244. Wandering Around Kanyakumari

 (हा भाग मराठीमध्ये इथं वाचता येईल.) 

Part 2: Vivekanandapuram

Since I reached Kanyakumari in the afternoon, it didn’t make sense to rush to the "Rock" (Vivekananda Rock Memorial) right away. I could have gone, of course, but by the time I reached, there wouldn’t have been much time to linger. So I decided to spend the first day leisurely exploring Vivekanandapuram.

To my pleasant surprise, there was still hot water available for a bath even that afternoon. The next morning, however, the geyser refused to cooperate. When I went to the reception to leave my room key for repairs, I was told they didn’t keep keys. Carrying a room key while wandering all day always feels like a small burden to me — but so be it. The receptionist called the electrician, who promised to come “in five minutes.” But, as we all know, in India “five minutes” rarely means five minutes. After waiting for about fifteen, I gave up and boarded the bus heading towards the Rock.

While waiting for the bus, I met an elderly couple from Thrissur, Kerala. They told me they had been visiting Kanyakumari every year for the past several years. Over the next two days, we crossed paths a few more times — they were gentle, warm-hearted people. The lady was quiet; the gentleman, with a kind smile, would often let me move ahead in the queue or offer me coffee. My travels across the country have taught me one thing — whether in the north or south, east or west, Indian hospitality towards strangers remains genuine and alive.

Vivekanandapuram wasn’t particularly crowded. July is, after all, school and college season — not the peak of tourism. With that expectation, I went towards the Rock, only to discover how utterly wrong I was.

There were two separate queues — one for those who paid ₹100, and another for those who paid ₹300. The ticket included the ferry ride to and fro across the short stretch of sea. When I had come here in 2011, there was no such distinction. The entry fee was ₹50 then — the rise in prices is understandable, but two different lines?

At pilgrimage centers, temples, and tourist spots, it’s nothing new for the wealthy to pay extra for bypassing the queue. Yet, to encounter this sort of discrimination at memorials dedicated to Swami Vivekananda — who preached equality — and Thiruvalluvar — who spoke of the oneness of humankind — felt ironic, even disheartening. It said something about how deeply ingrained and normalized our social hypocrisy has become.

The ferry service is run by the Poompuhar Shipping Corporation, under the Tamil Nadu government. There’s also an online booking system, which I hadn’t known about earlier. Later, I found out that this dual-fee arrangement had only started recently — on 5 June 2025, to be exact. People love to save time, and many will pay extra to do so. Which means the ₹300 queue is here to stay.

Naturally, I joined the ₹100 line. If you ever wish to understand a country, stand for a while in one of its ordinary queues — they are windows into the nation’s soul. You see everything there — impatience, resourcefulness, small acts of kindness, and flashes of irritation. People were trying to move ahead even when the line didn’t; some slipped in extra family members midway. There were loud phone conversations, crying children, small quarrels, and a constant hum of noise. A miniature version of our overpopulated country, right there.

And yet, the moment the ferry started rocking on , all that external noise disappeared.  The cool breeze on my face, the rhythm of the sea — there is something mesmerizing about being out on the water. The Rock is barely 500 meters from shore, so the ferry ride was brief but refreshing.

The history and significance of the Rock Memorial are well known and well documented, so I won’t dwell on them here.

At the Rock, the crowd was immense. Every corner was filled with people posing for selfies and group photos. This, of course, has become the new normal everywhere — nothing can be seen anymore without people standing in front of it. Tourism today seems to mean: take photos, post them instantly, and move on.

I remembered the days when cameras weren’t allowed at the Rock. You could truly take in the experience then — the architecture, the silence, the sea. Once everyone began carrying mobile phones, that rule lost its relevance. Still, after visiting the main hall and the meditation chamber, I found a quiet corner. Watching the changing colors of the waves, feeling the wind’s steady force — that still remains as enchanting as ever.

Next, I crossed to the Thiruvalluvar statue. The Vivekananda Rock Memorial was inaugurated on 2 September 1970. Almost thirty years later, on 1 January 2000, the towering statue of Thiruvalluvar was unveiled beside it. The Rock entry ticket costs ₹30; there’s no separate fee for visiting the statue. Not long ago, both required separate ferry trips, but now a glass bridge connects the two — yet another attraction for tourists.

