Rider on the Storm

N ainital – Air-conditioned Karolbag! 16 June 2006 Leave Almora in the morning and zip down to Nainital the erstwhile summer capital of United Provinces of the British India where legendary Jim Corbett lived along with the likes of Sir Malcolm Hailey and Ibbotson. An Englishman chanced upon the lake in 1820s and started a hill station in typical English fashion but some Hindu priest related it to the Shiva- Sati story and proclaimed that the left eye of Sati fell here creating a lake and hence the name Nainital ( Naini- eye and tal – lake). What ever be the story, the place is beautiful with lush green forests on the hills surrounding the lake. The lake waters are placid, cool and clear. Only draw back is the crowds! Who wants crowds on a holiday? The place is jam-packed with vehicles, tourists and locals. It is a crowded city. No accommodation is available and the only one with a parking we get is a very seedy joint. The day is spent admiring what could be admired, boating and sitt

Going to Almora – Drive Slowly to Enjoy the Environs! 14 June 2006 Another beautiful morning and we are to go to Almora today. After having eaten a huge breakfast of aloo-paranthas and said our byes to the hotel people, we start for Almora. The road is nice and the drive becomes more and more picturesque as we move away. We stop at Fruitage, a home made products shop, to buy some honey, jams and chutneys. A turn later the ‘Kainchi Mandir’ comes in to view. The road is choc-a-block full of parked cars, vans and buses. Some sorts of festivities are on as there are lots of s adhus and other devotees. The temple is very colourful and stands out in verdant green surroundings. A large stream curls around the temple with a branch flowing through it. The location is ideal and very soothing despite the crowds. We move on towards Almora along the banks of the stream. The drive is all down hill through lush green forests and dales. At places groves of trees are dense green with moss and ferns

The Road to Bhimtal Monday, 12 June 2006 Going to hills for a holiday in summers still excites me as much as it did when we were children. It is no different when we start for our Kumaon trip. The mad and chaotic traffic of Delhi and Ghaziabad is forgotten on the expressway till Hapur. But like all good things it does not last for ever, the expressway gives way to a potholed road with many toll plazas but no expressways! Yet the car flies towards its mark leaving Moradabad, Rampur of chakku fame and Kashipur behind. Just outside Kashipur we stop at Amritsarian da Dhaba , which also serves Thandi Beer and delicious fare. The chicken is exceptional and the dhabawala tells me in very conspiratorial whisper that it is not ‘ farmy murga’ but ‘ desi chicken’ ( eh koi farmi murga nahin, eh te desi chicken wa!). After tucking into a few rotis and his desi chicken we zip through Rudrapur, Pantnagar, Kathgodam, Haldwani and a few villages to reach Bhimtal. The roads in Uttaranchal are absol

I am blessed for I have such lovely students. They make my life meaningful and fulfilling. They also make the mundane field work (Geography at College level does require a lot of fieldwork because we cannot carry mountains to the lab or the rivers or whatever else we study!) very interesting. Although they give me the willies sometimes but still they are such fun! They are my troop of monkeys!! So I delved in to the archives to takeout some pictures of what else they do when out on field trips with me. And here friends are my students doing the field work!!!!

IN THE BAZAARS OF HYDERABAD What do you sell O ye merchants ? Richly your wares are displayed. Turbans of crimson and silver, Tunics of purple brocade, Mirror with panels of amber, Daggers with handle of jade. What do you weigh, O ye vendors? Saffron and lentil and rice. What do you grind, O ye maidens? Sandalwood, henna, and spice. What do you call , O ye pedlars? Chessman and ivory dice. What do you make,O ye goldsmiths? Wristlets and ankles and ring, Bells for the feet of blue pigeons Frail as a dragon- fly's wing, Girdles of gold for dancers, Scabbards of gold for the king. What do you cry,O ye fruitmen? Citron, pomegranate, and plum. What do you play ,O magicians? Spells for aeons to come. What do you weave, O ye flower-girls With tassels of azure and red? Crowns for the brow of a bridegroom, Chaplets to garland his bed, Sheets of white blossoms new-garnered To perfume the sleep of the dead. --Sarojini Naid