Childhood

I just got out of Anu’s class. I had to be a part of her class project on star student of the week. Anu was the star student of the week this time. We had worked on some old photos of hers with the family and weaved stories around them on a display board. Anu had come up with a list of her favorites and facts. And this time the favorite food had changed from carrots and broccoli (a lie) to soft tacos from Chipotle (somewhat true). The project needed that one day of the week a parent had to come in and talk about the child—some childhood memories to share with the class. The night before, Anu had wanted me to run over the stories that I was likely to share with her class as she was not sure of my ability or content. I had said No –that I was quite capable of recounting stories of her childhood better than her. So this morning I was thankful of my blog and read through few of Anu’s witty remarks as a 4 year old—like the Julia story of her first ever hated day care—where after being bullied by Julia for a month Anu had come home with a purple note that said “Aparna spit on Julia today”. It was hilarious! Then there was the question answer session like in the Bill Cosby show with Anu which I had blogged:

Me: Where is God?
Anu: God is a rainbow that flies over the clouds
Me: What happens when parents die?
Anu: Children become parents.
Me: Who is the president of America?
Anu: Johns Hopkins.
Me: Anu, No, who is the president of America?
Anu: Ok Ok, I know, its George Bush.

And more recently at a friend’s house: the girls are playing pranks calls on the friend’s parents. They are calling the cell phone of the friend’s dad and saying “This is pizza hut calling, free pizza for our first caller, make your order now”. So the dad who recognizes the voices of the kids' goes “So what kind of topping is free?”. Anu answers “Anything that you want Sir”. So the dad wants to strike a fast one, “Can you give me free potty topping?” Anu answers, “In that case Sir you have to bring your own”.

Anu’s class kids are having fun. They have laughed at my jokes and Anu feels that her mom hasn’t made a fool of herself and that her colleagues have understood my Indian accent. I hand out some gummy worms and candies and walk out of the class waiting for school to end to give her a ride home. I choose a bench to sit; right in front of the office, check my SMSs and sympathize with the wailing, sobbing and whimpering kids walking in and out of the office room either with a twisted finger or a bumped head or cut knee. Most are sent out with an ice pack as the school cannot afford a nurse.

After a bit I hear, “One hundred twenty four, one hundred twenty five, one hundred twenty six…" and so on. I look up to see a little boy sitting on a chair outside the office smiling and counting to himself. I smile back and my question answer session with him begins-- for the next 40 mins --until the bell goes off. Here is an excerpt:

Me: Are you on time out?
Boy: No.
Me: Then why are you not in class?
Boy: Because I cant go in.
Me: Why?
Boy: Because I have dog poop over me.

Much laugher from my side.

Me: How did that happen?
Boy: I didn’t know it was dog poop. I have never seen any before.
Me: Did you wash your hands?
He looks at his palms and says “No”.
Me: Well then don’t get them close to your mouth.

He makes a display of wanting to lick his palms and laughs.
I laugh with him.

Me: What grade are you in?
Boy: First.
Me: Whats your name?
Boy: Jadden Redford Don Dakota
I am not sure I hear the first name properly. Jane?
Jadden: No Jadden

But he is still lisping the D. I leave it at that.

Me: Wow that’s a short name!
Jadden: You think its short?

He recites it again.

Me: So which one is your last name?
Jadden: Redford that’s my dad’s name. Then Don and Dakota, my grand parents.
Me: Hmm….Do you have a sibling in this school?
Jadden: Yes
Me: Which grade?
Jadden: 3rd
Me: Any other?
Jadden: I have 10 brothers and sisters.

I am laughing again. He is a short and cute, has short black hair. He is in a black sweat shirt, black jeans laced with dog poop and a nice pair of shoes.

Me: 10 of you?
Jadden: Yes and we are 14 people at home including my parents and grandparents.
Me: Wow! You must have a big house.
Jadden: Yes.

My phone rings I look at the text. Meanwhile I hear “one hundred twenty seven, one hundred twenty eight…” Jadden is counting.

Me: Why are you counting?
Jadden: I am waiting for my dad to come pick me up.

Then he lifts his legs on the chair and shouts, “Look, look I am flying” and makes a face like he actually is.

Next moment he asks me, “Can you do this?” He is twisting his fingers like we do when we want to show a camera shot.
Me: Hmm..“can YOU do this ?”. I bend my fingers down like I usually do ---my fingers bend backwards quite a bit.
He is very interested. His eyes widen. He says, “Wow”. His next question has me in splits.
Jadden: So, are you Spanish or French?
I make a straight face and say, “I am Indian”.

Indian…..Jadden is thinking.

Jadden: So you must know a lot of Indians?
Me: Yes I do.
Jadden: Wow! I don’t know any.

