Now Shall I Walk or Shall I Ride?

“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”

Lord Byron has been able to translate my emotions impeccably. There is sheer pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a place where none intrudes. I re-lived all these sentiments during my recent Dudhsagar trek. The wanderlust residing within me was becoming impatient and I had to give in to its cravings. So I went for a trek to the magical and mystical Dudhsagar Falls, located at the border of Goa-Karnataka. There are stories associated with the trip, in its every nook and cranny. And let me tell you, this is what good stories are made off –the thrill of the unknown, the stimulation of an adventure.

The trek was with a group called Trek Mates India, with whom I had done the Tikona trek previously. My friend, my partner in crime, my traveling mate and I had been excited about the trek for the longest time. A prologue to the trip is me suffering from a viral, three days prior to the trek. I panicked, I became dejected thinking that I would not be able to make it. But when you have set your mind on something strongly, as strongly as I had on the trip, nothing can stop you. The fever didn’t or couldn’t stop me. I pumped myself with antibiotics, anti-allergic, paracetamol, vitamins and drew on my fortitude and determination and got ready for the trek.  

The trek was a two day affair, over the weekend. We gathered as a group of 55 at Dadar station and made our way to Pune in the morning, where we were joined by another 20. This made us a lump sum group of 75. It might seem chaotic, but trust me it was anything but. It couldn’t have been better organized than the way it was. We had five group leaders leading us; now these are your everyday people, who treks because it is their passion. They hold a normal nine to five job like you and me, and sacrifices their weekends in the pursuit of their passion – of trekking and traveling and exploring new places. 

The train journey from Pune to Dudhsagar was particularly alluring for me as we were travelling down the Konkan railway. It is considered to be one of the most picturesque travel routes in the world. Our humungous group was spread somewhat unevenly throughout the train; my friend and I were grouped with two girls and a guy. They were locals, and were extremely nice and friendly; they would be the kind of traveling and trekking mates you would want, someone who you could rely on. Sadly, it was a night train we were traveling in and the sun set very soon after we started our journey. At nine pm, our team leader came and told us to get an early night since it was going to be eventful next day. And here the story comes: there is no station per se at Dudhsagar. Yes there is cement platform, barely lifted off the ground with a signboard reading Dudhsagar, but trains don’t halt there. So how in the world is a group of 75 people going to get down?! Our leader had a grin on his face and said, the secret is that all trains, stop for a minute at the platform; it is a part of their technical halt because from then onwards it is a descend, so trains stop there and check their brakes to see if they are in tip-top shape or not. So we were going to make full use of that one minute, make every second count literally!! And the best part? We would do all of the jumping on the platform with our rucksacks at four thirty in the morning in pitch darkness. The only light we would have would come from the headlamps on our leaders’ heads and from inside of the train’s compartments. You think this is exciting? Wait till you hear about the rest of it.  

The ‘landing’ was achieved with precision; no man was left behind that is onboard. We had two hours to go before day broke in respectably, so quite a few of us spread newspapers on the dewy cement platform and laid down for a quick nap. Including myself; my agenda was to conserve as much as energy possible because I didn’t want to lag behind or get sick or not finish the trek under any circumstance. 

On the platform at 4:30 in the morning

With the arrival of dawn, we found ourselves perched on top of a mountain, amidst fog covered mountain peaks! It was a beautiful sight. We started the two km walk to the falls at six thirty. Now comes the next story. I am not clear as to why, but my friend and I were lagging behind the group. Probably we were too enamoured by our surrounding to take any progressive strides. And then we hear the whistle of a train behind us. 

We had to make way...

 

The few people who were loitering with us at the very back end of group, made way and got off the tracks; the rest had already made their into the tunnel. Just imagine what an experience that would have been! Stuck in a tunnel with a train rushing past! Missed that one sadly. We waved and cheered wildly as the goods train passed by; the driver and the guard also waved back and smiled at us. I am sure they thought, poor souls, they have no idea what they have got themselves into. The route that we took, even though is not a popular one, is popular for being an unconventional one and is a thrill seeker’s paradise.

Perched on top of Misty Mountain

Once the train passed away, we heard a commotion behind us. What had happened is that, behind our group, was a very miniscule group of 7, a family who were just as crazy as us and who wanted to go to the falls, using an unconventional route. The father had slipped down the slope, trying to probably take some really amazing pictures. Something like this maybe.

