Blue is the colour of love... the colour of skies the ocean.
And like the skies, blue swirls in pale airy shades to somber velvet tones that both define freedom. A lifting of shackles and a sense of soaring towards the infinite, towards an eternal love.
Of love and the oceans, the surface is multifaceted - sometimes still, sometimes raing in liquid fury. However, in every state, an immense depth dwells in majestic slumber, a depth of strength and silence.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Silent Valley
Made a trip to silent valley more than a year ago, thought it about time to set my thoughts down...
Having resolved to let nothing stop me in making a trip to Silent Valley, it was rather silly of me not to have booked the necessary tickets. After calling up a number of travel agents, pleading with and cajoling them, I finally managed to secure an overnight train to Palakkad. Reaching Palakkad station at 05:45, I proceeded to get a bus to Mannarkad. Mannarkad is a small town, smaller than Palakkad, and it wasn’t too difficult to find the bus to take me to Mukkali. An hour later, after a short climb, I reached the town of Mukkali. ‘Town’ is a rather generous term to apply to the place, the centre consisting of a convenience store, a bus stop and two eateries. The setting was idyllic though, and I sat down in one of the shops for a smoke and a cup of tea.
Refreshed, I set off to find the Forest office. Half a kilometer down one of the roads, was the forest office. Arrangements had already been made, and I was booked into the forest guest house. The Officials there looked upon me with a mixture of consternation and pity, for here I was earnestly pouring my heart out on how I wanted to see the wildlife of this place. Deciding I was harmless after all they told me not to have much hope of seeing anything on the trail. I discovered that I would be allowed only to the place called Sairandhiri, where the forest office is, along with a 60m high Machan. The place was also a mile to the river, and was frequented by tour groups. However having come all this way, I was determined to make it work. I secured the necessary permission to enter the reserve and was assigned a guide. Hiring a jeep from the nearby town centre, we set off along the path to Sairandhiri. On the way In a mixture of Tamil and broken Malayalam, I managed to communicate to the driver and guide that I was really keen on catching a glimpse of a number of creatures, including the Lion-tailed macaque and King cobra. They were still inclined to treat me as a regular camera touting tourist, until I yelled for the jeep to stop, and shot of in pursuit of a rat snake I espied on the corner of the road. Though I missed it, it established my intent with these two. From that moment on, we set out at a snails pace, constantly scanning the surroundings for signs of wildlife.
As we moved further down the track we came upon lumps of steaming elephant dung. From the state of the shrubbery on either side of the road, it was clear that the elephants preferred cross-country trekking to traversing a perfectly good path. However, we did not see elephants, only coming across signs of their passage. A wagtail on the road suddenly flew up from almost beneath the wheels of the jeep… and flew 15 feet down the road awaiting the jeep. As we lumbered nearer, it took off, and repeated this game of ‘chicken’ for about 5 minutes or so, until evidently bored, flew off into the shrubbery.
A little further, the guide, now standing at the back of the jeep, suddenly called a halt, and there in the trees off the road, I saw a solitary male macaque.
Singularly impressive with his mane, he glared at us for disturbing his repose, and moved further into the trees, apparently to sulk. Thanks to an above average zoom on my Nikon D80, and a high resolution, I was able to foil his dastardly attempt at depriving me of a picture. As the trip progressed, I came to realize that he was the most cooperative of the lot. Nilgiri Langurs crashed into the undergrowth as soon as we espied them. The Malabar giant squirrels were no help either, issuing warning ‘chucks’ to all within hearing range before ducking into the densest foliage at hand.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, and we reached Sairandhiri only to find the Machan swarming with college students on tour. Exposure to the wild seemed to bring out the beasts in them, and the welkin was split with mindless howls and shrieks. Virtually giving up on catching sight of any animals with the ability to hear, I rushed off to the river before the troupe could follow me, in the vain attempt of finding at least snakes and other aurally challenged forms of wildlife. I had no trouble finding leeches though; they were only too willing to make acquaintance with me. As we reached the river, squeals and shouts informed me of the presence of another lot of college students, dunking each other with water from the river. Giving up all hope of seeing anything larger or less ubiquitous than a leech, my guide and I went a little further upstream where we had a quick lunch, stowing away the plastic, of course. It was beautiful though, and I managed to get some nice shots of the river Kunthi, or kunthipuzha, as she is locally known.
The clouds begin to gather in force, and rather than get the equipment wet, I decided we head back for the day. Hearing about my antics from the guide, the forest officials were a lot more sympathetic to my cause, and assigned one of the foresters to be my guide for the next day. They also advised we take another route, one not usually shown to tourists, for which I was immensely grateful.