Thiruvalluvar the great Tamil poet-saint, is honored fittingly by this monument. And yet, when viewed together, the proportion feels  a bit off. The Vivekananda Mandapam rises about 55 feet, but next to it, the 133-foot Thiruvalluvar seems almost overpowering. Perhaps a slightly shorter figure would have preserved the balance — but our obsession with building “the tallest” remains unbroken. The height, they say, symbolizes the 133 chapters of Thirukkural, Thiruvalluvar’s timeless text.

Standing on the Rock, gazing at Thiruvalluvar’s statue — and then, from the statue, looking back at the Rock — was a very moving experience.

The return queue brought its own drama. A couple of people pushed their way in, sparking heated arguments. Behind me stood a group of Nepali schoolteachers who were visiting India during their holidays — they told me they had been to Maharashtra too. Ahead of me, a Telugu-speaking family from Solapur. We chatted lightly. Two hours in the queue went by almost unnoticed — the sea was company enough.

Later, I signed up for a half-day local tour organized by Ranade Tours & Travels. The fee was only ₹200.

The trip covered the Wax Museum, Tirupati Venkatachalapati Temple, Sai Baba Temple, the Brahma–Vishnu–Shiva temple at Suchindram, the Musical Fountain, and the Sunset Point. It wasn’t a particularly meaningful tour, since there was no guide to explain anything — the driver would simply stop, say, “Be back in thirty minutes,” and move on. I was reminded, once again, why I avoid such tours. Still, it gave me a basic overview of the area.

Some of the wax figures were beautifully crafted — I especially liked the one of M.S. Subbulakshmi. 

There was also an engaging section of “3D paintings” on the floor — if you stood in the right spot, it looked like a tiger was behind you, or an elephant was splashing you with water. A fun and clever display. The lady attendant mentioned that 3D painting is a traditional art form of Kerala.

The Tirupati Venkatachalapati Temple was grand and majestic, its architecture commanding. From its elevated platform, the view of the sea was breathtaking — I could have sat there for hours.

At the Sai Baba Temple, there was a long line. I noticed that most of the religious structures in this area stand on raised platforms. This temple too was clean and well-maintained. But, like many modern temples, it felt too shiny, too corporate — more like an office building than a spiritual space. Outside, a food court displayed menus in four languages, which felt inclusive and welcoming. 

It reminded me how easily cultural pride dissolves when economic interest takes precedence.

The Suchindram temple — also called Shuchindram — is truly magnificent. I had visited it earlier, so I remembered a bit. Without a guide, it’s hard to grasp its mythology. The temple’s name, Sthanumalayan, combines Sthanu (Shiva), Mala (Vishnu), and Ayan (Brahma).

According to the Brahmavaivarta Purana and Padma Purana, Indra once deceived Sage Gautama by taking his form and approaching his wife Ahalya. Cursed by the sage, Indra sought redemption here by worshipping the Trimurti. After regaining purity, he built this temple — hence the name Shuchindram, the place where Indra was purified.

Inside are the famous musical pillars that resonate with notes when struck — sa, re, ga, ma… Photography is not allowed inside the temple, but even from outside, the temple’s grandeur is evident. Its large sacred tank too was clean.

I have seen the sunrise at Kanyakumari many times, but this was my first opportunity  to view sunset from another beach. The beach was crowded, noisy, full of people shopping, snacking, and trying to capture the perfect view. The massive boulders and the enormous statue of Mary there took me by surprise. I told myself I must come back again, quietly, just to sit and watch.

All in all, the tour felt rather superficial. I realized that next time, I should plan better — and perhaps explore with a local guide. There is still so much left unseen.

Moving through these places, I felt anew that Kanyakumari is not just a pilgrimage site, nor just a place of nostalgic memories. It is a collage — of sculptures and wax figures, temples and seashores, meditation and music fountains. After the calm of Vivekanandapuram, the town revealed its vibrant, many-colored self.

Each visit, this old town shows me something new.

That is why I keep returning — not to see the same places again, nor to meet the same people, but to rediscover different versions of myself.

So even though I tell myself, “this is the last visit to Kanyakumari,” I know, deep down, that I might return once more.

The next and final part — soon.

243 Vivekanandapuram

 (Part 1: To Kanyakumari) 

(ही पोस्ट मराठीत इथं वाचता  येईल.) 

Kanyakumari railway station is, in its own way, a charming little station.

