Breathless in Ladakh

Full set of photos here

And so everyone said; be careful when you get there. Don't move at all on the first day, don't do this, don't do that.... some even went to the extent of saying that you'll start feeling breathless just as you land at the airport. The wife promptly had dreams of collapsing just when she got off the airplane's ladder... clutching her throat and dying like the villain's henchmen in C grade Bollywood movies when exposed to mustard gas.

But you know what? They were somewhat right... I was breathless even before we got off the plane. It started just as we broke through the dense cloud which stretched all the way from Delhi and I had the first glimpse of the land they call Ladakh - the name literally means 'The land of high passes' and over the next week or so, this land took our breath away.


Day 1 & 2

Making our way through the cutest airport terminal I'd ever seen, we got ourselves a taxi to takes us to our hotel - Omasila. A pretty hotel nestled in the Changspa area of Ladakh, we were greeted to some of the most stunning views of the Stok sub-range of the Himalayas. The Stok Kangri peak towered over the Leh valley, with most of the higher reaches covered with a generous helping of snow.

My own experience in high altitude climbing had taught me to take it easy always on the first couple of days, so the entire group basically chilled out in the hotel playing Taboo & Teen Patti.

The next day, we headed out after lunch and our first objective was the Stok Palace, across the river Indus. The Palace along with the adjoining Gompa (monastery) were built in the early 19th century by the Ladakhi King Tsedap Namgyal. The descendants of the Ladakhi Royal family including the former Queen of Ladakh reside here, having moved out of the main palace built on a cliff above Leh. Part of the palace complex has been converted in to a museum displaying artefacts from the history of Ladakh.


There is a small cafeteria with open seating overlooking the Indus valley and Leh town - but it wasn't operational while we were there. A burly dog was sunning himself on one of the palace walls and he proved to be a wonderful model for our photography session. A series of small stupas dot the landscape behind the palace, permanently disfigured by the hideous TV mast erected by Doordarshan.

We drove back to Leh, and headed for the Shanti Stupa. A modern structure, it was built in the 80s in co-ordination with a Japanese Buddhist organization and inaugurated by the Dalai Lama. Of more interest would be the small temple just below the Stupa where we spent a surreal 15 minutes with the resident monk carrying out the evening prayers. His deep baritone resonated along with the slow throbbing of the dream, literally elevating us to another level as we sat there with our eyes closed.

Having skipped lunch, we stuffed our faces with obscene amounts of Maggi served by the small canteen near the temple and then went up to the Stupa. The building itself is very unremarkable, and stands out as an aberration in this ancient land. However, the views from the Stupa as best described as stunning. The entire Leh valley, with the Indus flowing by quietly is visible from here. Hordes of tourists were simply sitting there, legs dangling across a 300 foot drop, drinking in the view. We spent more than a few hours up there ourselves, until it got really cold and windy so decided to head back to the hotel for a warm cuppa chai.

On this first day itself, I had run out of adjectives to describe the ethereal beauty of this place. Usually I am never at a loss of words, but Ladakh had silenced me. That day itself I had been convinced that no words or photos could ever do justice to that place unless you saw it for yourself.

But two things stood out more than anything else. One was the amazing palette of colors, that had been used by the Creator while painting this place. Colors I had never seen before, colors I never knew existed. For someone used to the drab colors of Delhi and its dull grey skies, Ladakh felt as if someone used to wash it with Surf each morning before everyone else got up.

The other was the play of light and shadow across the countryside. Clouds moving across the sun created created a dramatic effect across the rows of hills - it felt as if the Painter up there used to draw a masterpiece but grew dissatisfied with it five minutes later. So he recolored it to draw another masterpiece, and another and another all day long. We kept talking about it late into the night and each day to follow and never get bored of it.

