Author: RA

A human
Gallery

Of ‘Compromising Position’ and 64 other positions

Posted in Stories & Fiction writingLeave a comment

“…a mob attacked the couple alleging that they had been found in a compromising position.”

A young Sikh police officer saves a Muslim boy (from certain lynching) found with a Hindu girl in a place of worship which in this case happened to be the temple of an innocent Hindu goddess. The temple of Garijya Devi aka Girija Devi is near Ramnagar in Uattarkhand.

On an island in the middle of Kosi river this small temple of local hill deity Garjiya Devi is located atop a large rock. In earlier times, just where the dirt road descends to the temple, before you cross the river, there was a Buddhist monastery of which little remains now and the entire compound has occupied by the temple authorities. To reach the temple one needs to first cross a bridge over the river, climb down the other side and them climb a hundred odd near vertical steps on a very narrow stair case – a single side of which is just enough for people to walk up in single file. Further up as your reach sanctum sanctorum one is supposed to circumambulate the deity again on a narrow corridor, and get down the other side. On a dry patch facing the temple and on its side are a hundred odd thatch roof shops selling all kinds of stuff for offerings and prayers. Hundreds of people throng this place including locals, tourists, pandits who perform rituals, locals acting as guides, boat owners for a ride over the river, drivers of buses and private cars and mahauts with their elephants. Barely 10 kms from here is the famous Corbett National Park, so this temple becomes a part of the itinerary for visitors. Right behind the temple is a huge hill with two smaller temples of lesser known deities at its base. Having visited Garjiya Devi temple people also proceed to these temples…. ‘now that you are here might as well visit the others too and why offend the lesser deities’. Now, in this miles of open stretch there is not a single place where you can be away from the prying eyes of the people… mind you it is a river bed which is flooded during monsoon – not even a tree behind which may attempt to hide, unless you plan to swim across the river on either sides and walk into the thick jungle. It defies me how could this romantic couple be ‘hiding’ anywhere or were found in any ‘position’ compromising or otherwise. By the way, I visited the place only last year during our trip to Corbett. The inhabited area or villages around do have a fairly good number of Muslims population.

I do not believe any one who says that the couple was doing any thing hanky-panky. I can find no answer as to why the young couple would chose a place like that to spend their day out when they could have easily walked a kilometer across in any direction to enjoy to their fill. The girl had brought the young man, possibly her lover, to visit the temple, or to show him the temple – which, him being a Muslim living in contemporary times, he wouldn’t have dared to go alone – or to take vows of eternal togetherness – or even a harmless picnic with a friend.

And, what was that ‘compromising position’ in which they were found or caught by the moral police? Not with their pants down, not kissing or hugging, not even holding hands. They were sitting by the river not even their shoulders touching each other. The boy was decently dressed, the girl too was traditionally dressed with dupatta on her head. And what is that ‘position’ called?

Dictionaries and chacha Google describe the position as:

“Compromising” usually used as “found in a compromising position” or (especially if referring to a sexual act) “in flagrante delicto” are typically euphemistic newspaper terms meaning “caught with your pants down” i.e. doing something romantic/sexual with someone other than your long term partner.

Come to any of the metro cities, you would find them by hundreds hanging out in market places, gardens and parks, inside and outside the pubs and malls, cinemas – in all kinds of places and positions. So what was the problem? Big one… ‘love jihad’? A Muslim had dared to manipulate a Hindu girl? No my dear in this case they are all wrong. It was the girl who took the boy there, to the temple. She was nobody’s wife in bed with her secret lover… she too was conscious of her izzat in this society of narrow minded imbeciles. She wasn’t doing any wrong, neither in private nor in public. The two were there very much to announce their presence together. Period.

