What has made you happy thus far in the New Year?

7 a.m. January 10th 2022

Holding a glass of warm water in my left hand, I open the front door with my right and step out onto the porch.

Winter wafts in like a friend who knows me well. Even before the door fully opens, a faint smell of wood fire, mixed with the sharp, soft rays of the morning sun, rushes in to embrace me. Winter's nippy kisses tingle my skin--clad in a cotton kurta and yoga pants. I'd slept in those last night. I shudder with delight. Winter is rare in Doha. I want to inhale it to my core. The bulbul mimics my joy and frolics noisily on the neem tree.

6 a.m. January 10th 2022

I turn off the alarm and promise to be up in 10 minutes. 

10 p.m. January 9th 2022

I set the alarm for 5 a.m. and then change it to 6 a.m. to be reasonable. I've just finished reading 'Kafka on the Shore' by Murakami; my first Murakami. Even though it took me four months to read the book, I've loved reading it. So, naturally, as soon as I put the book down, I  google Murakami's  'writing process'.  My phone screen informs me that when he's writing, this famous and successful author's day looks like this:

• Wake up at 4 a.m.
• Write for 5 to 6 hours.
• Run a 10 K or swim 1,500 meters in the afternoon.
• Read and listen to music.
• Be in bed by 9 p.m.

He attributes his writing success to the 'routine' he follows. 

*****************************

                                                

Dear Readers,

It feels so good to be back here: writing and sharing after a gap of 4 months! As you may have gathered by now, I've been an absentee blogger and to some extent an absentee writer. Apart from a few Instagram posts and a couple of poems in Hindi, the last four months have been dedicated to dealing with surprises LIFE springs on us rather than documenting it in prose and paragraphs.

Last night, when I read about Murakami's routine, I thought I'd give it a try. 

'Sadhana' in Hindi means 'dedicated practice or learning'. Whether it's yoga, music, or passing an exams in school or college, a dedicated practice births results. I know that but when one falls off the wagon of one's practice, it can be a struggle to get a foot hold back on. At times like these, it's sensible to look to the masters and follow in their footsteps. 

I don't know what 2022 has in store for me but I do plan to visit my writing desk every morning. Why am I telling you this? Because, writing a promise down makes it real. And sharing it with you makes me accountable to myself. 

Adriene of Yoga with Adriene who I follow when I'm unable to join my yoga class, always says: "the hardest part is to arrive on the mat." And I agree.

Irrespective of lost time, the uncertainties and turmoil of the last quarter of 2021, I'm happy to be present at my writing desk today, typing out my first post of the year. 

Thus far, 2022 has been joyous in many ways:

The food, friends brought from their travels and shared with me, made me relive my childhood without the need to time travel! Thank you Vini for the rusks from Sunrise bakery of Dehradun and Anshu for the delicious gajak from Moradabad. Another dear friend sent home -made makki ki roti and sarson ka saag so I could enjoy Punjab in Doha this winter.

Long walks on sandy beaches, sunsets, one lone sunrise, reading 'The boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse' and finishing 'Kafka on the shore' have made me happy despite the pounds that I've piled on -- thanks mainly to binging on Downton Abbey and Ozark on Netflix and NOT moving much.

I have a long way to go before I can discipline my day as perfectly as Murakami but I've made a start.

I wish you all a very Happy and Healthy 2022.

I'd love to know what has made you happy, joyful, smile in the last 10 days of this brand new year?

Till we meet again, take good care of yourself.

Warmly,

Arti

Looking at Life -- a book review

If there's only one book, you're planning to read this month, I'd urge you to pick this one.

I came across Tomichan Matheikal's blog posts during the A-to-Z blogging challenge of April 2021 and from the word go, I was hooked. 

The very apt title of the book, Life, can mean so many things at a time when the world is going through a pandemic. Even before I dug my heels into the essays, this caught my eye: "A book has no life without readers. Life, that is what matters in the end whether it is a person or a book." 

