“Daddy please  hurry! I am unable to breath! I am scared” she whimpered. 

Lou woke up in dead sweat!   The piteous cries belonged to his beloved Maria.

Maria, Mat, Mark were his beloved triplets.  Lou, Mark and Matt were cops, posted in Lower Manhattan.

September 11, 2001

Horrified, New York and world watched toppling of TwinTowers.  Maria worked on twenty second floor.  Many jumped out of windows, she headed for stairs.

Detectives Lou, Matt, Mark rushed to disaster area.  Frantically they searched the rubble.   Police dogs helped save many.  Clinging to hope on a wing and prayer they searched as buried Maria cried for help :   “Daddy please  hurry! I am unable to breath! I am scared”

Maria was sure her family would save her.  She kept calling from cell every few minutes.  Dogs sniffed following the sound but Maria was buried deep. With bare bleeding hands, they cleared debris like wild men.  Time was running out. 

One last push created a passageway.  Slim Mark crawled inside.  The cell phone beeped for the last time.    Marked  hurried on .  His elbow hit something.  He saw his sister’s handbag.  He moved on.  He reached dead end.

Maria watched as her daddy and brothers searched for her shouting her name.  She was perplexed.  She was standing next to them.

Nightly she whimpers:   “Daddy please  hurry! I am unable to breath! I am scared”

Note: this is based on a true event. A dear friend lost her niece that day.

Circle Of Love

Our ship had docked and we decided to explore.

Sandy was native Alaskan. I, Sonia was from New York. We’d met at a summer camp, fallen in love and got married. That was five years ago.

A friend hailed Sandy but I decided to explore further- we decided to meet at the dock in a couple of hours.

I found a lookout point from where I could feast on the glaciers which drew me. I was joined by an elderly stranger. He told me a lovely folktale of this point.

Aaleahya was native Alaskan. She loved Iqniq (fire) the chief’s son. They were to wed next full moon day. Meanwhile their village got attacked by white man and Iqniq was killed. Aaleahya was sad. She came to this point nightly and stared at the glaciers. She died of a broken heart. Visitors often saw Aaleahya and Iqniq’s spirits embracing here. Stranger showed her his locket with their faces. She saw Sandy and herself staring back!

this picture is from inernet

The Guest

Kitu- as a child:

“Why can I not have my room all to myself? I wish we were not living in Bombay and get this unseasonable rain of guests.”   This was a justified lament that had her late for school, punishments, missed rest periods, adding to her woes.

Kitu-at 14:

“I have a crush on Kip.  Wish he would return my glances sometimes.  I would love to go out with him for movies etc.”  Body changes, hormonal rages were playing havoc with Kitu’s mind and body along with a never ending stream of guests, more on than off.
“This Kip, friend of coz Arun is really cute!  I wonder what made him join the army.  I would not mind going out with him.  Hopefully mom and dad will let me accompany him to sightsee Bombay!”  One evening Kitu was alone and Kip returned home early.   They were together alone and after evening tea they sat chit-chatting.
Kitu’s heart was beating very fast.  Suddenly Kip came and sat close to her. He gave her a hug.  Her heart leapt in her mouth with fear and excitement.  She was aware of the birds and bees and was game for some experimentation as well.  They kissed and hugged each other tight.  Kitu was over the moon.  She had puppy love.
 

Kip-20 something:

“This kid Kitu is sweet but I better stay away or else Arun and her parents will have my hide!  Luckily I will be posted out of here soon.  However, she is cute as a button.  I must control myself around her.”