Yet this time, when I arrived, my first glimpse of it felt oddly depressing. Dust lay everywhere. Only when I stepped outside did I realize that repair work was going on. It struck me how easily our expect joy from smallest things, and how quickly they could get dashed. I didn’t even bother to take a photograph of the station. A day later, while walking towards the Gandhi Mandapam, I didn’t cast a glance in its direction.

The photo I share here is an old one—clicked back in 2011. 

Outside, rickshaws stood waiting in line. The distance from the station to Vivekanandapuram is barely a kilometre and a half—walkable if you’re travelling light. With luggage, though, there’s no alternative. The driver quoted a hundred rupees, a standard rate by the look of it, usually shared by a few passengers. Without argument, I hopped in, and soon enough, I was at Vivekanandapuram.

Inside Vivekanandapuram

Spread across nearly a hundred acres, Vivekanandapuram is the headquarters of the Vivekananda Rock Memorial and the Vivekananda Kendra. The campus houses a training center  and residential facilities for their workers. There are provisions for nearly a thousand visitors to stay at a time. There is a canteen, a library, a picture exhibition on Swami Vivekananda, a Ganapati temple, a freedom fighters’ memorial, a Ramayana exhibition, and even an environment awareness center. Within the grounds lie the memorial of Late Shri. Eknath Ranade—the Kendra’s founder—with an exhibition on his life. There is also a meditation hall, a school, groves of trees, peacocks roaming freely, and the private beach from where the sunrise is visible.

In the late afternoon, I made my way to the “Vivekananda Picture Exhibition.” It has long been one of my favorite spots. When I first visited in 1983, it was neat, inspiring, and offered me a new perspective. Today, it retains that timeless quality. At the entrance stands a striking full-length portrait of Swami Vivekananda.

The exhibition, which originally displayed around seventy illustrated panels, has now expanded to include panels detailing the Kendra’s work. I did not know the name of the artist, nor could I find it on the internet. I asked about it to a senior Vivekanada Kendra worker. She told me the name of the artist.  The paintings, created by Raghunath Goswami of Kolkata, are vibrant and evocative. My personal favorite remains the depiction of Nachiketa, a story dear to me.

Captions are provided in English, Tamil, and Hindi, covering Indian history, the journey of young Narendranath Dutta into Swami Vivekananda, and his impact on India and the world. For anyone visiting, I would recommend setting aside ample time rather than skimming through it in half an hour, as most tourists do. I wonder whether the younger generation (used to Instagram and twitter) would read these posters. 

A Disappointing View

Later, I went to the campus beach. The shoreline is protected by a wall; only during sunrise do they open a small gate for an hour, when a guard is on duty. From here, the Rock Memorial should appear majestic.

But to my disappointment, land reclamation work was underway. One reclaimed patch now lay directly between the Rock and the beach, blocking the view.

A morning view

An evening view

An Unexpected Encounter

That evening, apart from the guard, there was just one other person on the beach—a young man. After I answered a phone call, I heard him address me: “Didi, are you from Maharashtra?”

He was from Mewar, Rajasthan, on foot for the Char Dham and twelve Jyotirlinga pilgrimage. For a month, he had been staying at Vivekanandapuram.

At first, we exchanged pleasantries. But soon his words drifted—as such conversations often do—towards politics and religion. He spoke of “attacks” on non-Marathis in Maharashtra, the aggression of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), the mistakes of Uddhav Thackeray in joining hands with Congress party etc. I listened quietly, realizing quickly that he had no interest in dialogue—only in speaking. He was too predictable and hence it was boring to even listen to him. A typical aggression under the name of history, culture, tradition, patriotism etc. 

When he began lamenting that nowadays /in this area girls while visiting temples are “half-dressed" (meaning - wear indecent clothes), my patience was over. “Brother,” I said firmly, “let girls wear what they want. Who are you to decide? And why are you staring at them in temples instead of focusing on God? Don’t be such a  hypocrite in the name of God. Change your ways, man!”

He looked embarrassed, then shifted to criticizing Non Resident Indians (NRIs). They, he said, abandon parents at home while enjoying life abroad. I reminded him gently: “Aren’t you too away from your parents for months on pilgrimage? How different is that?”

He faltered again, then made me laugh outright: “Didi, I promise I will remain unmarried and serve my parents all my life.”

I couldn’t help smiling at the irony. I had travelled thousands of miles seeking solitude, and here, on an almost empty beach, the only tourist I met was him. The world, I thought, is always the same—people good and bad, kind and selfish, naïve and wise. Some use lofty spiritual language; others don’t. That is the only difference.

