Mountain Mania

Himachal Pradesh always enchants me, so I didn’t think twice when I got the opportunity to visit a village near Kareri in Himachal Pradesh.Himachal Pradesh is lovely with its majestic mountains and lush greenery. I feel it is my second home, which calls to me wherever I am. I felt a kind of connection the very first day I set foot there. That feeling—a mix of joy, excitement, and mystery—is stirred by the foggy mountains, the unpredictable weather, and the lovely people, creating a perfect potpourri that draws one irresistibly to Himachal. It is a long walk through the mountains from the last bus stop to reach the place—remote but green. It is enveloped by thick, forested mountains, as if to guard the tiny village. I was literally exhausted after a one-hour mountain walk, while my co-walkers—mainly mountain boys—seemed as fresh as ever! I am familiar with the mountains around Dharamshala, but this area was far more remote and isolated from modern amenities. There was a wedding going on, and all the villagers had gathered at the bride’s place. I was warmly welcomed into my friend’s home, and they did everything possible to make me feel comfortable. It was a delight to see the row of traditional Himachali houses made of mud and wood. I barely felt cold inside the house, though it was cold outside. It is a typical village where mornings begin with men preparing for their daily chores—rearing cows and ploughing fields—while women cook roti (chapati) and aloo (potato) in the traditional oven. They display a great deal of hospitality and are as curious as many Indians; you will be welcomed into every home with sweet chai (tea). They live with limited resources; even a TV is a luxury for them. I was deeply moved by the innocence and love of those simple inhabitants, especially the lovely but shy girls. I think I have fallen in love with Himachal Pradesh—its mountains, apple trees, snow, and lovely inhabitants.

There were countless moments when the quiet, fierce kindness of the Himachalis wrapped around me like a warm blanket in the biting cold. One such moment came in late December in Dharamshala, when the sky unleashed a relentless snowfall. I was utterly unprepared. Power had vanished for over a week under the weight of the snow, and my electric stove was useless.I was left with no food, no heat, no hot water. Then came my neighbor, whose home I’d occasionally visit for evening chats over chai. Without a word of complaint, they began bringing me roti- subji and Rajma- chawl, enough to fill both my stomach and my heart. Every morning, they’d trudge through the snow with a bucket of hot water, just so I could have a warm shower. Their quiet generosity wasn’t announced—it was simply given, like the mountains give snow. In those frozen, silent nights, their kindness became my lifeline, a gentle reminder that even in the harshest winter, human warmth can melt the coldest fear. As Gandhiji said, “India lives in her villages.” Indian villages change very slowly; modernity is too shy to embrace them, and tradition and social norms still dictate the lives of villagers. And this is perhaps the real face of India among her many other faces