Kitu: 50 plus:

“I wish the train comes on time.  This waiting room is so dingy and dismal.  Wish I’d brought a novel along to pass the time.  The people here are not very interesting.”
Suddenly a man enters the waiting room and as he sits down on the bench next to her, his book falls on the ground.  Kitu picks it up and sees the name Ranjit Singh Tanwar. Involuntarily she blurts out “Are you Kip?”  The stranger is startled and looks at Kitu closely but does not recognize her.  She tells him that she is Kitu and that he had stayed as a guest in their house decades ago.  Kip recalls the young girl he had fooled around with and suddenly he remembers it all.  They have an animated catch up on news of each other’s families and then Kitu asks him where he was headed?  He says, Bombay.  She invites him over.  Kip agrees.

Kitu is a widow and an empty nester.  Her son and daughter are settled in USA and she is alone.  She is a famous writer under another name.  She likes this anonymity.  She has moved back into the compact flat of her parents that she had rented out.   She is home.

Kip is a nature photographer and has published many travel books and writes articles for National Geographic Magazine.  He was divorced by his wife who got tired of living alone for months.  His only son is married and has a son of his own.

Two lonely souls finally connect, mingle, co-habit after retying the knot.  Life comes full circle.  This one guest moved in for good and All Is well in their world.

**  **  **

Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you have just answered, “A house guest,” you’re wrong because I have just described my kids.

Erma Bombeck
American, Journalist

picture from internet 

http://www.binaguptapoetry.com/victors-dream-part-one-1108.htm

 
Amu was very upset.  Her beloved son Victor had lost his mind!  “It was that cursed lottery!  How I wish Vic had not accepted that free ticket from Sen Dada.  How am I going to manage the house all by myself now?”  Her heart sank.  Then she decided that the only way to make her son well was to get rid of the prize money.  In her eyes her son’s life and sanity was priceless.
 
Sen Dada was fuming.   For the umpteenth time he kicked himself for giving away the lucky ticket.  Then he decided that as Vicky had lost his mind, he could con Amu into splitting the fifty lakhs saying it was supposed to be equal shares as a shoe polish did not cost twenty rupees.  Once he had brainwashed himself that he was justified in duping Amu, he hastily bought a box of (sweet ricotta cheese balls) “rosgullas” for the family and quickly left for Victor’s house.

Amu hurriedly pulled out the offending fifty lakhs from under the bed and tied them up in red tablecloth which she had newly sewed from cloth remnants.  The money was wrapped in old newspaper and was now a snug square package in red.  After a quick bath, she left for Kalibari(temple) leaving Victor in the care of the younger brothers.

Sen Dada reached the house and with a great flourish gifted the sweets to the boys.  Then he asked about Amu’s whereabouts.  Upon finding out that she had left for the Kalibari, he ran out after her.  He needed to catch her before she entered the temple.  The chase was on.
It was morning “puja” (prayer) time and the temple was full.  Amu quietly waited in line patiently pleading all the time to the Goddess to take the money and return her son’s sanity.  She reached the priest and bowed low to receive blessing.  The crowd suddenly surged and Amu tripped and fell inside the inner sanctorum and the red packet fell at the feet of the Goddess.  Amu straightened up and quietly left chanting Goddess mantras.  The package lay unnoticed as it was inadvertently pushed behind the deity by the priest whilst performing rituals.

The local doctor had given a sedative to calm Victor and he was lying in deep sleep.  Yogi and Jay the younger brothers had secured jobs in different banks as trainees and their lot had already changed for the better.  Their hard work had paid off. 
 
 
The sun was shining brightly and Victor got up and stretched.  Suddenly he looked at the clock and jumped up shouting Amu!
He was behaving normally and was hurrying with morning ablutions and chores so that he could open his shop on time. Amu was delighted!  Goddess Kali had heeded her prayers and given back her old son.
 

Next morning the priest did the abhishekham (bath) of the Goddess with his usual fanfare and rituals.  Lots of water mixed with Gangajal (sacred river Ganges water) and milk etc. were poured over the deity and then the Goddess was anointed with red sindoor(color) and sandal paste and dressed in gold jewelry and silk sari.  The Goddess was ready for morning “darshan” viewing.
The red bundle of money got a thorough soaking and the money became useless pulp.
Man proposes God disposes

Little Bobbie was in seventh heaven to have the secret room as his very own and wanted to sleep there as well.  His parents decided to make him happy as this way they could keep an eye on him more easily.