Again his legs go up on the chair. “I am flying”, he chants.

My phone rings. One hundered eighty five…I hear on the side.
We both hear music playing from the auditorium. The school band is practicing.

Me: I love this music. Do you play any instruments?
Jadden: Yes I can play the drums, and the electric guitar.
Me: Wow! That’s cool. Do you sing?
Jadden: No.
And in a moment,
Jadden: Yes I do.
Me: Sing something.
He sings something. I cant understand.

Jadden: Well do you know this song?
Me: Which one?
Jadden: Girls go to high school to get more Jupiter, Boys go to high school to get more stupider.

I laugh. He has it wrong.

Jadden: Whats Jupiter?
Me: It’s a planet I think.
Jadden is thinking…why should girls get into a different planet to go to high school.

Again, “Two hundred twenty six, two hundred twenty seven”…followed by some, “I‘m flying” and this time adding “Why isn’t my dad coming?” But it doesn’t really bother him.

Me: So Jadden, how old is your oldest brother?
Jadden: 19.
Me: Does he go to college?
Jadden: I don’t know. But he can drive by himself.
This is followed by--
"My brother has a jacket that says “I fall for chicks”. I know what that means. It means I like beautiful girls".
Me: Are there any good looking girls in your class?
Jadden: Yes. Two. Lisa and Cindy.

I smile.
Jadden: I have this red box, (he opens his hands like an oyster opens its face). When the box opens it says, “Will you marry me”. That makes Lisa and Cindy laugh. They say, “You are weird”.
This is followed by--
Jadden: Do you know I have a girl friend?
Me: You do?
Jadden: She is 18.
I smile again.
Jadden: Her name is Ashley.

Some more flying in between.
Jadden: Three hundred seventy six, three hundred seventy seven…where is my dad?
And in a moment,

Jadden: Can you whistle like this?

Jadden whistles. I admire.

Jadden: This is how you whistle when you see a pretty girl. Can you whistle?
Me: I can. But its too loud. You will have to go outside.
Jadden: Well le’ts go outside.
Me: No we can’t go out of the school remember?
Jadden: O!

More of “I am flying”.

Then
Jadden: Do you know whats inside my backpack?
Me: No whats in it?
Jadden: Nothing

His bag is lying next to his jacket on the floor. Jadden leans over to his bag. He can barely reach it. He calls the bag “Come!” The bag doesn’t move. Finally he leans over the chair a bit more and reaches it. He brings the bag to his lap and chides it like a child.

Jadden: So you want to see whats inside my bag?
Me: Yes.

It’s a big adult back pack. Jadden opens all the zippers and flashes the inside to me.
Jadden: Nothing.

I am laughing.

Me: Why do you carry it to school then?
Jadden: Well here I have something.

He flushes out from one of the side pockets a tiny green marble that’s painted red on one side.

Jadden: It’s a plum red grape green marble.

Just then the bell goes off and children start coming out of the class. I see Anu come by. I walk over to her and we pass by Jadden sitting on the chair—flying. I stop and say “Anu this is Jadden”. Anu has sheer shame and bewilderment on her face. What is Mama doing talking to a school kid, she is thinking.

"Jadden", I say “This is Aparna. She is Indian”. Jadden almost looks scared. Too many odd things happening to him today: dog poop on his pants, two Indians and dad’s not here yet. He has stopped counting and Anu and I walk to the car.

My blackberry camera has stopped working. Otherwise I would have taken a photo of Jadden Redford Don Dakota and if it wasn’t for the dog poop I would have hugged him too.

My best day ever.

The ISKCON Experience

Every month in Salt Lake City and around, ISKCON has at least one home program. Somehow for the past several months we have been attending one or the other. I am not sure what draws me there: to listen to an interesting presentation or to be a part of the invigorating Hare Krishna kirtan or simple amazement at non-Indian people being such ardent lovers of Krishna. Well of course, from the 33 million Gods that we sport, Krishna is known to be the magnificent enamourer and not many have escaped from his divine clutches. In trying to find out a reason for my attraction for Iskon, I embarked upon a journey that took me on a 50 mile tour where I followed one such soul that has fallen quite inextricably into the web of Krishna’s charm.