During my visit, I had seen at least a dozen men literally with their pants down shitting by the side of scared river, next to the sacred temple, and then washing their filthy shit with the clear flowing water and further more washing their dirty infected hands with the same water that is taken hundreds of step up as an offering to the deity or used to make prasad. I also saw at least one women peeing away from the banks, though her back was covered (advantage saree). Doesn’t this undignified position create any awkward moment for the moral police, pundits, pujaris and devotees – men or women propagating swachh bharat – why does this not arouse disdain or anger – don’t these or other similar acts violate the Devi or the faith – but mere presence of ‘the other’ (who didn’t even chose his faith) prompts them to act like barbarians. A mob out to kill a defenceless innocent individual!

All this emanates from their fear, their suspicion, their fragile morality, their perception of superiority as a race, an act without their social consent or approval – contrary to the way they want you to speak, eat, dress, pray, support or be seen. Though they will be too happy to convert ‘the other’ to their faith but for that ‘the other’ must surrender to a temple, a thread, a ritual, a brahmin and not to a woman.

Damn you.. he is in love with a woman not a temple or a mosque.

But that reminds me that I am in love with many a temple (mosques don’t come in this category of love unfortunately) – not at all for reasons of faith – but for their form/architecture, sculptures, carvings, engravings, and the erotic art. I am also secretly fascinated by the texts, iconography, imagery, folk or dance – or all put together – for what they have to offer.

Thousands of Shiva temples abound this beautiful land – each one with a 3D union of Shiva and Shakti, the Lingam and the Yoni in full public display, accepted without any issues of morality, explained by scriptures, understood even by children today. What ‘position’ is that? Can I take ‘that’ position with my partner and sit on a window sil? Women and men not only visit these temples by millions but also pray to be blessed with that physical and spiritual bliss. The milk which is poured over the lingam, and flows down the yoni… ah… man which culture has better symbolism for conjugal nectar. Krishna Leela, the love-lore of eternal couple is sung by few more millions celebrating love both physical and divine in all its glory in public space, be it the kunj or by the side of a pond, forcing his woman to step out naked from water in the presence of all her friends. Even if all this is a myth, we were better off in 3000 BC. This is the land where Kamadeva is a worshiped as god of desire.

Even in 10th Century AD we were an extremely liberal and open about the concepts of relationships and sex. Our temple art is a living example of that. Millions of domestic and international tourists visit these monuments to a glorious past and write tomes about them, but to puritan Indian sensibilities that is in the realm of Gods. At home they would cover Goddess Kali in all finery for they fear a woman’s body, naked or under a cloak. I suppose even Gods can seduce debauched brains.

Ever visited some renowned temples with the most voluptuous art: Kailasa in Ellora; Khjuraho; Sun Temple, Konark; Jagdish Mandir, Udaipur; Markendeshwar Nath, Mahrashtra; Padawali, Chambal; Lingaraja, Bhubaneswar; Osian, Rajasthan; Virupasha, Hampi, Karnataka; Bohramaodev, Chhatisgarh; Nanda Devi, Almora; Tripurantaka or Shivamogga, Karnataka. This is just a select list which is officially sold by our tourism departments to showcase ‘India and its culture and heritage’. And all these are existing physical specimens from over a thousand year back. Our minds and thoughts were much saner and purer than. Thousands of artisans and commoners spent decades intricately chiseling each piece with nothing but the idea of creating a masterpiece, a replica of their societies, their bodies, their acts and their desires transfused in dead stones, metal or logs which resonate the pious and the secular. Go and check out the most stunning sculpted wooden figures used as struts holding the ceilings of Hindu temples in Patan, Lalitpur or the Pashupati Nath in Nepal. Each of these truly sacred spaces celebrate the human and the physical body in all its glory, in purity of thought.

Ever heard of devdasis (married to deity – the sacred prostitutes) – the temple girls and courtesans, their ilk is spread from Maharashtra to Andhra, Kanataka and Tamil Nadu. They are venerated till date.