Bobbie was an only child and ever since he learnt to walk, he would be all over the
house playing with toys in hand.  His mom Raji tried to restrain him in his room by feeding and playing with him there.  Gradually Bobbie kept to his room and when he was lonely he would start speaking with his friend Kanha.  He would say” Kanha, please come and play with me.  I want to be your playmate.”  Suddenly, Kanha would emerge from the silver statue and they would play for hours together.  Now the sounds of two pairs of anklets would reverberate in the house.    Raji and the maid would hear this delightful tinkle and smile.  It never occurred to them that it was the sound made by two pairs.  After Bobbie got tired and fell asleep hugging his pal Balgopal, the Lord would merge back into the statue.

One day Bobbie woke up early and looked for his pal but he was not there!  Instead there was a lovely peacock feather on his pillow.

He stared at it in wonder!  He had liked the feather on Balgopal’s gold crown and had wanted one also.  Carefully he put the feather in his Alphabet book. 

Raji had finished cooking and was between chores.  She decided to sit early with Bobbie to teach the alphabets and numbers.  On opening the book, she found the lovely peacock feather.  Upon asking the child where he got it, Bobbie said “Mom my pal Gopal gave it to me!”  Raji was mystified and questioned her son further.  She asked “Which Gopal?”  Bobbie pointed to the silver statue in the swing.  He said “He plays with me every day and even sleeps with me.  I had asked him to get me a feather just like the one he has on his head.”   Raji was overjoyed and believed her son!  She realized the room had a very peaceful aura and instead of the usual musty smell, it had a pleasing fragrance of fresh jasmine flowers and camphor.  She hugged her son and kissed him in pure joy.  She joined her hands and prayed babbling her thanks to Him for gracing their home.
It was Janamashtami day and Bobbie’s parents both fasted and broke it only after midnight.  Next day they held kirtan in their home and invited all the neighbors for lunch.  The silver Kanha seated in the swing occupied the place of honor in the living room where one corner has been converted into a temporary temple.  Fifty six varieties of sweets had been prepared for the lord and the house resounded with sounds of bhajans and rejoicing celebrating the birth of the lord.  Finally it was over and the lord was returned to Bobbie’s room.  Bobbie had been excited by the day’s goings on and had played to his heart’s content with the guest’s kids.  He had other playmates now.

Bobbie was often invited to other homes and between play and day school he became busy and hence did not call out to his playmate as often as before.  Their meetings became infrequent and then stopped completely. 
Bobbie was sent home early from school as he was unwell.  Raji immediately took him to the doctor who said he had caught a virus and gave him a mild sedative and medicines.  The child’s fever was very high and Raji sat by his bedside placing cooling cloth pads on his forehead to lower the temperature.  She was weeping silently.  Then as Bobbie settled down into a fitful rest, she left the room.  

After an hour or so, Bobbie woke up suddenly and cried out to his old pal Balgopal.  He said “please Kanha come and talk to me.  I know I have been busy but you know I love you very much Kanha.”  The lord emerged from the statue and sat by his side.  Then Kanha placed his tiny hand on Bobbie’s forehead and in a few minutes the fever vanished.  Bobbie got up and both played as before.  Then the Lord told Bobbie that now that he had become a big boy he did not need him any more and that whenever he remembered HIM he should close his eyes and he would appear as HE lived in his heart.  He said he had to visit other boys who needed him.  They hugged each other and the Lord merged into the statue never to appear again.

Kesar and Rajratan smiled happily in their portraits which hung in Bobbie’s room and which his sons had left for Bobbie along with the silver statue and the swing.

all pictures are from the internet except last one which is mine 

Baba was a cobbler and polished shoes also.  In his skilled hands even old worn out shoes got a new lease in life.    His mom sewed and repaired for the neighborhood on an ancient machine which was diligently oiled and kept fit.  The three children attended the local school as their baba wanted them to find another profession as cobblers had meager earnings.