In the midst of Concrete jungle

I was thinking of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels while walking through the streets of Hong Kong. Among its giant skyscrapers, I felt like a tiny, insect-sized Lilliputian who had jumped into Gulliver’s pockets—or rather, like the minuscule being trapped among the giant humans of Brobdingnag, for whom Gulliver’s microscopic size was a source of curiosity. I had hardly ever seen such a huge flock of skyscrapers in my life; literally, those buildings seemed to aim for the sky to kiss her. Hong Kong is probably synonymous with a concrete jungle. One can see modernity in every nook and corner of the city; it well deserves the name “international city of Asia” in every respect. Infrastructure-wise, the city is on par with any developed nation; besides, it has a very effective public transport system. But like many Asian cities, Hong Kong too is trapped in today’s mall culture; sadly, mushrooming malls are seen as symbols of modernity, though they are merely webs of consumerism. So it has all the trappings of a modern city: mad sales in shops that drive people desperately to consume, fake or original brands, crowds flocking to shops in the mad rush of consumerism—indeed, it is a shopper’s paradise. Even Christmas is commercialized in a way that has painfully departed from its spiritual aspects. I was surprised to see a band of singers at the airport when I landed on 25 December. It seemed you could hardly escape the song “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells” wherever you went. Everything seems organized and orderly; even people walk on the streets in a certain manner, as if instructed to do so. I don’t know whether wealth and hospitality have any connection, but I found the people less friendly. They looked pretty reserved and stressed, as if prosperity had stolen away their smiles. But it was always nice to stroll through the city that had woken from the slumber of its colonial hangover. I roamed around different parts of the city, as it is well connected by metro and sky train. If you are a vegetarian, you have to control your taste buds to adapt to the meagre choices of food. But to my relief, I could find a few vegetarian restaurants, including Indian ones. The food I really enjoyed was a pasta from an organic restaurant called “Life.” The restaurant welcomes you with Gandhiji’s quote: “Be the change you want to see in the world.” The quiet walk through the forest in the interior part of the city was refreshingly inspiring—it was a jungle away from the concrete jungle. While journeying through the solitary, foggy path surrounded by trees, I regretted not being able to write like William Wordsworth. But I just repeated his verse to my heart’s delight: “To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.” Though I wanted to see a village in Hong Kong, the one I saw hardly resembled a village but looked like a little city. The renowned Ten Thousand Buddhas Monastery was quite disappointing with its plastic Buddha statues. It looked like a Disneyland of Buddha, arranged for tourism; it lacked both aestheticism and spiritual depth. But the giant Buddha statue at Po Lin Monastery was magnificent with its huge presence. This 26.4 m high statue is the world’s largest seated outdoor bronze Buddha. The islands around Hong Kong were quite interesting with their tropical forests and tranquil settings. I particularly enjoyed Lamma Island with its clean beaches and lush green landscape. Though considered part of China, Hong Kong enjoys much freedom, but not without restrictions. An old Malayalam film song goes like this: “Hey Hong Kong streets, you have opened the doors of heaven for us.” But I just wonder: do the doors of heaven and the doors of prosperity look the same?

Remembering Mahatma

Each time I read Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography, it sparks new reflections on his extraordinary life. He remains one of the most discussed figures in the modern world, and his philosophy of non-violence and service grows more relevant today than ever. I must admit that we Indians often know little about him and are ungrateful to this great son of our nation. Many pass judgments on him without reading his autobiography or understanding his life. There’s a tendency to belittle his achievements, and I can only sympathize with those unable to grasp the depth of a spiritually and morally elevated soul like the Mahatma. Gandhi’s Christ-like saintliness and purity of heart are widely admired. Yet, his autobiography reveals a strong-willed, curious man, deeply engaged with the world beyond his immediate sphere. His love for travel and his outreach are evident in his efforts to learn Tamil, Urdu, and other languages to connect with Indians in South Africa. His selfless nature won over even his adversaries, earning him countless friends. Though a practicing Hindu, his faith transcended rituals; he believed, “God can be realized only through service.” Gandhi acknowledged the influence of Christianity on his life, reading the Bhagavad Gita at the urging of Theosophist friends in England. His keen interest in studying religions, engaging in debates, and sincere tolerance toward all faiths defined his spiritual journey. God was the guiding force behind Gandhi’s actions and beliefs, marking him as a profoundly blessed soul. While deeply Indian at heart, he drew inspiration from global thinkers like John Ruskin, Leo Tolstoy, and Henry David Thoreau, transcending narrow nationalism. His commitment to sanitation and service led him to nurse those afflicted by contagious diseases, yet remarkably, he never contracted them. As a mass leader, Gandhi’s charisma inspired people to undertake even the most demanding tasks without him needing to ask. Steadfast in his ideals, he was nearly impossible to sway unless he chose to be. Gandhi’s autobiography is a must-read for all humanity. While it may not make us Mahatmas, it can undoubtedly make us better human beings. During a time when the world was at war, he wrote, “Soul-force is matchless,It is superior to the force of arms. Men who use physical force are strangers to the courage requisite in a passive resistence" (Satyagrahi). Through his life, he proved that ahimsa (non-violence) is the prerogative of the courageous, achieving greatness not through power or status, but by renouncing them. Gandhi’s teachings are more relevant than ever in a world consumed by mindless materialism and rampant consumerism, where wars are waged to assert dominance over the weak and to seize land and resources. Sadly, even in his homeland, Gandhi is often forgotten, reduced to a token figure as the Father of the Nation.