Day 3
The destination for the next day was the Khardung La pass. 'La' is the Ladakhi word for a mountain pass and Khardung La is reputed to be highest stretch of a motorable road in the world at 18380 ft. While many dispute this height & record, I don't care too much about it. The fact that a road exists across these extremely inhospitable mountains and that there is someone to offer you hot Kehva when you reach the top is good enough. This road is the lifeline for the residents of the Nubra Valley and specially for the brave Indian soldiers up in the Siachen Glacier. The previous day we had seen a long column of army trucks come down this road and their sheer numbers suggested the importance of this road.

Just as we got there, a howling wind grew into a minor snowstorm and drove perfectly formed snowflakes inside my collar. The temperature was nearing -10 Celcius and the wind chill made it worse.... or was it? In fact it was super fun !! I was dressed in a just a fleece sweatshirt and was plodding through 6 inches of powdery snow in sandal clad feed with the abandon of a hippopotamus in a river, when I was summarily dragged to the souvenir store by the wife and made to wear a wool cap, muffler and gloves too, had the shop not run out of them. The visit to the souvenir shop was worth it as now I also possess a t-shirt which says 'Khardung-la' 18380ft - I was there!'.

With the storm getting worse, our driver decided it wasn't really a great idea for us to be cavorting around there for too long. Pretty soon, we were packed in our car trying to make our way downhill in the blinding snow. With everything around us white - the road looked even narrower than it was. For some weird reason, all I could of think of was the scene from Lord of the Rings - 1, where the fellowship is trying to get across Mt. Caradhras and the snow storm generated by Saruman foils them. In fact I was pricking my ear to try and discern any evil spells being read underneath the howling of the wind.

Fantasies apart, things improved once we got below snow-line as the snow storm petered out into a drizzle. Back in Leh, we had lunch at a restaurant called Wonderland, down the street from our hotel. Pretty decent food, but the hummus & pita sucked !! It was much better the previous day at Cafe Jeevan a little but up from Omasila. Overall, food in Leh would not get more than a 4.5/10 from me. The items in the menu are almost the same as the one's I have seen on a beach shack in Goa (minus the sea food) or any cafe in McLeodganj or Pushkar. I guess it makes the typical tourist who does the India (the Agra / Delhi / Jaipur, Dharamsala / Manali, Leh, Goa, Hampi) tour happy and at home :-)

Dinner too would have been unremarkable, had it not been for the boys at the Nepali Kitchen restaurant right opposite our hotel. On special request, they prepared a really mean Dal Tadka & Jeera Aloo while a bunch of foreigners chatted about their adventures in the plains to the tune of a guitar strumming companion.

Day 4
Morning broke as out kitchen manager arranged for boxes upon boxes of sandwiches for his guest groups heading for the highlight of the day - the Tsechu Festival. The festival is held in the Hemis gompa which lies about 35 km South East from Leh.

The Tsechu festival is celebrated in reverence to Padmasambhava. Held in the main courtyard of the monastery. - the festival begins with an early morning ritual atop the Gompa where, a large portrait of Dadmokarpo Rinpoche is unveiled. This is followed by number of elaborate Tantric rituals (Hemis is one of the prominent centres of Vajrayana Buddhism) inside the sanctum sanctorum. Then comes the highlight, a series of dance performances also known as 'Cham'. The Cham performance is essentially a part of Tantric tradition, performed only in those gompas which follow the Tantric Vajrayana.

The dance performances were fascinating, a veritable riot of colors. Hordes of photographers with cameras and lenses of all shapes and sizes had assembled. R and I had literally front row seats to the performance and the 4 cameras that we were carrying went mad as we shot off frame after frame after frame. Intermittent rain did not dampen any of of the festive mood as the crowed huddled under umbrellas, raincoats or whatever other cover they could find.