Shomu always considered himself a winner and often wished he could change his name to Victor.  He was very fond of this word which he had learnt in his English class.  Slowly the family started calling him Vicky to please him and the old name Shomu was forgotten.

After school, Vicky would run home and help his brothers with homework and his beloved amu with household chores before joining his baba.  He relished polishing shoes and make them shine.  Baba would indulge him but only after ensuring that he had finished his school homework.  Vicky would whistle happily and shine shoes to his heart’s content.  He always got a bit more in tips than his baba.  It was mainly his happy face and cheerful manner that pleased their clientele. 

Vicky had just turned sixteen when he was forced to run his baba’s shoe repair business alone as they’d lost him tragically when a bus with failed brakes mowed him down along with others in its path.  After a lot of hue and cry the bus owners had given each victim’s family a large sum of money.  Vicky’s amu had quickly banked the money for her sons’ higher education and in case there was an emergency.  Vicky joined night school so that he could work in morning to help amu manage the house.  He also ensured that his brothers studied hard and did not get into bad company.

Sen Dada was a regular customer of his baba and now Victor’s. He was in the lottery business.  Each month he’d jested with baba that he should buy a lottery ticket as he’d surely win.  Sen Dada always told baba he was a lucky man indeed with three obedient sons and a hard working bahu (wife).  Baba had remained impassive and always refused
to buy a lottery ticket that cost Rupees twenty.  Now again, Sen Dada tried to sell the lottery ticket.  But Victor stuck to his guns and shook his head and continued shining the shoes.  The shoes literally glistened and Sen Dada could see his face in them.  He was delighted and decided to gift a lottery ticket instead of paying for his shoeshine.  Victor in a weak moment accepted the ticket, breaking his baba’s rule.  He apologized to baba in his heart.

On his way home, Victor stopped at the nearby Durgabaari

and placed the ticket in front of Kali Ma asking for her blessing.  He also told Kali Ma that as far back as he could recall he had always felt like a winner and maybe this ticket would get his family out of poverty and a better way of life.  Then he sped home.

The lottery was a bumper one and the prize money was a whopping fifty lakh rupees.  Every Calcuttan who could afford twenty bucks had bought a ticket.  The momentum had built up and the excitement was palpable and could be cut with a knife.  The madness and razor edge excitement was akin to the one when India played cricket with their arch enemies Pakistan.  Next morning was the drawing day. 

Sen Dada always kept ten tickets for himself.  Now he held nine as the tenth one he had gifted to Victor. 

The numbers were announced and everyone rushed to buy the evening paper as it carried the results in print.  Victor had been so busy whole day long that he had completely forgotten about the ticket.    Suddenly he heard sounds of drum beats approaching as a group of ten of so of his friends and family approached with Sen Dada leading them.

Dada came near and embraced him like a son.  He said, “Victor, you are indeed a Victor.  Your ticket has won the prize money.”  Victor’s mouth fell open.  Then pure joy coursed through his veins making him giddy with happiness.  He pulled the ticket out of his pocket and it matched the numbers in the evening paper.  Suddenly Victor uttered the words, “Where should I keep it, what should I do?  Where should I keep it, what should I do?”  He kept muttering these sentences over and over again.  Victor had lost his mind after his victory!

http://www.binaguptapoetry.com/vicors-dream-part-two-1106.htm

all pictures are from the internet disclaimer

Little Bobby loved to venture now that he could crawl.  His mom Raji was usually at her wit’s end turning pots n pans, closets, nooks and crannies for him.  Finally she’d extricate him with cobwebs hanging on curly locks and dust smearing his cherubic face.  His endearing smile melted her anger and she hugged him to her bosom, thankful that he was safe.