My first introduction to the Spanish Fork ISKCON Temple was in October of 2008 when we moved to Salt Lake City, UT. Looking for some Indian faces, we visited the temple on India Fest Day on a wintry evening that year and were amazed to see how many non Indians loved India!! It was the beginning of a tie that would draw us to the temple celebrations of Shivaratri, Diwali and Holi every year. Slowly our kids began to perform at their festivals, I began to sing in the temple, blog about ISKCON and began bringing relatives and visitors over to see the Taj Mahal of Utah! Spanish Fork is a 50 mile drive from our home but distance did not seem to matter when I received a short email from this man who seemed to be completely at ease running a show for an audience of 15,000 to put forward the case of Krishna. With a smile that has never left his face and with a crease that has never appeared on his forehead, he seemed to be an encyclopedia on Hindu scriptures most often putting us to shame! He reaches out to strangers with extreme ease, remembers difficult Indian names and chants shlokas to every instance. His goal in life seems to be simple—I have to bring Krishna to you! I have never seen Caru Das tire of this goal.

This past month we hosted the home program in our house. As a child if you have read the stories of composed saints like Vasishtha, Agastya and Atri or impatient sages like Durvasa, Bhrigu and Parshurama you would have trepidations inviting priests home for a meal and discourse! I ventured out with faith and humility trying to remember everything that my pious mom would do in a situation like this! Fresh vegetarian food cooked the same morning after a shower, arranging the altar with our house deity Jagannath’s photograph, flowers, prasad, ghee wick lamps and a coconut adorned kalash seemed to give me some sense of peace before the arrival of the visitors. The guests arrived in the evening as hot rotis were just turning out of the stove. Vaibhavi Devi, Caru Das’s architect-artist wife, Hanuman ji, the tuneful kirtan singer, his wife Wendy who keeps a fantastic rhythm on the manjira and Prem ji, a devotee from India, along with Caru Das were our visitors. Strangely enough, our house is full of paintings of Krishna and I became aware of their number when the Krishna lovers pointed that out!

As I laid out the food, I felt a sense of fulfillment akin not simply to feeding some pious souls but strangely as if I was feeding my ancestors. THAT is an odd feeling I thought. They finished their meals, praised the food and got up to wash their hands. Downstairs as Caru ji set up the AV system for the presentation, Hanuman ji set his harmonium facing the altar, sat down on an aasan and then did a very ordinary thing that sent a lightening stroke through my body. He took out a namavali gamcha (traditional Indian scarf with names of Gods written over it) and placed it over his head before beginning to sing. A very simple act, but in my heart I knew who I was entertaining in my home that evening. My most loved grandfather on my father’s side. Many times I have dreamt of this simple man, my father’s father, who spent several years with us in my childhood, before he died 20 years ago. Materially he never had much to give to his grandchildren but we loved him to death. On steaming hot summer afternoons in Bhubaneswar, we used to spot Bapa slowly walk down from the railway station towards our house with his head draped in a gamcha. And then I remembered Sant Tulsi Das’s verse “ Tulsi iss sansar mein sab se miliye bhai, Na jaane kis roop mein Narayan mil jaye..” (Tulsi says, meet every soul on earth with love and devotion, because who knows which form Narayan will take when he comes to meet you). Well my day was made!

Caru ji gave a beautiful presentation that evening. We followed Hanuman ji on the kirtan. Everyone ate well and the first guests started to leave. While bidding them good bye Wendy and Hanuman ji said “Please let Caru and Vaibhavi Devi ji leave early, they wake up at 4 am in the morning and they can’t stay up very late’. Inspite of that Caru ji and his wife could not leave early as everyone flocked around them with questions and queries: How to attain peace. And as simple as the dhoti and the kurta that he wore, Caru ji answered with a smile, “Think more of Krishna”. That’s tough, I thought!

Few weeks later I received an email from Caru ji inviting Ankita (my daughter) and myself to perform at the temple Diwali function. As always I agreed to go. A week later I received another email where he asked me if we could appear for a Channel 4 preview of the temple Diwali festival. I was excited and agreed to that too. The next email that followed revealed the time that we needed to be there at the temple for the recording. I was a little doubtful on that and didn’t reply immediately. Brian Carlson, the Channel 4 (ABC news) news caster wanted us to be present in full costume and galore at 6.45 am at the temple on a Thursday morning. The recording would be live and would last 10 minutes. We were free to leave after that. I calculated the time I needed to wake up a 16 year old, get her into full Orissi make up, drive 50 miles from SLC to Spanish Fork , reach there on time for the recording and be back at Salt Lake for work and school. It looked like a bizarre 4.30 am weekday schedule! I expressed my doubts to Caru ji. Where there is Krishna, there is a way! Caru ji came up with an unusual way to make the plan a success. He invited us over to stay at the ashram on Wednesday night so that we wouldn’t have to do a round trip on a single day. I thought it was a good idea although I kept wondering what it would be like. Another email followed from him: “we will give you the best room in the ashram, where you will be able to see peacocks and llamas from your window”. I replied in the positive and Wednesday night found the Ray family driving up to Spanish Fork.

