Author: Swati Sani

Lake Manyara National Park, Tanzania

Our plane was about to descend and I caught my breath as I saw a peak, completely covered with snow  rising above the clouds. It was Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. As we touched down and taxied we spotted a few Zebras grazing along the runway (we later learned it was a private farm) and several raptors. Our 9 day sojourn in the African wilderness had begun. The drive from Nairobi, Kenya to Namanga, Tanzania Border, and then to Arusha was bumpy as most of the roads were under construction but we were not complaining. The country side was green, cool  and fresh; the deep blue skies, a welcome relief. We proceeded to Arusha, a sleepy Tanzanian town for lunch and from there straight to the Manyara National park for a game drive.

Giraffe - mother and calf.
Giraffe with calf

Nairobi to Manyara National park is a 7 hour drive, we reached in time to the park gate for a short safari. Part of the Manyara lake is still outside the national park area and is used by the locals for fishing specially by the residents of the village Mto wa Mbu.. Mto wa Mbu means Mosquito river and the village is named after the river by the same name that flows near the entrance of Manyara National Park.  Baboons and other bolder animals regularly stray into the village for food (specially Bananas) and water.
Continue reading about Manyara. Has more photos.

Kenya Airways – Harrowing experience

On 23rd May, 2010 I and Tarique were booked business class to fly from Nairobi to Mumbai. We took our boarding passes, and went to the lounge. The lounge itself was cramped and stuffy, but we endured. Around 4 PM we went out to check out the duty free shops and we heard boarding announcement for our 5.45 PM flight. We returned and found out that the announcement in the lounge was completely different. The receptionist told us that our flight KQ 202 to mumbai has been delayed by an hour. We relaxed, thinking there is still time for boarding. She said that the boarding announcement for business class passengers would be made around 6 PM and we can relax till then. After an 8 hour drive from Ngorongoro to Nairobi on terrible roads, we were really looking forward to a relaxed flight back home.

At 5.45 PM the receptionist called me and Tarique and told us that we have been downgraded to economy class as two pilots have been allotted our seats. When we protested we were told to meet the duty manager at the boarding gate. The duty manager told us a different story. She said that yes, the pilots are there but we are not being downgraded because of the pilots but because the seats allotted to us were not serviceable and they did not know about it. I raised my voice and asked for a senior person from Kenya airways. While I was talking to the duty manger, Tarique heard the other person on the desk giving  order to offload our baggage. All this, while Aasim who held a valid business class ticket was already boarded and was waiting for us.

He frantically told the person not to offload the baggage and that our son is already in the craft. The duty manager coolly looks at us and says you only have one choice if you want to travel today – go economy class, there wont be any refund, and got us to sign some paper which according to her will allow us a free business class upgrade on our next KQ flight.  All this was happening while the craft was already preparing to take off without us. Given a situation with no choice, we ensured that out baggage is loaded back and boarded the plane On our way we found out that all the seats of the business class were fully functional and occupied. The duty manager had lied to us about them being not serviceable. Feeling cheated we proceeded to our seats.

An hour after take off, dinner was being served. When the hostess reached us, I asked for a chicken meal, only to be told that it is finished and if I need to eat I will have to make do with rice. The hot meal had nothing else but rice served along side a croissant and some salad. Needless to say it was totally inedible, but eat I did as my sugar levels were going low and I needed to eat something before I got completely hypoglycemic.  Asking for water after I finished eating was another nasty experience. The hostess told me that she was occupied with serving coffee and water will come when it will. I saw her 2 minutes later standing on the aisle talking to another hostess. She stayed there laughing and talking for 10 minutes before I got off my seat went to her and asked for water again to which she pointed towards the serving area and said very rudely “go take it from there”. Kenya Airways treats it’s passengers very shabbily. Makes our own Indian Airlines/Air India look much better in front of them.

Unfortunately for traveling non stop to Nairobi from Mumbai there is no option but this horrid airline. I am already dreading my next flight with them.