Bobby

“Mom is really busy today and now that my tummy is full, I can go and seek new adventure.”  His tiny anklets tinkling, the baby made a beeline for his favorite haunt, that secret room with big brass inlaid doorway and old fashioned chain and lock where happily he gurgled and cooed as though playing with someone.  Luckily the door had been unlocked for mopping and dusting.

“Today I am going to explore that dark corner which has some really interesting jars and pots.  Even though I like that silver baby in the swing a lot but if I can crawl into the rocking chair, then I can have a better look.  Let’s see if I am able to climb on.” 

Pre-Partition of India and Pakistan

Chowdhary Ratan Singh was greatly respected in his town in West Punjab, now in Pakistan.  His family owned a flourishing business in dry fruits.  His brothers and their families also lived in the rambling mansion.  Ratan had one son and two daughters.  He got his girls settled early and was on the lookout for a suitable bride for his son Rajratan(Raj).  Around that time there was a problem in the dry fruit supply from Kabul and he sent Raj to investigate.  Raj went to meet their main supplier Aftab Khan who invited him for dinner.  There he met Khan’s daughter Kesar and fell head over heels in love with her.  Kesar felt the same pull.  She knew her father was ready to marry her off to her awful cousin Kaif who was a mean person and hence knowing their families would never agree, they bolted to Delhi.

Kesar’s mother was in the know and not only approved but had given whatever money she could lay her hands on and jewelry.  She even sent a maid to help them.  Both the fathers were angry and washed their hands off them and forbid everyone from even uttering their names.  Ratan cursed his first born but on his deathbed forgave his son and wished they had patched up. 
Rajratan Singh and Kesar were hardworking and after selling their jewelry and diamond ear-rings they were able to have enough seed money to start they own dry fruit business in Delhi.  Both knew the supply sources and through a trusted hand were able to build up their business from scratch.  Here in Delhi festivals and marriages took place all the time hence dry fruits were always in demand.  They had chosen well.  The couple missed their old homes.  They constructed their new home incorporating the beauty of both ancestral homes.  The doors had brass inlaid work and the windows and latticed balconies had intricate colored glass designs to keep the harsh summer sun out.  Cross ventilation kept their home cool.  They were happy except for the one recurring pain in their bosom for their kith n kin whom they missed dreadfully.    Raj and Kesar each had worn cameos of their parents around their neck and hence got paintings done of their elders and it occupied a place of honor in their diwan khana (drawing room).  The kids would get to know their grand parents in this manner only.

Time sped and Raj and Kesar’s two sons decided to study abroad where they subsequently married and settled down never to return. The parents  grieved for their sons realizing how their own parents must’ve felt.  They reconciled and now took one day a time.      

There was a lot of unrest against the British rule.  Some firebrand Hindus decided to bomb the local prison and set free their leaders.  Raj and Kesar were in the bazaar when the bomb misfired and were killed instantly.  Their horse buggy driver and jack of all cook Bakshi quickly gathered up their mangled bodies and got them cremated before sundown. Then they dispatched mail to their sons overseas to return home and immerse the ashes in the holy Ganges.    The letters never reached as the post office was bombed the next day.  The sons remained oblivious of their parent’s demise.  Finally the family lawyer as per instructions sold off the mansion keeping one room locked with family heirlooms for the sons whom he had informed via telegram.  It was a clause that was agreed upon by the buyer in the sale deed.  Their parent’s curse did not let Raj and Kesar rest in peace and their ashes languished along with the heirlooms.  They lingered on.

This was the room which attracted the baby most.  The keys had been provided to the new owner for mopping and dusting and for this service the sale price had been adjusted.

