Where LEFT is RIGHT and RIGHT is LEFT

No prizes on guessing the name of the place I am referring to. Yes it’s United States of America (USA) – a place where I found a new paradigm of what is right and what is left.

For a newcomer like me, the “LEFT” and “RIGHT” issue starts with which side you are drive on the road in US, but it’s not limited to this. It actually means that whatever you have been doing till now, has to undergo an inversion. You have to imagine yourself to be a mirror image of yourself and then try to recognize the world around you with the changed reference frame and then react – sounds confusing, then read below:

• It means that when you enter any public place then you should enter by the right door, use the right elevator, else you will bump into people carrying a totally confused and lost look, as if their world is turned upside down.
• It means that while crossing the roads you should follow the rule “Look at left – right – left” and then cross (Unlike “Right – left – right” rule in India)
• It means the knob on your door will open when you rotate it clockwise (unlike in India, where you rotate it anti-clockwise)
• It means that the knob for hot water is on the left side of the tap and cold water knob is on the right. And it also means that the flush lever on the toilet is on the right side, unlike left in India. 

These are some of the most irritating items in daily life which forced me to reboot my memory with a mirror image of myself so that I can fit into this world. But this is not the end of this story; in fact this is the beginning of a journey where I am sure I will see more interesting things in the time to come. Here are a few interesting incidences which happened in the last one and half month and I think that in the greater well being of the society it is my duty to share it with you all (though this might kick a laughter riot and I will be the sacrificial goat).

You must have posted numerous letters in your life, but has it ever happened to you that your letter was returned to your address even when the “From” and “To” addresses are correctly and legibly written. It might sound crazy, but the first letter I dropped in the letter box in USA (with perfectly correct and legible address and stamp) was returned to my address. The pic you see below is the same envelope which was returned to me by the postman after making a big circle and an arrow on its face.

Honestly try to reason out why this could have happened (please don’t Google, I am not testing your intelligence).

If you fail to get the reason then here it is – In the American world, “From” address is to be written on the top left corner while “To” is written on the bottom right corner of the envelope – so does this means that my letter was returned to me because the addresses were written on the wrong side? After all the person who returned my letter must have read the “From” address, and in the same manner he could have read the “To” address and took it for delivery.

So what’s the reason?

In US the letters are scanned by a machine which reads the address, and if the machine fails to process (as it happened in my case), the letter comes to the USPS (United States Postal Service) officials for manual handling. The person handling my letter was able to understand the “From” address but somehow failed to understand the “To” address – probably the USPS person was using his “Right” brain!!

USA is a grand nation (In literal sense of the word), and so are the things available here. People you see here are “Grand” – our “XXL (Double XL)” is “S (Small)” for them. Vegetables you will find here are “Grand” – the combined size of two average Indian potatoes is equal to one average American potato. The smallest car I saw on American roads is double the size of smallest Indian Car a.k.a. nano. The smallest cube you are offered to work in American offices are good enough to fit in 3 people in India. The American predilection to “Grand” is so much that Starbucks coffee sells its coffee in three sizes – Tall, Grande and Venti – i.e. Tall, Taller and Tallest, there is nothing called “Small”. I can go on listing the size comparison, but the bottom-line is that small things do not matter; you live grand life (even if it’s on borrowed money)

Fun apart, US is different and whatever I say its not easy to fit into this world from the day one. It takes time and with this I am also taking my time in assimilating this change within me. I hope I will be able to grow to the size to fit into this place.

"My Home"

12^th July 2010, 10:00 PM (IST), finally the taxi arrived and it was time to move on. My sister and mummy came to the airport to drop me. My flight was scheduled to depart at 1.45 AM.

It was an hour drive to the airport, but this was one of the shortest drive I think I ever had. Not because of the time it took, but we had so much to talk in that one and half hour drive, that all three of us felt it that the time to say good bye came too quick. It was time to leave "My Home".

