Daddy

It’s been 17 years since.

By the time I reached home he was dead. Traces of white still there on the right side of his face – under the jaw and on his neck. He had finished shaving half his face, the other half still with the stubble of the day before shining in dried shaving cream. He was lying on the warm cement floor with nothing under his head; must have been put there by the neighbours who were standing around him. I didn’t like it and wanted to put him on the settee where he would snooze in the afternoons. That July was much warmer, no rains that year. Sitting in a corner, mother was delirious and wailing. Grief is a river, it must run, I didn’t console her. The neighbourhood doctor, still by his side, got up and held my hand offering condolences. That morning of July 29th I had driven like a maniac only with the hope I would be able to say, ‘Bye Dad’. But no, like always he was in a hurry.

Photo: Daddy (in black jacket) posing for a photo from the jharokha of his house in Lahore. Don’t miss the beautiful cinquefoil arch at the entrance to the house (bottom left) and the lotus on it. The lakhori brick structure has stayed in tact for over 85 years since its construction.

Letter from Papa

I dreamt of Papa
shuffling letters in his hands
walking to the letterbox
stopping and reading the addresses
checking the seal, uncurling edges
once again before posting,
as if parting from friends.
Checking the lock,
and the time plate on red box,
he turned one last time  –
looked at me and said,
‘one of these will reach you, soon’.
The letter comes as letters
One character
One word in
One dream
each night.

Father’s Days

How far have you reached Dad? Have you crossed the frontiers of this cosmos or are you in another plane another dimension unfathomed by earthlings. Your soul, like millions of others, must have encountered many a better worlds, physical or ethereal possibly unlike where from I am writing. Souls travel for eons, that I know, and you also said. There is no heaven or hell, no final resting place, no destination, no gods to meet, no angels, no Eden and no holy lakes to swim through. Souls travel through eternal light riding echoes. You loved light, so here is a candle (doesn’t it look like a mini cosmos)… beam me a line of the new verse you have composed. And Dad, don’t forget to mention what symphony you have set it to. It is Daddy’s day on earth.35476059_10155987125509300_2876154098493685760_n

Love Raj Singh Dharmshaktu on Everest for the 7th time

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.

रास्ते की रोटी

पांच फुट दस इंच के उस इंसान को मैंने कभी दो रोटी से ज्यादा खाते नहीं देखा था, पतली, छोटे साइज की नर्म और गोल रोटी उन्हें पसंद थी, न की घी से लबालब परांठे। पर आज उनके लिए ये बड़े और मोटे-मोटे दाल में गुथे हुए आटे के गोले और दो किलो देसी घी पेश किया जाता देख मैं दुखी था। उसे से भी बड़े दुःख का एक और कारण भी था और वो ये के न ही वो इसे पसंद करेगा और न ही वो इंसान अब इन्हे खा ही पायेगा।

उन से मेरी पहचान करीब 35 साल पहले हुई थी। उन दिनों मैं  एक एक्सपोर्ट हाउस में काम करता था, दफ्तर करोल बाग़ की संकरी गली में था।  मैनेजर था सो अपना ठीक ठाक सा केबिन भी था।  केबिन के बहार सिले हुए कपड़ों के गठर, कोरे कपड़ों के थान, डिब्बों में बंद तैयार पोशाकों की शिपमेंट और जाने क्या क्या चारों तरफ ऐसे बिखरा सा पड़ा रहता था जैसे उस सब का कोई मालिक न हो । क्योंकि कपडे ऊपरी मंज़िलों में सिले जाते थे सो धागे, कपास के रुएँ, कतरने, बटन ज़मीन पर बिखरे रहते थे  हालाँकि हमारे यह अक्सर फिरंगी खरीदारों की टीम आया करती थी फिर भी साफ़ सफाई पर ज़ोर नहीं था।

ऐसे ही एक दिन मेरे केबिन के बहार बैठे चपरासी ने आ कर बताया के कोई रमेश साहेब मिलने आये हैं। उन दिनों रमेश नाम का कोई न तो अपना दोस्त था न ही जानकार। मैंने सोचा कोई फैब्रीकेटर होगा सो कह दिया इंतज़ार कराओ। ये भी नहीं सोचा के बाहर तो इंतज़ार करने की कोई जगह ही नहीं है। करीब आधे घंटे के बाद जब फ्री हुआ तो बहार झाँका – एक पतला दुबला कंधे तक लम्बे बालों वाला जवान छाती पर हाथ बांधे परेशां सा टहल रहा था। उन्हें अंदर बुला कर उनके आने का सबब पूछा तो पता चला कि साथ वाली गली में उनका छापाखाना यानि के प्रिंटिंग प्रेस है और वो काम लेने के सिलसिले में आएं हैं।  मैंने कहा मैं परचेज  नहीं देखता और उन्हें स्टोर मैनेजर के पास जाने को कहा। इतने में उन्होंने बात पलटते हुए अंग्रेजी में पूछा कँहा पढ़े हो, रहते कँहा हो यंहा कितने सालों से हो वगैरह-वगैरह। मुझे लगा दोस्ती बढ़ाने की कोशिश की जा रही है सो जल्दी से जवाब दे कर उन्हें चलता किया।

उन दिनों एक लड़की से अपना इश्क़ ज़ोरों पे था। दो दिन बाद ये पता चला कि रमेश जी वो शख्स थे जिन्हे मेरे होने वाले ससुराल की तरफ से तहकीकात करने के लिए दफ्तर भेजा था। खैर, अच्छी बात ये हुई के रमेश बाबू ने हमें पास कर दिया। उस दिन की मुलाकात के बाद रमेश बाबू हमेशा के लिए अपने प्यारे मित्र बन गए। हसमुख, जिन्दा दिल, आर्टिस्टिक, जहीन और खाने पीने वाले यार बाज़ निकले रमेश बाबू। दोस्ती पक्की होती चली गयी और उन्हों ने ही छपाई के काम को समझने की पहली सीढ़ी चढ़ा दी। कॉलेज ऑफ़ आर्ट के पढ़े रमेश बाबू खासे हमनवां यानि लाइक-माइंडेड थे। नाटक, संगीत, मौसीक़ी की महफिलें, फिल्मे, कला के पारखी, फोटोग्राफर, हर मौके पे शेर कहने वाले और घुम्मकड़ होने के नाते रमेश जी से अपनी खूब निभी। हम प्याला भी बन गए और ससुराल की तरफ से रिश्तेदार भी।

पर आज वो शवासन मुद्रा में सामने की दहलीज पर सफ़ेद चादर में लिपटे थे। कई बार मन किया के काँधे पकड़ कर झंझोड़ दूँ कहूं इस मौके का भी एक शेर तो सुनाते जाओ शायद हमारा रास्ता भी आसान हो जाये।  चारो तरफ बिरादरी और दोस्तों के बावजूद एक सनाटा था – ऐसे भी कोई जाता है क्या ? एक हफ्ता अस्पताल और बस।  मंत्र पढ़ते हुए पंडित ने जब  मोटे-मोटे दाल में गुथे हुए आटे के गोले रमेश जी के मुँह के पास रखे, सूखे काले होंठों पे गंगा जल और शहद का चमच लगाया और देसी घी उनके पार्थिव शरीर पर डाला तो मैंने बरबस पूछ ही लिए, ये क्यूँ? ये उन्हें बिलकुल अच्छा नहीं लगेगा।

जवाब मिला, ये उनकी रास्ते की रोटी है।

(For dear Ramesh Khurana who passed away on 9th May 2018)