After the performances, we left for Leh. The road runs parallel to the Indus (Sindhu) river and a couple of white water rafts were also spotted bobbing along the stream. We stopped on the way at the Thiksey Gompa. It is amongst the largest & most famous monasteries in Ladakh & certainly one of the grandest. Standing atop a small hill - the 12 storey building is impressive in size and scale. Legend is that its design mimics that of the Potala Palace in Lhasa. The monastery belongs to the Gelugpa (Yellow Hat) school of Buddhism. The Dalai Lama is also from this school so the monastery currently enjoys an elevated status.

Politics apart, the monastery is really worth half a day's visit. Apart from the numerous little prayer rooms - the main hall has impressive thangkas & frescoes on its walls. A small ante-room has amazing statues of Sakya Muni & an amazing statue of the eleven headed Avalokiteshwara. However, the centre of attraction is the 20ft high statue of Maitreya - the Buddha to come. The views from the Gompa are no less amazing.

Very close to Thiksey a smaller but equally pretty Gompa of Stakhna. Situated on the right bank of the Indus River, the name 'Stakhna' literally means 'tiger's nose'. The monastery was so named because it was built on a hill, which is shaped just like a tiger's nose. The roots of the monastery lie in faraway Bhutan and like Hemis, it too belongs to the Drukpa (Red Hat) school of Buddhism. However, Stakhna predates the 17th century Hemis Gompa and is one of the earliest Drukpa monasteries in Ladakh.

Moving on, we made at stop at the Shey Palace as well. Shey is the old capital of Ladakh, before Leh took over. Occupied by the Namgyals till the 16th century, it is now almost totally deserted. Not much except ruins of the palace and gompa remain. The Palace sits on a ridge below the fort. om prayer lamps, the paintings in gold and bright colours are amongst the finest in this region. Shey was once considered an auspicious place for cremations. Vast grounds to the east of the gompa are scattered with numerous stupas, which contain ashes of prominent monks, members of the royal family and others.

Our last stop for the day was on the banks of the Indus river at a pretty spot called Sindhu Darshan. Inaugurated by LK Advani of all people, this place serves as a camping ground and also provides pretty views of the Indus flowing through the pretty Leh valley.

Day 5
It was time for us to head to one of the most spectacular & popular destinations in Ladakh, the Pangong Tso. Tso is the Ladakhi word for 'lake' and and Pangong is as amazing as they come. The road to Pangong is no less spectacular. Turning off from Leh - Manali highway at Karu, one needs to head up to the village of Sakti. Here the road starts climbing stepply towards Chang La pass. Chang La is reputed to be the third highest motorable road in the world after Khardung La & Tanglang La. For me, the climb was much more dramatic than the one to Khardung a 2 days ago. There was snow here too in the higher reaches and light flakes kept drifting in the wind as we stopped at the Army outpost at the summit. After some photos and snowball fights with the fresh snow, we pressed on.

Our driver kept stressing on the need to reach Pangong quickly as the summer sun quickly melts any overnight snow and by late afternoon, some of the streams that cross the road may swell and make our crossing difficult. If we had any doubts, they were soon dispelled when we came across a massive traffic pile up. A stream had washed away a large portion of the road and an Innova had gotten stuck among the rocks in almost shin deep water. All of the collective efforts of the drivers only mired the vehicle deeper and the situation was getting hopeless.

Just then, a big fat bulldozer operated by the BRO turned up and shoved a huge pile of rocks across the stream in a jiffy which created an alternate path for the vehicles to cross. Then it proceeded across the stream and towed the 2 tonne Innova out as if it were a toy car. An awesome display in clinically applied brute force, displaying the often unheralded efficiency of the BRO people who keep the roads open in this inhospitable terrain.

It was short sprint to Pangong thereon and soon we were at the banks of perhaps the most spectacular water body I have seen(It got relegated to #2 a few weeks later, but that's another story). It was crystal blue water ringed by mountains spread far in to the horizon. It was the bluest of blue waters that I ever set my sights upon and I could count 5-7 shades of blue within it. The lake is about 134km long and two thirds of it lies in Tibet. For the same reason, boating is not permitted.
Sharp winds and a biting drizzle that had been following us since Chang La, caught up with us and forced us to abandon our frolicking by the lake side and seek shelter in one of the tents set up by the lake side that also offered food and drink. Cooped up inside the warm & cosy tent, we devoured bowls of Maggi & Dal Chawal along with piping hot chai. The rain abated a bit, and we took some more photos and then it was time to head back as our driver was getting jittery looking at the weather.