I had read somewhere that a reader lives as many lives as the number of books he's read. The reader of this collection of essays certainly lives at least 24 lives vicariously through Tomichan's carefully chosen words and artfully crafted pieces.

As an introduction, the author states that "These essays are written for ordinary readers and not for scholars. The style is simple and lucid so that any lay reader will find it easy to read and understand though the topics are not commonplace."

Imagine sitting in your favourite coffee shop with a group of friendly philosophers, historian, book lovers and thinkers. Now imagine conversations meandering from one to the other with thoughtful insights, weaving politics, humanity, religion, art, literature and common sense with such ease that you are left feeling informed and intelligent by just being present while sipping your coffee.

That's how I felt while reading this book:  absorbing the ideas presented easily and yet keenly aware of the introspective quality of what I was reading.

I can fill this post with pertinent quotes by famous people picked by the author and planted throughout the book which encapsulate the essence of his essays perfectly from Oscar Wilde to Bernard Shaw but I'll let you, the reader, relish those when you read the book. I'll stick to quoting Tomichan's words here to give you a sense of his style.

On the background of broad strokes of world politics, the nation state and religion, the author paints a line or a paragraph of such vivid wisdom, that it grabs you and compels you to look at it as a life lesson, a personal eye-opener, a warning to be aware of the pitfalls of society, of vanity. "Self-delusion on your part and condescension on theirs." 

The underlying theme of all the essays is 'Life' of course, but looking at it from the point of view of Greek mythology and the Mahabharata, from Kuhn to Kafka, from the philosophy of Advaita Vedanta to the life of Jesus, from Gandhi to Zorba, examining the truth or many 'truths' under the lens of the present-day politics compels the reader to examine her own ideas and set notions about life.  

"Rebellion is saying No to certain realities and saying a louder Yes to better alternatives."

What's life without lessons: learnt, unlearnt, yet to be learnt, forgotten and some that should never be forgotten?  I'd say it's a life never lived. This volume called 'Life' is peppered with lessons  but not in a preachy way. The essays are introspective on both micro and macro levels.  The reader may want to give time to the lessons to percolate before moving on to the next page. I did when I read sentences like: "Popularity has a diabolic appeal. It enchants and blinds people." 

Reading the book is akin to philosophical osmosis.  The reader is submerged in the richness of thought garnered from such a vast canvas of reading, that at the end of each essay one feels one has reached some clarity of thought that one wasn't aware one possessed. And in some cases, questions emerge ready for debate: a wholesome, gusty debate about how we can undo the damage we have done thus far as a race.

"Hatred is one of the most potent and bewitching of all human emotions. People love to hate those who are different from them in some ways. Politicians know this truth and use it effectively to create marauding bandwagons."

Tomichan's essays are a mirror. Reflected in them, you see yourself, the society and the world, warts and all, and yet looking into this mirror is not an exercise in vanity or futility. On the contrary, the essays have that reflective quality where one stops at a sentence, a phrase and pauses to gain a deeper understanding of self and society. 

"We need to heal our own fragmentations. We need to sit by the shore of a calm sea and put certain pieces together, pieces of our own souls."

And just when you think you may need a break to absorb all that you've read thus far, there appears  "the tender coconut that comes when the Warangal sun is boiling your innards is a memorable delight."

Refreshed and eager, the reader moves to the next essay and then the next. The sequencing is perfect. So, if you are keen to read it all in one go, you can. Be prepared to stop and be impressed on the way, though.

"Every crusader, every militant bhakt, every jihadist, has a heart and a mind that died long ago clinging to pet truths like barnacles clinging to rocks." 

The reader may wonder how to even begin taking those barnacles off oneself, society, political structures and age-old belief systems.

I'd recommend by reading works such as this one.  It can certainly be the first step to open one's eyes to the beauty and fragility of  'Life' and make one cognisant of the fact that despite our differences and prejudices, this is the only reality we have. Rest is imaginations and stories. 