Suddenly rain swept in. I had no umbrella. He ran. I lingered—soaked, listening to the waves, chatting briefly with the guard, and then walking back slowly, content.

Old Places, New Reflections

Over the next few days, I wandered across the campus. At one place, I was the only visitor at that time. The person in charge was listening to radio. I spend about forty minutes there and that person completely ignored me. I thought you can't train people into passion, it has to come from within. 

At the Ramayana exhibition, with 108 paintings by Bhaskar Das of Chennai, I found the art monotonous, though respectful of the artist’s effort. As I very well know the Ramayana story, I did not spend much time in reading all the text on the panels. On the second floor there are  more images and statues. Next to it is a digital exhibition on “Sustainable Living,” However, I could not understand anything. Only later when another senior karyakarta took me through that exhibition, it became clear to me. This exhibition  building is beautiful. 

What I liked most about this building is it is powered by solar energy and it also harvests rainwater. I guess this building could be a good confluence of religious education and application of science and technology - both aim to improve human life, isn't it! 

I also met a few old acquaintances, exchanged names and memories, and spent quiet mornings by the samadhi of Eknathjee  Ranade.

One morning at sunrise, I sat long after the crowd dispersed. 

The waves roared, The gentle breeze touched time and again. I could see the rock memorial at a distance. No humans around. Birds chirping. An Indian Roller  danced in the air for a long while. Two peacocks strolled by and made their calls.  It felt like as if everything was foe me, I belonged there. Such a blessing.

Traces of the Past

Back then, we had lively debates about what is the relationship of  Vivekananda Kendra with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS). We had even some innocent colleagues who asked, "What is this RSS you are talking about?" I had some basic knowledge because during a process of forming an organization, we had an introduction to different existing ideaologies in India. It was pretty basic. (Only the other day I met a friend and we laughed at our innocence - of not knowing much about RSS). Today, there is no such debate required—the signs of the Kendra-RSS relationship are everywhere, plain to see.

For me, though, this visit was not about politics or institutions. It was about returning, looking at the memories. The memories were not only about outside, they were about me too. I can see that those strong bonds exist no more. Acknowledging  what has vanished was not difficult. That is the law of life. As we move on, old things disappear. However what remains, is still valuable to me. Though I know that it too will vanish as life goes on. 

The journey to Kanyakumari mattered. But leaving Kanyakumari mattered too. Both were turning points for me. The journey, after all, continues—always.

226. Countdown

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 55; the fifty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Rashmi Kumar, the author of Hooked, Lined and Single and Jyoti Arora, the author of Lemon Girl.

10.

Sometimes I don’t understand my anxiety. I know you are not accountable to us and you always keep the date. However, I still check weather predictions. The news of your arrival helps me to survive the heat.

9.

It is unfair to say that summer is always horrible. The kids have vacations; ample mangoes and rounds of ice-creams. Meeting friends and traveling. However in the corner of my heart, I know I am waiting for you. I know some people around me do not bother about you. They think everything could be purchased by money power. They are wrong. I argue with them. Such arguments make me feel vacant within. I wish you come a bit earlier this year so that I can forget and forgive these people.

8.

In the world I live, there are multiple worlds. Women walk miles for a pot of water; farmers will be forced to either end their life or migrate. Animals are thirsty. The trees are dirty. The sky seems distant. The Sun blazes and we wait for you.

7.

The evening brings cool breeze. On the western horizon I see black clouds. Will you come today? Oh, No!  Within few moments the clouds move. May be not here but somewhere it is raining.

6.

I am away from home for a week. It was work, so I could not avoid it. And then I see you meeting my home town – on the television, in the newspapers, on FB, on social media. Everywhere. Well, what wrong have I done so that you avoid me?

5.

I am frustrated with the heat, with the work, with the world. I feel lonely. I feel like crying. I just want to go away. Problem is: I cannot go away from myself. I know I would be happy again when you come. When are you coming?

4.

They say that you have arrived in Kerala. Good to know. This means another seven days. Life ise worth of all this waiting.

3.

Where is the umbrella? Do I need to purchase raincoat? What about Floaters?

That is the problem of being a human. On one side, I wait for you like I have never longed before. On the other side I am thinking of all the things to protect me from you. Is it not ridiculous? Yes, it is. I can see you smiling on my contradictions.