As we got down from the car, it was already dark and empty at the temple. A few lights were up on the terrace but the temple was closed. Not a soul in sight. No llamas and no peacocks. As we walked around the temple, we spotted a lady Iskconite placing some food items in her car. She said, “The temple is closed”. I said “We are here to meet Caru ji”. Do you have an appointment? She asked. I was about to say something when the temple kitchen door opened a chink and Caru ji emerged with a huge macaw sitting on his shoulder pecking his nose, ear and coat lapels. It was quite a sight! “I didn’t see you people coming”, he said. Anu was very excited and so were we. As we walked down to the ashram, the macaw said “Hi”. It startled me to hear such a good imitation of a female human voice! We crossed over to the ashram side, by opening an iron gate locked by a chain and a hook pretty much like in India. Caru ji led us to the house. He opened the door for us and said, “On the right is the room we save for our special guests, you can spend the night there”. It was a beautiful room with pretty images of Krishna and Radha on a swing. There were 2 single nicely made beds with a chest of drawers and a few lamps and chairs. The kids occupied the adjoining room. Neela the cat came purring in and warmed our legs by brushing over and over again. As we were looking around, Caru ji said “I think you could come and see the sitting room of the ashram” and lead us into the central hall. As he lit up the lights there was the loudest screeeeeech you have ever heard. I was shocked. “That’s our self possessed cockatoo, Caru ji said, she doesn’t like you to look away from her. She wants 100% attention all the time. If you don’t do that, she raises a ruckus”. The large room opened to a sitting area with a Rajasthani style white sofa set with 3 large cages of talking birds. They kept saying “Hi” and “Hello” and even “Caru I love you”, in the most mellifluous of voices. It was an amazing place to be in. The macaw continued his pecking at Caruji’s ears and he continued to pat him while talking to us. I noticed a small place on one wall that was veiled off with a turquoise organza curtain. As I looked at it in askance, Caru ji switched on a small light and pulled the curtains back. Lo and behold, there emerged from behind the curtains, the most beautiful clay idol of Krishna that you have ever set your eyes upon: tribhangi pose, flute poised gracefully and a beguiling smile on His face, He looked like he already had you in his clutches forever. “I will bring Krishna to you”. This soul was keeping its promise again, I thought. We sat for a while talking about various things while Krishna watched us and the cockatoo kept raising intermittent ruckus. It bothered me as the noise was louder than a train passing right under your nose with its whistle full blast. Anu kept watching my face “Mama if this were your child, I wonder what you would do to it”, she said. It did not bother the Krishna-conscious soul though. There was a 6 foot curry patta tree in one corner of the room, a tulsi plant in a pot on the side and Caru Das talked about the clay that had been used to make the idol of Krishna—it was from the Ganges he said. Who is this soul? I thought to myself. What has he realized that millions of us haven’t?

We retired into the bedroom marveling at everything that we had witnessed that evening. Someone had switched off the hallway lights when I woke up at 4.30 in the morning. By the time Abhijit and I showered, woke up Ankita and got her into Orissi costume and make up it was 6. Abhijit went outside to load the car so that we could leave right after the recording. It was pitch dark outside. The sun would come up only much later. He came inside the room with a smile on his face. I asked him what was so amusing. He said “There are llamas in the open near the gate”. I did not think much about it as we had seen llamas in the enclosures when we visited the temple before. Anu would feed them through the wired enclosures. We packed all our stuff and walked out the ashram door to go to the temple. As I stepped out into the cold morning air, and my eyes got used to the darkness, I spotted them. There were a bunch of llamas squatting right there in the open like huge boats in an ocean! Had it not been for a few beige colored ones I wouldn’t have spotted the black ones at all. Tintin comics! That’s the only place I had read about llamas and that they kicked and spat were the only thing I knew about them! I did not want a scene just before facing ABC news! We made our way gingerly towards the temple, Ankita’s bells ringing softly in the dark, the gate taking an infinite number of minutes to open while all that moved of those huge ‘boats’ were the white glazed eyes!

Reaching the temple we saw that ABC news van was already parked there. They had finished recording the lighting of diyas and sailing them in the lake. They were doing a run of the “Go puja”; two pretty gray calves, adorned with flowers and garlands were held by ropes, while a mother and daughter duo was placing chandan and kukum on their heads. Nandi, the bull was grunting very loudly in the background while Brain Carlson was explaining why Hindus worship the cow. Caru Das was running back and forth ferrying stuff for the news crew. We went inside the temple and waited for our cue. Somewhere in between when the sun was coaxing the darkness of the night to make a exit, Caru ji rushed upstairs carrying a plate laden with sweets. He parted the wooden curtains before the deities, placed the plate before the idols and prostrated himself on the cold marble floor to offer his morning prayers and salutations to Krishna. After a brief run over of the scene, Brian did a very good interview with Ankita and 3 takes of Orissi for Channel 4. Vakratunda Mahakaya Surya Koti Sama Prabha.. was still reverbating to the sounds of Orissi bells inside the marble Krishna temple, when the sun lost patience with the night and came up pink and red from behind the Rockies. It was a scene from the heavens.