“Thum Allah ka Bachha Hain”

My first visit to Kashmir years back transformed my perception of the region. Upon landing at Srinagar airport, I was struck by its fortress-like atmosphere, surrounded by uniformed soldiers. The absence of civilians was stark, and I searched in vain for the person meant to receive me amidst the intense gazes of the army personnel. A phone call to my host yielded only his voice saying, “I’m here, come out.” I soon realized that, unlike other airports, visitors are not allowed near the premises. This gave me the initial impression that Kashmiris live under constant fear. However, as I left the airport with my host, my apprehension gave way to awe. The road to Srinagar was lined with lush greenery and misty mountains, a sight more verdant than any Indian city I’d visited. Towering chinar trees stood proudly, embodying Kashmiri heritage. Contrary to my expectations, life seemed to flow normally—people went about their daily routines, unbothered. The warmth of Kashmir’s people won my heart. Their hospitality made me feel at home, rivaled only by the kindness I’d experienced among Tibetans in Dharamsala. They served Kashmiri kahwa—a fragrant blend of cinnamon, saffron, cardamom, and green tea leaves—with the affection reserved for a dear friend. Everywhere I went, I saw hope in people’s eyes. Like anyone else, Kashmiris strive to make a living, nurturing ordinary dreams. Yet, many expressed frustration with the media’s portrayal of their land. “They never write anything good about Kashmir, only the bad,” a local businessman told me. It made me wonder if we, as a society, are too fixated on negativity. One of my most cherished memories is watching Dal Lake from a houseboat at dawn. As the mild sun rays kissed the foggy mountains, a cool breeze carried fresh air, and I longed to linger in that moment with a hot cup of kahwa. The sight of boats gliding across the lake, carrying everything from vegetables to handicrafts, was enchanting. Dal Lake felt like a bustling town of its own. I left Kashmir with a yearning to return, carrying wordless emotions in my heart. During my stay, I befriended an elderly caretaker at my host’s bungalow. He and his daughter warmly served me Kashmiri butter tea, a salty tea reminiscent of Tibetan tea. We spoke about his village, located far from Srinagar, and he kindly invited me to visit it on my next trip to Kashmir. His gentle and sincere demeanor was that of typical any villager, exuding warmth and innocence.While leaving Srinagar with a heavy heart,his words echoed in my mind: “Tum Allah ka bacha hai” (You are child of God). As he placed his hands on my head and murmured those words, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Exploring Random thoughts

While flying from Mangalore to Delhi, I had a fascinating chat with a sailor seated next to me. He shared his experiences at sea, explaining how Indian captains are overly submissive to ship owners, leading to excessive workloads for sailors. In contrast, foreign captains boldly stand up to them. This rings true and exemplifies our deeply ingrained submissive nature. It reflects a broader trait in our national character: a pervasive fear of authority and the powerful, traceable back to our feudal era. Feudalism isn’t unique to India—many societies, including Europe, were once feudal—but the Industrial Revolution largely eradicated feudal mindsets in Europe, while India still grapples with them. Communal and class divisions remain deeply entrenched in our society as well. This fear of questioning authority makes our country fertile ground for high-level corruption, dragging us backward. Fear stifles free thinking and innovative ideas; nothing can flourish in an atmosphere of dread. Our parents instill this fear from childhood, as do our schools, where we end up rote-mugging whatever is taught. Education rarely encourages questioning or out-of-the-box thinking; instead, it produces an army of walking robots from our universities. Things are worsening today, as right-wing ideology seeks to capture educational institutions and instill hatred among students. They aim to erase the noble aspects of our history through xenophobia and propaganda.Thus, truth has become the biggest casualty—it’s increasingly hard to discern fact from fiction. Indians are constantly fed lies and propaganda: our media has been bought, the judiciary silenced or coerced into issuing government-favorable judgments, honest people jailed, bright young Muslim scholars imprisoned, elections rigged, elected representatives bought off, and scams an open secret. Yet we remain scared to question authority. This stems from an education system that silences the masses—one that chases money at the expense of conscience. As long as our families are safe, we hardly care about others. As the saying goes, “Catch them young.” For India to change and hold politicians accountable, our education system must transform. It should be value-based, fostering innovative thinking. It’s astonishing that a nation of over a billion produces only job seekers knocking on the doors of rich countries. We merely copy the West, with no original inventions or creations to claim. We must stop being blind devotees of politicians and religions; instead, embrace true spirituality and elect inclusive, kind leaders over divisive ones. Above all, we must teach our children to ask questions rather than blindly follow the herd.