The ride back was uneventful, save for the fact that the 6 inch deep snow at Chang La had mostly melted leaving an icy slush. We had another cuppa chai served free by the Army officers and paid our obeisance at the Chang La Baba temple before heading down to Leh. We saw lots of Himalayan Marmots on the way as well, scurrying around the meadows looking for food while the sun shone. Marmots hibernate in winter, so a large part of the summer is spent stocking up on food.
We were extremely tired after the 300km ride so dinner was early, though sleep was hard to come by. For some weird reason, breathing indoors continued to be a chore, even after 5 days at high altitudes. Outdoors were fine, even at heights above 17,000ft - but inside the room was sheer discomfort. Sleep was even more difficult and I used to wake up gasping many a time in the night thinking someone was throttling me !! Any idea why that happens?

Day 6
It was our last day for sightseeing in Ladakh and we chose to take it easy. Our plan for the day was to head to the oldest monastery in Ladakh at Alchi. From there on, we were due to Lamayuru. Halfway through the drive, we decided that we weren't up to another 300 km ride, so decide to stick to Alchi only. Heading down the highway to Srinagar we stopped by the confluence of the Indus and the Zanskar rivers. Later, we crossed the Indus and climbed towards Alchi village. The monastery itself is situated high above the banks of the river. Having been set up somewhere in the 12th century. Some sources predate the origin of the monastery but not many details are known.

The complex itself is home to three temples and two stupas. Unlike, other most monasteries in Ladakh it is not a very high building, except for the three story temple or Sumtseg. Alchi is home to some complex Mandalas. The Sumtseg has large statues of Maitreya flanked by those of Manjushri & Avalokiteshwara. The third temple is dedicated to Manjushri and has perhaps one of the most amazing statues you could ever come across. It is a four faced statue standing nearly 10 ft. tall. The four images of Manjushri are seated back to back in an elaborate common frame featuring a multiplicity of animals, gods and symbols and topped by the decorative scrolls deriving. The four images and their frames have been completely repainted in recent times. Photography however is strictly prohibited inside the temples.

We had lunch in the cafe cum camping site next door and then headed to the village for some shopping. Once inside the shops, we went overboard stuffing our backpacks with masks, brassware, khukris and other 'traditional' Ladakhi artefacts. What surprised me the most was the revelation that most of the stuff was made in Nepal !! There was another irony that I noticed throughout the bazaars in Ladakh - practically every shop has signs & stickers urging China to free Tibet - and the very same shops were selling a multitude of Chinese manufactured goods !! Perhaps trade & politics are not to be mixed....

We returned to our hotel and spent to night partying and packing as the next morning, was our flight to Delhi. While heading back, we felt it was an injustice to Ladakh that we'd spent very little time there and hardly got to explore it amazing beauty. Perhaps it was okay though... after all we had run out of adjectives to describe the place so we needed to learn a few more, before we could return.

Growing up with trains in Delhi

Just back from a convention of train crazy nutcases !! It was two days of non-stop train talk and all things associated. Even though I'm back in office, the hangover hasn't rubbed off yet... Dug out this old piece that I'd written which I'd like to share with you

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Delhi has never been in the same league as Bombay or Calcutta when it came to being a 'Railway' city as Delhi's public transport system has been predominantly road based. Despite that, trains have somehow been a constant fixture in all my years growing up in this city and I am taking this opportunity to share some memories of all these years with you.