2.

I feel you around. I smell you. I look at the elephant like clouds, big, black. But they keep on disappearing. Why?

1.

Will you come tomorrow or today? Will you come in the morning or in the evening?

0.

Finally you come.

You make this world beautiful. You change lives. You make lives. You bring smiles. You bring value to everything around. You bring smiles.

Thanks for coming!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 48. Image Credits: Monsoon by Yann (Wikimedia Commons). Shared with GNU Free Documentation License CC Attribution-Share Alike.

212. People and their Hero

We, the People need heroes. The word hero includes heroines – role model, idol.  

Whatever we might do when real life situation demands, ideally we like to worship a hero. That gives us weird satisfaction of being secure, of being worthy followers.

The more heroes:  the better.

In case there are more heroes, we easily establish hierarchy amongst the existing heroes – to each one his/her own is our principle. We fight on points like ‘whose hero is better’?

Mind you: “mine is always the best”

We can present arguments in favor of our hero and go to any length to criticize the non-hero.

We the People can make heroes and We the People are capable of dumping heroes. We the People are powerful than Government, Bureaucracy, Judiciary and Media imagines; or would like to imagine.

If there are no real life heroes, we take on cricketers, film stars, political leader, whosoever is available; even we choose our boss - we manage our hero worship hunger by compromising with our values.

We like heroes who are simple. We like heroes who are poor. We like heroes who are naïve. We like heroes who do not have power. We like heroes who give us a chance to shout slogans, to be on the roads with candles, to clap, to laugh, to cry, to do some kind of activity which we had hardly done in personal life. We like heroes who awaken sense of being part of ‘history making epoch’ in our life – because otherwise there is nothing exciting in our life.

We don’t like our hero to be criticized. We forget that others too have right to express, howsoever different that opinion might be. But we tend to call them traitors, we doubt their intentions, we say that they are trying to break our unity.

It is always interesting to throw stones on others. After all we have chosen them as our representatives, so we have every right to thrown stones and de-throne them. Don’t ask us why we were not aware of their weaknesses; we are emotional people and we believe a charismatic leader with the hope that s/he would make everything easy for us.

We like to be part of a process which changes others, which threatens others. There is no other joy than watching a powerful person wilt against higher power.

Now don’t ask questions like - what about my responsibility? What about changes in my life? What if tomorrow my hero invites everyone to take an oath?

For example, if my hero asks me to:

1.   Never bribe a traffic cop when my two /four wheeler is picked up from a non-parking area.

2.   Pay full taxes without hiding any income.

3.   Not to pay anyone extra amount to get train ticket, movie ticket, passport, job, and berth in train journey etc.

4.   Neither ask for nor give dowry.

5.  Not pay donation for my child’s education, if that means my child would study in poor municipal corporation school, so it be then.

6.   Not join any tuition or coaching classes - because this is another way of spoiling education system.

7.   Not approach any politician to help me from punishment for breaking laws.

8.  Not accept money for voting a particular candidate or not voting in any elections – even my residential society elections.

9.   Not use office telephone for my personal calls/ I will not use office computer for personal work like searching new job or playing games.

10.  …………………

11.  ……………………….

I am sure, the moment our hero starts putting such demands; we will turn and find another hero.

There is no dearth of heroes around.

"We the People" are Powerful!

211. Churning of the City

He is a writer. He is also a painter. His name is Bharat.

He had come out of his house after many days and to him the city seems to have changed. What is happening around?

Now it is against the laws to laugh within the city precincts.

There are boyish looking girls who tell him, “whoever is helped to rise, gets into the habit of falling down again and again and every time he falls, he looks for help and starts depending on help”. There is a boy made up to look like a girl because he thinks that is what will give him job. Actually there is not much difference in women and men now. The shops are glazing. The roads have now priority to vehicles and not human beings. You don’t have to know music for being known as musician; if you can hold elephant tusk and act like you are singing – you are a musician. Thousands of such changed rules around in which the city which he knew seems to have been destroyed. Once upon a time, there was churning of the ocean and it had thrown up poison. What will the churning of city bring out?

What is happening to Bharat’s city? What changes are taking place? How these changes are affecting the people within the city? Why can’t he speak or cry about it? Why is he compelled to keep quiet?

In the first couple of pages the novel absorbs you. It reminds me of “1984” and also a bit of “Animal Farm” – both by George Orwell. I keep on thinking about the similarity; but only for moments.