We rushed down to the car to begin our drive to Salt Lake City. Caru ji came behind us with the plate of sweets, a serene smile on his face and placed in my hands a copy of “The Journey Home: An Autobiography of an American Swami (Radhanath Swami)”. I watched his face—the same beatific smile that said “I hope I have brought Krishna to you”. We returned to the city in a state of bliss.

Between Jan 27th and 31st I visited Carmel, California to present a paper at the Sunset Center. The quaintest little town right next to the sea, Carmel, home to many artists and Clint Eastwood, George Sterling, Beverly Cleary and Brad Pitt, is the prettiest place I have seen for a long time. The roads are small, going up and down and twisting like the artistically lined birch trees. People are window shopping and have a care free look on their faces. Houses are brightly colored and the foliage can never make you guess that its right on the sea. The 10 minute drive from Monterey airport to Carmel is as scenic as driving inside Shimla. The roadside cafes are bright and colorful and serve the most delicious sandwiches. I walked about the whole place. Albeit alone! And as night fell I came across these romantic words.

Waiting

If there was a way I could

Drift into sleep I would

If there was a way I could

Close my eyes I would

But sleep alluded just as dreams did

I followed footsteps and waited for the door to bid
To see your pale cold face

Dampened by the sea breeze

That blew in gushes as the night darkened

Every sound, every breath, every creak

On the wooden stairs, that led up the hallway

Heightened my anxiety and excitement

That you would come

With your pale cold face
Dampened by the sea breeze

That blew in gushes and the night darkened

I wondered what I would speak

I wondered what we would share

I wondered what I would hold
I wondered whether you would care
My hurried plans and elevated spirits

An aching heart withholding mysteries

Times have changed

I have changed

No more a little girl am I

I wait not for flowers nor praises nor gifts

I seek only your hand on my head

And the momentary wiping of fears and futures

The night darkened further
As the breeze grew fiercer

Rain starting to pour

I pulled the sheets further up and kept watching the door

Then footsteps sounded and certainly stopped
And I heard my name whispered lightly

Throwing the sheets back I rushed to the door

Opening it a creek I saw, the long black jacket recede

Smiles and laughter filled the passage

As another mature heart met her lover

1.Carmel roads

2.At the Coachman Inn's fire place

3.Art work on display

4.Sunset Center

5.Coachman's Inn

6.Sandwich Bar on 8th street

7.Pacific Ocean right at the door step

8.Lush foliage near the ocean

9.Monterey to LA--from air

10.LA from air

My Race with Time

(Travelogue: Visiting Glacier National Park, Montana, July 4th 2009. Published in 'Darpan' SLC, Utah, Bengali magazine for Chourangee) For those of my readers, sorry about the delay in blogging. Just caught up with life in general!

When I first heard about it, I thought Glacier National Park was somewhere in Alaska or Greenland. The name intrigued me as I thought I had read of glaciers that existed only in cold oceans of the north or south poles. A park that housed Glaciers? I was more than curious but never sat down to Google it up. Life is a race against time and the later wins hands down, always, unless of course you have your own ways of easing out the pain of defeat. I usually find ways of overcoming the results of this fight but of late had turned a blind eye towards the race altogether. Time and I were seemingly running in two different directions. Back of my mind I had a feeling that Time would claim everything good before I could barely sit down.

So for once I did not rush forth to pack for a trip. I let it come to the last day. Very unlike me, but I wanted to needle Time. I did not know if I should over pack with woolens or simply summer fittings. Dumping a few of both for good measure and some food to last the first 8 hours to Montana, I took time to finish off at work before heading home that day. Anu who was at a friend’s house had to be picked up along with Abhijit from the University. Pushing the last few boxes mostly filled with marinated chicken for cooking in the park, into the trunk, I left Inverary Drive that afternoon with a splitting headache. It was close to 90 degrees. Utah was finally beginning to look as if it could sport a summer after all. I reached the University, Abhijit dumped some more ice into the ice chests and took the drive seat, Anu stretched on the back seat completely in the absence of her sister, I popped two extra strength Tylenols and announced that I needed to sleep.