Little Bobby managed to climb the rocker in the forbidden room.  He was in seventh heaven.  There were so many interesting objects on the mantle above the fireplace.  Also there were those huge pictures of old people.  He scrambled down and crawled into the corner, when suddenly four hands quickly embraced him and hugged him.  He felt kisses being showered on his cheeks and squealed with delight.  The maid was passing by and heard the sound and came rushing in.  She brought out the dirty squirmy brat and then his mother saw perfect lip marks on his two cheeks! She got the fright of her life!  She decided to investigate.  She saw the nook where Bobby had crawled and there under the red velvet cloth lay two pots tied up with red threads.  They looked like someone’s ashes!

So the old people’s spirits were still in residence!  Oh my God! Her hand flew to her mouth in a silent cry.  She quickly called her husband home and showed him the ashes.

Next morning they called the local pundit who knew the departed well and said that they were waiting for salvation at the hands of their sons.  Fortunately the sons were finally in town to tie up the loose ends of the family business and property sale and had indicated that they would like to see what their parents had stored for them.  They were grief stricken and remorseful about their callous neglect.  But it was too late.  Next day they performed “Havan” and all rituals required to speed off their loved ones.  They immersed the ashes in the holy Ganges.  In their dream their parents had asked them to gift their silver swing with Bal Gopal to little Bobby their little playmate whom they had enjoyed during transition.

Bobby was in seventh heaven as now the secret room was thrown open and made into his playroom.  He slept with the Balgopal by his bedside.  His elderly friends no longer played with him.  They were resting in peace.

pictures from internet- not mine

Certain event triggerd a whole set of memories and
 I suddenly recalled my own brush with a v. persistent LoveStruckRomeo (LSR).
This happened 30 years ago approx.  I was working in International Operations at a Bank and was about give or take seven months pregnant.  At that time, my hubby had to go to Egypt for some project work urgently that he could not postpone.  It so happened that the day he left for the land of Nile, an Egyptian male made an entry into my life by way of a bank officer in training.
  He was quite personable and okay sort of a person but somehow after meeting me a couple of times he got hung up on me!
At first I thought it was my imagination and I even asked my colleagues at work, but they too assured me that it did appear like a case of loveria!!!
This Egyptian Tut was in fact always lurking about in my environ ready to catch my eye.  I was quite mystified that here I was like a little baby elephant with a huge stomach wondering what this lovestuckromeo saw in me.  He was always underfoot with a rose in hand every day, jumping to open doors etc. To avoid him or hide , the office folks took to alerting me via the doorman or mail clerk or the front desk secretary would call my extn. To update me on his whereabouts  so that I could hide myself or duck in another office.

He would sing (songs) chansons in French which he spoke fluently, or recite poetry etc. and I was a bit embarrassed by all this attn from this Egyptian Tut.  I was in fact getting a bit frantic but did not wish to make any trouble for him job wise.  The irony of the situation was that possibly my hubby was enjoying dinner and belly dancing at some exotic Egyptian restaurant with all manner of exotic Arabian dancers hovering over him and crooning “Maiyya Maiyya” in Arabic  and here at home a young Egyptian male was in hot pursuit of me.

Since then I have never met or heard of any man being attracted or having a fetish for pregnant women.
To get my mind off my LSR woes, my friends at work bought tickets for dinner and a show at a real fancy dinner- dance place and persuaded me to come along as well. I did not need too much coaxing as I was at a loose end most evenings and so went along.  The dinner was superb and then the show started.  I was in for a real shock and a treat.  This was the year 1979 that I am talking about.  The show was of male go-go dancers and my eyes simply popped out of my sockets. At first I was a bit embarrassed but after a glass of wine, I kind of mellowed out and began to enjoy myself- sort of going with the flow.  Of course all the firengi gals were having a blast and dancing around and whistling etc…At all the eye candy with six to eight pack abs on display and lots n lots of hip movements to boot.