Ever heard of Kama Sutra the ancient “sex manual”? Why did ‘sage’ Vatsyayna (3rd Century BC) from Banaras had to document it for posterity – write it in such detail, nearly illustrated? For he knew that some retards would survive and create mayhem just because they are the lineage of the frustrated lot. The book is on top of the chart of a collective consciousness. Thanks to Richard Francis Burton who translated it into English in 1883 otherwise these finest treatise of desire and sexual union would have never been shared by Brahmins. The book deliberates, in depth, that in order for a society to be happy, both man and woman should be well-versed in the arts of pleasure, both carnal and cerebral.

Its basic tenets explore social concepts, ways of attracting women, sexual union, how to acquire a wife, about the wives of other men and about courtesans. What a man or a woman should do to win over the other, the role of a match maker, and the reasons why women might reject the advances of men. In terms of choosing a mate, the Kama Sutra does not bar between caste and class, in turn faith too.

Its ten chapters graphically explain amorous advances, sexual union, stimulation of desire, types of embraces, caressing and kisses, marking with nails, biting or marking with teeth, on copulation and its positions, slapping and moaning, virile behaviour in women, superior coition and oral sex, pre- and post acts to the game of love.

It describes 64 types of sexual acts or positions, trust me not one of them is labeled ‘compromising position’. Vatsyayna also talks of how to deal with a situation when caught in the act of sex with anothers’ wife. That too is not a ‘compromising position’ for him.