16 years to that hot, sweaty, happy afternoon

At Banni Grasslands

Tere bin sanu sonya koi hor naiyo labhna
jo deve ruh ko sukun chukke jo nakhra mera…

It was 11.30 AM, we had finished signing that register, but it did not sink in till we sat together in the gypsy with my father-in-law and an aunt that we are now married. It had taken us a lot to get our folks to agree to us getting married. We were exhausted and ecstatic and we so desperately wanted to talk, and since we were not alone, we talked of share market, RSI and moving averages for the 10 minutes it took us to reach home.  Talk is what we did when we got our first private moment together the same evening.

Continue reading 16 years to that hot, sweaty, happy afternoon

Coastal Kutch : Naliya Mandvi and Motwa

Fisher folks at Motwa beach
Fisher folks at Motwa beach

Very close to Banni grasslands is a place called Naliya, also called as Kutch Bustard Sanctuary, one of the very few places in India where the Great Indian Bustard is still found. While we did not get lucky to spot the GIB, the beautiful black partridge numerous raptors satiated our birdwatching appetite. After scouring the Naliya grasslands, we drove further west to a beautiful coastal town of Mandvi.

Traditional Ship Building Center, Mandavi, Gujarat
Traditional Ship Building Center, Mandavi

This 16th century town was once a summer retreat for the Maharaja’s of Kutch. The old city was inside the fort the ruins of which can still be seen. The city also houses a 400 year old traditional ship building center. It is said that the ships, built completely of wood would sail to far off lands and were much in demand. The center still makes ship the traditional way.

Spot billed Duck
Spot billed duck

We passed the town of  Mandvi stopping only for lunch as our destination was the Motwa beach, south of Mandvi where we were going to see and photograph coastal birds. Motwa is  a fishermen village and the beach is untouched by tourists and thus has a loads of birds. By the time we reached the beach the fisher folks were returning home,  sun was setting in the ocean limiting the photography opportunities. We too decided to take a long drive back armed with loads of memories and some stunning photographs. Continue reading Coastal Kutch : Naliya Mandvi and Motwa

Ayn Rand: Goddess of the market

Goddess of the market
Goddess of the Market

Every serious reader I have ever met has read at least one of  Ayn Rand’s best selling novels “Fountainhead” and “Atlas Shrugged” and most of the people I met have had strong opinions about her and her philosophy. I was 20 when I read “Fountainhead” and the words of Ayn Rand molded my thoughts and my philosophy; Rand became the person who gave me a direction to the way I would lead my life. Once discovered, reading her never satiated my thirst, I kept wanting more and went on to read almost all her published works.  There still are times when I open  “Virtue of Selfishness” and find a way to sort my confused thoughts.

So when Tarique ordered “Goddess of the market” by Jennifer Burns, I was more than keen to read it. Not only it would give me more insights about my favourite books, but also give me a peek in the life of one of the most influential writers in the world : Ayn Rand. I must say here that I did disagree with her on some notions, but it was the premise of Rand’s philosophy that made her emerge a hero.

The best thing about the book, Goddess of the market” is that it is an intellectual biography that does not sensationalize Ayn Rand’s life and her affair. (quite unlike “The passion of Ayn Rand” written by  Barbara Branden.) Burns has objectively put forth the events that happened during Rand’s time in history and how Ayn Rand dealt with them. Jennifer Burns years of research on the celebrated author is evident from the material she presents to the reader. Continue reading Ayn Rand: Goddess of the market

CHAPTER IV – GENESIS

“ Hello Nadeem, I have really missed you”. Her greetings took me back to the day I had first set my eyes on her. It was our first day in a well known management institute in western India. The sitting plan was put up outside for the red bricked, high ceiling semi circular lecture hall. The student officers chatted excitedly amongst themselves as they waited for the first Linear Programming lecture to start.

She wore a pink salwar kameez and an attitude, long legs balanced on high heels, no make up, shoulder length jet black hair, honey colour complexion, intoxicating brown eyes, about 30 years. “Hello Sir, how are you?’ she asked as she slid next to me. I had to fight the enticing perfume and presence to concentrate on the lecture.

A few lectures past, I realized two things – she was a tad deficient in her upper storey but made up for it with loads of attitude and chutzpah. I was more than happy to help her with the occasional answers in return for a company and a dimpled smile. Men will always be boys and 500km away from home, staying in a hostel; men will be boys with loads of testosterone!

