Teachers Day Gift

Teacher’s day gift
I’ve been a teacher for almost ten years now, and as teacher’s day is approaching, I remember a wonderful student – R. R was not my student at all, she was my patient.
She was first admitted with seizures and severe renal failure in the nephrology unit I was working in then. She improved a little with dialysis, and whenever we went to the ward, we found her studying for her class 10 exams. This was with haemoglobin of 5 and a creatinine of 10!
She faced the disease so bravely – the thrice weekly dialysis, the work up for renal transplant, and the transplant itself. I just saw her crying once – her 10th standard exam centre was far away, and they could not get the centre transferred to Cochin, where she was undergoing dialysis. My professor and her parents said forget the 10th standard exams. They are not as important as her health. But (and this is the one of the things in my life I am proud of having done) I said it was very important for her morale to do the exam, and arranged for dialysis in a town close to her exam centre.
R finished her exam, and came to tell me she had got a first class, and was applying for a revaluation because she felt she deserved a distinction.
With kidneys failing, with severe anaemia, with no one insisting on a good academic performance, there was still something in R which drove her to study. And this, I think, is the most precious gift to teachers – the urge that students have to learn. And our biggest responsibility too – to see that with our actions and words, we foster this hunger to learn, let it grow, let it flower further in to a desire to teach, to teach well...

A sweet way to say no!

I'm planning to visit Kathmandu , and I read many nice things about the Hotel Holy Himalya. I mailed them asking to keep a room for me , but unfortunately, they are over booked at the time I am planning to visit. This is what they wrote to me:
Namaste Smitha,
At the outset would like to thank you for choosing Hotel Holy Himalaya to serve you.It would be our pleasure to serve you.We are very much happy that you choosed Holy Himalaya.But extremely sorry to say that we don't have rooms on those days.But if you want to book to other hotel rather than this then we can help you out.Don't think that you're not staying and you can't come to visit HolyHimalaya your welcome any time.
Our doors are open to you always.
Have a great time.
Kind regards,Anil NarsinghAss. Manager Reservation

Nothing ever dies.

The wife of a senior colleague has passed away yesterday, after a long battle with cancer, and we visit their house to pay our last respects. She lies on the floor in the hall, surrounded by her family. Her husband stands silently, acknowledging our greetings. Her daughter sits by her side. She is touching her mother’s face gently and the movement of her fingers and the look on her face reminds me of how a mother would touch her sleeping child. Her young son, her mother, her brother – the room is filled with the sorrow of the people who love her.
I look at the still body, at the face that is so peaceful. Too young, too young to die. I reflect on how her daughter forced herself to write an exam today, about how the young son will have to perform the last rites of his mother. From where do they find the courage? And then I remember their mothers last few months – battling the disease and the disfigurement and the pain – cooking for the family, trying to keep going –I think I know where the courage comes from, and I try to tell myself that some things don’t die.

A few bad men

A Few Bad Men
I’ve been watching (students, friends) and hearing about gorgeous, intelligent women falling for completely rotten men, and wondering why. What is the basis of this so called falling in love/lust? What attracts us to a person? What is it about someone’s eyes/voice/hands that tend to disconnect your brain from your actions?
I read sometime ago that chemistry and instant attraction is based on long ago patterns of survival; basically the selfish gene making sure it gets propagated. Therefore, men tend to get attracted to women with an hourglass figure – women with high levels of progesterone tending to reproduce effectively. (This answered a question that’s bugging me for a long time – how on earth men can like women with practically nothing above the clavicle.)
Females on the other hand would like someone who could provide for the offspring, and tend to gravitate towards guys who are competent. Looking back, I think it’s true. All the guys I have fallen for were, without exception, intelligent – even the slightly creepy ones.
But, if the ladies fall for intelligent men, and the gentlemen (less evolved ) fall for what is their concept of good looking women, it still does not explain why women get attracted to arrogant, selfish types who dominate them, tell them what to do and treat them like their brains are merely incidental.
Bewildered.