Reading in Metro rail

Posted in DelhiLeave a comment
I am relatively new to using Metro rail. All these years I have been driving a car to Connaught Place from Gurgaon, but by last December I was tired and sick of everyday traffic jams. My commute that used to be less than 40 minutes a decade back had extended to one and half hour one way on a normal day, on some crazy ones it could be a painful two hours to cover a distance of mere 27 kms on the so called Expressway. Finally one Monday morning I took the plunge with a book in my hand and never looked back at the car. Poor thing it must be feeling so lonely.
The initial issues of crowd, claustrophobia and not getting a seat dissipated as I quickly learnt to balance myself on my feet without holding the bars or the uncomfortable hangers above. All I needed was a corner, a little roomy one, a light above and at a distance from anyone listening to loud music on a mobile phone. The book would open the moment I boarded. Nothing else mattered. Fifty five minutes of pure bliss, READING, while chauffeured in metro coach with no worries of traffic or weather, no stress, no traffic lights, no honking, no fumes, no struggling with gears, clutch or brake, no guilt of adding to the pollution. And the best part was No Smoking for an hour. What more, all of it in some 40 rupees. Wah, I was back to socialist ways, at least this is what I though initially. Trust me, a Metro train is a big leveller. I have yet to add the biggest advantage to my list – the extra two free hours every day meant one could finish and enjoy four more books in a month, AND making friends with total strangers just because they too were devouring worms… Hurrah… I didn’t need Aladin any more.
I look forward to the commute. At home or at work I normally read sitting in a comfortable chair but in the oscillating Metro coach I had learnt to read while standing, independent or any support, unmindful of the sudden brakes or noises around.
Friend number one happened on a cold January morning. It was one of those slightly crowded days barely a month and half into my new found pleasure when I was reading a rather bulky volume of Baburnama, standing in a corner. About 10 steps away from me was a lady standing and flipping through dozens of sheets of paper, occasionally writing or marking something on them. I caught a glance of her when she lost her balance and unintentionally pushed the lady in front of her who said something rather nasty. I indicated to her to come and stand opposite me where she could rest herself against a side panel. She did and in the process possibly saw the title of the book. Having finished what she was doing, ten minutes later she moved closer and with a smile asked if I was a ‘historian’. Bemused, I said No.
Why would somebody be ‘publicly’ reading  Baburnama ‘these days’. That was a reflection on our times rather than my choice of the title. A few minutes later I got to know that she was a  lecturer of Medieval History at Jankai Devi College. And it so turned out that her guide, while she was doing her PhD was a senior historian from Aligarh with whom I had worked on a certain project. Her station announced… contacts quickly exchanged… she got off and I found what I call my fist ‘Metro-Bookend’.
The second one was a few days later when I was reading Arundhati Roy’s Ministry of Utmost Happiness. A young girl standing along with her friend wanted to know how was the book. We got chatting, the girl obviously had not read anything of ARs, not even an odd essay or her writings in press. The girl was enamoured by the name Arundhati Roy. As long as your destination hasn’t come these chats sometime can extend to subjects other than books… like politics or the current dispensation. The young girl later emailed to say that she had finally managed to read the book, which to her, was rather boring and didn’t have a ‘story’.
In between, on many occasions, all sorts of people made small conversation just because you had a book in hand and you were reading. I suspect there appears an aura around your head when you are reading. Reading in public spaces conveys a ‘studious or possibly intelligent’ demeanour. Even if someone is pretending at least it is different from those fiddling with a mobile phone.
I read both English and Hindi. Hindi mostly for its vast literary works that one has missed over the years of colluding with angrezi. English, for many reasons besides the fact I don’t know any other language. Wish one had learnt Urdu, Iranian, French, Italian, Russian or Turkish. English helps you bridge this gap though I have always felt that I am missing something when I am reading an author like Orhan Pamuk or Chinua Achebe.
There was something interesting that I noticed in the first three months of Metro reading. Not many people would strike a conversation if one is reading a Hindi work, whatever it may be – from the greats of Premchand to Rajendra Yadav, from Nirala to Manglesh Dabhral. Hindi reading was second or sub-class in an otherwise secular space of Metro train. I wonder what would be the response if one was reading an Urdu or say Gurmukhi book.
I couldn’t dare to do it with these two languages (for the fear of further disappointment) but I did try to fake it with a French novel once. Having read its English translation and even with my pathetic diction and little understanding of French I knew I could get away in a tight situation. For three days I held the book in my hand, intermittently opening and closing it to show off the cover, moving from one corner to the other, walking through the compartment as if looking for a seat, dropping the book, desperately trying to attract attention… not one person even came forward to talk. It indeed is sad that neither the vernacular nor another language finds any space in a Metro – the Metro that connects millions of people of all possible tongues.
But, then one never knows what all can happen.