The novel is bit unconventional as it does not have long line of characters and there are no traditional descriptions.  There are events after events and the author questioning the happenings around. It represents a kind of “us” and “our environment”. It reminds us about that important feeling that we hide deep within after every experience of riot, bomb-blast and so on. It reminds us of every moment of vulnerability. There is something within us which we are not comfortable to live with – that is brought on the surface.

The city is like our city – disparity between poor and rich! Masks are here for sell and those masks are destroying the variety in human beings. Everybody seems unknown and similar. The masks not only cover faces, they control the thought processes of humans - and that is the main purpose of producers of masks. Once you cover yourself by a mask, the Reality and the Illusion merge together, you feel like owner, you feel responsible for maintaining status quo.

Bharat has some questions. His neighbor (a man without name), who is constantly keeping company, who makes Bharat realize the reality of the changed city  and who is taking care of Bharat, takes the responsibility of the survey.

These questions are: How near are you to yourself? How far away are you from yourself? How close are you to your family? How far away are you from your family? How near are you to the road- and how far away? How near are you to the tree, to the road, to the walls, to the bricks … and how far away are you from the tree, the road, the wall and the bricks?

The neighbor has different experiences during the survey. One woman tells him, “I am too far away from myself.  I am never able to join myself to myself. You can take it that I consist of two parts. One part is sick and tired of this world… the other is chockfull with desires and passion….. I am close to no one; no one is close to me. …. How can a person who is already split into two parts own anybody or belong to anybody?”

At other times I would have remembered Sartre or Camus while reading this (I remember them now while writing this), but while reading it I felt a sharp knife stabbed in my heart. The agonizing pain was momentary but Real. The beauty of the novel is: it creates such moments of pain of self-reflection; it makes you think about your life. The novel is not unrealistic – it creates an awareness that you are not aware of what is happening around you, you have look for and learn to accept the Reality. The novel churns you as well.

It does not matter that the novel has only 63 pages.

The novel was originally written in Dogri. The language is spoken in Jammu area (and nearby areas in Pakistan). You don’t feel like asking the logical questions like whether these areas are urbanized so much.

It does not surprise you that the novel is 1979 Sahitya Akademi award winner novel.

“Nagn Rukh” – Mr. O P Sharma “Sarathi”

English translation by Mr. Shivanath – “Churning of the City”

Publisher: Sahitya Akademi, Delhi

Price? The 1991 edition I have is priced Rs. 10/- only!

**

191. Twinning

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 37; the thirty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "and then there were none"

The twins come from that indescribable core,

Beyond darkness and light.

One  moves amongst people;

Covers itself with different passions;

It wears colors, masks, sips the emotions;

Takes positions, assumes thoughts;

It presents itself in an exciting manner;

People are more comfortable with It.

The other observes relentlessly.

It does all that the first one does.

It flows and maintains its identity.

It is naked.  It stares calmly.

So it never attracts human beings.

 It frightens.

One always feels strange to face it.

For ages they say: truth is stranger than fiction.

Indeed it is.

The Twinning seems ridiculously insane.

****

(This is a Drabble.)

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: XX

181. Categories

When I am getting out of Delhi Metro Station(s), I am interested in observing people's choice(s).

There are three choices - to take a lift, an escalator or staircase. Obviously, this is before or after Metro travel!

It is understood that those people who are either ill, very old or having luggage should use the lift. 

Rest of the commuters have two options - staircase and escalator. Most of the Metro Stations do not have the facility of escalators for climbing down - they are only for climbing up. So, I am mainly discussing the tendencies exhibited during Upward Mobility! 

Every time I see some people rushing to lift. Even for climbing down they want to use the lift. They are not always old or ill or do not carry luggage. However, they are obsessed with 'saving time' and always want to take the fastest route. I put these people in category one. Sometimes I wonder whether these people know only one way of living, I doubt whether they are flexible and I wonder how they would respond to life without electricity. 

There are some people who would always take staircase. " Use Stairs to Stay Fit" declares Delhi Metro. Some people do take this opportunity to exercise a bit and stay fit. They are least affected physically as well as psychologically, when the escalator is not working. They are determined and they carry on with their mission without bothering about the external situation. I am not sure how many staircases they climb up every day. These are category two people for me. They are health conscious and certainly they can adjust to the situation in a much better way than the category one people. But in a way, they are like category one people! They also have a fixed way of thinking - only staircase!! 