"Genuine seekers of truth refuse to be deluded by gods." and "Truth is nobody’s prerogative."

The book offers solutions. It's not a futile coffee-table discussion in one's drawing-room. No, Sir. It's a call to change, to take stock of the situation, to take responsibility, to stop looking back and reminisce about golden days but to wake up and do something about today. The book urges the reader to live life and live it as a fruitful, well-informed citizen of the world.

"But we need a shift from our self-centeredness to a cosmic outlook. Who will bring about that shift? 

You."  

"It is my fervent hope that this book will live and not merely exist." states the author and as you go through the essays, the reader is let into his belief that "Life is a passion to be experienced, not a riddle to be solved." despite the book's deep and thoughtful provocations.

After I finished reading the book, I was reminded of a dear blogger friend, Yamini's recent post about Satsang. In her words,  "'sat' means 'true' and 'sang(a)' means 'community'. Therefore, it is the sitting in true communion - implying intent of purpose in the gathering and the potential for expansion from it."

That's what this book is. It's a Satsang: an invitation to gather around wise men and women of history, examine their words and philosophies and in doing so open up our own potential to expand our horizons of learning, understanding and acceptance.  I'll end my review with the author's words: "Take care of what you do to people’s hearts. The rest doesn’t matter."

I sincerely hope you will read this book.

The book is free to download now. You can get it here:  Life

PS. This book is part of #BlogChatteEbook carnival in which my book, And all the Seasons in between is also a part.

I is for Idiom Book Sellers #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the second week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

The word 'Idiom' (n), according to www.etymonline.com, comes from Greek idioma meaning "peculiarity, peculiar phraseology". 

Fowler writes that "A manifestation of the peculiar" is "the closest possible translation of the Greek word, 

from idioumai "to appropriate to oneself," 

from idios "personal, private," properly "particular to oneself."

You can find more fascinating facts about the origins of the word here: www.etymonline.com

***

The seagulls must've woken me up. I hadn't put the alarm because I didn't want to disturb the husband. We were on holiday after all. 

I was wide awake. The sky was still dark.

I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face and got dressed in the bathroom. 

"I'll see you later." I whispered to him. He groaned in his sleep. 

Equipped with my camera, I left the hotel and stepped out into the still sleeping Old Town of Cochin. 

A street cleaner was creating cloud dusts with his broom while the security guard at the entrance of the hotel looked on.

Almost as soon as I turned the corner, a fading word on a faded wall caught my eye: Idiom, it said and under it BOOKSELLERS in block letters. What a fabulous name for a book shop, I thought and clicked. I made a mental note to visit the shop.

The husband knows how I behave in bookshops. Once I enter, I don't leave. 

When I recall that quiet morning in Cochin, I smile. This was last year. It was our last holiday before Covid-19 descended upon planet Earth. On that sunny and sultry morning, I was congratulating myself for waking up early because I could explore this part of town alone, without any crowds or honking traffic.

What I thought to be precious solitude then (March 2020) started looking like stifling punishment in a matter of weeks after we left.  Silence on busy roads is so rare a commodity in India and yet just a few weeks of lockdowns had turned the same silence unworthy of want.

How fickle and transient are the flavours of time. How important than ever before is to pause and take it all in, to stand and stare and pay attention.

Come along with me while I explore the quietude of a busy city on a March morning that dawned on the right side of Covid-19.

Once upon a time, before Covid-19

joggers, walkers, cyclists

could come out all at once

and spill

without masks or restrictions.

I looked up:

Idiom

Will come back to the store

for sure

I made a mental note

and carried on

capturing

moments as hunters do.

Everywhere I looked,

on doorsteps,

on domes of cathedrals,

there were moments 

waiting mid-flight, 

in plain sight.

Scooters, bikes and cars

began displacing joggers

as I made my way back.