The moot question hammering my intellect was – can a person have more than one soul mate? Are human instincts and happiness subservient to man made rules, to be sacrificed on the altar of “acceptable behaviour”? Do we come across friends, confidants, loved ones and enemies from our previous births in our present lives? How else can one explain instant like or hate when we run across certain persons? Soulmates are fellow travelers from previous lives or maybe part of our soul which has transmigrated to different physical forms, now trying to get together again……

As students we, armed forces officers, were acutely conscious of the fact that we were the chosen ones to study in the hallowed precincts of the institution. The red stoned building with its sprawling lawns had an old world charm; there was feeling of freedom and expectation in the air. The faculty and alumni of the institution boasted of names from the who-is-who of the academic and management world. Two weeks into the course, we had our first get together with the faculty in the local army mess.

A typical army party on the lawns besides swimming pool, local DJ playing popular numbers. She wore a light blue crepe sari and was letting her hair loose on the dance floor – a figurine full of mischief, masti and oomph. The full moon cast its luminescence on her; the songs talked of her beauty, the music made her come alive.

On the way back to the hostel, I composed my first ode to her and like a love smitten juvenile, emailed the poem to her on the intranet. I didn’t give a damn about rules anymore. I was in love

CHAPTER III – REPRISE

I peer through the gathering haze into my laptop to read the FB message ‘Hi Nadeem,  Howz life treating you’; darkness slowly engulfs me. I hear a door open followed by a high pitched scream but on the threshold of new world, I may have well been mistaken. And I don’t care.

Heaven (or Hell?) has a nice antiseptic smell to it. I slowly start becoming aware of the environment – the smell and the sounds. My eyes open to revelation that after life is full of fancy gadgets and tubes protruding from my body. I can make out the beeping of technology which has obviously pervaded the after life too. As my eyes become more focused, I can discern my wife sitting at the bedside. Has she followed me here? I force myself to look around, to think rationally. I discover that I am in ICU, very much alive. The scream I had heard was succour in form of my wife walking into the bathroom.  Unfulfilled in love, unsuccessful in death – I feel waves of nausea and disgust. The drugs are welcome as they push me back into the void.

The next time I surface, I am better prepared to face the reality. And so is my family! I see my son and daughter and wife around – looking expectantly at me, smiling, trying to reach out. My mind is blank. The outflow of blood into the bathtub seems to have obliterated all the memories and desires. I feel relief at having a family, at having someone by my bedside as I re surface into mortal life.

Over the next two weeks, I rest, recuperate and rediscover the joys of being a mortal. The family keeps me company, keeps me going on. I rationalize – Powai is near and real, Gravesend by Tilbury and far. Who is more important – the one who made you feel alive or the one who kept you alive? Confusion. What are my priorities? What are my responsibilities? Unrequited love is romantic but is story book romance real life? Can life really be lived in the pages of a romantic novel? My brains struggle with the questions and slowly start taking control of my heart – for good or bad.

The day of my discharge – wife is running around to get the papers cleared. I have conditioned myself to look forward to going home and spending time with the kids. Memories have been entrapped in some dark, dingy corner of my mind. I am undead. There is this tap tap of someone walking in the hospital corridor. The tall woman is wearing high heeled knee length brown Jimmy Choos, a dark green Dior skirt, soft beige blouse and a matching jacket. The hair is soft, silken, shoulder length wavy; the skin honey coloured and dewy fresh. The face is made up to accentuate the high cheekbones, the eye shadow and mascara highlight the smoky brown eyes. The smell of Elizabeth Arden awakens my senses as I realize that she has learnt my lessons on being a sophisticate quite well. She smiles and says in a husky voice “Hello Nadeem – I have really missed you”

CHAPTER II – REQUIEM

Eternity is a long long time. And I could feel my temporal resolve weakening as I waited for her response on the Facebook.

It is surprising how life can obsessively revolve around waiting for a single response on the Facebook. My Blackberry had the account, the office computer had the site opened and minimized as also the PC at home. Every moment spent in waiting. Hope and anticipation waxing and waning everyday! Bouts of intense despair where the air seemed poisonously heavy and the lungs incapable of drawing it in. Disinterested and divorced from the mundane happenings of everyday life. Hope is all I lived with, hope which was increasingly giving way to dark, dull despondency.

