Teatime Tales.............the Third Tale.

Try telling your wife that the best cup of tea you ever had in your life was prepared not by her but by somebody else. Most likely, thereafter, you would end up brewing your own daily tea. But there are moments in everyone's life when one has a cup of tea, outside home, whose taste lingers on forever. I'm the fortunate one to have had such tea, not once but on three occasions and at three different places, separated by hundreds of miles. Their taste is still so fresh in my mind, in my heart. And I wish to share this with you.

Third Tea

      The prospect of a visit to the second largest glacier, the Siachen, could bring delight on a climber’s face; curiosity on a geologist’s face and excitement on an explorer’s face, but it brought a simple interest on mine for two reasons. One, I wasn’t a great enthusiast as far as the glaciers are concerned. Two, my stay there was going to be a prolonged one. Thought of living under sub-zero temperatures could send chill down the spines of the bravest soldiers. So the posting for a soldier at the Base Camp, located at the snout of the glacier wasn’t a cherished one.

       As luck could have, my stay at the Base Camp turned out to be quite short, just over four months. I was delighted at the thought of returning to Kathua, my regiment’s permanent location in the plains. Fortunately, the relieving unit had arrived in time and we were busy in handing over the stores, equipment and other responsibilities to it. Somehow, new unit’s attitude was far from being positive. At times, I was worried that if things got unduly delayed then we would be forced to stay there for the whole winter because the bridge at the Khardungla Pass, 14200 feet, the highest in the world, would break like chalk due to extreme cold.

       It was September and I had started getting hallucinations. A month was at our disposal to complete the formality and move out of that place. Only I know what all tricks I used to hand over and with great difficulty started back. When I stepped on the Khardungla Pass I felt the bridge would collapse anytime. A day later it did cave in.

      Two days later with dozens of vehicles, carrying tons of load, we halted at Dras, a small hamlet in Ladakh, the second coldest inhabited place in the world after Siberia. In the transit camp I spent a sleepless night because in the evening the news came that Zozi La (Pass) was closed due to heavy snowfall. Some optimists told us the GREF people were trying to clear the snow and hopefully the Pass could reopen by mid-day and the convoys would be allowed to cross through then. No new convoy was being permitted to enter Dras as the place was overcrowded.

       After breakfast I roamed around in the camp to get any good news but in vain. At noon I heard the movement of vehicles on the road to Zozi La. I almost wept in joy and had a quick lunch. I ordered the drivers to line up and after reporting to the military police we moved ahead. The men couldn’t control their emotions and began shouting ‘Durga Mata ki Jai, Bajrangbali ki Jai, etc. They kept shouting until they left the camp. The columns, expecting a smooth passage, pressed on. The hot water and food awaited them at the transit camp in Srinagar. Every halt stopped my breath, every move increased my delight. Hope and despair visited my heart in turns. And every heart on that road went through the similar emotion.

        At about four in the evening the convoy ahead stopped for longer than usual. I got down and moved ahead to inquire. Wherever my eyes went I saw snow and more snow. I felt as if I was in the North Pole. Minutes later the news filtered in that the Zozi La had closed down due to landslides. Though soldiers were clearing it, there was little hope that they would succeed before the nightfall.

      The thought of spending the night in sub-zero temperatures in that desolate place, surrounded by tons of cold ice all around, brought gloom on every face. My heart sank. I returned to the jeep. The men began to prepare for a long night ahead. Without food, water and proper bedding it would be tough to face an icy cold wintry night; no one had a doubt about that. For dinner we all had biscuits and then improvised beds to sleep on.

       In the front seat of the Jeep, whose doors were too weak to protect me from icy winds, I shoved my legs into a sleeping bag and pulled it over my ahead. It fell a few inches short forcing me to crouch inside it. When legs started to ache I unzipped the bag for the briefest possible time within which waiting icy winds crept in and made the bag colder. It took me hours to warm it again. After a while the aching limbs forced me to unzip the bag again. And this exercise went on. Each time the cold seeped into the bag, it sent me into the depths of despair. The temperature dropped with every passing hour. During that horrendous night many times it occurred to me that I wouldn’t survive the ordeal. And I know several soldiers would have thought the same. In that several-kilometre long convoy there wouldn’t have been a single soul who wouldn’t have remembered his God that night. It was a Diwali night and brief dreams of lights, good food and sweets added to our agony.

      The wait for dawn in my life had never been so long, I guess it would never be. Suddenly I heard someone knock at the door. Initially I thought it was wind but then heard a voice say, “Sahib, open the door.” And when I opened it I saw a hand with a steel glass before me, “Sahib, chai.”

       After the night of despair that piping hot tea in a steel glass brought me hope. Thanks came straight from the heart and a dumbest question from the mind, “Why are you offering me tea?”

       The soldier, wrapped in coat parka and balaclava, replied shivering, “Sahib, the truck in which we are traveling is parked behind you. In the morning when I saw a jeep, I thought there must be some officer in it and so I brought you tea.”