I know my mom was not very happy at my leaving India to such a distant place, and she tried hard to keep her tears hidden behind the smile on her face, but then at the airport, probably the weight of her tears outweighed her smile and she cried. It’s not that this was the first time I was going away from home, but this time she felt that the distance is gonna be too long for her to bridge.

After the security check and custom clearance I was sitting in the passanger’s lounge. For the next one hour, my mind was full of thoughts as weird as one can think of. Startng from a plane crash to missing my connecting flight and it went the extent of me getting lost in US. I was so tensed that live screening of world cup final was not able to bring peace to my mind.

I reaslied that there is something about this place (USA or any foreign land) which creates a magnetic pull. It drives us away from our family, friends and whatever we know as our own. We call this “pull” by different name – for some it’s a social status, for some its money, and for some it’s the sheer experience of living in a different world. I don’t know what was pulling me at that time! I was not sure if this was a right decision!!

Soon the boadring announcement was made for my flight and I stood in the queue. Once I sat on my seat, I looked around and was satisfied to see familiar Indian faces in the cabin. After sometime the captain made the final announcement for our take-off. It was time to leave and the moment the rear wheels left contact with the ground I felt what it means to leave your own land. For whatever we pretend, this is not a good feeling to have.

The LED display unit on my front seat was showing the route of my flight as well as the distance covered from origin. Slowly miles increased in a multiple of 10’s and by the time I woke up I had reached Paris airport, travelling close to 5000 miles from Bangalore. After a continous flight of 9 hours the stopover was refreshing. I was in an alien world – and it was alien in literal sense of the word – the people were different in looks and in the way of their speech. It was a different place.

The feeling of alienation deepened when I boarded my next flight for the final destination some 4000 miles away. This time there was no Indian face in the flight (As far as I could see). I was getting closer into the magnetic field, but my mind was still there – 9000 miles away in India.

It will take some time for me to settle down on this land, but I am convinced I can never call this place as “My Home”.

Serial Killer

I don’t like spending time in front of the idiot box, but past couple of weeks has been momentous – I am forced to passive TV viewing and it is taking a toll on my life. (Sorry, but I cannot name the active viewer at my home J)

Earlier when someone used to talk about the torturous Ekta Kapoor’s serials, I was not able to co-relate to what they were saying, but now I can empathize with their pain – thanks to the daily dose of serials starting 7:30 PM and continuing upto 11:00 PM. For some circumstantial reasons I have to spend my evening in the drawing room in front of the television (the irony of my fate is that I spend this time with my laptop trying hard to keep myself engaged with it), and despite my best efforts, these serials enter my system either through my eardrums or through the glances I get from the corner of my eyes.

From my experience of the past few weeks I realized, that irrespective of the channel, the primetime is devoted to a selected set of serials. It has to be a family drama or a serial on some social customs in the (God only knows) remotest part of India, a talent show or a laughter show. Only the names differ, the content remains the same across channels. Infact I think it’s the same person playing different roles in different serials on different channels.

Let me share with you what I was able to grasp about these serials, and I am sure you will immediately understand what I mean to say.

I don’t know what do the script writer thinks before scripting such nuisance (If at all there is any pre-decided script!). In the name of family drama you get to see the most complicated relationship structure you can imagine – If your brother is my husband and your mother is not my mother-in-law then how are we related – if you can’t answer this then you should be happy coz you are still out of the effects of the stupidity served on national television in the name of entertainment. The idea is simple – take a dozen plots, put the most extravagant makeup you can think of on all of them and then weave the cobweb of relationship which I doubt even the character themselves would understand. When all this fails, then they spice it up by adding artificial Bollywood songs – I fail to understand the purpose behind putting songs in a serial.

The other bunch of serials which aim at highlighting the social customs plaguing us, is one of its class. I was shocked to see the way they are projecting the Indian society. I belong to one of the least developed states of this country, but there too I have never heard of the prevalence of such feudal structure. Learning from past is good, but serving a distorted past to the future generations is what concerns me. There are children of impressionable age who watch some of these serials, what are we serving them?