Up at the break of dawn the next morning, I wandered around the guest house grounds. A river flows right behind the guest house, and I sat here for about half an hour watching the kingfishers dive into the river. As soon as the office opened, I was ready and set to go. This time the forester accompanied me in the jeep. We took the jeep about a quarter of the way through the trail, the clouds settling into the valley, and a light rain misting the windshield. There, on the side of the path was a rough trail heading right into the valley. The guide informed the driver to pick us up from another point further up the path within a couple of hours, and we were set for the trek.
I got my equipment and with a borrowed umbrella, set out along my guide. Dousing my shoes and feet liberally with salt, paying close attention to the part where shoe met skin, we headed out into the leech infested path. The trail was quite beautiful, and we within ten minutes we came across a river. Walking to a fordable point, I removed my shoes and was quite literally disgusted with what I saw. My shoes were crawling with leeches. A few had already latched onto my calves. Dousing them with salt, I removed my shoes, and there, half a dozen leeches inside my shoes, slowly bloating on my sanguineous offerings. At that moment I lost all revulsion, and couldn’t care less. With that behind me, I was able to appreciate the trail a lot better. The sunlight barely reached the forest floor, filtered by the leafy boughs higher up. As we passed we saw Nilgiri Langurs, and the occasional squirrel.
Numerous frogs crossed our path. I stopped at virtually every tree bole, raking the leaves around the base in search of shield tail snakes. The only thing I saw was a very large millipede, over 20 cms long. The path was not too steep, but years of doing nothing but sitting in office were taking a toll on my reserves, and I had to pause every time we cleared a modest incline. The river cut across our path on two more occasions, and I began to see the wisdom in wearing flip-flops as my guide was. It also made spotting and eliminating leeches a faster process.
Finally made it to the end of the trail, and then into the jeep. I eased my aching bitten feet into the vehicle and smoked a quick beedi as we set off back to town. The trip was an eye-opener in many ways. I realized how ill-equipped I was, physically, for even a simple trek as this. I also realized that there were better ways to spend weekends than clubbing or watching TV. Even more importantly the trip served to remind me where my heart lay… In the welcoming embrace of everything Nature has to offer.
Having resolved to let nothing stop me in making a trip to Silent Valley, it was rather silly of me not to have booked the necessary tickets. After calling up a number of travel agents, pleading with and cajoling them, I finally managed to secure an overnight train to Palakkad. Reaching Palakkad station at 05:45, I proceeded to get a bus to Mannarkad. Mannarkad is a small town, smaller than Palakkad, and it wasn’t too difficult to find the bus to take me to Mukkali. An hour later, after a short climb, I reached the town of Mukkali. ‘Town’ is a rather generous term to apply to the place, the centre consisting of a convenience store, a bus stop and two eateries. The setting was idyllic though, and I sat down in one of the shops for a smoke and a cup of tea.
Refreshed, I set off to find the Forest office. Half a kilometer down one of the roads, was the forest office. Arrangements had already been made, and I was booked into the forest guest house. The Officials there looked upon me with a mixture of consternation and pity, for here I was earnestly pouring my heart out on how I wanted to see the wildlife of this place. Deciding I was harmless after all they told me not to have much hope of seeing anything on the trail. I discovered that I would be allowed only to the place called Sairandhiri, where the forest office is, along with a 60m high Machan. The place was also a mile to the river, and was frequented by tour groups. However having come all this way, I was determined to make it work. I secured the necessary permission to enter the reserve and was assigned a guide. Hiring a jeep from the nearby town centre, we set off along the path to Sairandhiri. On the way In a mixture of Tamil and broken Malayalam, I managed to communicate to the driver and guide that I was really keen on catching a glimpse of a number of creatures, including the Lion-tailed macaque and King cobra. They were still inclined to treat me as a regular camera touting tourist, until I yelled for the jeep to stop, and shot of in pursuit of a rat snake I espied on the corner of the road. Though I missed it, it established my intent with these two. From that moment on, we set out at a snails pace, constantly scanning the surroundings for signs of wildlife.
As we moved further down the track we came upon lumps of steaming elephant dung. From the state of the shrubbery on either side of the road, it was clear that the elephants preferred cross-country trekking to traversing a perfectly good path. However, we did not see elephants, only coming across signs of their passage. A wagtail on the road suddenly flew up from almost beneath the wheels of the jeep… and flew 15 feet down the road awaiting the jeep. As we lumbered nearer, it took off, and repeated this game of ‘chicken’ for about 5 minutes or so, until evidently bored, flew off into the shrubbery.