Morning rituals of a city, hotel surrounded me

as I sat on a bench;

sipped water, followed by tea.

I was happy to be with me.

Amber window panes paused the beginnings of the day

distorting them into treasures of fragments

and embalmed them forever.

Later that day, I went back to check out the book store. Adjusting to the darkness inside, I stepped in. Ah! There are no words to describe the feeling when you step inside a book store that has been curated/managed by a book lover.  It's a moment so precious, a feeling so blissful that I stood there in the coolness congratulating myself for sacrificing my afternoon nap to be there at that minute.

I had stumbled into an Aladdin's cave of books in Cochin. I couldn't be happier.

Lying on a table, near the exit,  was a book which was covered in clear plastic. The plastic was dusty. The artwork on the book had a haunting quality despite the dust. 

I asked the gentleman at the till if I could see the book without its cover. He nodded kindly. 

We got talking. The afternoon melted away.

I found  a few gems that I lose myself in often these days. One day, I'll tell you more about the treasures I discovered in a shop I chanced upon which lives up to its name's ideology. For now, these photos:

The spellbinding cover of 'Creation' published by Tara Books --

the one that caught my eye first.

One of the colour plates created by Badri Narayan in the book 'In worship of Shiva' published by Orient Longman Limited

Such finds, in my view, are magic--plain and inexplicable.

Leaving you with this poem I wrote inspired by the teleportational powers of a book shop.

What's a Journey?

Does it come entrapped within two bookends

of a beginning and an end
measured in time? distance? space? 

or is it just a displacement 

achieved

in a step, a moment, a lifetime?

Are all  journeys homeward bound?

Or are the homes we seek to reach

dwell hidden in plain sight :

in a book, a look, a touch, a smile?

Perhaps our journey's end is always in sight

but we walk and walk and walk

pretending to be lost

hankering to be found

despite.

*****

Are you a bookshop fiend? 

Do you miss browsing in these times of lockdowns and restrictions? 

Is your favourite bookshop still alive?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

Wishing you all a restful Sunday.

See you with J on Monday.

Stay safe and well.

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

P is for Paradise in Plain Sight (by Karen Maezen Miller) #AtoZChallenge

Pebbles, pressed flowers, parlour, Punjabi paronthe were choices I was pondering over last night when I went out for a solitary walk.

By the time I returned, news of a dear and older cousin's passing was waiting to be seen as a message on my phone.

He had been very ill for almost two years. He was closer in age to my mother than to me so every time I saw him (which was once in six/seven years or so), he spoke about his fondness for my mother. We would talk about her, cry, laugh and sigh deep sighs. I loved looking at my mother in his reminiscing.  

Even today, as I sit to type out this post, I can see his big eyes filling up with sadness and joy as he spoke of his youth, of the days gone by and the bond my mother and he shared as they grew up together under the same roof, in the same house. She was his aunt, his father's youngest sister but they were only six years apart.

His face and his words are keeping me company today. 

Paradise in Plain Sight is a book every one should have in their home. 

"Paradise in Plain Sight stopped me in my tracks and invited me to look into the backyard of my own life in a different way: with deep attention and radical gratitude." says Katrina Kenison on the blurb of this beautiful book.

I'd like to share a few lines from this book as a tribute to life and its magic. I have a habit of underlining bits that grab me, so all I had to do today was to open this book and read a few of those underlined passages and share some with you to continue on this path which has brought you and me together for a little while in this month of spring: of newness and new births, of reminders that life is cyclical, what is born must die and then be born again as a particle of light, flesh or star--who knows.

Chapter 5 

SUN 

What You See

When you see your life, you bring it to life. When you don't see your life, it seems lifeless.

When you love, really love, you just see. When you see things as they are, not as you expect, and in that wide-open space is love.

Chapter 6 
Moon
What You Don't See

Your heart is always whole, just as the moon is always full. Your life is always complete. You just don't see it that way.