Zoran Mumdani and US election

Zohran Mamdani, a charismatic, intelligent, and empathetic candidate for New York mayor, faces hatred due to his Muslim identity, with false propaganda labeling him as anti-Semitic and anti-Jewish. Is this a valid or ethical reason to hate someone? The United States demonizes communism as if the mere word threatens global disaster, and Mamdani faces a double disadvantage as both a Muslim and a socialist. Right-wing Republicans often react with outrage at the term “socialism.” I find this odd for a mature democracy. Is this another form of autocracy, where one ideology (capitalism, in this case) is tolerated while others are outright rejected or demonized? The U.S., despite its claims of upholding human rights and democratic values, has allegedly illegally detained and tortured individuals like Julian Assange and Edward Snowden under the pretext of the “Official Secrets Act.” Both sought refuge in other countries, exposing the hollowness of these claims as it actually an effort to extend U.S. influence over other nations. This hypocrisy is evident in how the U.S. and other Western countries treat Russia and Israel. Russia faces Olympic bans and sanctions for its actions in Ukraine, yet Israel’s ongoing actions in Palestine, including massacre of children, women, and aid workers, are largely ignored by these same self-proclaimed moral police. This situation echoes the Holocaust, with Israel perpetuating similar atrocities. Jews continue to invoke their historical pain to garner sympathy while committing violence against Palestinians. History was unkind to many, including Jews, Africans, and Indigenous peoples. Millions of Native Americans and Aborigines were annihilated in the Americas, Australia, and New Zealand, and countless Africans endured starvation and inhumane slavery in the U.S. and Western countries. What if these groups clung to their victimhood to justify invading, massacring, or annexing neighboring countries that had no role in their suffering? Palestine did not perpetrate the Holocaust; in fact, it sheltered Jews when they settled there. The U.S. and U.K. played a key role in creating a homeland for Jews, possibly driven by strategic and geopolitical interests in the Middle East, but this decision has led to grave consequences for innocent Palestinians. Today, the Israeli regime repeats the atrocities Nazi Germany inflicted on Jews decades ago. What, then, have they learned from history? Worse still, U.S. politics is entangled in issues of Semitism, anti-Semitism, and Islamophobia, with the latter becoming a key factor in winning elections. Is it wrong to call out injustice in the U.S.? Are Muslims not human beings? Must one support Israel and its atrocities against Palestinians to win elections in the U.S.? Why doesn’t the U.S. offer its own land to create a homeland for Jews instead of inflicting pain on Palestinians? This situation reminds me of the victim card played by the Sangh Parivar, an extremist Hindu group in India that staunchly supports Israel and its actions against Palestinians. Both groups suffer from acute Islamophobia. I believe those who support such atrocities lack humanity, behaving more like demons in human form. Unfortunately, such individuals are all too common on this planet. Has empathy ceased to be a virtue? However, I salute the courage and conviction of Zoran Mumdani for standing up and calling a spade a spade in an era of falsehood and fake propaganda. The world requires more Mumdanis to clean up the dirt and venom of hatred and jealousy.