I could hear many phone calls going back and forth between the 3 other families that we were sharing this trip with. We were good 3 hours into Idaho before I could open my eyes. The headache was throbbing its way back into the inner recesses of the brain. Long stretches of land, beautiful rolling hills with some small trees here and there, not a soul in sight and not a car to follow. We drove and drove and drove watching the ads for Idaho potatoes, exits to more park lands, deep blue lakes and light blue skies until the sun started to dip and Anu stirred. For once I was beginning to feel a little relaxed. While Abhijit drove, I unwrapped some parathas (made fondly by a friend’s mom leaving for India the next day) and bhindi sabzi and we all ate a happy cozy meal driving at 80 miles to an hour.

The highway twisted more and more as we drove on. Somewhere in between it poured from the sky. The horizon was so empty that you could literally see up to 50 miles in front and if you happened to look up you could see 50 miles into heaven. It was a gorgeous mix of yellow from the sun and blue from the skies and I was getting a slight hint of winning against my formidable foe.

After several stop and goes at gas stations for filling the car and flushing the kidneys, we managed to catch up with one family. The other 2 families were 3 hours behind us caught by rains and a speeding ticket that thankfully didn’t come. Anu was watching Dhoom 2 at the back totally oblivious to the fact that she was in the US, that nature was beautiful and we wouldn’t be doing this often. Well, I never thought much of nature when I was 8 either. So I stopped bothering asking her to look outside of her window. She did make some comments about the shapes of clouds though. I thought it was more to please me!
I clicked away with my camera as Abhijit wouldn’t give me a share of the drive. I was happy because in any case the whirring of the car made me sleepy. The GPS woman who we forgot about for 300 or more miles in 2 stretches, finally voiced herself out of the blue almost with a jolt and announced that we were supposed to take the exit to South Gate Inn in Missoula in the next 2 miles. This meant we were ~ 120 miles into Montana. We had plans of spending the night there and heading off into the park, another 3 hours drive from the motel, early next morning. The motel room was a good one. Anu jumped around on her side of the queen bed for a while, watched some TV and we all hit the bed. Next morning was bright and shiny. We ate raisin bread, bagels, cereals and fruits and were somewhat late starting off! Again I was a little ahead in the race!

As we assembled together, exchanged GPS instructions, food and drinks, it was getting to be fun. The town was a small one and we hit the road to the park pretty quick. Small houses in the backdrop of huge mountains and single lane driving with an overloaded truck chugging along at 30 miles in front and we weren’t still losing on ‘Time’. Soon we were half way into the 160mile drive to the southern tip of the park. On the way we stopped at a fantastically energetic waterfall that made its way to Flathead Lake. With large boulders strewn along its path, the water made as much noise and froth as the sea. Water bodies in these upper states are always the most blue that you can ever imagine. Like the snaking rivers in Yellow Stone. The water is so clean you can see right up to the bottom. With the sun beating down on us we piled in quite reluctantly to drive the rest of the trip.


The southernmost gate called the Apgar West Glacier Village was crowded with many visitors but there was still plenty of place to park around the majestic Lake McDonald. The blue lake is reportedly 500+ ft deep. It looked placidly at us and the kids howled when they dipped their feet in! It was a beguilingly cold. Waterfronts have always brought the best behavior from life and Lake McDonald was no exception. All you saw in it were colorful sail boats and all you heard was laughter. We cut short our stay there with a quick lunch of an odd combination of noodles, chole and puris as we were supposed to be going in deeper in to the heart of the park to fix dinner at Swift Current Inn. The road to Swift Current Inn was not falsely called ‘Going To The Sun Road’. My guess is it should be an English translation of a Native American expression that literally meant the same. Going To The Sun Road was a treat to the eyes. The lake cum river followed us all along taking turns to be sometimes on the left and sometimes on the right. It was the most verdant stretch with trees in different shades of green. The road snaked along the mountains almost teasing it to throw it off its shoulders. Everyone was awake and taking in the beauty of nature in full galore. We then stopped briefly at Logan Creek (Flat head county 8900ft above sea level). That was where I had the first glimpse of the huge ice covers lying in a distance. I looked up at Abhijit’s face. ‘Is this a glacier?’ I asked. ‘Can there be glaciers on mountains?’ Abhijit was curt: ‘Heard of Siachen Glacier? ‘It’s a mountain’, he said. I was little disturbed because I did not find anything spectacular about it.