The latest flavor of the market is the talent shows. I think the success of Indian Idol and MTV Roadies is the real culprit. I don’t know exactly how many idols / roadies were created by the television in the past, and I doubt if anyone of you actually remember their names, but somehow such shows are running at high TRPs. The extent has broadened from singing and dancing to matchmaking (Swayamvar series) and bedroom stories (Big Boss). I have absolutely no idea where it will end!

At one point of time I used to like the laughter shows, to be specific the Laughter challenge – 1, which brought to light some of the good comedians like Raju Srivastava, Ehsaan Qureshi and Sunil Pal. But then some intelligent people sitting there tried to commoditize the LAUGHTER and brought an end to the relationship between decency and comedy. Be careful if you switch to any of these laughter shows with your family members sitting next to you.

I agree that whatever I wrote above for serials applies equally for movies, sometime the content of a movie is worse than a serial, but a movie is a one-time watch. It kills you instantly, whereas the serial is a slow and silent killer. They are contagious to the extent that even before you realize that you are trapped in this web, you are dead.

I remember the good old Doordarshan days when the options were limited but had the quality and I am sure if you belong to the generation who grew up watching those serials, you will find it difficult to spend even a minute in front of the idiot box today.

Position, Emotion and Connection!!!

You must have heard “Honesty stands at the gate and knocks, and BRIBERY enters in”. Most of times this entry is facilitated by a fee in cash or kind, but wait, before you conclude that these are the only two options, read out the “carp” below and get enlightened to the other better options.

My first brush with “facilitation fee” came in the year 1997, in Ranchi. In fact I remember the exact date, it was 13^th March 1997. I completed my second last paper of 12^th board exams and there was a week’s gap for the last one. I and my friends were fed up with torturous two months of continuous studies and so we decided to take a break (anyways, the last paper was that of Mathematics – sort of a cakewalk for three of us). During those days a movie was the best balm in the town, and so the unanimous choice was to go for the latest Salman and Karishma starrer “Judwaa”.

Now you can understand the kind of risk involved in taking such a break that too in the mid of 12^th board exams. But then we were clever enough. In the name of combined studies, we got the permission for 4-5 hours in the day and decided to go for the morning show so that we can spend the remaining time of the day studying mathematics. With these noble thoughts the three of us sat on the Bajaj Chetak and zoomed to the town. Triple loading was not allowed on a two-wheeler add to that if none of the riders have the driving license then you can imagine the magnitude of crime and the “facilitation fee” required to sail through. Fortunately in the morning we were able to get pass the traffic cops and reached the theatre in time. Probably it was too early for them to reach their duty.

The 2 hours of latka-jhatka were really good, compared to what happened next. After watching the movie, we started with triple load on “Humara Bajaj” and carefully criss-crossed the bylanes avoiding all major junctions. We were able to beat 4-5 traffic posts but at the second last post our luck went dry. There weren't any shortcuts. We were forced to take the main road. One of my friend suggested that if one of us gets down and cross the signal on foot then no one will notice and after crossing the signal we can continue are bumpy triple ride. But then who will sacrifice? Who will get down and walk for 5 minutes? It was a tough decision to make.

My friend who was driving saw around, there wasn’t a single traffic cop in sight. He thought of taking a calculated risk – if he increases the speed at the signal he can just pass through without those pot-bellied cops could catch us. This over-confidence killed us! Probably this was Dhoom_Ver_0.1. The only difference was that instead of 3 guys riding 3 bikes (Suzuki, Ducati et.al.), we were 3 guys riding 1 scooter (Bajaj Chetak).

Now the moment we were crossing the signal another truck came from the opposite end. My friend tried to overtake the truck so he moved to one of the side; at this point a cop came charging his stick at us from no-where. Still my friend didn’t give up, he tried to speed for some more distance, till it was too late and we were forced to stop behind a car. By this time the traffic cop was furious and was seething in rage. He came and was about to beat us with his stick, but then looking at our age decided otherwise.