The temporal self is weak; Eternity a vast chasm for the temporal to bridge. To wait for Eternity, I needed to divorce the temporal and take an ethereal avatar. Maybe time as we know ceases to exist on the ethereal plane. Maybe, the astral self could cross the oceans and watch her sojourn in the temporal till it was over and we were united. The idea slowly began to take root.

I had always been a sybarite – loved the good things of earthly life. But those were means to an end and without her presence in my life, meaningless. I followed elaborate rites for my passage from the temporal to the ethereal. No loose ends to be left behind, no other attachments except for my singular goal – Her.

I sit in the bathtub – soaking luxuriously in warm water with a bottle of Elizabeth Arden’s Mediterranean poured into it. I sit surrounded and immersed in her smell as I remember her. A mellifluous voice renders a popular composition of Ghalib, romantic nuances float in the background. The crystal glass on edge of the tub is filled with my favourite single malt on the rocks – the temporal savouring the last pleasures of the physical world. My laptop runs a slide show of all the images I have stored of her and my brain makes those nostalgic moments come alive. And I watch the white foamy perfumed water change colour – from innocent virgin white to a promising irrevocable red. My sights are dimming as I concentrate on the slide show – locking the last vestiges of her physical image, imprinting them on my soul. I have started feeling cozy and lightheaded when there is a tong from the laptop.

I peer through the gathering haze into my laptop to read my last message.  It’s from her and reads ‘ Hi Nadeem, Howz life treating you?’

CHAPTER I – Till Eternity Do Us Part

The Facebook account had been freshly made and a smiling face overshadowed the iconic architecture in the background. My long wait of 31536000 seconds had been finally rewarded. Obviously, she was alive and well and once again had access to the internet. ‘ Howz life treating you?’ I quickly typed a message to commence the  second phase of my agonizing wait.

She was an ex army officer from the northern part of the country – rustic but with a tremendous zest for life. Five years in the army had not separated her from her penchant for loud lipstick, garish colour combinations of synthetic clothes, loud make up and the hard twang of rural accented English. But she had guts and an attitude which showed promising potential.

I was the sophisticate by Indian standards who could differentiate between Chenin Blanc and Shiraz, Gucci and Armani, between Poison and Opium. I loved my Mozart and Bach while she liked hindi pop, I read Orhan Pamuk while she enjoyed Chetan Bhagat, I played golf while she jogged to keep herself fit. We were as different as cheese to chalk; add an age difference and you have a well nigh impossible situation. But the opposites sought each other desperately. I taught her to be a sophisticate while she taught me how to be alive. I explained etiquettes and learnt the joys of breaking rules from her. We were soulmates – she and I.

Love sneaks in your life only once. That is the time when each joyful pore of your body feels alive, each breath intoxicating. It is a phase when societal laws, familial ties and peer pressure cease to have a meaning. Each moment is exhilarating, pleasurable and filled with immense happiness. And when you make love, stars twinkle, bells jingle, lights explode, there’s the crescendo of Bach in the background. You loose your identity, your souls merge, each day is better than the previous day. You live just to be with her, to see her, to smell her, to allow her to fill up your senses. Obviously, such happiness and love is not meant to last. Human beings in such love would be liberated from the bonds of hate, social norms, religion – disrupting the harsh real world we know.

She went off to distant lands to join her husband exactly a year ago and we lost contact. The intervening year was spent in pining for her, in hoping she was happy, in agonizing over a thousand what-if scenarios, in being caged in the rationality of worldly rules. One year of non-existence until she popped up again on the Facebook.

It has been two months since I have sent the Facebook message to her. She has not replied. I wait patiently. After all, eternity is a long long time……

Hypnotizing Maria and the rest of the world.

Richard Bach's latest

Perhaps some people will not understand it as much as some others and then there would be some who won’t get a word, but we do hope to find some with clean slates who do. We are all teachers and students alike.

What Donald Shimoda was to Richard, Jamie Forbes realizes, he is to Maria and his other advance flying students. More than 20 years back Illusions molded our mind that thinks the way it does today. Messiah? Hypnotist? What difference does it make? We are all we think ourselves to be. Continue reading Hypnotizing Maria and the rest of the world.