Devbhoomi

We were a bunch of doctors yawning over coffee and discussing a colleague’s forthcoming trip. ‘Why travel at all?’ one chap wondered. “What’s the purpose?”
"To see that other people and places are different.” One friend replies.
“And to realize ultimately that we’re all the same.” A senior guy says.
“And to see the greatness of god and his work.” one more pal adds.
It’s the last words that come to mind as we drive along the highway from Chandigarh to Thanedar. My overworked hubby, me and our five year old son who is yearning to see what he calls the ‘mountains where lord Shiva lives.’
I’m used to the coastal plains of Karnataka, and the greenery of the Ghats and the landscape of Himachal is awe inspiring and frightening some times. As we pass from the crowded colourful streets of Simla to the mountain roads, I feel a surprising surge of patriotism in my heart. This country is so beautiful. On our right there are towering barren folded mountains, while on the left the hills are covered with conifers. A lovely pink cheeked lady sells apples by the roadside, and I buy some of them – they’re delicious and everything comes together - the crisp sweetness and the cold mountain air and Silk Route singing ‘saujha’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dECuCcllwM on the soundtrack – all my senses are happy!

The twisty curvy road seems to go on for a very long time, and we’re all thankful to stop driving when we finally reach the Banjara orchard retreat. It’s a cool evening, and we eat barbecue by the bonfire, watching the lights twinkle over the town of Kumarasene in the distance. One guest is talking about his cycling tour – “3 hours to cycle the 26 kilometers uphill – and the journey down took 20 minutes – what a rush! I thought I was flying.” I find that most of my fellow guests are professionals - doctors and management professionals who come here to breathe fresh air, work their legs and lungs, and get a break from their demanding work schedules.
We’re exhausted after the long day on the roads, and gratefully go to our room. All the rooms are named after fruit that grow in the area. Ours is called the apricot room – and it is lovely. Wooden floors, hand stitched quilts, and a lovely view over the lit up hill towns.

The freshness of the mountain air wakes me very early and I sip adrak chai and watch the quiet morning mist roll away to reveal the apple orchards for which the town is famous. Samuel stokes, an American missionary brought the first saplings to the area, and now the growing and harvesting of apples is big business here. A tiny wooden gate leads out of the retreat and I pass though it and walk down a narrow lane which runs in to the old town. An old Himachal gentleman sunning himself in his compound strikes up conversation. He is, like all the mountain folk, exceedingly polite and gentle. He tells me about how they are confined to their houses in winter, how they all are in some way connected to the cultivation of apples, and how they send their children to Simla for higher education. I bid him farewell and as I walk back, I pause for a moment at the gate – this place is so quiet I can hear the flap of the crow’s wings as she flies by!

Our next destination is Sangla, a little town in the valley of the river Baspa.
The road from Thanedar towards Sangla is very scary indeed. We seem to be a hairsbreadth from tumbling down sheer cliffs to land in the river below.
We are heading in to no man’s land. The road clings to the side of a steep cliff – our minds vacillate between awe and terror. I do note however the politeness of the people on the road. Vehicles going uphill get automatic right of way, and there is none of the impatient horn blowing that we hear back home in the city. We are encouraged on our way by signs with sometimes quite surprising messages. ‘Saavdhaan! Aage patthar gir rahe he!' is bad enough, but ‘drive slowly, road sinking.' is worse. And the minatory message ‘shooting stones here' has me in an agony of bewilderment and terror. What could this possibly mean?!
There are no houses or schools or restaurants. There is a surprisingly large number of temples however. Perhaps not so surprising, here where the power of nature is so untamed, perhaps there is a sense that our small measures to keep ourselves safe may not be enough, that we may need the blessings of a greater power.
We stop at one such temple – an old Durga shrine, at the very edge of the highway. We alight and salute the goddess. An ancient priest – the only human for miles around blesses us and says with gravitas ‘yatra safal ho’.
We reach the Banjara camp in Sangla valley late in the evening by which time we’re bone tired. There is a sudden unexpected rain storm and the long walk through the dark up to the retreat does nothing for our collective mood. We’re cheered once we reach the rooms, however. Warm slippers for all of us, hot water bags, and a huge bed. My son is thrilled with the loft – he climbs up the ladder and says “I’m a king and this is my castle.”
I reluctantly emerge from my quilty cocoon early in the morning and walk out to the balcony. The sun rises on my right, and a full moon is setting on my left. The serrated snowy peak of the Kinner Kailash is shining in the combined light of the sun and the moon and I have never seen anything so lovely. We hurry through breakfast to do the signature walk of the valley - the Rakcham walk.
The Rakcham walk is considered the signature trek of the valley and my son and I attempt it the–my husband cries off preferring to contemplate the beauty of nature from a hammock placed strategically near the river.
We start the trek a little apprehensively – 11 kilometers seems like a pretty big walk to an unfit lady and her 5 year old kid. I ask my son repeatedly if he really wants to do the trek and try to dissuade him. But my obstinate little boy is determined to be a mountaineer! The first 2 kilometers is a steady uphill walk over a brassy slope – and then a trek through a forest of deodar and silver oak, poplar and bhojpatra. And ….it is so beautiful – the day that began with the threat of rain is now sunny and the sun filters through the tress high above us to fall on the mossy forest floor. We reach a clearing and look up at the blazing blue sky bordered by the Kinner Kailash range.
Then comes the tricky part. Thin slippery paths to be negotiated with the Baspa rushing musically a 100 feet below us, streams full of slippery pebbles to be crossed. Stone walls to be climbed – it’s scary, tiring, and it’s FUN!