Friend number 3 from an MNC: One late evening, past 9.30 there was this 27/28 year old guy sitting next to me – leaning or rather bending over my left shoulder peeping into the book I was reading (My Mum’s Daughter – Nataasha Badhwar). After a while I held the book up to him – offering it so he could read. He was completely taken aback by my gesture. At first he turned his face trying to look the other way saving him the embarrassment. But I spoke to him politely and told him, he could actually read it if he wanted. He hesitated, cautiously smiled and said, he got interested in the book as he had read the chapter head about ‘daughters’. He too had a seven month old daughter. I asked him what did he do, ‘a salesman at a big brand watch showroom in Select City Mall, Saket’. ‘But Sir, I have not ready a book since my school’, he said in lyrical Hindustani very unlike the hash of Hindi that the city takes pride in. Having asked him if he read magazines or newspaper, he said Yes. I asked which one… he was a little perplexed for he went into some kind deep digging inside his head. a process I couldn’t fathom.. all he had to mention was one filmy magazine or a local daily… But he couldn’t name one. Then he fumbled  and added ‘it is a Urdu newspaper that I read’… which one I persisted.. Milap, Pratap, Sahara? No answer. Finally his head hanging down, eyes still on the book in my hand he said he cant remember the name of newspaper… ‘my father is a shopkeeper, he gets it, he reads… i only get to glance at it once in a while’. Horrible…, I said. You must be getting the newspaper for many a years, ‘Yes, but I don’t know the name. I get to read the news, thats all. Why?’ I explained to him that the author of the book is a newspaper columnist and these are the compilation of her weekly pieces in The Mint. He had never read an English paper, though he claimed ‘I can read English, not fluently’. Had my copy not been author-signed, I would have probably given it to him. Another friend made.
I meet an AUTHOR. Friend number 4. I am reading this yet unreleased book. There comes a young boy probably 23 /24 who stands right above where I am sitting and reading. From my sitting posture I cant see his face unless I lift my head to look at him, but before that I notice the steel bangle (kara) in his right hand firmly holding a book, with the left he was holding the hanger bar above. Finally I glanced up… as our eyes meet he says ‘Hi’ with a broad smile. Without wasting any further time he asks ‘What are you reading Sir?’ I turn around the book and show him the cover and ask “Have you read it?. No. Do you know the author, the person  whose picture is there on the cover? No, Sir. Never mind that, you weren’t even born when he was making great cinema like ‘Albert Pinto ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai?’ Mohan Joshi Hazir Ho, Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro or for that matter his magnum opus ‘Naseem’. ‘What do you do Sir? He has still not returned my book, nor is he even attempting to at least turn it around, read the back cover or even the flap matter. I give him a very brief background and ask him what is that book in your hand. Hastily he turns it around and hands me the copy, ‘The Dreaming Reality‘. The cover image has a boat with a young couple in it against the backdrop of setting sun, their hands meeting at the point of oars as if rowing the boat together, the faces and bodies  just a shadow – very amateurish cover design I think… right on top are the names of two authors in very small type. Noor Anand – Karan Kapoor. I turn the book and read the back cover which has a few snippets of the story. Home. Nostalgia. Love. Lust. Betrayal. Utopia. are the highlights. It is the story of 16 year old boy in relationship with his part time tutor. I hand the book back to him. ‘What do you think of it?’, he asks… Of what? The book… he stops mid sentence looks at the blinking red dot on station indicator plate of the coach. His destination is nearing I think. How can I say anything till I read the book. Oh yes… pointing to the name on the cover he adds, this is me… I have written this ‘novel’ together with my friend Karan. He opens the inner back cover of book and points to the picture of his coauthor. I shake his hand, congratulate him. Meanwhile, the person sitting next to me has left… Noor quickly grabs the seat and the first question he asks me is where do you get off? At Dronacharya station, and you..? At Green Park he says and quickly starts telling me the story… I stop him in between and look for the name of publisher… none on the covers, not even inside. Have you self-published it? Yes, came the reply with a big grin. I am very happy for you. Thanks, Sir… I printed one thousand copies as first edition’ he adds. thats great I said . I have sold all in various DU colleges. I am very impressed… you sold one thousand copies… in how many months…. one month sir, both of us visited most of the colleges, he names a few ‘and sold it to students at fifty percent discount,. I turn the book around once more and look at the price, Rs. 349. Do you have an extra copy, I ask. Noor lunges to the floor where his knapsack was and pulls out a copy in a flash. Handing me that he says this is for you. I pull out 250 from my pocket and give it to him. He resists but accepts with thanks. I ask him to write something for me. He borrows my pen and quickly scribbles “Wars changed the world in 20th Century, in this Century, Words will”, adding his mail ID to it he wrote, With Love.. His signatures seemed like a large speech bubble spread across the page. ‘Next station is Green Park’, the metro speakers blared.. Noor got up, shook my hand and said… please do write to me and tell me how did you like the book. I will, i said. He got off waving… our co-passengers foxed at the young lad signing the book, having just realized he was a celebrity of some kind.
While the authors are celebrities – in Metro rail – book readers are no less.