First came the abuses and then the cross-examination of the criminals – we had committed the worst possible crime – triple loading on two wheeler, driving without license and add to that made the traffic cop run like a wild dog for a good half a kilometer. I knew that our good times are over, but wished if for a moment I get the powers of Salman and I would have kicked this “good for nothing” cop and would have drove the scooter all the way to home, but then I am not Salman and this was reality.

The cop had found its prey for the day; he asked us to come to the side and took the keys of our scooter. He said that scooter is being seized; the owner needs to come and collect it from the court room. We started pleading, giving all possible lame excuses and hoped against all hopes that the cop will melt down and let us go. But to break a rock you need dynamite and we were looking hard for that dynamite. My friend who brought his uncle’s scooter was literally shaking – the only one who kept his cool and was sure to overcome this was my friend who was driving the scooter. He kept pleading for good 15 min. By this time the cop understood that we are not going to pay him a dime (though I had the cash to pay the facilitation fee, but my friend signaled not to be fool and keep my mouth shut).

The cop took us all the way to a nearby traffic checkpost, where a senior cop was relaxing on his chair. The interrogation began once again, it was getting late and our 4-5 hrs of combined study timeline was coming to a close. Something had to happen and happen soon. The senior cop started the interrogation with my friend who brought the scooter. The tone of asking questions was threatening, but my friend kept his cool and was answering one by one. Then the cop asked about his father, he replied that his father is a high ranking police officer of Bihar government in the nearby district. The cop was shocked but he tried to control the expressions on his face. He was quite for a moment; probably weighing his options and then he started asking questions to my next friend. By the time my second friend answered the details of his father (His father was a noted and famous businessman in the city), I fathomed that the dynamite has finally arrived. Then came my turn, he asked my name and then straight to my father’s details. Obviously my father was not a high ranking official nor a big businessman, but who cared, the dynamite was in place and the trigger was pulled.

In the next five minutes that cop started giving us gyaan about behaving in public life, given that we belong to such good families and then about what should be our focus in life and a few more things which didn’t mattered anyways.

The “Position” paid for the “facilitation”.

The next time when I found that there can be better form of facilitation was in the year 2000. I was in my 2^nd year of graduation at “Patna College”. We had a compulsory subject on “Hindi literature”. As is the fate of Hindi in India, no one paid attention to this subject (Me included). I didn’t even bothered about the lecture schedule leave alone attending it. Well things were going fine till the dates for final exams were announced. Towards the end of the term, the notice board read – “Students who fail to satisfy the attendance criteria in all the subjects will not be allowed to appear in the exams”. The devil had arrived, fortunately there was a way out from this devil. The peon of the Hindi department was known to cash upon this annual opportunity. The facilitation fee was charged to get the attendance sheet fudged and updated. The quantum of fee was a direct function of the quantum of attendance shortage. For my case the fee was turning out to be upwards of 300 bucks. For an unemployed undergrad getting 300 bucks for facilitation fee was not easy. I had two options – tell a lie and get the money from family or friend else try out some trick so that the devil (the peon) gives me an exception.

I decided to try my luck against the devil. On a Friday afternoon I went to meet this guy after the lunch hours. This was the time when the peon used to relax and was most likely to be found in the department office. He was approaching his retirement and probably this annual bounty was his way off securing his post-retirement life. Still taking my chances I met him outside the department office, he understood from my face that I am going to be his next prey. He asked me what I want at this hour of the day (as if he was unaware of the reasons). I thought of starting with excuses, but I had gut feeling that this guy will not even listen to that, perhaps some emotional blackmail will work. But how, I had no clue! I replied “I have an attendance shortfall, and I will not be allowed to appear in the exams if the attendance is not met”. Immediately came the reply – “त हम बोले थे क्लास नहीं करने को” (Did I asked you not to attend the classes). Oh man! This is gonna be tough. I gathered my composure and changed my approach, starting with a helpless look and replied in a childish tone – “I was preparing for the competitive exams, the coaching timings clashes with the Hindi lecture. You know the future lies in clearing the exams, even your own child would have been doing the same”. I don’t know if he saw his son’s face in me or was impressed by my distressed look, but one thing was sure – I hit the bull’s eye. After emotionally blackmailing him for a few more minutes he updated my attendance and said “बेटा अच्छे से तैयारी करो... यहाँ कुछ नहीं रखा है, जिंदगी में आगे बढ़ने के लिए बहुत मेहनत की जरुरत है” (Son, work harder, there is nothing for you over here... its only the hard work which will take you ahead in life). These words were surprising, yet it solved the problem. 

