A (too short) term break is over. Over the past 17 days, I've travelled across 17 degrees of latitude, about the same degrees of temperature, and back again. I've started to love the romance of long train journeys, as opposed to the rushed, storyless experience of local air travel. On rails, you get to meet so many interesting people, see so many shades of India, and get the chance for unbridled sleep and novel reading, both of which have become rare commodities lately.

You also get to discover varied facets of your fellow travellers, which you hadn't noticed while studying with them. A floormate of mine proved to be a mine of info about Hindi novels and poetry, and I had an amazing time as he recounted stanzas from poems that I used to love as a schoolboy, but had forgotten, lost in the dreary sand of our creativity-stifling education system. Line upon evocative line came rushing out of a dim past as the train trundled on through the mustard fields of UP. Subhadra Kumari Chauhan (चमक उठी सन सत्तावन में, वह तलवार पुरानी थी/बुंदेले हरबोलों के मुँह हमने सुनी कहानी थी/खूब लड़ी मर्दानी वह तो झाँसी वाली रानी थी।), Makhanlal Chaturvedi, Gopaldas 'Neeraj' (उम्र के चढ़ाव का उतार देखते रहे/कारवाँ गुज़र गया, गुबार देखते रहे।), Dinkar, Niraala, Bachchan, so many giants talked to us through sentences written long ago. As so often, I again realized how it's only much later that we appreciate what we studied as kids, since they were burdensome 'subjects' at that time, not founts of knowledge. Earlier in the journey Super Commando Dhruv, Nagraj, Manoj Comics' BhootPretJaaduTona comics were the subject of animated discussion, as we passed through the Konkan coast. Some Cochin Univ students in our compartment looked on with amused expressions, probably thinking the workload had made us go crazy. Apart from the classmates of IIMK, there were other Sputniks, some till the next halt, some for the long haul. There were armymen, students and policemen, there were drunks, beggars and peddlers, there were revellers who pulled the chain to disembark and attend a village festival, and the curious mix of humanity that is unique to Indian Railways. After cultivating a certain detached outlook, it's a very entertaining and informative experience to see how people all over the country live and behave.

 But I spend too much time on rails. Let's derail to terra firma; cut to the home, the same content in a new context (Hope I don't sound like an MBA.) Every spring we're generally saddled with a kitten who's so unbearably cute that it seems heartless to ignore it. As it grows to cathood, aided by generous doses of rotis and milk, it starts to develop martial tendencies, and around December, we find its predatory instincts developed enough to stalk unsuspecting sparrows near the birds' water bowl that is placed in our small garden. One winter morning will find the telltale signs of strewn feathers and paws, and then the cat is exiled. My otherwise accommodating family members become stone-hearted as every precaution is taken to keep the cat out of the house's perimeter. "The poor bird" is eulogized, and the thankless nature of cats commented upon. Of course, by that time the cat is old enough to fend for itself, so it's only fitting that it overcome its dependence on us. This story has been repeating for the last three years, almost like a rite of passage, primarily for the cat, and also for the observer in me who notices how things never change fundamentally.

 After the perpetual summer of Kerala, lazing in the Sun of northern winter made me realize how much we take things for granted. Sleeping in _razaais_ with no deadline to wake up to, eating home-cooked food; yet there was the feeling of time slipping through my fingers, like a fistful of sand. There were so many people to meet, so much to do, before the holidays ended. There was the street dog, scratching whose back (for sometimes half-an-hour at a time) gives me (and hopefully him) a feeling of unhurried peace that seems to belong to another age.

A batchmate from IIMK got married in Delhi, which was a reminder of how I'm growing older. Though most of the people on campus have work-experience, so I'm among the youngest here, but time still flies for all of us. This guy met his wife-to-be (A nuclear chemist) on a train journey from Bombay to Delhi. One night of conversation was enough to get them close. There are lots of such interesting relationships on campus, an indicator of the broad-mindedness of people here (And their other halves'). The marriage was enlivened even more by the surprise appearance of two of the exchange students we had on campus. The term at IIMK of these French girls had ended, and they were in Delhi for a coupla days, which serendipitously coincided with the wedding day, before they would go on a whirlwind tour of Rajasthan and other areas of north India, before returning to Paris. They were goggle-eyed at all the pomp that accompanies Indian marriages (Though this was a relatively sober affair), and were happy to have had another 'exotic' experience of Inde.