I try to reload film in to my camera while keeping an eye on my son, and negotiating a slippery path, and I land very heavily on my rear end. Our kind guide Mohan looks tactfully away but my son adds to my misery by clutching his tummy and guffawing. It’s ok, I’m ok, I tell Mohan, and we start off again, extremely carefully.
We have a picnic lunch by the river – vegetable biryani and salad and bars of kit Kat washed down by the famous Himachal apple juice and it is the yummiest meal we have had in a long long time – perhaps it’s the fresh air or the climb – but my son polishes off his meal double fast.
The last part of the trek is thankfully downhill, and we soldier through it though we are a little tired by then. The euphoria that we feel for actually completing the trip helps us complete the walk.

Towards the end of our trek we approach a new bridge all dressed up for the inaugural ceremony. Smiling ladies are sweeping the bridge clean with dried branches. One of them observes my muddy backside, and wonders what happened. “I fell.” I confess sheepishly. She helpfully starts dusting the seat of my pants with the improvised broom, - and my son is rolling in his mirth. When questioned later, he says that his mama being slapped around the seat of the pants with a broom was his favorite part of the trip, the second best moment being my expression when I placed my hand on a boulder to stabilize myself and discovered it was full of goat poo.

I learn some important lessons at the end of the Rakcham walk
1. Don’t attempt to multitask while walking on uneven ground
2. It is good to approach challenges with the basic premise that maybe you can do it.

We spend the next two days exploring the area around Sangla. We spend a morning at Chitkul. Chitkul is the last checkpost on the Indo Tibet border accessible to civilians, and there is a lovely temple there too. The evenings are spent walking down to the green Baspa and listening to the music she makes as she ripples down the valley. And every night we get back to the Banjara retreat to tasty dinners and warm beds and excellent service.
In the course of my travels I’ve stayed in places ranging from roach infested closets with shared toilets to 7 star luxury where every wish is anticipated and fulfilled. But I’ve come to the conclusion that what makes a hotel special is care. And care is what we get at the Banjara hotels. In the Thanedar resort, Bittu Sharma pampers my little one, sends up hot chocolate along with morning tea, dissuades us from an early start, saying don’t worry I’ll pack you a lunch you can . In Sangla too, we feel like we’ve stumbled in a favorite uncle’s house in the middle of the mountains.
It’s our last evening in Sangla.

Nighttime in the Himalayas. The silence is thick and the darkness velvety. The snowy peak of the Kinner Kailash is a mere suggestion of light in the darkness. A sole star seems perched on the slope of one mountain, like a light for wayfarers. Then suddenly a full moon bigger and whiter than anything I have seen in the plains slides from behind the peak and lights up the evening. I’m silenced by the pure beauty of it all. The white breakers on the green Baspa, the clouds shining silver, the snow outlining the mountains, the stars that seem as close and touchable as fireflies – no wonder Himachal is called Devbhoomi – everywhere , everyplace is the mark of the maker.

A true artist

I'm listening to Joni Mitchell sing 'Both Sides Now'. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcrEqIpi6sg

So simple, so lovely. Someone has posted a comment that says 'You can tell the greatness of an artist by how she communicates a truth, a struggle, a beauty, or a moment of clarity.' Doesn't that make sense? As I listen to her sing I note the absence of props, of extras – it's just Joni, getting lost in her song. I remember a fragment of a poem read long – the poem is about something else, but it fits the thought, the picture of an artist alone with her art, lost in it. The line goes 'The single body, alone in the universe, against its own best time'. And here's the poem: http://slowmuse.wordpress.com/2009/01/07/the-single-body-alone-in-the-universe/

Moments like this

I finished an exam yesterday, and I just found that I passed. I’m sitting at my desk, and listening to Dinu Lipatti playing Mozart’s 21st piano concerto http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5HecOfJxb4 and outside the window there are flocks of butterflies. Moments like this are a gift. Thank you, God.