The third category of people always try to use escalators. They are kind of people who use technology (or luxury) when available. But if the escalator is not working, they would calmly climb up the staircase. They would say : alright, once in a while it is good.  These people have choices and initially they try to make easy choices. However, if easy choice is not available, they do not mind the hard way. They could be easily mixed into category one and category two - it is hard to identify at a glance.

Fourth category is more spontaneous. Depending on their mood or situation, they decide what to choose. Sometimes they would just run on the staircase and some other time they would lazily wait for the lift. They don't have any fixed route - they enjoy the variety and for them the variety comes from within.  I am a regular Metro traveler for two years and know some of the faces who sometimes take escalator and sometimes staircase. I like their unpredictable ways of choosing options. Wherever they go, I am sure these people would always create fun for themselves - by being flexible.

And I know there are many more categories.

One category who observes, thinks, shares.
Another category who never bothers.
Another one who does not like being categorized like this.

We belong to either of these categories - maybe we are in different categories for different things in life. But certainly our behaviors create pattern giving glimpses into inner mind.
Of course, sometimes we could be fooled , we could be completely wrong.
However, the process of categorization keeps on happening.
With knowledge or without knowledge.

How much of it is conditioning and how much of it is choice?
I do not know. 

179. Strangers in the Night

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 31; the thirty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'Strangers in the Night'

I was being followed.

Constantly; continuously; without break; always.

I could sense IT.

Now that was bit funny.

I could not see who was following me, could not hear, could not touch, could not smell… still I could sense IT. The nameless, formless entity – It was difficult to elaborate IT to anybody. So, I chose never to talk to anybody about IT.

Who was IT? 

A Ghost? A God? One of my Ancestors?  My Conscience? My Instinct? And was it natural fear- born out of that instinct?

I did not know.

A stranger, I guess.

I named our pair, our co-existence as ‘Strangers in the Night’ only because I could never see who IT was. IT always remained a stranger to me. But the description of our relationship was not right. IT knew everything about me and I did not know anything about IT. Would IT name me as Stranger? No, I think not.

When did this start? I mean when did IT start following me? As far as I could remember, IT had always been there. I could never feel the absence of IT! IT had become inseparable part of me.

However, I was not frightened, – I mean not after certain time; in fact never except for the initial days. I got used to ITs’ presence. I accepted IT as part of my existence. Whatever I was doing – good, bad or ugly – IT never commented, never advised, never got angry, never irritated, never had a word with me.  When I did something good, I felt IT to be nearer and when I did behave badly, IT moved away from me a little further. This went on for years. I did not know what was achieved in the process - whether the stranger came nearer to me or moved away from me – I could not tell. IT was always at a handful distance and still away from my shadow. I could hardly affect it, leave controlling IT.I could never catch IT, could never understand IT.! I just kept on feeling IT. And sometimes I told myself that IT was just a hallucination – that was all.

When I was on the deathbed, I remembered the lines from MuNDaka Upanishad.

द्वा सुपर्णा सयुजा सखाया समानं वृक्षं परिषस्वजाते

तयोरन्य: पिप्पलं स्वाद्वत्त्यनश्वनन्यो अभिचाकशीति 

(तृतीय मुंडके प्रथम खंड – १)

(Two birds, united always and known by the same name, closely cling to the same tree. One of them eats the sweet fruit; the other looks on without eating.)

Then everything became clear to me.

We were strangers only because I was ignorant. We were inseparable because we were never two, we were always ONE.

When the realization dawns upon, there is no ignorance, there is no night and there are no strangers.

Everything is ONE.

Strange indeed, that I spent my whole life without understanding this simple truth.

Wish that for you there are no more Nights.

And no more Strangers in the Nights.

(Note: After reading the first four comments, I thought it better to add these two links. Those who want to know more are requested to go through those;
1. Upanishads
2. MunDaka Upanishad)

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: XX

178. Innocent

" Wai Wai? or Momo? What would you prefer, Madam? " my colleague asked me.

Momo, I know. I like Momo. After coming to Delhi I have been consuming them regularly. However at that moment  I did not want Momo only because yesterday afternoon and yesterday evening I had already tested Momo in this part of the county. So, I asked what is Wai Wai? And realized that they are kind of noodles.