My earliest memory of trains in Delhi dates back to the time when I was just a 4 year old and we used to live in Ramesh Nagar in West Delhi. Every now and then my grandma used to take me along to visit her sister who lived in Kirti Nagar area and the Meter Gauge lines to Jaipur used to pass practically through their front yard. I remember those sunny winter afternoons when the grannies used to sit in the lawn shelling peas and knitting sweaters and gossiping about Mrs. Sharma's latest necklace or Mrs. Verma's daughter running away with the milkman. Oblivious of it all I used to be doodling around the lawn in a tricycle stopping and watching in joy awe the magnificent steam trains that passed, and jumping with fright whenever they used to let rip their whistle!

A few years later, my uncle got married into a family that used to live the government flats in the Netaji Nagar area. This development meant numerous journeys in Ring Railway local trains between Kirti Nagar and Sarojini Nagar. I used to love the fast pick up of the EMU locals which used to be clean and shiny then - having been introduced a few years back alongside the 1982 Asian Games. Proximity to the Kirti Nagar station also meant that we could take a local direct to New Delhi station to catch long distance trains. So my adventures in the GT Express used to be preceded by a fast 30 min EMU ride that used to drop us right inside New Delhi. My dad used to then take me to the famous Lassi Wala opposite the Pahar Gunj entrance and only then would father and son think of boarding the train.

In the mid - 80s we moved to our current residence in Janak Puri which wasn't exactly on the railroad map so my travel was mostly by road, even though I used to beg my dad or uncle to stop for a moment on top of the Delhi Cantt. Flyover and let me survey the yard and only when I was satisfied were they allowed to move further.

After Class 5, I joined the senior section of my school at Barakhamba Road, which was a stone's throw away from the Shivaji Bridge station near New Delhi station (NDLS). Many a time, we could hear the horns of trains arriving or departing at NDLS and I used to make mental guesses of what train it could be depending on the time of the day and the sound of the horn.

As I grew, the subjects got more boring and I preferred bunking school and spending hours at Shivaji Bridge or Tilak Bridge watching the WDMs, the WAMs and the WAPs run endlessely in and out of NDLS while my friends whom I use to tag along used to tear their hair trying to figure out what was so sexy about a diesel smoking up or why on earth an antenna was called something as weird as a pantograph!?!

Many a time, I used to purposely miss the school bus, catch an EMU till Patel Nagar and then trudge a kilometer through the filth to the bus stop and catch a rickety DTC bus home. Money being a scarce commodity then, I used to buy the cheaper 2 rupee anti-clockwise ticket to Patel Nagar, but used to catch the longer clockwise train via Nizamuddin to maximize the bang for the buck. Once or twice a TT did catch me, but I could always claim that I asked the driver it'd go to Patel Nagar and he said yes. so how was I supposed to know if it went this way or that!

Going to college in DTC buses was a mini train-spotting session as we used to pass through the under bridge outside Shakur Basti yard and one could invariably spot a couple of trains waiting for clearance. That was the place, where I saw my first WDP1. I clearly remember it was 15002 in the standard red-cream livery, but what really caught my attention was the now famous 'baldie' short hood. To my untrained eyes, the 'sleek' and sexy loco looked as if it could easily do 200kmph and I really used to watch out for these locos and other baldies WDM2Cs who made an appearance at more or less the same time as the WAP4s!! Those wonder years for me, thinking that the high-speed age was finally dawning on IR with the appearance of these 'aerodynamic' loco. It took a couple of more years of 'growing up' before I started working and moving around the country that I really got to see these magnificent machines in action.

It was the starting of the Internet age and I had barely got my first email ID active. Those days even Google was not around I guess, but I typed Indian Railways Pictures into a search engine and the resultant was a site full of WDM2 pictures by a gentleman called we also know as Diesel King! God only knows how happy I was to learn that I was not the only nut on the planet!! Another few months down the line I formally joined this wonderful place called IRFCA. It's been close to 7 years now that I have been here and as our friend from Badnera once said that all of us love trains as kids, but some of us don't grow up.