This time “Emotion” paid for the “facilitation”.

The last incidence which I remember where I used the right connection for the first time for getting things facilitated was in the year 2005. I was working with Canara Bank as a trainee officer and was posted at one of the branch at Delhi. In the same branch there was a manager who was an active member of the “Canara Bank Officer’s Association” and was well connected to the union president and secretary.

I was due for my final transfer and in the month of May’05 I got my transfer orders. After working in Mumbai and Delhi, the bank asked me to move to one of the remotest village in Bihar – “Bhore”. Believe me I had not even heard of this place before I read my transfer orders and I am sure even today this place does not figure on “Google Earth”. Accepting this transfer was like a suicidal step in my career, so I wrote back to the headquarters asking for a swap with anyone else who is willing to go to this place (And there were more than 50 candidates who were eager to swap my place, just because this place was near to their native). My request was thrown into the trash can and within a week I got a reply with a big NO.

I almost gave up and had decided to put down my papers. Then in one of the discussion in the office, my fellow officer suggested to talk to that manager. He warned me that the manager is fickle minded, so be careful with the words you chose. Hmm… I saw a glimmer of hope, and went to the manager. I told him about the issue, showed him the letter I received from headquarters and told him that as a last option I am contemplating to put down my papers, if things don’t workout.

After listening to my details for 10 minutes, he brought out a small telephone diary from his pocket and dialed a number. I don’t know whom he was talking to over phone, but he was talking about me. After putting down the receiver, he asked me to meet someone the next day at union office. I felt that he is trying to skirt the responsibility and faith I reposed in him. Still I had little options, so I went to the union office the next day, with my transfer letter and the reply which I got from headquarters.

I was so tensed that I left the office early and was into the union office at 4.30 pm itself. This was the first time I went to the union office and had no clue what to do. I enquired with a person sitting there about the name of the person I was asked to meet, he looked at my face and asked me why I want to meet him. He couldn’t believe that I was an officer with the bank and I had to show my ID card as a proof. Then he went inside the cabin of the concerned person and I noted that the person I am supposed to meet was the general secretary of the union. I was asked to get into the cabin after a short wait of 5 min. Here I was sitting in front of the general secretary of the “Canara Bank Officer’s Association”, the person who normally is unreachable is giving me an audience and listening to my issue.

I narrated the details, and the next moment, the general secretary dialed a number. On the other side of the telephone line was the General Manager, Personnel Wing of Canara Bank. In the next 4 days I got my modified transfer letter. From “Bhore” I got transferred to “Bangalore” and here I am writing blogs :)

Finally the “Connection” paid for the “facilitation”.

So remember these tricks of trade before you shell out the facilitation fee. In popular Indian lingo we call this as – जुगार. Explore more such जुगार and share it with the world to facilitate the evolution of a facilitation free world.

I hate my JOB

So how many times you have said “I hate my JOB”?

Never!!! Then you must continue reading this because you have forgotten the basic reason of your existence and may be by the end of this you will awake to freedom.

And if you have been saying this daily like chants in praise of lord Hanuman, then continue reading this coz I think even good efforts needs to be acknowledged and this is just an acknowledgement of your greatness.