Chapter 7
Rocks
The Remains of Faith
In matters of peace, you see, there can be no hurry.

This book is your garden, the path you walk everyday, the stretch of beach you visit often  because you feel you're reading something you're familiar with and yet it surprises you with how clearly you are able to see certain things as if you're seeing them for the very first time, like a new bud, a broken piece of glass catching moonlight or a shell with tiny tinges of purple.

Reading its pages is like talking to an old cousin, you know what he's going to say for you've heard it before, but his voice and his eyes shine new light on your heart's memories. You sigh with love, you sigh with gratitude and you sigh with sadness because you will miss his presence in the retelling of stories of your childhood.

Part Three
Letting Go
Make the effort of no effort.
And don't worry. You'll always encounter what you need to know when you need to know it, so go ahead and forget this too.

O is for Ordinary Moments

One ordinary evening in August, almost four years ago, I stood in the middle of the gym floor glaring at the treadmill. Tiny rivulets of sweat were dribbling down my body and seeping through my old t-shirt. I had only just got in. The forty steps I took from my front door to reach the club house in our compound had sapped me of my energy. I was angry. Upset at the unfairness of being imprisoned indoors by this crazy, suffocating heat of fifty degrees Celsius, I punched hard at the start button and started my warm up. My heart was not in it. The anger was bubbling up inside and making me stomp on the rubber belt. I stopped.

Looking for a distraction, I brought the speed of the machine down so that I could jump off. I did. And went to the corner where all the old books are kept. Doha is a transient place. People come and go. When they leave, this corner of the compound club house gets a new supply of books and magazines; stuff people don't want to carry back with them. Spanish, French, English, Dutch and Arabic books and magazines pile up haphazardly on a rickety book case.

It was the colour of the cover that caught my eye. It was a shade of my favourite, turquoise. I tugged at it and pulled the spine out and read the title. The blurb promised a good read.

Three days later, when I turned the last page, I was tempted to start all over. But, the laundry pile was growing higher and we'd eaten eggs and toast for two dinners in a row. It was time to step out of the happy fog I'd buried myself in and face the real world.

The book was:

Reading this book changed the way I looked at my days. It almost felt like all the ordinary around me had gotten a make-over! There was so much magic happening around me and I'd never even noticed, like:

• the shapes on my bed the sun draws with his rays when I pull the curtains back every morning. The sky is always blue here (or at least for eleven out of twelve months).
• or
• the neighbour's cat curled up in the big garden pot by our entrance door; the cool soil keeping his ginger fur from getting too hot and his furry red tail twitching to its own beat. 
• etc. etc. you get the idea, right?

Everyday ordinary things that went unnoticed and unappreciated because I was too busy complaining about the heat, or making plans to escape, or longing for the outdoors, started to look different. This beautiful memoir showed me how rich my ordinary was.

'the gift on an ordinary day' sits on my bedside table. I still can't figure out how anyone could've parted with this gem. Their loss--my gain, I guess.

Last April, I wrote To Katrina Kenison to thank her. If I'd asked her permission, I would've shared her reply here. But, I didn't plan this post ahead of time, so I didn't. All I can say is that she wrote a beautiful reply and added this at the end: 

"We are all just walking each other home." ~ Ram Dass

I'm taking the liberty to quote William Martin (I discovered him via Katrina's book, too) here. 

He writes in The Parent's Tao Te Ching:

Make the Ordinary Come Alive

Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.

....

Help them instead to find the wonder

and marvel of an ordinary life.

Show them the joy of tasting

tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry

when pets and people die

Show them the infinite pleasure

in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.

The extraordinary will take care of itself.

I became that child and showed myself the way. How could I show this beauty to my children if I wasn't able to see it myself? I was getting a bit lost in the glitter of expat life, you see. Designer bags and size zero waists were eroding my confidence. That was four years ago. That was before Katrina's words blasted the ordinary into my life and turned it sunny side up. 