We went around Logan creek, another beautiful and forceful waterfall and took a small hike along the mountain while Abhijit loudly broke into Rabindra Sangeet. I kept glancing at the ice covers a tad bit sad at their lack of impression but we had another few hours of drive to reach the Inn and everyone piled in. And then as we drove up the mountain flying at almost 9000ft ‘they’ slowly and majestically appeared out of nowhere. First in small chinks through the mountains and then in full galore. Enormous sheets of ice that covered possibly thousands of square feet like white deserts. I gasped with amazement. I think for once Time stood standstill letting me win one game after all. These ice sheets stretched and stretched like the arms of a mother wanting to cover its babies forever. It was certainly different from winter snow covered mountains of Utah because it wasn’t snow. It was ice. Where the ice has melted there was water pouring down the valley under them. It was a remarkable site to see these rivers emerge playfully under the large sheets of ice. At some place it was called the Weeping Wall as the melted ice just drenched the mountain walls. These were Alpine Glaciers; highland glaciers that flow slowly down a valley in a mountainous region like a river of ice. The other type are Continental Glaciers that cover even larger areas. Glaciers are stealthily moving masses of ice that move over some land surface (in Latin Glacies means Ice).

The mountains had changed colors by now—more greyish. You could almost see the dividing line where vegetation parted ways with rocks. There were fewer and fewer trees. It was getting more and more barren as we climbed up. But surprisingly it was still very very scenic and wasn’t the least cold. We stood next to “Unstable Ice Bridges” and took hundreds of shots. I missed my father and the heavenly interpretations that he would have made of these scenes. And of course our family shots were incomplete without Shuma. Somewhere during these camera stops, the white mountain goats came out of nowhere skipping down the rocks as if they were on flat roads. As night fell, it suddenly got a little chilly. The ice sheets lit up the area with a brilliant white light as we drove further north. I was sad leaving the stunning white covers behind.

It was close to 9 in the night when we reached Swift Current Motor Inn. Built In 1933 it is a hiker’s paradise with trail heads for many of Glacier National Parks’ spectacular views. We were booked into 4 cottages there. Cooking inside the cottages was not allowed. Not to waste the chicken that was cooling its wings in the trunk most of us quickly made our way a little into the camping grounds and lit up the propane gas stove. With some primitive tactics also lit up a bon fire and cooked up the most delicious chicken curry with Parampara masala. The big container of steaming hot chicken was carried to the inn and we ate it with fresh rice and big slices of lime. It was possibly the best meal in our lives! As the sun dipped completely, the trees and animals began to talk and someone mentioned bears too. It was quite a wondrous night at the Inn.

Morning was a flurry of activity as most of us wanted to go to Waterton National Park on the other side of the border. Alberta, Canada. It was a 30 min ride to the border. We crossed over with ease with the only thing that bothered the officers was why the kids were distributed in so many cars. Why weren’t they traveling with their parents! Canada, the land of trees. It really looked like it. Driving through was a picture post card drive. With clouds hanging low and blue, lakes and rivers criss-crossing paths, birds chirping and the sun a benevolent guide, I was reminded of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost Island. Waterton Lake was another blue stretch of cold water with large boats tied to the banks. The kids and men went berserk skipping stones on the lake. We took some of the best photographs and had cool sandwiches for lunch squatting on the lake shore watching deers come by. Most idyllic place to live. On our way back we stopped to have tea and jhaal moodhi at a beautiful riverside. As the river gurgled by, the pebbly bed was clean as a baby’s head. A fallen tree stopped the flow a wee bit and everyone climbed on to the trunk to take more photographs when a trio of horses came chugging along right into the water. It was like from a cowboy movie. Just as the mountain goats these were very sure footed too. We had a smooth passover back to the US side by dusk.


That last night we stayed in Lake McDonald Lodge. This was built in 1913-14 and had a bright, wooden interior with heads of deers and stuffed bears adorning the walls. The evening was spent trying to fix a flat tire on a friend’s car but with the holiday weekend all we could get was a donut. Next morning some of us went on motor boats on the lake. Kids had a wonderful time playing on the shore. By evening we started driving towards Missoula reluctantly leaving the ice sheets behind. On our way we saw some great 4th of July fireworks almost celebrating the wonders of nature. We reached Missoula very late at night with the friend’s donut car in front of us heating up every few miles. Just as I reached for the bed in the motel, tired and sleepy I thought I had beaten Time for 4 days. Quite a win I must say!