Well, I for sure hate my job and I have made it a point to knock my inner self to confirm this fact, almost daily. Its not that I am stuck into some nonsense work, as a matter of fact I am doing what I decided quite early in my career, still the way I am doing this is not what I wished and so I hate my job.

Let me tell you what exactly I do. I am designated as a consultant for banking domain and my JOB is to understand the problem faced by banks find a strategic solution, plan and design that solution and then ensure that its implemented properly. Now in a layman’s language this means giving “Gyaan” and writing reams of crap which confuses each and everyone around. But for a person like me, who always wished to be associated with banking world and hypothesize imaginary utopian banking solution, this is the best profession to be in. Still I hate my job more than anything else in my life.

And like me there are many others who (on paper) are doing the work they aspired for; still do not find the work interesting enough to develop a liking for it. Then there are majority of others who have fallen into the wrong job – like an aspirant dancer writing software codes or politician at heart selling soap and detergents in hinterlands – and so they hate their job. There is another section of people who don’t know what they really want to do in their career, but are sure of not doing what they are doing, and so hate their job. In a nutshell, whichever category you take all of us hate our job.

But why?

I know the kind of answers you will have in your mind, but believe me its not that simple. We hate our job not because of company’s policy or our bosses – these two variables are there everywhere, maybe the garnishing will differ, still we hate the job – so there must be something fundamentally wrong with the jobs we do, which make us (me for sure) hate it.

The very first reason why I don’t like my job is coz I am made to deliver what the client wants and not what I want to deliver, and there is no escape. I have to do this coz the client is paying my salary at the end of the month. My creativity is rated by the currency quotient of its result – If the client is happy at my dumbest solutions then I am rated the best, however the best solution do not even sees the light of the day if client is not happy.

The second reason is that all jobs are to be completed within a deadline. How can you be made to do something you are passionate about within a time line defined by others? Its something like 9 pregnant ladies being asked to deliver a child in a month – it’s the numbers which needs to fit in – rational behind the numbers are irrelevant. Deadline takes the perfection out of your passion.

Thirdly, a job is never an isolated piece of work, its an assortment of ripe, over-ripe and rotten apples – and you have to eat all of them. The company presents these rotten apples under various names – knowledge management, talent management, continuous learning, leadership building blah blah blah. The crux of all this is simple – if you are happy after eating the ripe apples then think twice coz the rotten ones are still there in your basket.

You know, people have developed unique answers this issue of “JOB HATRED”. The plausible answers I have come across are –

• “Work is worship” (I am an aethist :D) – since you have no control over the nonsense thrown at your in the job, so leave it to god and keep the faith alive.
• Make your passion your profession; create a career in the field you love the most. “3 Idiots” tried to preach this message at the highest decibel level, but that’s a trap into which you must never fall into.

I am sure in today’s materialistic world the first argument has fallen on its face, and that’s why even the HR managers do not use these lines to motivate people around, but the second one is gradually gaining ground. So before it cast its spell on you, its my duty to enlighten you with the reality.

I know that this argument of mine is a bit difficult to digest, so let me share an instance with you. A couple of week back my friends had come over to my place for a small get together. There was no particular reason, except that I was cooking Chicken curry (Well you might not fathom the importance of this, unless you have tasted what is being referred to). Anyhow, the part of discussion I am referring to is my friend’s suggestion to start a restaurant of my own – according to them I can do a great job at that.

I know this was their way of showering complements and no one meant anything serious. Still, I tried to ponder over this suggestion – Can I really do a great job as a cook?

I think, rather I believe I will be the worst cook, if ever I decide to change my profession. Today I can make delicious dishes; coz cooking for me is a pastime leisure activity, which I do without any pressure of deadlines or any expectation of reward. The day I start a restaurant business, I know for sure the cook within me will die an unnatural death.

I will be cooking to keep the footfalls in place. I will have to ensure that there are items available in my restaurant which customers want, irrespective of my liking for the same. My focus will gradually shift from being a cook to a bean counter – after all its about survival. On the contrary if I join a restaurant as a cook, then that job too, will come with basket of apples which for sure I don’t like. I am not a pessimist, but at the same time I don’t like to close my eyes at the reality lying in front of me. 