Phule- A Must Watch

I recently watched Phule in a Delhi theatre, but the nearly empty theatre was disheartening. The few young men seated nearby were more engrossed in conversation than the film, which I found disruptive. This reflects a broader tragedy in our society: while films featuring superstars are celebrated, meaningful cinema like Phule, with its strong social and political relevance, struggles to find an audience. One of the reasons is the hero worship in India, where actors are glorified as demigod-like figures, often at the expense of a film’s quality and aesthetic depth. The audience’s sensibilities remain underdeveloped as they are fed low-quality films that prioritize glamour over substance. Writers, directors, and technicians have become secondary to the commercial dominance of money and heroes, which harm the very soul of cinema. Phule is an exceptional film with a powerful social message, making it a must-watch for every Indian. It tells the true story of Jyotirao Phule, Maharashtra’s first social reformer and India’s first ‘Mahatma’ (great soul), and his wife, Savitribai Phule. Set in the early 19th century, the film depicts an era when casteism and gender discrimination were rampant. Women were denied education, their sole purpose reduced to bearing children. The Brahmin community largely upheld these oppressive norms, though a few risked their lives to educate girls. Jyotirao, a learned man from his community, and Savitribai spearheaded a revolutionary movement to educate girls, sacrificing their reputation and safety in the process. Inspired by the French Revolution and global social movements, Jyotirao tried to demolish a system that denied justice to lower castes and women. His unwavering enthusiasm and fight against societal evils, alongside Savitribai, form the heart of the film. Branded as anti-national and a divider of Hindus by Brahmins for his reformative work, Jyotirao’s struggles mirror India’s current social challenges. While much has changed, progress remains slow, and we cannot yet claim to be a just society where Dalits and women are treated equally. Jyotirao’s words—that there will always be forces dividing society by religion and caste, but we must remain honest and work positively—Echo strongly. This message is especially relevant in modern India, where polarization driven by religion, caste, and creed is exploited for political gain. Pratik Gandhi delivers an outstanding performance as Jyotirao Phule, while Patralekha shines as Savitribai Phule. Writer-director Ananth Mahadevan’s brilliant script and masterful direction elevate Phule into a cinematic masterpiece. I appreciate Mahadevan’s courage and conviction for creating such a film in an era when India’s social and political fabric is falling apart due to propaganda, hatred, and division. Phule is a powerful reminder of the need for unity and justice—a film that is not to be missed and cherished.

Rahul's BharatJodoYatra

Jealousy, one of the most acidic emotions, is the central theme of Shakespeare’s Othello. Throughout the play, this “green-eyed monster” drives characters’ malicious actions, with nearly all—except a few like Desdemona and Cassio—falling under its sway. Othello is a classic example of how fear and low self-esteem breed jealousy in the human mind. Iago, perhaps the most villainous character in literature, orchestrates the destruction of many lives in this tragic play. When I think of Rahul Gandhi, Shakespeare’s Othello often comes to mind. Like Desdemona and Cassio, Rahul is a victim of jealousy. The fear within the Sangh Parivar of his charismatic and gentlemanly persona has led them to portray him in a negative light. Yet, truth cannot remain veiled forever. Rahul’s purity of soul shines through his demeanor and actions, and women, who often intuitively understand men, feel safe and comfortable in his presence. His interactions with the public, particularly women, reveal him to be an evolved individual—a rare gem in politics. His compassion and care cut through the torrent of hatred directed at him. The Bharat Jodo Yatra, Rahul’s remarkable endeavor, is a healing touch for India’s fractured soul. Walking the length and breadth of a vast country like India is no small feat. Support #BharatJodoYatra / My India 💚