My Flight

Blind to lights
Bereft of smells
In search of
Memory less days
And
Guiltless nights

Endless flights
To ends of worlds
Where
I am flying
In quest of answers

I catch fleeting Time
By the end of her shadow
We look at each other
In defiant glances
She knows my question
But will not respond

Twisting her back
And tossing her forward
I continue following her
To find my answer

Millions of light years
I follow around
Tireless flights
In pace with her

Swinging past pools
Of tears and laughter
Flipping by mountains
Of past and future

Today I watch her slowing down
Turning back she
Comes around
Running a soft hand
Over my head
She says:
‘Pardon me if I run away
Forgive me if I go astray
Your question is
My breath and life
The instant you realize your answer
I die’

(Pic: Glacier National Park, Montana)

Your pain is mine

If I have to hide my laughter
Smother my success
And lie to you about my joy
What worth is my life
Dear friend

Your pale smiles
Incomplete sentences
Distant looks
As if waiting for something to come by
Wring my heart
As they do yours
What worth is my happiness
If it cannot involve you

You empty yourself
Every day before me
Alternating bouts of guilt
And cynicism
I listen rapt with attention
At the same stories
Repeated again and again

I hold no solution
Just as you have none
I too wait impatiently
For small good times to come
For
The sun that has stopped shining
On your heart
Has stopped shining on mine too

My prayers are filled with wishes
To wash away OUR sins
Your suffering is as much yours

As it is also mine

Of Good Times






My new job requires that I complete a transcript validation. That made me call up my father to send me the syllabi of courses that I had taken in ancient times. He spent two or three afternoons in the sweltering heat of Bhubaneswar in making trips to the University, colleges and educational institutions that I attended many decades back. According to him the syllabi were literally archeological excavations from the mounds of dust covered paperwork. He spent a few thousand rupees to DHL the stack of papers to me. I spent a day looking at them, then another day looking into them. As I leafed through the sheets, I could not imagine we could have amassed so much information in such little time. I bet I could never do it now, I thought. Algebra, Trig, Calculus, Real Analysis, Schordinger's wave equation, Spectroscopy, Reaction mechanism, Group Theory, Cholorophyll, Daffodils, Simon's Papa, Dear Departed.....Wow!! I was proud of myself! I could actually digest all that??

Pages from the Masters syllabus took me beyond class rooms of the University. Friends. I have been more in touch with my school friends than with after school. Guess that's always true as you are with the same people for at least 10 years of your life. I still dream of my school classroom. Ms Nalini's class. I can see most of my friends sitting in their seats. I can smell the corridors and feel the excitement of having a new teacher. But I have mostly forgotten my college and University friends. We interacted much less and were together for fewer years.

But some have lasted the memory-wash. Like Aparna. He had a huge name. Aparna Shankar Prasad Mishra. ASP Mishra he was called. A slim fellow, chewing paan most times, a swager in his voice, Aparna attracted most as a leader. He had a different specialization in Chemistry than I did, but we were together in the same classes most of the first year of Masters. In his leadership role he said "tu" to me and I liked that very much. Aparna wasnt much of an adviser to me because there were times when I could do with some (!) but his short statements put a lot of restraint into my actions.

The hostel boys had a way with tea. I have never been a tea drinker. Or for that matter any beverage. But some chilly December afternoons, Aparna would be drinking tea with the other guys. He would ask us girls if we wanted any. I would say 'yes' because it seemed very grown up. As luck would have it, I would take a quick big gulp from the small tea glass and burn my tongue. Seeing me wince, Aparna would joke, "Dont try it. You havent reached that standard yet". That joke stuck. Everytime he would catch me failing at something, he would say "You havent the standard". I liked his way of chidding. Among some of the rowdy hostel guys who took pains to trouble me for some reason or the other, I always hid behind Aparna's skinny frame.

We took our yearly exams together. We took the national level tests together. Aparna visited me at home. He sent me new year cards. He said he liked my handwriting. We went for picnics together where I would sing my lungs out in the bus. Aparna also lead a truant class on a weekday to see the circus. I cannot recollect why, but one day I had a fight with Aparna. I wasnt talking to him. That day as I quickly walked past the seminar room, I suddenly pulled a calf muscle. It is a terrible pain when you have a cramp come up suddenly as an uncontrolled contraction. I bent down in pain. These cramps usually last a minute or so but it seemed interminably long. Aparna came sauntering from somewhere and ordered me to sit on a chair. I did not want to take orders from him at that moment but I couldnt help sit. He bent down with his usual swager, took the leg and rubbed it quickly muttering, "You havent the standard".

Amidst many eventful days, I fell in love with a senior. Aparna was many times my silent supportful pillar during the emotionally stressful days. Two years of Masters and we parted ways. Aparna left Bhubaneswar and found a job. I stayed on with my studies for a year longer, married (my senior) and left Bhubaneswar for Delhi. Aparna and I wrote each other inland letters. He said he copied my handwriting. But I thought he had a good hand himself. Aparna kept in touch with my parents and our other classmates from the University. Sometimes he filled me in on updates on who got married and who had kids. He remained a good friend in every sense of the word.

Many years later my second child was born. I named her Aparna. Minus the Shankar and Prasad.



(Picture: 1991 Puri beach. Aparna is on the right. I am in black and yellow. On the left are Priyabrata, another good friend and Nilakshi a junior in Masters).