Well neither have I. I am close to 29 now and I still fight for the window seat and yes I watch Thomas the Tank Engine too. its much-much better than the Saas Bahus ....

Campa Cola - Redux

After a long train spotting session I was headed towards my car parked near Shankar Market in Connaught Place. As I walked past the now familiar ruins of the Campa Cola factory, I couldn't help but be reminisce the good old school days when we drank that stuff by the liters !

Back in the eighties Campa Cola and its sister brands ruled the roost in India, with competition only from the Parle stable comprising Thums Up, Limca, Gold Spot and others. While I wouldn't go into which was more popular, here in Delhi - Campa ruled supreme, perhaps due to its Punjabi connections.

In our school, Campa brands had a monopoly in the school canteen and Campa Cola accounted for more than 95% of the sale. In school - Campa (hereafter referring to the Cola version only, except when indicated) was part of every aspect of our lives. Back then, one bottle of 200ml was 4 or 5 rupees, which meant we could have one virtually everyday! To spend a day without it was unheard of. We looked forward to functions in school - especially house functions when we would stay back late in school and be served loads of patties or chola bhaturas from Nathu's downed with liters of what else but Campa.

Sports days meant Campa, free periods meant Campa - but birthdays were the most special. Any friend's birthday meant a crate full of Campa for all and sundry. But this lot was hardly ever consumed - instead it was used to drench the birthday boy and girl to the point that his clothes would stink of the stuff for weeks. That done, the were carried off to the school pool and dunked in a ceremony worthy of the Republic Day parade!

Campa was what we grew up on, but the fizz for the company didn't last forever. The liberalization of the 90s meant that Coke and Pepsi returned to India with a vengeance. While Parle rolled over and played dead within months of their arrival - Campa soldiered on. While the generations that grew it, stood by for a few years; Gen -X all but fell prey to the new age marketing of the Cola giants. Poor ol' Campa stood no chance, and its internal feuds only hastened its demise. It struggled somehow into the late 90s but it was too much to ask for. Our school canteen too gave up on Campa and switched to Pepsi, who even ended up being our hockey team sponsor and then one fine day, there was Campa no more....

But wait... did I see some freshly painted Campa signs? Were they really Campa bottles stacked neatly in a stall situated in one corner of the factory? My curiosity got the better of me and I asked the person manning the stall if it was really the real thing? Well almost - news is that a Haryana based group has taken over the rights to the Campa name and its formulation. Campa is alive again and being bottled in a plant in Haryana and being sold in Delhi in limited quantity.

Of course I bought a bottle and drank it straight down. The taste seemed alright, in fact good and certainly very different from Coke / Pepsi / Thums Up !! But was it really the same taste? Well frankly, I don't know.... after all I was having it after nearly 12 years !! Whatever it was.... it did bring memories of those days back again.

Don't know how long will the bubble last, but while you can... go have it

The Tibetan

I am an atheist, but Buddhism and its teachings have had quite an impact on me...



A few months back I was in Dharamsala with C. Together, we were strolling down the streets of McLeoganj (Upper Dharamsala) and soon found ourselves at the doorstep of the Namgyal Monastery, the seat of His Holiness The Dalai Lama. Co-incidentally, he was in town on that day and was expected to visit the monastery soon. Not wanting to miss out on the chance, we made our way in - not before undergoing a rigourous security check.



Entering the monastery, we were swamped by the milling crowds all gathered for one glimpse of His Holiness and the two of us had little clue as to where to go or what to do. We decided to follow a large group of people going up the stairs. On top of the staircase we were separated from the group by the guards and we were feeling quite flustered by them. The whole place was in absolute chaos and no one was willing to help us out.



About to give up and get out, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned around to stare into the deep black eyes of an elderly Tibetan. He spoked no Hindi or English, but beckoned us to sit down next to him. We squeezed into the tiny space on the steps amongst a huge crowd of praying common folk. Sitting there too was difficult as there was hardly any place, but the reassuring hand on my shoulder made me stay. I looked at him inquisitively, trying to understand the purpose of his insistence. And then he smiled....



