This times even though I wasn’t very excited somehow because of Work and also the pressure of going back to college and studies, I did take out a day to visit Jageshwar. Yet as I moved, I was stopped by the remarkable Lakhudiyar Caves and later my intuition took me towards a temple I did not even know existed yet it became the highlight of my travels this and I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I left Delhi again. And you know, every time I leave Delhi for a town or even a city, I am surprised with how pleasant the life is outside. First thing that you always notice moving out of Delhi is how vast and wide-ranging the sky becomes. There are no more glimpses of Moons and Suns between buildings rather you become an observer of a painting happening.
Amongst the six major wars since Independence in 1947, India fought its deadliest battle with East Pakistan which resulted in the Birth of a country called ‘Bangladesh”, in 1971. But, even though, the Indian Army was confronting the rogue Pakistani soldiers in erstwhile East Pakistan, Pakistan decided to engage Indian Army and opened the western front in the Thar Desert of Rajasthan where only 120 Indian soldiers were manning their territory against 2000-3000 Pak soldiers with 40 Tanks. It was a night attack in a vulnerable open desert landscape which back fired for Pakistani Army six hours later but by then they had bombed most installations with heavy causalities. It is known that amongst all of this the only structure that was left as it was, was a mother Temple called Tanot Mata Temple, with 120 men winning an unusually long fight. My work was done by the noontime. After a whole morning of chasing a Manganiyar tribe, I finished my interview with the old tribal singer and requested Veeru’s great grandfather to sit under …
Folktales are Oral stories that are passed down by the elders to the younger generation. For centuries, folktales have been a crucial medium for preserving cultural traditions and teaching the youth to understand the world around them. A folktale in Malwi, a Rajasthani Hindi dialect of Madhya Pradesh: Sona and Rupa One evening a prince was returning home on his black mare after a hunt, and took the mare to drink from a stream. As he watched it drink, he saw, along with his own and his mare’s reflection, several strands of gold and silver hair floating on the water. Obviously, lovely women with hair of gold and hair of silver had bathed somewhere nearby, upstream. He bent down and picked up the hair. The more he looked at it, the more he thought of the beauty of women with such hair and was infatuated with the images in his head. He tucked the hair into the folds of his turban, mounted his mare, and went home to his palace. It was time for dinner, …
Dhapodi ji became a shepherd once she learnt that she would not be able to give Ambaram any children. Limping, I saw her whole life in that moment as she slowly walked away from us, with his cattle family. She took the responsibility of walking seventy goats and four cows to greener pastures. She used to take them all together for grazing, in rain, in dusty, deadly heat of Rajasthan daily, finding newer fields and branches to eat from all day to come back as the sun sat and help his husband’s second wife in cooking. Yes, second wife! Ambaram married again, in search for a boy to continue his lineage. Instead the new couple got five beautiful talkative girls, each a year apart. They went to every temple and sage to pray and ask for their blessing- leaving the older wife- Dhapodi and children back home. It became an irony that on the day Ambaram and Dhapodi got married- twenty years later, a boy arrived from the younger wife. As i Sit on the …
Something unlikely happened in February. I wrote a letter for the first time, to send it far away; away across the seven seas wishing someone love, birthday wishes and health. And subtly felt that I should start doing it more often. Through writing at least, making unknown known, to the people who are close but far, sending Postcards to you. As it would be great to support our age old Letter/Postal services to keep working in this digital world. As it was also the birth month of my Mother. I kept planning that my parent’s travel, somewhere they had never been to. More so when they are more like Pilgrims than tourists, so wherever they can find a calling connection with the local lord, a deity of a city, a region; they go there happily. And that high of happiness had eluded them for the longest time. Much before the Virus locked our gates. The orders had come to open the schools. Ma and I had already started planning the opening of our school. We …
It was a time of peerless freedom. I was a young Yogi travelling with a backpack, pen, diary and a camera travelling through villages, walking on the mud roads of rural India, in search of stories. I had just finished a two-day assignment for an Indian magazine, documenting the popular cattle fair that took place around the ancient temple site of Pushkar. And while at it I had learnt that after this fair in the ancient city of Brahma, the camels will travel for weeks on road through the desert and forests, crossing the oldest hill range on earth, the Aravalli to take part in another fair, hundreds of miles down the western coast in the Rann of Kutch in Gujarat. I wanted to find that route and travel with them, with the camel tribes documenting, and writing about this beautiful, unusual journey. But on my way, I couldn’t find any transport, which could have taken me to the state highway, from where I could find the travelling camels. It was night and I had …