 In my mind, I kind of liked the idea of this role reversal-as usually we see exotic girls doing pole dancing and other stuff but here it was a bunch of young muscular guys.  It was an eye-opener for me  and I also wondered a bit guiltily if the baby knew what was going on as usually I did my ohm chanting  and other religious stuff to impart good thoughts etc to the baby and this was a real extreme opposite and way out stuff for me. Also I felt a whole spectrum of emotions- a bit of shock, a bit of fear,
a bit of guilty pleasure all rolled into one with my pulse racing as never before!!

Luckily after a couple of months my LSR was transferred to another branch and my hubby had returned home safely and all was well in my little world.

picture from internet  

Fuming In the Doghouse!

I considered myself the smartest man in the world.  I had it all! I was eating my cake and having it too! How many men can boast this claim?  My drop dead good looks, flat abs and fair skin had women swooning over me like butterflies over a flower. 
Youngest of four brothers, born with a silver spoon in mouth, a silver tongue, I had the best of everything.  Dad was in IFS and also came from generations of rich landowners of Punjab.  We had mansions in the Capital city Delhi and in the green belt.  Living overseas and mainly in Europe got me a well rounded education and I became fluent in most European languages.  This skill I put to good use in our export business of basmati rice mainly and other spices.  I enjoyed a good time and had a penchant for beautiful women.  Resultantly, I soon acquired a German wife, a Parisian wife and a British wife as well.  My mother had promised my alliance to a family friend n thus I ended up with an Indian wife also. 

I was in seventh heaven.  I juggled between these wives quite well and had full creature comforts in all my four homes.  The offshoot of these ties was I ended up with a couple of kids from each wife! I became a father of eight kids!  Yet not one wife knew about the existence of the other,all were happily settled in domestic bliss.  They never suspected my quadruple life!
How did I land in doghouse you may ask?  It was a freaky Friday at that!

Well, it happened thus:  My travel agent in Delhi had booked us in a five star hotel as my German wife had insisted on accompanying me to India. She wanted to see my wonderful country.  After denying for many years I couldn’t say no and reluctantly agreed.  In the meantime, my British and Parisian wives of their own will, decided to visit India  as it was school holiday time and the kids were eager to explore and know their dad’s country.  Respecting my strict instructions to never contact me during my official business trips, they did not inform me about their arrival. 
After hurriedly meeting my Punjabi family, I quietly returned to the hotel without my German frau n kids being any the wiser.  Next morning we were slated to visit the Qutb Minar and Mehrauli area in Delhi.  We started early with a guide nd as we stood admiring the Ashoka pillar  suddenly I heard some kids running towards me with cries of joy.  They were my British and French kids!! Oh my God- I wished the earth would open up n swallow me! Now the fat was really in the fire.  I had six kids calling me dad and the women were screaming and almost in blows over me.  Hastily I calmed them and told them that I would explain it all.  I decided to make a clean breast of it and invited the whole gang to my Delhi mansion so that they could meet my Punjabi family.
I have to stop here as THERE WAS TOTAL PANDEMONIUM with my Punjabi wife wailing and the Europeans fighting like fish mongers.  It was a mess.  My quadruple life was in shambles.  I slunk out quietly and recuperated at a local bar with a couple of my childhood cronies.  I was in the doghouse for sure.

My mind had stopped working for once!
PS: this is based upon a real Punjabi sikh(Indian) who juggled his European wives successfully- do not know how his story ended in real life (approx. met him in Bombay circa 1968-69)

all pictures are from the internet

A Journey- a Connection

Sometimes, certain journeys are like a renaissance painting, a bit blurred but pleasant on the eye and soul soothing.  Such were the trips we’d made consecutively a few years ago during our visit to India.

My sister has great faith in this particular Devi shrine in Himachal and both times she was delighted to have us n make it a family outing.

We piled into a Tata Sumo van in wee hours.  Bro-in-law’s  best friend Jay likes to drive.  After invoking  Hindu god Ganesh and   goddess shakti also knowns as “devi” we were on our way.  Jay is a diehard fan of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan hence out of his copious pockets he withdrew some tapes and we were treated to some soulful sufi music.   We were entranced.  The mood was set for the trip.