Never have I ever seen anyone smile like that, his face... wrinkly and cragged was a picture of serenity, the eyes deep as the darkest coal mines... and smile it was like Buddha himself. I needed no more reassurance and looking back at C told me that she felt the same.



Moments later, we knew what he meant... there was a hush in the crowd and an air of anticipation.... a whisper went round the hall and then all of a sudden, His Holiness walked up the stairs just about 4 feet away from us. He turned around, and looked directly at us and smiled .....

We turned around to look at our Tibetan, his eyes were closed, lips murmuring silent prayers along with the beads of his rosary. Moments later, the hall rumbled with the deep throated 'Om Mani Padme Hum' by the Gyuto monks.



The Tibetan opened his eyes and smiled again.... I knew who he was....he was Avalokiteshwara himself.

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Chunnu Padhta Diamond Comics

Like most kids, I too was a big fan of comics. In my childhood, good foreign comics were hard to come by. Our exposure to Superman, Spiderman and He-man was limited to evening cartoons on DD. Most of the comic book diet was made up of Indian fare with the occasional Archie or DC/Marvel comic procured from the flea market. Back in our days there were quite a few publishing houses of which the prominent ones were Diamond, Raj, Manoj & Tulsi. Diamond and Raj survive to this day, while I do not know much about the fate of Tulsi & Manoj.

Diamond was ofcourse the most popular with its chief characters like Chacha Choudhary, Saboo, Raman, Billoo, Pinky etc. These I used to like only when I was very young as the humor was very simple and as I grew it became childish. Diamond however, also published more 'serious' comics like Fauladi Singh (a masked superhero who fights space invaders) and his pocket sized sidekick Lambu Singh. I used to be a big fan of this character specially because of his laser guns and rocket ships. Another Diamond plus was its Sunday afternoon radio show on AIR Vividh Bharti which I think continues to this day. The program used to be based on forthcoming Diamond comics and the voices often presented very dramatic and exciting (for a child of my age) previews of the next week's issues. . And who can forget the famous jingle, "Chunnu Padtha Diamond Comics, Munni Padhti Diamond Comics, Mazedaar Hai Diamond Comics".


This used to be followed by a trip to Vinod's or Dholki's (our neighbourhood comic stores) from where we used to rent the latest comics for Re. 1 per comic per day. Since it was a big dent on our weekly allowance (5 rupees a week back then) the money used to be split between cousins and friends.

Manoj comics was the other big publisher with characters like Inspector Manoj, Ram - Rahim etc. Its characters were inspired by Amar Chitra Katha / Tinkle & Diamond Characters (Ram - Rahim were their answer to Diamond's Rajan - Iqbal). But my all time favorite Manoj Character was 'Crook Bond' a bumbling detective with a robotic car (much like Q's) piloted by 'Mr. Hol-dol' a robot who sat on the bonnet much like the Rolls-Royce marquee.

Some years later Raj Comics hit the market and became instantly popular. Its artwork and story lines were clearly inspired by Western DC / Marvel comics. Its first two superheros Nagraj and Super Commando Dhruv became overnight stars and for that day and age the quality of artwork and stories were incredibly good. Then came a slew of new heroes and sub-heros like Doga, Bhokal, Inspector Steel, Fighter Toads etc. which were to a large extent inspired by western characters. While Steel was clearly lifted from Robocop, Bhokal was He-manesuqe in origin while the Fighter Toads were clearly the Ninja Turtles right down to their sewer home.

Tulsi had very much a B-grade lineup with mediocre stories and characters, the most prominent was Tausi, a sort of rip-off on Raj Comic's Nagraj. But the titles for which I used to lust the most was Indrajaal - published by the Times of India Group which were mainly Hindi translations of International comics like Phantom, Mandrake, Flash Gordon, Garth etc. and ofcourse Phantom (or Vetaal) in Hindi was my hot favourite.

