as it must have been on the eve of national independence. From Rishikesh onwards, the markets were ablaze with bright half-green half-orange flags festooned on every shop, pole and pathway. Banners and ornamental gateways giving good wishes to new state stood every few metres. Come twilight, the building wore strings of gaily coloured light bulbs. Even as the official birth was yet to be, Dehradun Nagar Nigam had put up bright yellow banners at all entry points loudly proclaiming,'You are welcome to the state of Uttranchal'. All the men were out in the streets headed towards the parade ground where at the stroke of the midnight hour history was to be made. Bubbling with enthusiasm, a group of young men drove their two-wheelers in formation through the crowded marketplace, hands thrown up in the air, screaming and shouted with delight. The joie de vivre was infectious.
But where were the women? Strangely, they were absent. Did they not perceive the change or were they wary of celebrating it? Through all the gaiety and merrymaking I could not help recall the four hill women I had crossed on my way down, their backs bent over with enormous loads of firewoods as they trudged miles just as they had been doing for years. They had quietly stepped aside to make way for the new chariots of statehood as they had whizzed past. While one who worked alone on her small terraced field weeding her sparse crop, waiting for her monthly money order from a husband or son, watched the passage. All over our country women remain invisible. Their work is not counted for economic value and now they are going missing too. The gender gaps are all around; the report is only a reminder of reality.

A French Kiss in India- PONDICHERRY

How I Went:- Jumped into a bus at Chennai's Mofussil Bus Depot for a three-hour ride with blaring Tamil music accompanying me down the magnificent beach-lined East Coast Road. Taxis and luxury buses are available, but this is the best way to savour the local flavour.

What I Did:- Checked into an extremely basic and incredibly sanitary room labelled 'Freedom' at the Park Guest House, which is affiliated to the Aurobindo Asharam. Peace, Cheer, Friendship, Serenity.....and many other delightful names offer a balcony with an untrammelled view of a tranquil garden and the Bay of Bengal. I spent a glorious week exploring the symmetrical French quarter of this exquisite town that was under the control of the French government till 1954. There's a whole other side to this city(regular Indian messopolis), but i preferred to keep to the tree-lined boulevards with ornate names.

What I Saw:- All the Pondyessentials.... I strolled down Avenue Goubert(Beach Road) every evening. Lingered over the French War Memorial and Mahatma Gandhi's statue. Watched the gendarmes in their red French caps patrol. Whispered in awe by the samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and the mother at the Aurobindo Ashram. Saw the memorials to poets Subramanita Bharathi and Bharathidasan and all the museums, popped in at the Alliance Francaise and scouted for rare French books at the Romain Rolland Library. Checked out the firangs baking themselves red on Auro Beach. Gasped at the Technicolour beauty of the temples (some date back to the Chola era). Dined on superb continental fare at Le Club and rather iffish Chinese along the beachfront. Found peace as well as the world's largest crystal in the white-on-white environs of the Matri Mandir meditation dome at Auroville(14kms away).

What I Learnt- That Pondicherry plays host to an annual International Yoga Festival in early January-an other reason to go back!

What I Liked:- The stately colonial buildings and vast white and yellow villas with scarlet bougainvillae spilling over artistic gates looked like they belonged in another era of another country. The people were friendly, talkative and very contemporary.

What I Recommend:- With its air of sparkling purity, Pondicherry's great for a holiday that eases jangled nerves. Don't go if you're looking for water sports, discotheques or lavish spas. But if you seek a relaxed sojourn that doesn't cost the earth, yet gives you a taste of the good life with a bit of culture and spirituality thrown in, this is the right place for you.

GROWING WITH SCOOBY

My wonder years were made extra special by cartoons, as with most kids. Flinstones, Jetsons, The Addams Family, Popeye The Sailor and others filled my hours with magic. None, however, compared with the inimitable Great Dane, Scooby-Doo.
For the half hour every day that Scooby was on air, I promptly left the job on hand and made a dash for the remote. I always had to fight to get control of it, what with my entire family pouncing on it at the same time. I would simply raise the give-me-the-remote-or-I'll-tear-the-place-down shrill and voila,'Scooby-Doobey-Doo, Where Are You?' would waft through. My family would leave the room, cursing its fate but finding consolation in the silence that enveloped the house while I was away on some super Scooby adventure. There are so many little things in the show that one comes to love. For one, the Scooby Snack always gave Popeye's spinach a run for its money. I also came to correlate Velmas spectacles with intelligence and longed to have a similar pair for myself.
Scooby taught me some valuable lessons while growing up. He remained the eternal chicken, even though every episode ended with the ghost myth being busted. Before Scooby entered my life, I suffered from cynophobia, a persistent fear of dogs. I would be exaggerating if I claim to be cured of it now, but I am far better off. If dogs themselves get scarred, they're not so scary, are they? Calvin and Hobbes, Asterix and Obelix, Scooby and Shaggy make for some of the best tales of friendship.
With Scooby, I found mine. I could never make my parents watch the zany dog for more than a minute. I was more successful with my sister, who would join Scooby and the gang occasionally. Whether she did it to humour me or because she liked it herself, I can't say. It was 'bonding time' for us, and in this we agree.
Harry Potter came, Pokemon and Bablade are here, but none can create the magic Scooby did so seemingly effortlessly. But there is hope. I caught my two-year-old cousin watching Scooby the other day, thoroughly enjoying himself. The magic will continue after all.