I could well be passing my worst night. I had missed my fastest express to home, and was barely left with enough money to buy tickets again. Evening was around, I decided to reach the highway and do what i had never done. I started asking passing by truck drivers for a lift. As time passed and no one stopped, uneasiness was creeping in. I hadn’t done anything like it before. But I kept telling myself that if nobody stops I will rest at a temple or the next dhaba i may find. After a considerable time suddenly a big truck passed and seemingly started slowing down. It must have stopped 100 meters ahead. I ran. It looked strange at first sight for such a big thing stopping, for me!! It was a sixteen-wheeler trolley. Empty. I got in. There was only one small, frail person, the driver sitting. He was lanky, and looked too young to be driving anything like this. Also he looked grim, bit sad and may be in shock. Apart from …
She kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Her death seemed such that at one time I felt she chose it. But do birds more so when one is a predator choose their own death? When Maharaj ji arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be she needed someone to close her eyes before it could be plucked out by hungry ones. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle. May his body rests and the spirit awakens. Aum Shanti In Photos 1
Mangla’s milk has been the best thing to happen in this sea ashram. But today even before I could taste it, Logar brought Papaya for the first time and we prepared shake for every one. I closed the dhuni myself today when Maharaj ji retired after keeping the planets outside out of rat fear. He seemed tired. We called different goddesses around sunset and went outside the premises along the foothills to buy rabbits for Gayatri. Later when we came back, Manavendra was sitting on his horse called gambler over the Thorn hill. For the night we were invited to a home where several varieties of food was being prepared. When we reached, a woman whose face I forgot as soon I met her as i kept looking only at her nose pin. She told me my caste, and while drinking the papaya shake left from the morning, asked me to slow down. Me? When i woke up in the night even though i didn’t have to, a man was seen going away from me …
Its time to sleep. And Logar starts beating the drum again tonight. May be he does it for mangla, the cow. But then there is no need for that. Or may be to warm himself up. It is cold. Or most probably and i feel this could be the reason, to keep Jacky, the panther away from the cows. Its windy. Neem tree under which we sleep showers its old leaves on us all night. In the morning we went towards the field and started digging. The mud that we got was put into a copper plate and then was under the same tree. On it we placed a copper snake and twelve different coloured stones in the direction of the water. Maharaj went to the temple on the mountain. I, and the guy whose dream is to mine a mountain started putting the clay in the direction of the planet’s movement. But they wobble. Even though the energy is needed to pour in them, the vital breath but we shall see tomorrow when maharaj …
In the night a train came. In it was an engine sleeping above Maharaj. So loud was his snore that I started going from bed to bed but to only kept get up enquiry after enquiry. In the morning as the sun rose, Aravalis were seen passing. Winters seemed gone, the moment I poured ground water on my head at four in the morning in February. A mountain starts from behind the ashram. And holds in him a panther they call Jacky. Jacky is popular and so much that he has come in the premises for if the cows go munching in the night. Me and Maharaj went to the Hinglaj temple and sang songs for two hours after we had food. I saw mangla while coming down and went near her to comb her stomach. During that time I learnt few new things about shukra and shiva, Shani and Vikramaditya. There is one Banayan, one neem, a library and enough blankets under the open sky. Rathore’s Kuladevi is Mata Nageahwari. Lights are out but …
Photograph of a lost memory in flaring heat of Jaisalmer – It is hot in Barmer. It is so hot that my lower portion feels different and apart from my head. My right cheek has swelled. Ulcers recognized heat. I am staying with amma here, a Bhopa. Last night we decided to attend Pabu ki phad. Happens rarely now. A local god. Reincarnation of Laksman. Bhopas sing and dance for Pabu. For two nights Bhopas from all across the region have come to sing and dance reciting Pabu’s story. Anada Ram was the most prolific Ravanhatta musician, who died 33 years ago. His wife, Amma vowed to never sing after that day. I am here to document her son. He never learnt Ravanhatta. He wanted to be a dancer. I have known him for eight months now. There were many other dancers from the community who had come yesterday. Veer was going to show me one of his acts dancing on the mirror glass with fire in his mouth. He does not dance in …
ROAD TO NARA 