In the end I concluded that my passion is alive till the time there are no strings attached to it. Its easy for “Mr. Phunsuk Wangdu” to live in laddakh and do experiments for which he gets a multi-million contract, but reality is much different from the reel life being preached to us.

So what does this means? Shall I go and put down my papers tomorrow morning because I hate my job?

No!!!


Job is there for your existence, to ensure that your bank account is periodically credited without any concern. Accept your job with a pinch of salt, but keep your passion alive (without any strings attached :D) to drive you ahead, else this life will become too dull to live. 

An Illusion called Sunrise

So when was the last time you saw a sunrise? Can’t remember, chuck it… probably you belong to the group of nocturnal creature who appreciate the beauty of moon more than the intensity of sun.

But for those who still believe in virtue that search for quintessence wisdom begins at sunrise, a glimpse of rising sun makes a lot of difference. I share the same belief, though I know that I belong to one of the rapidly dwindling species which fear extinction if things are not brought into order.

This blog is aimed at generating the awareness about the plight of early risers who wish to see the eternal source of energy in its purest form. I also aim to create a global movement for growth and promotion of sunrise community (people who rise before sunrise).

After living in a busy city like Bangalore for more than 5 years, sunrise has attained a new connotation for me – it’s the hour of the day when you see natural lights along with artificial street light at the same time. The traffic jam shifts from the main road to by-lanes. The  vehicular movement is replaced by morning walkers and their pet dogs (somehow morning walk with a dog has always bewildered me, but then its an individual choice). Instead of birds chirruping in the skyline, I hear the shouts and cry of football enthusiasts who starts their games at dawn in the playground in front of my house.

This is totally contrary to my image of sunrise which was always been inspired from the following lines of a Hindi poem penned by “Nachiketa”

रोशनी के नए झरने, लगे धरती पर उतरने
क्षितिज के तट पर धरा है, ज्योति का जीवित घड़ा है
लगा घर-घर में नए, उल्लास का सागर उमड़ने
घना कोहरा दूर भागे, गाँव जागे, खेत जागे

पक्षियों का यूथ निकला, ज़िंदगी की खोज करने
धूप निकली, कली चटकी, चल पड़ी हर साँस अटकी
लगीं घर-दीवार पर फिर, चाह की छवियाँ उभरने

Add to this the following lines from Jayashankar Prasad

बीती विभावरी जाग री!

अम्बर पनघट में डुबो रही

तारा घट ऊषा नागरी।

खग कुल-कुल सा बोल रहा

किसलय का अंचल डोल रहा

लो यह लतिका भी भर ला‌ई
मधु मुकुल नवल रस गागरी।
अधरों में राग अमंद पिये
अलकों में मलयज बंद किये
तू अब तक सो‌ई है आली

आँखों में भरे विहाग री।

And I always wished to see this sunrise, but the only thing I could ever manage in my city life was the view of a ball of fire rising from behind one or the other concrete high rise in the vicinity.

The first time (and probably the only time) I got the opportunity to admire the beauty of a rising sun was on my trip to Allepey. I and Kunal (a friend of mine) were awake for a whole night to capture the moment.

We were lucky.

We saw the sun god coming on his seven horse chariot – slowly spreading his presence – making the world brighter with every passing moment. The moment was breath taking and we decided to experience many more such moments. Probably that was a big mistake, as I realized later (and you will realize this when you reach the end) that to see a sunrise in today’s world is more painful and frustrating than a visit to the dentist.

Anyhow, we were over excited after sighting sun in Allepey and so we decided to have more such experience. We planned the next trip to Nandi hills – a famous destination for Bangalore’s IT crowd. The plan was to reach Nandi hill top and get the view of rising sun from there – a very nice idea and we got many buyers for this. Full of expectation and enthusiasm, we started off on bike and reached Nandi hill top by 5.15 AM. But the entry to the hill top was closed; the timings were from 6.30 AM (As if sun will wait till 6.30 AM for the doors to open).