I have absolutely no road sense, so will only dwell on what my mind captured on these trips.  On our way after several hours, I recall having a sumptuous meal at a  (roadside diner)   Dhaba.  Then we were climbing the mountains and the hairpin curves around white limestone/sandstone cliffs were rather daunting.  Luckily none of us was nauseous and then we had halted midway up the mountain at a Shiva shrine inside a cave.  This was a natural cave temple of Trilokpur containing a stalactite and stalagamite dedicated to Shiva. High on the ridge of the cave we saw the ruins of a palace and baradari (audience hall). Ihe Shiva temple was very ancient and we had to bend very low to enter this shrine.  Outside, there was a lovely waterfall(banganga) and I felt this is how mount Kailash would be with Ganga flowing out of the Shiva locks as he meditated.

  After paying due obeisance we were on our way reluctant to leave as it was very peaceful high up in the mountains. The Kangra valley is one of the most picturesque valleys of lower Himalayas. Ancient Hindu Temples like Bajreshwari Devi, Chamunda Devi, Baijnath Shiv temple and Jwala Devi ji dot the country side. The valley, sheltered by the sublime Dhauladhar range, is green and luxuriant. It provides a tremendous contrast in nature.

I recall visiting the various “Devi” shrine during these trips. The one place that completely enchanted me was this ancient shrine of Mata called Bagalamukhi.    The Bankhandi temple is located on the Dehra-Dharamsala road, Kangra. There had been a rock fall and a good portion had fallen inwards inside the cave itself.  The inner sanctorum was intact and the caretakers had built a small entrance and veranda around it.  Belief had it that whatever boon you ask there will be fulfilled.  My sister firmly believed in it after a narrow escape and her husband had promised  the Devi that he would return to give thanks and hold a langar (lunch)for the local children and their families. 

After due respects everyone was busy mustering up the locals and preparing for the langar feast.  I absorbed the peace and tranquility of the place.  It was incredible.  The aura and the vibrations were amazing.  Mercifully there were no crowds and in fact at that time we were the only ones there.  I was allowed to sit in the inner sanctorum and the bliss was tangible.  I closed my eyes and meditated.  I was transported.  It was almost an out of body experience.  I was floating and drawn towards the deity. Peace descended on my bruised spirit like a soothing salve.  The Mother had taken me in her arms and removed all my hurts absorbing them and filling the void with love.  I was in a blissful state.  had journeyed within and without. This shrine’s power was quite potent and I felt it fully. I cherish this experience holding it close to my heart.

*In Hinduism, Bagalamukhi or Bagala is one of the ten mahavidya goddesses. Bagalamukhi Devi smashes the devotee’s misconceptions and delusions by her cudgel. She is also known as Pitambara in Northern Parts of India. (wiki)

**Kangra HP, rich in culture and history is sheltered by the massive Dhauladhar range of mountains and this majestic mountain range surpasses all others in its grandeur The history of Kangra valley dates back to vedic times, more than 3,500 years ago. It finds mention in the Puranas the Mahabharta and in Rajtarangani. Kangra valley is one of the most picturesque valleys in the Himalayas. The famous Bajeshwari Devi temple is located in the town.  Kangra town is situated at the confluence of the Baner and Majhi streams, overlooking the Banganga torrent famous for temples, forts and now a speedily emerging as a business centre. There are two other important Hill stations in district Kangra known as Dharamsala and Palampur. All in all, Kangra with a numerous important temples is a great destination for people looking to go on a religious holiday escape.

Dharamshala is full of Buddhist air and McLeod Ganj is Dalai Lama’s official residence, and home to several Buddhist monasteries and thousands of Tibetan refugees.  We got a taste of mini Tibet here.  The shrine of Budhha was very majestic and peaceful. (Source-internet)

pics. from internet