I got the chance to travel on the Delhi Metro, whose unexpected efficiency reminded me of Australia, and made me feel as if I truly was in a capital city. The metro led to DU, and a nostalgic walk through times past. Then I went to Chandni Chowk and Nai Sarak, hunting for a Hindi novel that had been recommended by the poetic friend mentioned above. The hubbub of Chandni Chowk completed the Delhi experience, almost making me feel I was in (undergrad) college again. Having seen the clean, ordered beauty of Australia, I now appreciate contrast, seeing how beauty can also thrive in chaos, if only one goes with the flow. I remember reading in some travel guide some years ago, "India is an assault on the senses." That is quite apt, but one can learn to parry the assault and turn it in an embrace. All it needs is some habituation, and much sensitivity. There was Ram Dulare, operating a _pyau_ at the entrance to Nai Sarak, offering water to thirsty travellers, as he has been doing for the last 32 years, without asking for money. I remember drinking my fill even 3 years earlier, when I used to go there with friends to buy college books.

The particular book that I was searching for this time is called Mrityunjaya. It's an account of the Mahabharata, from the viewpoint of Karna. The original was written in Marathi by Shivaji Savant in 1974. I got the Hindi translation, published by Bharatiya Jnanpith. This novel has won many literary prizes and much critical acclaim, having been translated widely. Most versions of the Mahabharata are generally biased in favor of one character or another. Even here, there's an anti-Pandav bias. But it's largely tempered by Savant's style of writing, which is in the form of several narratives, by Karna himself, Kunti, and Krishna. The language is very powerful, with liberal use of effective metaphors. For anyone who is comfortable reading Hindi, and likes epic stories, or monomyths, the novel is highly recommended; or otherwise you can get its various translations.

A new term begins, and the sleep is already getting shorter. IIMK would have its annual fest, Backwaters, on 21-22 Jan. The link to the website is at left. This year's theme is aggression. The snafu is that the fest name, which brings to mind idyllic surroundings, doesn't agree too well with the theme. But much effort is being put into it, and it should be quite an experience.
If you would like to explore Hindi poetry, try Kaavyaalaya.

Captions, if any, precede photos:

A stairway at my grandparents' home in Delhi. That's a (very dirty) skylight at the top.

Chandni Chowk, with the Red Fort in foggy distance.

The Lahori Gate of the Red Fort, up closer.

Probably the best place in Delhi to get Hindi classics and spiritual literature.

The metro station at Delhi University.

The old building of the Arts Faculty at DU, with a statue of Swami Vivekananda in the foreground. Those who did my degree at DU (BIT/BIS) should immediately recognize this place of congregation and much else.

No, not the side door of some old temple or forgotten palace. Is one of the many unused doors in the old building of Arts Faculty at DU. If I'm not mistaken, this was built sometime in the early 30s. The new building of Arts Fac is spanking hi-tech though.

This is from my last trip to Delhi, in the break after the first term. Was taken on the return flight from Delhi to Bangalore (From where Calicut is an overnight bus ride.) Though beautiful, after a few trips, there's nothing new to see from the plane, and things are too rushed. This was to accompany a blog entry that was written in the mind but not on the keyboard, like so many others since I've come here.

This is from that same break, while going to Delhi. Note the Sundog at bottom (Reflection of Sun off cloud)

Same trip; went to Connaught Place in Delhi. I like the feeling of space, flanked by buildings.

CP again. The pigeons were in a jubilant mood. The lamppost with the birds clung to it looks almost like a Shamanic device.

A bit late, but a very Happy New Year to all of you.