He was literally holding on for his dear life, hanging on to grasses and roots. The few of us who had hung back, along with our leaders, rushed to help the family out. Rahul, one of our leaders put on his harness and swiftly went down the slope and got to the father. Coming back up again was a slow process and we watched with bated breath. Luckily he had no broken bones or sprains, except for a bruise on his head. We were carrying first aid, we helped him clean up the wound, wrapped it up, and advised them not to continue with the trek. Would you believe it, he happened to be a doctor?! Well he was and had such poor judgment! Which idiot goes near the edge of a cliff, with slippers on where the grass is slippery and wet?! Thank God that he isn’t my doctor!

Leaving the group to fend for themselves, yes we were selfish that way because we had to stick to the schedule, we made our way, through two tunnels to the falls. The monsoon is the time when there are seasonal waterfalls, big and small running down the slopes everywhere. All the tunnels we went through, had a small waterfall running over them; this meant we had to go through them, which we did. It was a surreal experience. 

Tunnel Falls

It was a two km walk along the railway tracks to the falls. It was aptly named – Dudhsagar. Sea of Milk. See for yourself!

 At Dudhsagar Falls

It had rained quite heavily in the nearby Karnataka, which is why the falls was at its full glory! We donned our mackintoshes, because the water was flowing with such force that if you didn’t then you would get wet. And trekking fourteen km in wet clothes is not ideal.  

My rucksack and I at the Dudhsagar Falls

The falls is now famous for being in the movie Chennai Express and below is an iconic image. It is almost as same as the movie, except it is not the real life Chennai Express; Chennai Express does not traverse by this route.

 Chennai Express

The falls and the bridge

Spending a leisure hour, we bucked up for the trek through the leech infested jungles. Yes, that is right people I said LEECH! 

In retrospect, the trek was the best and the most challenging and crazy thing that I have ever done, and trust me coming from me, I have done quite a few crazy things in my life. While walking down the railway tracks, we took a sudden deviation from it and entered the jungle. The path was muddy, it was wet and slippery, and it wasn’t a path at all. I hung on to the hanging shoots of trees and swayed like Tarzan so as not to fall face down with my heavy ruck sack.

Maneuvering through the jutting roots, hanging shoots, collapsed trees blocking your way, along muddy pathless trails was the most difficult part. 

Man versus Wild

Or it could also be where we had to cross six streams, in knee deep water, which had ample amount of currant to drag us downstream if we weren’t careful enough. 

Down by the river

And to add to all of it, there were leeches and other bugs and other creepy crawlies, who were just waiting to climb into our clothes. Laugh if you want to, but I wore double layers of socks, double layers of shirts, topped with my mackintosh, and a cap so avoid getting bitten from those leeches who hang from branches. Are you laughing yet?! Well, you shouldn’t because they protected me and I was one of those lucky ones who did NOT get attacked by leeches. 

I wouldn’t lie; it was hard and on more than one occasion I had thoughts of giving up. But there was no option of giving up because I was in the middle of the jungle, and even though I had 74 people spread in front and behind me, none of them could carry me home, it simply wasn’t on the cards. I muttered under my breath that this experience was worth my entire life time and that I was done playing the crazy and seeking out crazy. I just wanted to settle down and be ‘normal’. Finally when we hauled ourselves up the slope to reach the train tracks once more I was ready to crash and lie down forever. But then came within me, this fluttering of perseverance, which poked at me and I got up completed the last three km of the trek, once again along the railway tracks in a record breaking time, I am sure. My friend and I were the first girls to have completed the trek; we were accompanied by a group of four guys whom we befriended and the company and the chatter made the last leg of the trek not so strenuous.

Steady feet don't fail me now...

By the time we reached the shelter in Kulem, where we were supposed to clean up and eat, my legs were ready to give up. I experienced some very anxious moments, when it was both physically and mentally difficult for me to put one foot after the other. I was almost close to tears, when we began our return journey; my legs were complaining desperately and it was a real challenge for me to make it to the platform. Once inside the train, I gave in to my stress and fatigue completely. Using my rucksack as a pillow, I laid out straight on an empty seat throughout our journey to Madgaon. Once in Madgaon, we had a stopover of one and a half hours. Most of us grabbed a super early dinner because the only thing that all of us could foresee in our future once we got up on the train – sleeping. Which is exactly what we did.

The trip had been memorable for so many reasons. I turn to Christopher McCandless aka Alexander Supertramp: “I know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.” I might not look strong, in fact I am a frail little creature, but I felt strong, stronger than I had ever felt in my life. I felt exhilaration, because I broke through the chains that I was put into; I proved all my cynics wrong. Yes, I am an outdoors person. What is my fascination with that, you ask? There is where I feel the most alive, in that moment, in that special time and place. The crux of a person’s essence comes from experience. I feel comforted to have known that I have been allowed to walk here, which is to heaven on earth.

