Mana

There are often moments when a word cannot be used to describe the exact feeling of happiness, grief, excitement, panic, indifference, I could go on. This time it was realization. Sheer realization of the fact that the stories I had read in Amar Chithra Katha, could possibly just be true. Sometimes it's just way too hard to believe mythology. What about the people who live in such siginificant places, where history was written, how do they go about their daily chores.

Standing in Mana village, the last Indian territory at the Indo-Tibet(China) border, was quite an unexplainable feeling. The Himalayas breathing around you, the Saraswathi crashing in to the Alaknanda that proceeds to Badrinat. It had just rained, we saw cobwebs strung across the grass in plenty, glistening in the sun. The blue of the sky, the green of the trees, the white of the water and the pink of the flowers, the peace in the constant trickling fall, this massive landscape and a wee me. We visited the cave where the Mahabharata was dictated by Ved Vyas and written by Lord Ganesha, did all of this actually happen?

Situated just 3 km away from Badrinath, the people of Mana even looked different, they're the last generation of the Bhotia community of Mongolian tribes. We went up to two women who were pounding grass to bits, one ornately decorated lady swiftly replied "Just as you use Jeera, we put this in our food. This is what we use as herbs in our food, and no, I don't want to be photographed!". Across the door an old man sat, deftly knitting a sweater. We were thrilled to take pictures at "India's last Tea shop" and "Hindustan ki anthim dukaan"; a place that was probably frequented mostly by the army. Patches of cauliflower, radish turnip fields dotted the landscape. Quaint temple like structures, eroded with time, stood at various levels of the peaks.

So much beauty, so little time, not sure if my camera did much justice

A Year Later

It is 26/11

A year has rolled by, since India’s 9/11

We wear white to mark respect for the martyrs

Candles will be lit and prayers will be said

Extensive video clips and images reign the news channels

A Year has gone by, and we wonder if much has changed

Tomorrow the media will forget

And re-surface a year later

And as the ritual continues, one thing is for certain

Families of all those martyrs

Will wonder if their loved ones died in vain

The children of all those policemen

Will wake each day knowing their fathers won’t come home

And so is the story of this nation

That forgets and remembers, when it is convenient

The Kargil stories lived only for a decade

The Tsunami relief plans lasted but a year

Beyond differences of caste and religion, now lie educated lies

We live with the hope that some day

Somewhere, something will change

That we will work together beyond our diplomatic differences

Beyond our cynicism and lack of faith

And it is in light of that hope that we light a candle

And spread a word of gratitude

For all that we’ve been blessed with

Ironically, Happy Thanksgiving.