What I learned from TREKKING in the Himalayas

Each step is mindful… one at a time

Each step is surpriseful… majestic view or steep climb

Lyrical streams add music… flowing peacefully beside

sometimes hindering paths… defying strides to be traversed

Often there is bridge… or merely a branch…

Or slippery rocks under strong currents to wade or trudge

there may be a helping hand… along sharp turns,

a sturdy boulder for support or just the two legs that burn

trekking is not just a walk or even a climb,

not a journey to reach the top just to be sublime,

trekking is a reminder… of our perseverance

our resolve to trek on forward… barring all impediment,

cue to breathe

to absorb... all the scenes

to experience it fully... at every pace,

Trekking is...

an experience,

a lesson

on how to truly be alive! 
 
 
 
 

Monsoons and Mangoes

Parched earth drinks in first showers with a sigh

fusing with powerful aroma of mangoes

sharp drops drum car-tops

to accompany the birds’ chorus,

pink, bougainvillea flowers smile as luscious green leaves applaud

to the musical performance,

mango variety morph from Safeda to Chausa to Langda

each equally delightful in flavor and fragrance,

pearly white teeth sink into fruit

sweet, luscious, color of scorching sun

fresh showers wash the sweet mud

off the sizzling earth,

fragrance of mangoes and monsoon

mingle into sweet memories

to last a lifetime of music to the soul.

 

A Poem in HINDI/URDU

Patthron ko paseena kyon aata hai?

Kya humse dar ke sharmaatta hai?

Naher ki laherein itni jaldi mein kyon hain?

Hari bhari nadi se milan ke liye?

 

Neela aasmaan itna muskaraata kyon hai ?

Pahaddon ki choti ka mazaak uddata hai?

Insaanon ko nazaaron se ashchariya kyon hota hai?

Apni hukoomat ko kya khoob samajh ta hai?

 

Pattharon ko paseena kyon aata hai?

Woh paseena nahin insaanon ke liye aansoon hain!

 

A Fork in the Road - Conclusion

Ash and Ziya had been best friends for life.  Their day started with each other and ended together.  Most of their school years living next door to each other, days glided like the geese flocks flying high in the sky.  It was a friendship often misunderstood as they hit teen years.  Undeterred their bond resisted social pressures until the unthinkable happened.

Ash’s family broke apart as his parents split and his mother carted him clear across the ocean to another continent.  Over time, they lost contact, grew up and grew apart.  Ziya acquired a loving husband, a fulfilling career, and her life was complete once again, until now…

In the dim bar, Ash set his vertically folded magazine down, turned towards the voice and gazed into familiar eyes.  Kicking back his chair, he stood and the two long lost friends fell into enthusiastic embrace.  Peeling away from each other, they settled into their seats and proceeded to catch up on the lost years together. Ziya learned that Ash ran a successful business which took him all over the world.  Having spent all of his young adult life in starting and building up his company, he found no time for attachments.  Single, he roamed the world freely.  His current trip scheduled for two days but upon learning of Ziya’s stay length, he changed his plans.

Weekdays at work dragged as Ziya anxiously waited for the evening when they hit various restaurants and talked into the night.  As weekend hit they decided to drive off into the mountains, away from the city.  Ash had made reservations for two rooms at a resort from where they took short driving trips, walks, explored some winter sports, sampled various cuisines and local delicacies including some as daring as rattlesnake and boar.

Their friendship picked up naturally as if there had never been a seam.  Ziya loved her husband, but she began to realize that she found more comfort in Ash’s company than she did with her husband.  She discovered she could be completely herself and be a kid again with Ash.  As the weekend came to a close and they drove back to the city, Ziya’s mind raced.  There was no question that she loved her husband deeply, but her friendship with Ash was special.  Are love and friendship two sides of the same coin?  She glanced towards her friend and looked at his smiling face.  His eyes had twinkled with delight at the sight of her and hadn’t stopped twinkling since.  He was a good friend, she declared to herself.  Was she at a fork or can she walk two paths?  Her mind continued to twirl and tangle in this web of questions.  Putting them aside for now, she took delight in the company of her companion for one more evening before they part their ways.  At least, until their paths cross again…

The End

A Fork in the Road - Part Four

The server stepped forward to ask if she needed another beer and Ziya smiled with a nod.  She looked around the room and watched the group in the center becoming more animated.  Behind them in the far corner a table that had been previously unoccupied, she spotted a shadow.  Somehow she felt the need to see who it was, but his face was hidden behind the tall man chugging his pint amidst laughter and jokes in the group.