Not so Magnificent Mary

Mangte Chungneijang Mary Kom came into the limelight of the Indian media after she won her fifth World Amateur Boxing Championship; prior to that India was ignorant of her existence. India then went back in time to see for themselves who Mary Kom was. And what they saw they liked. They saw an opportunity to exploit the success that this lone figure in the female boxing field has achieved, having been betrothed with the title ‘Magnificent Mary’. The exploitation was complete when it was announced after her bronze win at the London Olympics in 2012, that Bollywood is eager to tell her story to the larger audience. What Bollywood calls storytelling, I call exploitation. At least Bhag Milkha Bhag was made when Milkha Singh had retired; Mary Kom is still pretty much in the business of boxing and preparing for the upcoming Rio Olympics in 2016. I don’t see the point at all. 

Mary Kom is a poorly researched, poorly directed movie. It hardly bears any resemblance to her early life. Her parents were share croppers, it was true but life was not that harsh as it was portrayed in the film. Also, she had tremendous interest in athletics, before she decided to focus single mindedly on boxing. There is also no account of her being a hot head and picking up fights at random with guys. If you are making a ‘biopic’ please get the facts right, Omung Kumar!

Priyanka Chopra is the only good thing about the movie. Her rippling biceps definitely shows the amount of hard work she has put in to get into the shoes of this famed boxer. Apart from the physical side to the role, she also had to play a mother to twins, whom she leaves behind to get back in the ring. I have no complains about her portrayal. There were very authentic moments, we could see the doubts creeping in when she has to choose to leave behind her infant sons and go back to train. 

And now the most important part of the movie, which I detested to the core was Priyanka Chopra’s diction. But before that let me venture out and appreciate the efforts of Kumar, who tried to ruffle the feathers of the India Boxing Federation by commenting on how things run and what hurdles and hoops athletes have to jump through just so they can represent their country.  The incident may or may not be true in Mary Kom’s life, but we can be sure that incidents like these do happen – unwanted sexual advances, threatening to pull athletes out if they don’t comply, humiliating them, making use of their priviledges. Okay, back to the part that thoroughly irritated me was the diction of the titular character. When Mary is forced to read out the apology letter in front of an audience, she says ‘phedarasion’.  Yes, I tried to phonetically match her pronunciation. What makes the script writer think that Priyanka should not pronounce it as it is pronounced – federation. Whatever might the real Mary’s diction be, you cannot force it on a character onscreen. This is racism! And this is where and how it starts. Before taking shape into something that we can’t control. Also talk about poor makeup! Priyanka’s fake painted freckles were such an eye sore!

We need more than the petty and cheap histrionics and theatrics that Kumar had made use of to tell the story of Magnificent Mary!

Moving Out was the Best Decision of my Life

“A house is not a home...” My house was not my home, it was not my safe haven, it was not my sanctum sanctorum. I was an only child and I grew up to be a lonely child. I grew up an introvert. I had a few select friends. My parents didn’t get me, I didn’t get them either. I was a disappointment to my father on a lot of fronts. I was a girl, I didn’t study medicine, or law or engineering. Instead I studied Literature. “A fat lot of good that will do you”, my father said when I told him about my decision on a major. On the night of my graduation, my parents hosted a dinner party to commemorate the occasion. I will not lie, I was surprised by this tremendous piece of courtesy. My father wasn’t particularly fond of my career choice, something which he had made abundantly clear in the course of three years of college. But you wouldn’t have been able to figure it out that night; he played the part of a proud parent to perfection. After dinner, when everyone had left and I was in my room, feeling guilty for having judged my father too harshly, he came into my room, with a whiskey in his hand. He had a faraway look on his face and gave me a forlorn smile. “That was one of the most excruciating dinners I have ever hosted. While everyone of my friends’ kids are doctors, engineers, lawyers, architects, or are studying to be, I have to say that my daughter wants to write. And she has had no success so far.” He turned his back and went away. And that is how it has always been; with him turning his back on me whenever I stumbled in life. Nothing I did was good enough for him; he always expected more than I could provide him with.Sure I was no valedictorian or salutatorian, but I wasn’t an ignoramus either. And then one day I decided to stop, I stopped seeking his approval. 

My father was the reason why I had so little self-confidence; I suffered from low self-esteem, and an overall feeling of being utterly useless. As I grew up, I doubted my ability to work and produce effective results. As a result of being constantly criticized and doubting my own potential, my grades in college suffered. This provided further fuel to my father and served as an open invitation to demean me some more.