I don’t know who makes such ridiculous rules?

We couldn’t manage to see the sunrise, but were compensated with a dance by a group of damsels who preferred to enjoy the moment than to curse the system. Later when we went to the hill top the monkeys came to add salt to our wounds.

We were not deterred by this failure and decided to go for a bigger adventure. This time the target was Skandagiri, again a hill – much higher than Nandi hills. The plan was to trek to the top and see what probably Edmund Hillary would have seen from Mt. Everest. It was a difficult task, so we started our trek at about 3:00 AM. It was dark and we could hardly see from one hand to another, still the imaginary sunrise of Nachiketa and Jayashankar Prasad was pulling me to the summit (and probably others too). We had to put our life at stake to reach the top (believe me one of our team member was puffing to the extent that we felt he will soon have a heart attack – sorry I cant spell out his name, else his wife will get nervous breakdown).

It was about 6.00 AM and we were about 1400 mtrs above the sea level to see the glimpse of rising sun. This time too the lady luck laughed at us – there was fog and mist all around and forget the sun, we couldn’t even see anything beyond 10 ft. More than the happiness of reaching the top, the concern was how we will get back to the ground. I also thought why on this earth I agreed for this misadventure. Now, if I happen to meet Sir Edmund Hillary, the first thing I will ask him – what exactly he saw when he reached the top – I am sure he too would have thought the same way as I was thinking at that time.

With two consecutive failures, we dropped the idea of running after sunrise and settled at the image of a setting sun. And during last many trips I was able to capture the best shots of sunset with my camera and the image of sunrise was slowly fading from my memory.

Then suddenly one day there was a plan to go to Ooty – A hill station known for its beautiful valleys. An urge to see that illuding sunrise pulled me into the game. We reached Ooty – it was a wonderful sunny day. I was confident that this is the place where finally my dream will come true. The next day I woke up at 5:00 AM in the morning and dragged two of my (over-enthusiastic) friends – Kunal and Vaibhav – to come along for the glimpse of sunrise from the valleys. It was at the time when others were enjoying their early morning sleep, we went for about an hour around the city but couldn’t manage the view.

There were buildings and buildings all around.

Later in the day we went and asked for a sunrise point (something which is common for all hill stations), but the nearest known point was a hillock about 18 kms from the city. We were at a loss. The sunrise was still a dream – my purpose of coming to Ooty was being defied.

I couldn’t come to the terms that I can’t see sunrise in Ooty, so the next day I woke up still earlier and again dragged Kunal and Vaibhav out of their bed to go to the top of the nearest hill. We saw a small circuitous road going almost to the top of a nearby hill, and this was the best bet to realize our dream. I remembered the trek on Skandagiri and started walking, others followed. After about 45 mins of brisk walking we came to the point from where to go further we had to trespass into someone’s house – I should say a mansion. It was too late to try going to some other point, coz till the time we will reach there, the sun will be shining at the top of our head.

So the only option was to try our luck here. I went ahead and tried to enter the big Iron Gate. A watchman came running towards me – he was in his mid sixties and fortunately understood broken Hindi. I narrated our plight and tried to beg him to allow us a 5 min walk to the top through the mansion. To this the watchman told us, the only point from where you can see the sunrise is from the balcony of his boss’s bedroom.

That rich fellow has built his house at a place where he gets the first view of rising sun. Now watching a sunrise is also a privilege of the rich. Poor fellow like us don’t deserve to see the sunrise, we walked back to our hotel.

Mentally we decided not to go after the mirage called sunrise. No point in wasting the beautiful dream of early morning for the sake of Nachiket and Jayashankar Prasad’s imagination. At least in my dreams I can be a millionaire and own a complete hill with a mansion at the hill top and can watch the rising sun in all its glory.