A little further, the guide, now standing at the back of the jeep, suddenly called a halt, and there in the trees off the road, I saw a solitary male macaque.
Singularly impressive with his mane, he glared at us for disturbing his repose, and moved further into the trees, apparently to sulk. Thanks to an above average zoom on my Nikon D80, and a high resolution, I was able to foil his dastardly attempt at depriving me of a picture. As the trip progressed, I came to realize that he was the most cooperative of the lot. Nilgiri Langurs crashed into the undergrowth as soon as we espied them. The Malabar giant squirrels were no help either, issuing warning ‘chucks’ to all within hearing range before ducking into the densest foliage at hand.The rest of the trip was uneventful, and we reached Sairandhiri only to find the Machan swarming with college students on tour. Exposure to the wild seemed to bring out the beasts in them, and the welkin was split with mindless howls and shrieks. Virtually giving up on catching sight of any animals with the ability to hear, I rushed off to the river before the troupe could follow me, in the vain attempt of finding at least snakes and other aurally challenged forms of wildlife. I had no trouble finding leeches though; they were only too willing to make acquaintance with me. As we reached the river, squeals and shouts informed me of the presence of another lot of college students, dunking each other with water from the river. Giving up all hope of seeing anything larger or less ubiquitous than a leech, my guide and I went a little further upstream where we had a quick lunch, stowing away the plastic, of course. It was beautiful though, and I managed to get some nice shots of the river Kunthi, or kunthipuzha, as she is locally known.
The clouds begin to gather in force, and rather than get the equipment wet, I decided we head back for the day. Hearing about my antics from the guide, the forest officials were a lot more sympathetic to my cause, and assigned one of the foresters to be my guide for the next day. They also advised we take another route, one not usually shown to tourists, for which I was immensely grateful.
Up at the break of dawn the next morning, I wandered around the guest house grounds. A river flows right behind the guest house, and I sat here for about half an hour watching the kingfishers dive into the river. As soon as the office opened, I was ready and set to go. This time the forester accompanied me in the jeep. We took the jeep about a quarter of the way through the trail, the clouds settling into the valley, and a light rain misting the windshield. There, on the side of the path was a rough trail heading right into the valley. The guide informed the driver to pick us up from another point further up the path within a couple of hours, and we were set for the trek.
I got my equipment and with a borrowed umbrella, set out along my guide. Dousing my shoes and feet liberally with salt, paying close attention to the part where shoe met skin, we headed out into the leech infested path. The trail was quite beautiful, and we within ten minutes we came across a river. Walking to a fordable point, I removed my shoes and was quite literally disgusted with what I saw. My shoes were crawling with leeches. A few had already latched onto my calves. Dousing them with salt, I removed my shoes, and there, half a dozen leeches inside my shoes, slowly bloating on my sanguineous offerings. At that moment I lost all revulsion, and couldn’t care less. With that behind me, I was able to appreciate the trail a lot better. The sunlight barely reached the forest floor, filtered by the leafy boughs higher up. As we passed we saw Nilgiri Langurs, and the occasional squirrel.
Numerous frogs crossed our path. I stopped at virtually every tree bole, raking the leaves around the base in search of shield tail snakes. The only thing I saw was a very large millipede, over 20 cms long. The path was not too steep, but years of doing nothing but sitting in office were taking a toll on my reserves, and I had to pause every time we cleared a modest incline. The river cut across our path on two more occasions, and I began to see the wisdom in wearing flip-flops as my guide was. It also made spotting and eliminating leeches a faster process.Finally made it to the end of the trail, and then into the jeep. I eased my aching bitten feet into the vehicle and smoked a quick beedi as we set off back to town. The trip was an eye-opener in many ways. I realized how ill-equipped I was, physically, for even a simple trek as this. I also realized that there were better ways to spend weekends than clubbing or watching TV. Even more importantly the trip served to remind me where my heart lay… In the welcoming embrace of everything Nature has to offer.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Thought and Mind
Our brain is an awesome machine. We pay lip service to how important it is, but do we really appreciate that the way it is now, is a product of 1 million, 3 billion, or 13.4 billion years of evolution (the varying timeframes a factor of perspective – the human brain, life on earth, or time as we know it.)? Finely tuned mechanisms that enable the organism to move and function at speeds faster that the average response time to a stimulus, gives us the ability to extrapolate data, project it into the future, and literally think ahead.