With a fresh, cool mug of beer in front of her, she settled back on her seat and leafed through her magazine for another article.  Skimming through several pages, her attention fluttered like leaves in a storm.  Pushing away her half-eaten plate of now cold fish and chips, and discarding the magazine on the far side of her table, she sat back with her mug and observed the people around her.  At long last, the loud group stood up and staggered out of the bar, one by one, leaving the room feeling lonely.

With the tall guy from the group gone, Ziya’s gaze fell on the man in shadows.  His head bent into a magazine folded vertically, he took a sip from his beer before returning to the article.  A smile passed Ziya’s lips and she stood up to walk in his direction.  She watched his thick, dark hair and the trendy, dark rimmed glasses.  His shirt was starch white, a yellow necktie loosened at the collar.  A navy blue sports coat along with a long wool coat hung at the back of a chair across from him, a pair of black leather gloves on top.  She paced before reaching him, savoring every step, every detail.  His face was square and from the profile view she detected a hint of a dimple on his clean shaven chin.  His thick lips pursed at something he read morphing into a pout as he read on.  She approached his table and stood tall, next to his seated form.  He looked up, his eyes widening as they reached hers.  She smiled and said, “Hello, Ash.  It’s been a long time.”

To be continued….

A Fork in the Road - Part Three

Work day fled with meetings, reports, education, but when 5pm came, all her colleagues packed up and headed home to their spouses, kids, girlfriends or boyfriends.  Ziya scanned the wall-less office floor, each desk balancing a flat monitor, their black screens staring, mocking.  The cleaning staff wordlessly reached under the desks, emptied waste baskets and drifted through the open floor.  Ziya banged her laptop shut, grabbed her bag and walked to her hotel.  Back in the grand lobby, instead of heading to the elevators, she decided to hop into the pub.

Settling in a dark corner of the cozy pub, she ordered a beer and fish and chips and sunk into the lush armchair.  She looked around the room noticing a few seats dotted with people, mostly young professionals enjoying the happy hour.  A group of nine men and women occupied a table in the center of the room, their rambunctious laughter echoing in the small space.   Behind them on the far wall, a screen hung from the ceiling turned to the sports channel.  Ziya watched the show intently and tried to follow the poker game that was in session.  After observing the serious faces of the players, she became bored and decided to find other forms entertainment.

Taking a sip of her dark, foamy beer, she reached in her bag for the Economist stuffed in it for the air journey.  In the dim light of the pub, she strained to read the small print, bringing the magazine closer to her face as she picked on her fries and forked the fish from under the magazine.  Lost in an article on a new “ID system in India”, she did not notice a young man enter the pub, glance at her hidden face, but then move on.  Feeling a sudden breeze wisp through her hair, she put down the magazine and looked up towards the empty doorway.

to be continued...

A Fork in the Road - Part Two

Ziya recalled her hour-long ride in the taxi and how uncomfortable she had felt throughout the journey.  Not only was the city unfamiliar and the hour late, but her taxi driver’s ideal chatter had amplified her fear, sending a chill down her spine to the match the chilly temperature outside.  Their conversation had started easily with cordial inquiries.  Ziya had responded to his questions that she was in town on work and her company was an international corporation and she was originally from the other side of the globe.  He had then proceeded to release with his tongue all his resentments towards the world with the lack of job opportunities, poverty, religious clash in his home country, how he had moved his family to such a cold place, and many such bitter pills he had swallowed over the years.  Even the company she worked for refused to give him a job when he first arrived.  Ziya had sunk back in her seat and tried to disengage from further conversation, fearing unleashing of any of the resentment towards her.  The rest of the ride had continued in silence as she dissolved in the shadow of the backseat.

Looking back at the man handing her a card, which appeared to belong to her, she looked up at him again.  A glimmer of recognition crossed her face as she realized it was the very taxi driver she had feared and had ridden with for an hour from the airport.  He was speaking to her and she crooked her head to one side quizzically.  His arm moved forward to thrust the card in her hand as he tried to say in his broken English that she had forgotten to claim the card back after making the payment.