        I thanked him once again. As soon as the first hot sip trickled down my esophagus, I felt life returning into me. In the morning quiet, I relished every sip. After a while I requested my driver to return the glass.

        It was a life-giving tea whose taste is still so fresh in my mind. In the moments of despair, rare in my life, I do crave for such a tea.

 *      *    *

Two Icons Together

*   Two of Latin America’s greatest icons of the present century together. It’s a great pic indeed. This is what Marquez wrote about Castro on the latter’s 80th birthday. Their mutual admiration is no secret.

      "Fidel Castro is there to win. His attitude in the face of 

      defeat, even in the most minimal actions of everyday

      life, would seem to obey a private logic: he does 

      not even admit it, and does not have a minute's peace 

      until he succeeds in inverting the terms and converting 

      it into victory."

  

*    And what an irony? while the West admires the Nobel Laureate and the writer par excellence; it abhors the very mention of the revolutionary leader who overthrew the Cuban dictator, Batista in 1959 and became dictator himself, forcing hundreds of Cubans to go into exile.  

  

My latest painting.

*     It's quite frustrating not be able to pursue your hobby due to the  job. I  learned acrylic painting in Mar 2012 and painted about a dozen for a year, but thereafter I'd to put it aside due to the work pressures. 

*    After a break of about three years I could paint a replica of Brazilian Landscape painted by a famous artist. It's like learning all over again, struggling with brushes and paints, and color mixing. I guess it will take a while before I find the rhythm again.

Saranga..........(continued)

The story of Saranga is so fascinating that as a writer I’m intrigued by so many versions of it. Below are two more versions:-

Fifth Version

*    The swan pair reappeares, this time rewarded by Lord Shiva and Parvati for unselfish love. In the burning heat of summer a pair of swans comes to a small hollow which holds only a little water. Neither will drink before the other. Both beg each other to drink. As time goes by they become desperate with thirst. But they love each other so much that neither wants to drink before the other. This way they wait and eventually die. When Lord Shiva awakes, Parvati tells him the whole story and insists, “Maharaj, give both birds the boon of life so that their love can be restored.”

 *     Lord Shiva reasons with her a great deal, but Parvati remains stubborn. Finally the matter is decided on one condition. Lord Shiva says, “I will give these swans this boon, that in every birth they will be born in one caste and one city, and their loving relationship will always continue. Even if by fate they are not born in one city and one caste, even then the story of their love will always remain fruitful.”

Sixth Version

*    This is the most popular version. In this several significant events happen before Saranga’s marriage. There is the episode of the necklace. It occurs when the lovers meet by chance at a pool where they had gone to bathe. There a kite seizes Saranga’s necklace and leaves it in a tree. When she sees this, she starts to cry. Seeing her tears Sadavrij quickly climbs the tree, brings down the necklace, and puts it around her neck. Thereafter they go back home. After sometime Sadavrij’s father sends him and his friend away so that Saranga can be married to another man. But Sadavrij and his friend join the wedding procession. When the procession reaches the bride’s door, fireworks began to be released. In this confusion Sadavrij reined his horse in at the merchant’s door, and behind him the minister’s son did likewise. Having seen thousands of men standing around in groups, the merchant was deceived. He gives Tika to Prince Sadavrij. The bride’s father thus applies the ceremonial dot to Sadavrij’s forehead instead of the bridegroom’s. Thus Saranga is united with Sadavrij.

Turkey.............the Unique Bridge

(photo credit: contrywatch.com)

*       Since the existence of life on earth and emergence of various civilizations, Turkey has acted as the bridge between not only two continents, Asia and Europe; but also between two religions and two ways of life. If the West defines democracy and human values, most of the countries in the East are governed by authoritarian regimes.

*    No Muslim nation can claim to be a true democracy which respects human rights and provides equal opportunities to all its citizens. In recent times Muslim countries are seeing an upsurge in fundamentalism and radicalism. The rise of Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, Turkey and other nations is a case in point. Sane voices in these countries are becoming in minority. During general elections the hard line majority elects a leader who adopts a dictatorial approach. The civilised world keeps its national interest uppermost in mind and looks the other way when minorities are persecuted and secular folks are framed in false charges and put behind the bars.

*     The same radicalized population on every conceivable occasion derides the western way of living and elects its leaders amid lot of rabble rousing and chest thumping. But these very people when civil war breaks out in their countries run towards the secular, modern and humane West and not towards any Muslim country. 

*     Most Turkish leaders forget they have a historical role to play in the politics of the world. They with their leadership have to educate and motivate their citizens to be progressive and kind-hearted. Turkey has to imbibe the best of the West and pass it on to the East, and similarly pass on the best of the East to the western world. She has to permit smooth flow of new and progressive ideas through it. 

*    And this bridge at the moment doesn't seem to be strong enough to fulfill its historical role.