I was in the village Sikkp in Namchi area of (South Sikkim district) in Sikkim. My local colleagues were with me. In the morning I had climbed up and down the hills in village Wok and had used lot more calories, so I was hungry. But here there were only two options - Wai Wai and Momo.

I decided to have Wai Wai and it was filling. But my colleagues were still hungry and were planning to order Momo and Soup. Instead of waiting for them to finish their food, I decided to use this time to walk around and take some pictures. Because of my presence my colleagues were not able to freely converse in Nepali so they gladly accepted my plan.

I came outside and noticed the beautiful river flowing to my left. While going to Wok village I had asked about the river and was told that the name of the river is Rangeet (which literally means colorful or colored). This is a tributary of Teesta river - the lifeline of Sikkim. About Teesta river, there is a lot to tell - but not today. I was planning to climb down to the river and enter into the water - just stand in the water for few minutes. But then I realized that the water was too deep and was moving very fast. I also realized that there was no path to climb down and that during the last three days I have not seen anybody near the waters. The river is flowing with flurry - so better to keep away from her!

To my left there was a bridge. In Sikkim one comes across these bridges very often. I can imagine that when these bridges were not built, how the villages would remain cut off from the rest of the world for days. These bridges appear to be old and one wonders whether they are strong enough! But these bridges are very strong. They play a major role in connecting villages and in turn connecting people with each other. They carry the burden of the vehicles and make living of people a little less hazardous during monsoon and winter. 

.

I was adjusting my  camera when I saw both of them chatting together. They were standing in the middle of the bridge in a relaxed manner. Initially they were little worried about the camera in my hands. However, I believe that was the reason they wanted to interact with me. They started staring at me. I leisurely walked towards them. That increased their curiosity. I could understand that both of them were in two minds - whether to smile at me or not. I took the initiative and smiled.

"Can I take your photograph?" I asked in Hindi. One of them smiled signaling me his permission and was immediately ready to pose. The other was bit hesitant though. "Can't you speak Nepali?" he asked me expressing his distrust. I said, "No, I can't." He started thinking on my response. But the first one did not want to lose the opportunity to get photographed. He just made his friend quiet.

I took a photograph and showed it to them. Both of them were delighted.
"Are you alone?" one of them asked.
"No, I am not alone. My colleagues taking lunch, I finished with it and so came outside to take some pictures," I explained. 

"Why are you taking food in the hotel? Is your home here?" the first one asked again.
"No, my home is not here," I answered.
"Then where is it?" another question.
"It is in Delhi," I inform.
"Oh! That is the reason you cannot speak Nepali", the first boy who was still doubting me seemed to be little convinced. 

"Where have you come? To whom did you meet?" he asked.
I indicated the office where I had been.
"Ok, I know that office. You met the officer there?," another question.
"Yes," I answered without explaining more.
"Where will you go now?" one more question.
"Namachi", I answered again.
"Which car is yours? The Jeep or the White one behind?" he asked. I was impressed with his observation power. I answered that too.

Then I decided to ask few questions to them. Though the children looked very young, they were studying in fifth class. We had an interesting conversation about their school, Nepali language, mid day meal in the school, their teachers, hostel and the students in the hostel ...

"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Watching the water level" both of them answered together. 

Then there was another round of conversation- this time about the river. The name of the river is Rangeet, there is a dam on the other side, the water level increases during day and reduces in the night because it rains more in the night. They can swim but nobody swims in the river during rainy season.

I asked about fish. One of them explained, "There are no fish now. Like flowers they too are seasonal. This is not the season for fish..." he was patiently trying to explain. 

Suddenly they shouted at me, "Run fast. Your car is leaving. It will go without you..." They were able to see the car though I was not. I knew that the car won't leave me but I was touched by the concern the kids expressed about me.

"The car will pick me up. It will pass this bridge, won't it?" I tried to assure the boys.
"Namachi is not in this direction. It is on the other road...." the kids almost pushed me towards the car.

In the cities we are taught to act with purpose, taught 'not to befriend strangers'; taught to guard our privacy; in short we are taught to distrust people around us. Of course I agree that the changing situation has provided  a solid context to such behavior and attitude. 

However these kids talked to me for half an hour, they showed trust in me, they had a concern for me, they understood my limitations - I am touched by their action, 

Whenever I will remember the roaring waters of Rangeet, the green Himalayan range I will also remember this innocent conversation with these two young boys. 

**