She took the card and murmured a thanks, not realizing the implication until later.  What if he had not come in to return it?  This was her first trip on the company account and losing the corporate card in its first use would not only be embarrassing, but costly too, depending on whose hands it could have landed.

Ziya shoved the card into her coat pocket, pulled the lapels of her long coat together with hands fully covered with red, leather gloves, grabbed her baggage and walked towards the check-in desk.  Smiling, she took her room key, deliberated outside the Irish Pub for a few seconds, but decided to turn in for the night.  There’ll be plenty more nights for beer over the 10 days she was required to stay in this cold place.

To be continued

A Fork in the Road - Part One

Ziya walked to the center of the grand lobby, wheeling her carryon behind her.  She looked up at the high ceiling and the massive chandelier dominating the center, its tiny bulbs winking at her.  She scanned the open space around, twirling on the red and yellow rug patterned in geometric shapes.  A restaurant and a bar anchored each corner of the entrance as they faced each other with their respective welcome signs.  The restaurant posted a closed sign on a stand, but the bar beckoned patrons for a late night beer, shamrock style.  Ziya searched for the check-in desk straight ahead of her, but before she could march towards it she heard a commotion behind her at the entrance.

A young man seemed stuck between two glass panes in a revolving door.  His fingerless gloves pressed hard on the door, palms flat, bare tips of his fingers rough on the edges.  Ziya noticed an lone yarn of beige wool peeking through the broken zipper of his brown, quilted jacket, as if trying to escape to the world outside.  Her gaze travelled up to his unshaven face where she observed flushed cheeks emerging through the dark forest of hair.  The woolen skull cap resting on thick, dark hair looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall meeting this man.

Freeing himself from the troublesome doors, he seemed to rush towards her.  Behind him, she spotted the doorman discretely stepping in, his eyes locked on the intruder.  Her attention returned to the man who was standing right in front of her, and she noticed he was extending his arm out to her.  Between coarse fingers that didn’t seem to want the protection of his wool gloves, he held a card.  Looking closely she noticed it had her picture on it and wasn’t it the same corporate card she had used to pay the taxi driver moments ago?

To be continued

Ammaji

 

 I remember her as old

she wasn’t always that way, I am told

the mix of beauty and mettle she possessed

she was a legend long before her own death.

 

Child-bride at nine leaving her parents at eleven

a new family, adult husband, her life was not heaven

crossing rugged boundaries, bearing fourteen children

losing one in childhood, another at twenty seven.

 

In times of struggle, earthquake, and strife,

she held her head high as mother and wife

protecting her brood, holding on to her belief

that family is foremost, during war or in time of relief.

 

IN MEMORY OF MY DEAREST GRANDMOTHER ON THIS MOTHERS' DAY!

 

 

Help! - Conclusion

While the assistant started the process of getting Robbie on an I.V., the doctor was called to his office to attend to a phone call.  A woman’s voice pierced through the earphone, illegible and confused.  The doctor calmed her and after listening to the problem he rushed to her house.

Aari, the woman’s husband lay flat on the ground by the door of his house, unconscious.  The doctor had arrived just in time to resuscitate him, but his clinic was not equipped for further treatment.  While the doctor pondered on his new patient’s dilemma, he received an anxious call from his clinic.  Apparently, they had run out of their stock of I.V. fluids and the boy remained delirious on the exam table.  To add to the doctor’s dilemma, the assistant informed him of another patient who had been brought in with possible blood poisoning.

Lena’s minor incident on the beach had turned out to be life threatening.  Her foot had swollen and turned blue, purple and several shades in between under the bandages her husband had applied.  She had started to become delirious as well, babbling about a rusted piece of metal, rocks, waves, germs, tetanus shot,…

The doctor returned to the clinic with Aari on a stretcher and worked hard to keep his patients comfortable and alive.  But he knew that all three needed to get treatment in a hospital in the mainland if they were to survive the night.  The problem was that the only airport on the island had no lights so the patients could not be flown out until the morning.  And that will be too late.

The assistant empathized with the patients and their families, understood the doctor’s dilemma, but remained equally helpless.  When the phone rang as he was pondering on a way to help these patients, he absently answered.  It was his brother and the assistant blurted out the predicament at the clinic without giving his brother a chance to say anything.  The brother hung up and immediately called up his friend at the radio station.  Soon the grave situation of the clinic was being broadcasted all over the island and the clinic was receiving calls on offers of help.  Yacht owners offered rides to the mainland and several other suggestions and offers of help poured in.  One idea appealed to the doctor and soon all were in motion.