I can never tire of thanking her for writing this book,

or,

 the person who left their copy for me to find on that rickety old bookshelf in the corner of the club house.

THANK YOU BOTH.

G is for Gibran

It's my second day in Budapest. After yesterday's harshness, hope today's post will soothe you.

How I came about Khalil (or Kahlil) Gibran's poetry, I cannot recall. That his words bring me solace when I need it, is true.

'The Prophet' is the kind of book you can dip into, open a page, read it and realize that it's what you needed to read that day, that moment -- to make sense of what's going on around you or just to reconfirm what the little voice inside you was saying all along but you were too busy with the business of living to stop and listen to it.

Today, I'm sharing some of my favourite lines from this book. These words have been my guardian angels, I hope they'll bring you the answers you seek today. All the quotes that follow come from this book.

About marriage, he says...

"Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

....

And stand together yet not too near together.

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."

"Speak to us of Children. 
And he said:

...And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you."

The librarian of this Universe knows what I need to read and when because books like The Prophet appear on my horizon, as if by magic, just when I'm seeking the answers. Thank you Librarian.

While flipping through the pages of this book to find quotes for this post, I come across words that seem new, or maybe I'm reading them after a very long time. I've been 'preaching' my family and friends (a lot lately) about healthy eating, exercise, yoga and all those things that I find helpful. The message is clear. I need to calm down:)

"Speak to us of Good and Evil.

You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.

You are not evil when you go thither limping.

Even those who limp go not backwards.

.....

Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles.

In your longing for your giant self lies your

goodness: and that longing is in all of you.

....

But let not him who longs much say to him who

longs little, 'Wherefore are you slow and halting?"

For the truly good ask not the naked, 'Where is your garment?' nor the houseless, 'What has befallen your house?'

These lines are such a timely reminder. I've been riding on my high horse of yoga and fresh fruit for a tediously long while now.

I stop myself short of gossiping about other people but scratch my surface and you will find a long snaking train of opinions running on tracks of judgment I laid down years ago. The train may have got upgraded and doesn't rattle that loudly these days, so you don't hear the gossiping that goes on inside.

Ivy League, really? Why only Ivy League? That's a bit tight on her, right? Are designer bags all they can talk about? She can do without that second helping of chips. How can they spend so much on a wedding and so little for charity? Oh! You don't want to be standing on this platform--I can tell you that.

Being mindful of my actions and reactions is my new goal but I'm a work in progress. Books like The Prophet and wise men and women like Gibran are my crutches and coaches while I hobble along.

Doha Film Institute is responsible for a stunning animated film based on this book and Salma Hayek is responsible for bringing the film to fruition. If you love art and animation, you will LOVE this film. It got mixed reviews from the critics. Who cares. I was mesmerized.

Here's the official trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwQbMxDcRGE

enjoy...

Valley of Flowers -- Nanda Devi National Park

"Choosing to see beauty creates more beauty."

wrote Katrina Kenison in her recent blog.

September 2015  turned out to be a mixed month for me. It began with a mother- daughter trip to the valley of flowers and ended with this mother hugging her daughter under a tree in a car park behind her daughter's hall of residence at her university. It was time to turn the next page of my book of parenting- the one where I would not be living under the same roof as her-- no wake-up calls, no what's-for- dinner, no you-don't-understand-mom and no reluctantly given hugs.

I knew I'd miss her, but I didn't expect to feel this physical tug, this dull ache -- this tangible evidence of a mother's love. 

Ish, a blogger friend of mine, had shared her response to the question some people asked her when her son moved many miles away from home to start uni:
People: Do you miss him?
Ish :       I have two blogs, you know.

Secretly, I'd thought that would be my response, too, as the past few months had seen me blogging more than usual. I was quite sure that I'd slip into blogging more deeply and just carry on. It hasn't happened that way. 

It's taken me more than a week to just gather myself. 

I'm behaving like I did when I first fell in love. 