मुखड़े 

Posted in PoetryLeave a comment
सुंदर हैं जिनके मुखड़े
अन्दर हैं कितने दुखड़े
ये कौन जनता है।
दिखने में जो हंसी हैं
लगने में जो जवां हैं
अन्दर की किस घुटन से
वो हो चुके हैं बुड्ढे
ये कौन मानता है।
– राजेंद्र

Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu on Everest for the 7th time

Posted in Of Family & Friends, Treks. Travels. Outdoors.Leave a comment

When you were busy damaging your knuckles, ruining your wrists and shoulders, bent over that laptop, preparing your next PPT, an Excel sheet or a marketing plan to ensure the five or six figure salary – you were oblivious that an unassuming, media shy man from Bona village of Kumaon, Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu, had quietly crept up Mt Everest (8858m) for the SEVENTH time yesterday. Yes, for the 7th time… the only Indian to have run up and down the highest point so many times as if it was a morning jog. Along with him were six other members of his team flirting with the clouds on top of the world.

Having first climbed Everest in 1998, Love Raj repeated the feat in 2006, 2009, 2012, 2013, twice in 2017 once again for the seventh time on 20th May 2018. Besides Mt Everest Love Raj has climbed, in all, 38 peaks including the fearsome Kanchenjunga (8586m).

My first meeting with Love Raj was in the lovely hamlet of Munsiyari (Pithoragarh distt) of Kumaon in August 1989 when we were making final preparations for our expedition to Mt Nanda Kot (6861m) overlooking the Longstaff Col and twin peaks of Nanda Devi.

All of sixteen years at that time, Love Raj Singh was still in high school and had tagged along the expedition with his cousins ‘just for fun’. He wasn’t even a part of the group to begin with. I don’t remember if he had even been on a high altitude trek before that, leave aside a full scale expedition. Honoured with Padma Shri in 2014, Love Raj Singh did his basic mountaineering course a year later in 1990. It had been drizzling through the afternoon and the evening was rather chilly, yet Love Raj was wearing a thin cotton shirt and had rubber slippers in his big feet with no socks. Standing in the veranda outside the cottage where we were staying, the two of us were admiring the snow covered Panchchuli massifs only a few kilometre from us. He was so shy that he barely conversed. His mettle was proven over the next one month when he was always the first one to head for the next camp with a heavy load and virtually bereft of any gear. He didn’t even get the climbing boots as the expedition was short of them. No ice-axe, no thermal jacket, a very ordinary pair of dark shades covered on sides with cloth and tape to protect against the UV exposure. An innocent smile never left his face, his laughter saved the moment in toughest of situations, and, his lyrical rendition of Kumaoni songs of love and longing evoked pleasant emotions dissipating physical distress in cold and cramped tents. Despite all odds (two accidents towards the end, broken bones and rib cages, frost bites and shortage of ration) the expedition was a success. We summited in mid September. The happy go lucky lad of Nanda Kot expedition is now a phenomena in Indian mountaineering, Salute to your courage, determination and achievements Comrade and Friend Love Raj Singh may you achieve all that you attempt. Just like your name, spread Love.

Our Nanda Kot expedition was led by the iron-lady of Indian mountaineering Padma Shri Chandra Prabha Aitwal (then 57 years of age). Nine members of the team successfully climbed Nanda Kot after much struggle at and beyond Advance Base Camp due to heavy snow-fall and avalanches rolling down the nearby Changuch peak, in which the ABC was destroyed; equipment and ration was irretrievably buried and for nearly a week all of us thought that the weather gods were not in a mood to let us climb. We retreated and waited patiently at the base camp only to be rewarded with what was desired. But, that is a story for another day.

As if not content with his own exploits Love Raj chose Reena Kaushal, as his partner and wife, herself a successful mountaineer, having led many an expeditions. Adrenalin filled adventurer that she is, Reena Kaushal holds the record as the first woman from India to ski to the South Pole from the coast of the Antarctica. Cheers to the two of you.

May 21, 2018

  1. “Nanda Kot, 1989. On August 21, 1989, our Base Camp was placed above the highest village Lawan at Lachhmanpatti at 14,000 feet. Advance Base was occupied at 16,000 feet on the 26th. During the night it began to snow and kept on until the 28th when we retreated to Base Camp. When the weather cleared on August 30, we went up again and shifted Advance Base further up. Camps I, II, III and IV were set up on September 1,3,4 and 5. On the 6th we reconnoitered to an ice wall. The ridge leading to the summit was narrow. Nine of us gained the summit of Nanda Kot (6861 meters, 22,510 feet) on September 8, 1989. Two others came up directly from Camp III and we helped them to reach the top.” – from another post sometime in 1992.