The patients were prepared and rushed to the airport.  All the taxis of the island showed up at the airport one by one.  They lined up on the runway with their headlights blaring and provided a well-lit path for the plane to take off.

Lena, Robbie and Aari made it to the hospital in time and recovered completely.  The island had come together as a family does to support, and do what must be done to take care of their own.  They had found a way to make possible that had seemed impossible.

THE END

Help! - Part Two

As the tempest roared outside, Lena struggled to the sofa and collapsed.   About the same time her husband was rushing to her side, a sharp cry had escaped a cottage on the other side of the island.  Robbie lay in his bed delirious as his 7-year old body shook uncontrollably.  His parents torn between trying to keep his shivering body warm under layers of blankets or to keep his forehead cool to bring down his temperature.

The storm raging outside tried to enter the cottage as it rattled open windows, sprayed rain water onto furniture, or offered a luminous show with intermittent lightning flashes.  Little Robbie babbled illegibly, rambled about missing his soccer practice, recalling the time he ventured into a dark forest.  His parents had exhausted their list of home remedies and stood watching him, helpless.  They had applied cold towels on his forehead, placed a brandy-dipped cotton swab on his belly, rubbed ice on the soles of his feet, and other countless treatments.  But the fever rose with the crescendo of the booming thunder as the darkest clouds passed overhead, until all became silent.

Under his wife’s protests, Robbie’s father grabbed the boy, wrapped him up in blankets, and ran outdoors.  The tail end of the storm left now, sprinkled water from the sky forming a wet mist on the father’s dark hair.  He flagged down a taxi and panic-stricken, commanded the driver to rush to the island’s only clinic.

The doctor, dressed in hurriedly draped bathrobe over his pajamas and disheveled hair peered through his dark rimmed glasses at the boy on his exam table.  Thermometer in hand, he shook his head and declared that the boy needed fluids and an I.V. must be started on him at once.

To be continued...

Help! - Part One

Lena stormed out banging the door shut behind her.  Tears streaming down her cheeks, mingled with the salty air and whirled away into oblivion.  A strand from her disheveled hair swayed with the wild wind, veiling her eyes.  Her footsteps on the soft, slick sand quickly erased behind her by the efficient waves as they surged, nudged by the stronger gusts.

Lena marched on, blinded by her strand and determined to reach the far end of the beach to climb up the cluster of rocks and face the angry waves head on.  She gave no mind to the changes around her as she struggled to take control of the tempest within her.  Her anger had been justified, she kept telling herself.  He had no right to decide what she could not wear.  It was her body and she could choose how much or how little to wear.    She forged ahead brushing off white-tipped waves and clingy sand.  Light diminished and sparkles from the water disappeared as storm clouds began to roll in to cast a dark shadow over the island.

Placing one step after another, her feet dug into the wet sand, while the edges of her long skirt dripped from its close encounter with the constantly moving water.  Reaching the edge of the beach, she skipped over the gravely portion by placing her bare feet one big toe after the other until finally hopping onto the first big boulder of a cluster.  She leaped between rocks, skirted slippery moss, dodged the raging waves as they crashed and sprayed as if determined to soak her.  She climbed head on, challenging the seas, the rumbling sky, and the mighty rocks until a misstep, or perhaps it was not.  A piercing shriek evaporated in the ocean’s rage and thundering anger of the sky.

Sitting down on a solid rock, Lena held her left foot in her hand.  A sharp, rusty object partially stared at her, its other half inside her foot.  She screamed, unmindful of the ominous grayness around her that was gradually fusing into darkness.  Digging deep within her she found a morsel of strength and used it to pull the offending object out of her foot.  Her previous emotions forgotten, her differences with her man suddenly becoming insignificant, she slid back to the beach, rock by rock.  Hobbling on one foot she started her trek home.  Less than half-way up, her legs submitted to the wet sand as she crawled her way up the beach while the storm drew closer above and around her.  Flashes of lightening signaled her to move along, to rush home before the hungry waves start to gnaw at her and the vast ocean consumes her.  She dragged her injured foot, her trail of blood washed away by the over-efficient waves.

 

To be continued…