All love hurts the same way. It hurt like this when I first left home to go to university. It hurt like this when I first fell in love. It hurts exactly the same when your first born moves out. The same heart strings get pulled and tugged.

'They come back, you know!' joked the gentleman serving coffee on the aircraft on our flight back to Doha. Both his daughters, he told me, had split from their husbands recently, and were now living with him and his wife.

"It's driving her nuts!" he grinned and moved to the next passenger on board.

For me, for now, I miss my baby. One thing I'm thrilled about is the time we spent together before she started living on another continent.

Thanks to April's beautiful words, I've enjoyed putting this post together. She wrote, "Change is as inconvenient as it is inevitable. Taking a lesson from Autumn, I think the best thing to do is to make the rearranging of our lives colourful. Take care."

Here we are then, a photo essay of sorts of a journey that turned out to be a jewel.

A train ride (shorter than expected) and a 12 hour long stint in a mini bus (longer and harder than expected) brought us to our camp in Auli. Camp is a misnomer really, Glamp would be more appropriate: proper beds and furniture, a bathroom with running hot water, a dining hall with chai and chicken curry.

Early next day, we were well rested and ready to embark upon our first leg of the trek; from Gobind Ghat to Ghangharia.

Come with me on this trek: see the sights, smell the flowers, meet beautiful people, gaze at the wonders of mother nature. 
(by the way, I've decided to only mention the names of the flowers I remember- the rest you can google:) 

Balsam flowers ...
we came  across yellow and lilac balsams on higher altitudes.

Sun-dried tomatoes

Pilgrims with tips: this lady and her friends piled us with tips on how to tackle the Hemkund Sahib trek. Such warmth and such love-- I felt it then and I can feel it now...more than two months later.

The Himalayan Teasel 
local name: Phulee

Amaranth plant or chaulai.
We used to eat delicious chaulai ke laddoo when we were kids. Chaulai ka saag is also commonly eaten in Doon.

Georgia O'Keefe comes to mind...

A Bee Colony...or an entire Empire?

After almost nine hours of trekking, we reached our camp in Ghangharia. 
The dining room window...

It rained buckets after we reached, so the night was cold. 
Arshia and I slept with all our layers on--
scarves, woollen hats and gloves!
Early next morning, after a hot shower (bucket and mug kind) and a hot breakfast, we were off to explore the Valley of Flowers.

 I can see the map of India...can you?

You know you're in for a grand time when you are greeted by eager Asters at the park entrance.

and a tree trunk doubles up as a resting spot.
(we were told that bears bring their cubs here to hibernate)

Wallich's Geranium

local name: Ratanjot

Himalayan white birch: the epics were written on the bark of these trees. 
The tree itself is a marvel to behold.  
Touch the bark and feel the sap coursing through its trunk. 

I stood there for sometime, catching by breath (of course) and gaping at its beauty.

These dark flower heads are one of the three variety of Brahamakamal found in this region.

Balloon flowers.
These remind me of Chinese lanterns.
Locals eat the tender leaves and shoots of this plant.

A botany guide met us when we started the trek of the Valley.
She is not yet twenty.

  Me: Is this your job or your passion? (referring to the guide work)

Yogita (the guide): This is my work, my passion, my love and my everything. I come here because it makes me happy.

Yogita: My grandfather named me Yogita because he could see how capable I was with flora and fauna around here.

I love her for her untainted confidence in herself.

Suddenly, she starts scrambling up this hill and comes down with a treat for us to taste...
these berries taste like Iodex ( muscle relaxant) and smell like it too when you pop them open with your teeth. 

Yogita rattles off Latin names of all the flowers we come across like she's reading items off a menu in her favourite restaurant- without taking any time to process. The flowers and berries and plants she points out to us seem like her old friends. She knows everything about them. And she's not yet twenty!