I could not turn to anyone because to the outside world he was the epitome of an ideal father. He had painted a picture perfect portrait of our family on the outside.He was the perfect husband, the perfect father. Among our neighbors and friends, he was my ‘Daddy’ and I was his ‘little girl’. He played the charade of a doting father very well indeed. As far as people were concerned,he was my champion, my hero, my pillar of strength, my biggest supporter. He would go around telling people how proud he was of me, that he was going to back me up no matter what I chose to do with my life. Oh how I wanted those words to be true! I remember an instance from high school: I had got a C+ on a paper and my father refused to speak to me for two whole months. He even avoided making eye contact with me. He refused to have dinner with me at the same table. As an only child, how dare I fail his expectations? Did I not know that there were no replacements toddling behind me?  So I retracted further in my cocoon; he was successful in making me feel emphatically inconsequential.

But now that I have moved out, I have people around me who tell me that I am not without talent and I am definitely not worthless. I feel appreciated and accepted among my colleagues and my circle of friends. When I talk, they listen without interrupting me; they tell me I have the capacity to seize their attention with my words. They believe in me, they have faith. I don’t feel like a no one anymore.I have a job, I am able to make both ends meet quite comfortably, I have a roof over my head. I am trying to get over the inhibitions of me not being good enough, but it is difficult to grow out of them. I often go to the beach by myself; I enjoy the sound of the waves. A trip to the beach leaves me calm and serene.

It took a lot of grit and determination to get away from under the shadow of my overbearing and disapproving father, but I did manage to in the end. We talk every day now. He calls me at nine every night without fail; I find the routine ludicrous and tedious. He tells me that he misses me, I remain laconic. He tells me that he wants me to move back to the city, I am still laconic. He tells me he wants me to be happy, I don’t quite believe him. This was the man who made it obvious that my very existence was nothing but a disappointment. How can I believe him now, when he says so otherwise? Am I wrong in holding a grudge against him when clearly he is reaching out to make amends? I am sorry, but every time I sit down and try to make peace with my past, it is a painful recollection and I find myself unable to move past the hurt he has caused me. Moving out was the best decision of my life, and I am finally free from the clutches of rejection and disappointment that my father had infected me with when I lived under his roof. I haven’t been able to forgive my father for what he has done to me yet, but I hope that the first step involves moving out. I pray that I am able to one day.

Mardaani

Mardaani discloses certain skeletons in the closet that would have best stayed in the closet so as not to affect our conscience. But too bad, Pradeep Sarkar decided to take a stand in regard to a growing issue that is plaguing India at large: child sex trafficking. Sarkar backs up his movie with authentic figures – every eight minutes, a child goes missing in India; UNICEF reports that almost 1.2 million children from India are trafficked for sexual exploitation every year. Those are some staggering numbers, especially if we are at all worried about the ‘future’ of our nation. With a backdrop of the growing child sex and drug trafficking, Sarkar makes Mardaani about a tough female cop, who makes it her mission to find her surrogate daughter, who had been kidnapped and forced into prostitution.

Rani Mukheji plays Shivani Shivaji Roy, a no-nonsense cop, who holds her stead easily in a male dominated world. Her colleagues look up to her and support her, which is refreshing to see for a change; they have their ‘ma’am’s’ back at all costs. But please don’t be rash and take this to be a sign of a feminist film; instead be a little open minded and not bring in gender at all for the protagonist. As a celebrated police officer of the Mumbai crime branch, she is married to a doctor, played by Jishhu Sengupta, and is a mother to her niece, Meera. When Pyari, a young girl who is the same age as Meera and who is Shivani’s surrogate daughter, whom she had saved from a life of hardship of begging around in the railway station, goes missing, Shivani stumbles across a nefarious racket of child sex trafficking. Thus begins the thrilling chase of the good and the bad.  

Mukherji, coming back from a hiatus, packs a powerful performance. She has no qualms in slapping the shit out of a goon when he threatens her to leave them alone and continue with their riot. She has worked hard for the role which shows in the actions sequences. As a fierce, gutsy police officer, she is not surprised when the kingpin of the sex trade operation contacts her over the phone and warns her to stay back. Instead she makes light of the situation by calling him the “under 19 ke 12^th man.” She practices kickboxing, yoga and keeps herself fit and at top shape so that she can chase killers trying to evade arrest on motorbikes. She is equally at ease with her colleagues cracking jokes about their boss – “Arre koi boss ki biwi ko shopping kara do yaar!”

Shivani Roy is the typical character of tough cop, we have seen plenty of them before. The only aspect that I felt was a little overdone was how Mukherji pulled up her sleeves frequently throughout the movie in order to accentuate her swagger; that was unnecessary.  Mukerji carries Mardaani on her shoulders, with some support from Tahir Bhasin, who plays the cool, suave mastermind of the gang. I am glad that someone is doing their bit in order to bring awareness about an issue of this huge magnitude in the limelight. All hail Mardaani!