My Blessed Village

After living many years in cities, I do crave for my tiny village in north Kerala as desert longs for prairies. I havn’t never enjoyed being in my native place when I was a child as my eyes were accustommed to those lovely landscape blanketed by lush greenery; blessed with tranquil and spectacular Thejaswini river. But I explore the wild beauty of this virgin land of late - ofcourse away from the mosquito bites, dust and dirtyness of Indian cities. My home is not in a village in its strict sense of the term as such villages hardly exist in Kerala. It has got many ‘vices’(sophisticated communication system, fashion and people far from being naïve) of a city but without losing its conscience. It is a place where one would like to lose her soul and be one with nature as Wordsworth sang in his poems. There are few things that make me proud of Kerala (forgive me if I sound parochial, that is not my intention) though I don’t really support ‘isms’(read regionalism, religionism, communism, etc.) of any kind or prefer myself to be called a citizen of the world by rooting firmly on the soil where I belong to. One can’t think of Kerala without its women population. Let me quote the words of famous painter M.F Hussain, ‘If Kashmir is all about Men and Mountains, Kerala is about Women and Nature’. I hardly seen any little girl begging around or doing house hold works, as happens in many parts of India sans going school. Even poor will toil hard to give their girl children good education. I feel Kerala is one among few states,where female infanticide is not reported. Of course the educated women of Kerala make all the difference.

Keralites are politically aware and generally well read. Writers like Khalil Gibran,Leo Tolstoy,Dostayevsky,Checkov,Pablo Neruda, Marques, etc. are like house hold names. Issues as Iraq invasion, the recent Russia-Ukraine war, Isreal- Palestine war and American imperialism are widely discussed and protested, often that justifies the saying about communist party here, ‘they open umbrella when it rains in Russia’.Keralites generally are interested in what is happening around them and often sympathise with the underdog. Communism and many social reformation movements by Ayyankali,Sree Narayana Guru etc had contributed to her social development and intellectual growth. I do remember the good old days when we in Kerala used to get books of all Russian masters like Tolstoy, Dostoïevsky, Chekhov, Turganev etc, from Russia (former Soviet Union) at an incredibly lower price-thanks to Communism. But I must admit that too much politicisation is pulling the state backwards. ‘God’s own country’ witnesses hartals (new incarnation of bandh as Kerala high court banned Bandh)and too many strikes as part of ‘political game’. But I am happy that God still dwells in this land! And true, my blessed village in north Kerala sail in my mind more often…

Story of Krishna

I met Krishna, a Nepali Chef during a Sunday service at a picturesque village in  Manali last year. It was a Nepali Christian gathering in a home amidst a lovely garden in the background of snow capped mountain, having rose ,apple , pears and cherry; the scent of beautiful rose flowers filtering through the window added a rare divinity to the interior of the home. I never had come across such devoute Christian gathering in my life, there was an intense spiritual pulling in the room, the young girls and boys in the choir were literally in tears out of pure bliss, Krishna seemed to have lost in divine love.
While walking back home through the narrow path lined with giant Himalayan Cedar trees(Devdaru) on either side, I asked Krishna as to what attracted him to Christ. ‘ Love’, he said without batting an eyelid. While trying to figure out his answer, he added, “ Madam, you will never understand the pain of a human being who doesn’t have anybody in this world.” He narrated about his cursed life in Nepal as an orphan, as a poor homeless child who was treated like an insect, his addiction to alcohol, drugs and many vices, his pain,hopelessness,anger and poverty. He said it was a foreign missionary who helped him come out of his wretched life through the love of Jesus Christ. Later he gave up all his addictions and found a job as a Chef in a star hotel in Manali.
 It was drizzling, and those light drops of rain helped me hide the tears streaming down on my cheek. The Nepalese gathered in that little home might have similar stories of pain and poverty, of desires, dreams and fears. But do we care to listen to the innate feelings of our fellow human beings in this toxic religious hate- mongering era? Aren’t our inner longing for love, our dreams feelings and fears the same? What difference it would make if Krishna finds Love in Christ or vice versa? Isn’t love the great healer? In our silent meditative walk, many such thoughts crossed my mind. I didn’t even realise it when we  almost reached at Krishna’s hotel. Krishna went in to work  with an invitation for dinner at his hotel. And the unpredictable mountain weather have it, Sun popped up from nowhere.