All the perfumes of Arabia

"Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?"
-Macbeth

As a kid, I may have starred as a flower or a tree on stage, and captivated the audience by the originality of my expression. I vaguely remember such appearances. I must have been ten when I got my first starring role. It was that of Georgie Porgie (you can imagine what I was supposed to do on stage!) My performance got some critical acclaim. They said I was a natural in that role. I was so good that one of the girls on stage actually cried even before I had kissed her. I kissed her all the same - I was a true professional even in my early days. Offers poured in after that and I had a hard time refusing people. After much dithering, I accepted the role of a coughing boy and starred in a one-act play. The critics panned the play but appreciated my sterling performance. No one has ever coughed better on stage, they wrote. The expression on my face was enough to bring the audience to tears. One of the ladies even came up on stage. She had to be reassured, "Madam, he is only acting!"

There ensued a string of stellar performances. Most notably that of a mad jailer. I executed one prisoner after another with startling conviction. The performance was terrifying. The audience was so terrified that most of them left in the first half hour. Later, I even got a letter from the prison authorities. I think they were offering me a job, but I am not so sure of that.

Currently I am rehearsing for a play that could be termed as 'the turning point' of my career. The role is that of a mad doctor. When the director described it to me she said it was the role of a doctor. These days she refers to it as the role of the mad doctor, I am not sure why. Need less to say, it is a pivotal role. The role requires great emotional variety, though all I do is laugh throughout my performance. It is not easy to express sadness, anger and the entire range of emotions through laughter, but I think I can pull it off.

The director is very impressed with me so far. I have even assured her that the critics have always liked my performances even if the audience couldn't understand it. Funny, how nobody ever asked me who my critics are. Besides why should they, since they know I am my greatest critic. The director is so happy with me that she has promised me a one-way ticket to somewhere. By the way she winks at me, I am sure she is talking of Broadway.

My Mother

I'd like to write about the solitary lamppost and the melancholy night. Or muddy puddles and the orphan child. But I didn’t ever tell you about my mother. For it's so hard to talk about her. It’s not that her hair is on fire. Nor is she the definition of motherhood. There are even times that I hate her. She has her flaws, and sometimes that is all I see in her. Othertimes I see them not. My mother would have her qualities, and I would freely write about her, if only I could see her qualities for what they are. I am just glad she is always there.



(My Mom's on the right)

A Pebble in the Beach

Waves of emotion undulate,
Hold hands and together,
Splash,
On the stony face of an ancient land.

A little pebble on the rocky beach,
Like an old missive, a torn page,
Has some scribbled words, hardly legible.

The sun bleeds on the liquid sea,
Dissolves itself in a cup of tea.
The rising tide will set aside,
Little pebbles, and petty memories.

Travelogue - Tsomo Riri

The soldiers stared at us with their sunburnt faces. They were surprised to see us there - Karzok 15075 ft. A little village by the Tsomo Riri lake. It was twilight and the Lama was in a hurry. This little village has no electricity. No roads and no phone lines too. One of the soldiers said, "The Gompa is closing, go in." I thanked him and went in.

In the darkness inside, we made out the shapes of idols. The door shone brightly with the light outside. The Lama moved deftly between the shapes. To my questions, he smiled his practiced smile. Ofcourse we had no idea what was inside until the flash of my camera revealed all in a trice. Rows of idols all gloriously decorated. And the interiors so old and grand.

Outside, the sun set upon an enchanting lake. Hills looked upon it, mesmerized, and the gusty wind threatened to blow us away. Green pastures of grass on which grazed horses. A brown house in the middle of nowhere. We stayed the night. Next morning after the orange sunrise, we cut across the mountain and made our own roads.

Tsomo Riri

Her voice rings through,
The cinnamon hills,
Baked brown in a bright sun.
Hers, is a voice that brims over,
The rippled waves,
And gushes through,
The jagged cliffs,
Into an ancient edifice,
Where a lone bell sings,
Of an ancient man,
And his whispered words.

Happy men with burnt faces,
Build hopeful roads,
That stand for a while,
And are washed away,
By brooks of muddy water.
In the distance,
Her voice still rings,
And the bell still sings,
And the sun-baked hills,
Still stare lovingly,
At her rippled waves.

Travelogue - The Gompas of Leh

Hemis -
Hemis is among the oldest gompas in the region - dates back to 1630 AD and is built on the site of a 12th century cave monastary. When I was there, they were celebrating the Hemis Festival. Like most Gompas, it's on top of a hill. Outside is a big courtyard which is where the festivities take place. Inside is a 17th century heritage frozen in time. Cramped in the small space are monks and commoners alike. Golden statues and old cloth paintings stare at them.



Thiksey -
The most beautiful of all monastaries. Little cubes stacked up, taper heavenwards. From atop the monastary behold a barren desert-land, and patches of green. In their midst hides the city of Leh.



Shey Palace -
The old palace of the kings of Ladakh. It looks good from the outside. But the insides are eaten up by a parasite called time. The Gompa here, is a simple one. If you can brave the heat, the scorching sun and the unsteady steps, climb up to the top of the structure - Shey offers you a view, you won't forget.



Stok -
The new palace. And a little a museum that adjoins this palace. Couldn't get a glimpse of the queen.



Shanti Stupa -
A gift from the Japanese. It is the highest point in the city and you can spend hours out here, staring at the cityscape.



Spituk -
A buddhist monastary like any other. Except the Hindus believe, that the deity is Goddess Kali. A rich Hindu patronage has had even the Buddhist Lamas encourage this belief. The 'Kali' temple, is on a hill above the traditional Gompa - looks great at sunset.


The Lonely Flame

The wind sneaks in,
Through the yawning door,
To tease a lonely flame.
In the eternal night of this place,
Red monks chant prayers,
In an earthy voice.

The trembling shadow of a hand,
Rings a bell,
In the mind of the transfixed listener.
All sounds will die within.

Yet, somehow, through the sleepy gate escapes,
The musty smell of hope,
Soft sighs of tranquility,
And the simple smile of a face,
Made alive by a timeless, flickering flame.

Travelogue - Pangong Tso

It is a lake in Ladakh, on the Indo-China border. Surrounded by bare mountains, the lake is like the veiled face of a belly dancer, with eyes that seduce the onlooker. It changes colors by the minute. Everytime you look at it, it is a different shade of blue, green, red, yellow, silver or even black.

For those dreary people that see the world numerically, here are some figures to consider. The lake is at an altitude of 14350 ft and is 134 km long, making it the longest one in Asia. It is a rough and rugged 5 hour drive from Leh, that winds across Changla Pass (17300 ft). We left in the wee hours of the morning – it was sub zero temparature when we reached the Pass. On our way back, the temparatures were very high, and some of us where knocked out by the lack of oxygen and the scorching sun. The road is scenic, with patches of greenery, horses and herds of Pashmina goats. Army outposts abound, and one requires the District Commisioner’s prior approval to travel in these parts. All these contribute to the intrigue and charm of Pangong Tso.

Pangong Tso

The last time I looked,
You were sad forlorn,
What happened,
That you smile at me now?
Did I tell you,
About your expressive face?
That shows those dark thoughts,
And those bright, cheerful ones.
Remember last time, I knew at once,
That you were angry with me.

It’s no use hiding from me,
Come on, come clean now,
I have been watching you for a while.
Just a smile will not do,
And don’t you try imitating me –
That makes me mad.
Now what, why so sad,
Did I say something that vexed you?
I am sorry.
Oh! But I can’t leave you alone,
I have to see everything,
Know everything about you.