It makes one question the notion of sentience, of whether we are truly aware. In point of fact, we cannot even conceive infinity, or the nature of infinity. Gaps in our knowledge, so easily exploited by pseudo-sciences such as creationism or intelligent design, stem from the brain’s inability to process a form of thought that supersedes probability, and cause-effect linear timelines. To deal with a concept like infinity, our thoughts currently seek refuge in ‘why’ and other trite nonsense. Scientists grapple manfully with the structure of the universe, shredding it into so-called ‘multiverses’, twisting it into toroids, or folding it in on itself. All the while we seem to be missing the answers. Our brains might not yet be able to deal with these concepts with the existing thought processes. Our rationalisms and basic thought structures seem to adopt the predominantly western thought processes.
Dogma, blind adherence to faith, and a misplaced sense of privilege have led to a dilution of Hinduism (I shall forgo the term ‘eastern mysticism’ here as it is too vague and altogether inaccurate). But here, and in elements of the Sermon on the Mount, one can see a point of view that is Human-centric, recognizing in out make-up a limitation, and paradoxically, the essence of Human genius. In my world-view, I see the specific Gods as detail, substance to flesh out ideas which reverberate with the cosmos. I think Spirit, or Atman, a term that plays on a perceived intelligence behind thoughts. And I say these reading only translations of the original texts.
But in all that, we must be aware that above all, our brains are machines, and thoughts, spawned from the brain are not signs of intelligence
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Looking within
As for me, I grew up in an atmosphere that allowed me to question dogma in all forms. A transition from an absolute belief in God, and the sanctity of religion to the all-encompassing warmth of spirituality marked the initial phase of youth’s quest for immortality. The final shift to atheism was not out of choice; I believe it sprang out of a greater and wider understanding. Never having succumbed to any kind of conditioning, my mind was receptive to a variety of ideas, encompassing various aspects of science and spirituality. This led to a phase of emptiness, for without being aware, the conditioning of society around me had instilled a concrete pillar of faith within my psyche, now crumbled to dust with the awesome might of reason. Haphazard ideas born of delving into nihilistic texts only served to increase the void I now felt within. Overcoming the initial despair of the ideas of being and non-being was possible once again by bringing in rational thought into the process.
I love my thoughts. They are the vehicle that lets me span galaxies in seconds; I can touch infinity, always recoiling in awe and something akin to dread at what I glimpse, I can also believe in spirits of the Earth existing in parallel realities to ours; all this while maintaining a firm atheistic outlook, without finding any conflict in my mind. There’s so much beauty in life, that seeking solace in an afterlife or searching for a repository for our thoughts (I haven’t found the ‘thinker’, so as an imperfect spiritualist, I shall continue with the use of ‘thoughts’ rather than ‘soul’) seems a terrible waste of time. While the limits of our perception most definitely affect our perception of reality, it gives us enough to appreciate beauty in all forms – a smile, the rain, birdsong, and as humans are a subjective lot, in my case some contemporary music as well. We’re equipped beautifully to live, to reason and most importantly, to love.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Songs of creation
Wistfulness, beauty and love, cool rainy summer afternoons, Tears, fulfillment, a mind at rest, liquid thoughts of awareness
Bubbling to the surface with the music, the notes play
Around my mind, comforting warmth swirling in aural tones
Painting a landscape of sound that meshes seamlessly
With Images of mist and rain swathing a verdant mountainside,
And with the scents of the hills borne on a cool and crisp wind.
My mind creates the place, a rift which I step into,
By pulling at the curtain of thought and conditioning.
The essence of reality brought into question.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Souls light
Billions of minds, aware of the spark of awareness conscious of the veils,
Her to herself, set free to reach beyond the end of the universe,
Or the depths of her soul, both unfathomable, for hers
Is a mind unique, an ocean contending to deal with rigid lands.
Speaking to pebbles with diluted waves, moulding the sands.
Friday, March 28, 2008
To love is to hate
Right was Wilde when he wrote that we destroy the ones we love. To love someone, you betray your innermost dreams to them. Among close friends this knowledge of inner aspirations exists as well. This blithe trust is sacred; for it can easily be manipulated to destroy a person.
When their deepest faults or indeed, a perception of their faults are rendered back to them, just so lightly seasoned with facts unwittingly provided, the bond of trust can be torn apart. With this destruction of trust, coldness is fostered, stemming from the hurt of betrayal.
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