Her foray into guide work came by as an accident. A seasoned guide overheard her talking about some flowers and suggested that she take it up. The devastation of 2013 floods wiped out Yogita's parents' newly built house. They ran up the hills with only the clothes they were wearing to save their lives. She wants to go to college but she needs to gather enough funds to do so. So here she is, saving up money with her guide work.

Yogita: I want to publish a guide book so that people can find out about these flowers on their own when they visit.

She becomes my hero. 

These  berries grow very close to the ground, 
hugging the mountains.
Have you ever seen a blue this blue?

And here's a tasty treat spotted and offered by our guide, Yashpal. He called it the local strawberry. It looks more like a raspberry to me, but it burst with sugary sweetness when I popped it into my mouth...yum.

When leaves pretend to be petals...

Cobra Lily --gone to seed.

Forget- me - nots

Vajardanti-- it's used to cure dental and gum diseases.
Do you remember the Vicco Vajardanti ad?

Himalayan Fleece

Impatients aka dog flowers aka balsams.
Notice the little fairy light like flowers in the background?
Happy Diwali:)

This stunning beauty caught my eye just as we were coming to the end of our wanderings.
I forget the name now but I do remember the long list of medicinal benefits our guide rattled off when we spotted it-- it's used for its anti-inflammatory properties in 
Ayurvedic and Tibetan medicines.

Just this once, I googled the name. It's called Aconitum Balfourii or by its common name, the Indian Aconite.

I could stand there for hours and watch this mesmerizing blue dancing in the breeze...but we had to keep moving...

And just like that, we had reached the end of the valley. The cold glacial water was just what I needed to dip my tired feet in. The water stung like a thousand needles but I stood in it long enough to feel my feet go numb.
 All the aches and pains of the trek seemed to have osmosized. 
I felt refreshed and ready to head back.

I'm not sure what I'd hoped to get out of this mother-daughter trek. I was happy that my daughter chose to come along with me, to be part of what I like to do, to see India the way I see it, to feel the pristine beauty which is lost in the metros. Maybe, I had secretly hoped for her to witness the India of my childhood--unpolluted by the grime, greed and garishness of some of its metros.

I feel that I got a lot more than I'd hoped for or even imagined. I could see it in the way she spoke about her trip when we got back, first in Delhi, then in Doha.

All this talk of religious intolerance in India, the Paris bombings, the never-ending violence on Palestinian soil and the pain that hogs world news these days makes me want to head to the mountains forever. I want to escape from this vulgarity of humans- cloaked in the guise of religion. 

Are the asters that dance and the sunflowers that bloom and the balsams that sway Hindus or Muslims or Christians or Sikhs?

I'm happy my baby who will be nineteen next month saw how beautiful God's intentions for his Earth were and are...how magnanimous the Universe is and how unbelievably lucky we are to be able to enjoy all this. What are the odds of us being born on the only planet we know which supports life as we know it? Why do we insist on letting it all go to waste? Why?

The whys trouble me. And the what haunts me...What sort of world are we leaving behind for our children? As usual, words penned down by wise people calm me down. I read. I breathe. I go for a walk. I look around me and feel grateful for a healthy body, a happy and loving family and Whatsapp (for keeping the connection strong with family-- for FREE:)

I'll end this post with these wise and wonderful words from The Parent's Tao Te Ching by William Martin.

****

Go for a slow and mindful walk.

Show them every little thing that catches your eye.

Notice every little thing that catches theirs.

Don't look for lessons or seek to teach great things.

Just notice.

The lesson will teach itself.

and my favourite line from this book...

Don't mistake your desire to talk for their

readiness to listen.

****

It's been a long gap between the last post and this. 'Back to work' has robbed me of my blogging time. The weather in Doha is gorgeous right now. Long walks outdoors are helping me to fill my cup of creativity, so I do hope I'll be able to write and share more frequently in the future.

Thank you dear reader for being here:) Enjoy the flowers...xx

For more information about the flowers in the valley, check out:

http://www.valleyofflowers.info