Amar Chitra Katha has remained an eternal favourite as well, and even today I can't resist digging into the adventures of Shikari Shambhu (so much so that I have named Bangalore Traffic Cops after him) and Suppandi. Kaaliya the crow - Chamataka the Jackal, Doob Doob the croc... the names just keep rolling.

But I don't know if any of you remember Daku Pan Singh, a Robin Hood type bandit who gained mighty powers after eating a made by who else but a trusted sidekick. Then there was Lot-comics, low on paper quality but high on laughter content. The characters had names like Motu-Patlu, Ghasita Ram. Madhu Muskan magazine had Uncle Ji and an US return accented nephew who used to take his happiness, while now defunct Target magazine had Gardhab Daas.

Most of these names have vanished now, and the Indian comic industry is stuck in a time warp. Of the surviving ones Chacha Choudhary comics are stale and hardly evince any laughter, while Raj Comic characters have either become cheap or the story lines have become downright ridiculous. For serious comic book buffs, there is nothing left and the children of today either read sex or violence packed American ones or Japanese manga easily available in supermarkets now.

Wish I could go back to those days, wish I could lay my hands on some Indrajaal comics and what would I not do to read Daku Pan Singh all over again. Sometimes I wish the kids of today had much more to do than Internet, Pokemon & WWE !!

The Fallen Solider

On the apron of the Delhi airport, there is a spot called Shraddhanjali Sthal, granite slabs that bore the weight of the soldiers killed during the Kargil war. I did not know its significance until the other day as I was walking past when I saw a a dozen odd soldiers standing in rapt attention and a bunch of marigold flowers lay on a table draped in white. Just about then a baggage train hauled by a tractor stopped right there and in the last compartment lay a wooden box.

The box was a coffin - that of Lt. Vijender Kumar ( I don't know if I got the name right). Four jawans, dressed in ceremonial finery marched up to the coffin and lifted in dutifully and laid it on the table. The bugles played 'the last post", while another bunch of soldiers dipped their rifles to pay homage to the fallen soldier.

All around me, I could hear the whine of turbofans as the jets revved up for the evening flight. But as the sun set over the airport, I was left standing thinking, who would be next. Which mother, which sister, which wife would lose their soldier next? When would this end? What would it take to bring peace?

It brought to my mind these lines from the song Jugni by Rabbi Shergill
"Ae jhagda kaiyon mukna, jadon Jhelum paani sukhna?"

(will this war end only when the Jhelum runs dry??)

Those magnificent men

The Raichur Thermal station loomed large on our left, lit up brightly as its four smokestacks towered into the sky, red lights blinking. Rising columns of steam eerily reminded us of the Titanic when suddenly the cabin lights were switched off and the assistant had his nose pressed to the windscreen infront of him. The Chief too was peering ahead in rapt attention and for a moment there was pin drop silence in the cab. The rumble of the V16 behind us grew tenfold and we couldn't see much ahead as the view was block by a road bridge. Suddenly a green speck came into view and Chief's finger went up in his inimitable style when the assistant cried "Raichur home - caution!!"

Cut to the cab of the WAP5 at the helm of the Rajdhani to Mumbai. Roaring along at 130kmph, the Chief and his assistant are discussing the upcoming wedding of a colleague's daughter when a buffalo, munching contentedly by the tracks decided to choose that very moment to get up and cross the tracks. The assistant, a pucca Bramhin could only get up and fold his palms when a resounding thud sounded a hit. Another hundred or so kilometers down the track, we run over an unlikely species - a peacock !! Unheeded - Rajdhani goes on as it is just another day in the life of the loco pilots and assistants of Indian Railways.

Those unnamed, unheralded heroes about whom, hardly anyone knows or cares. Those are the men, who spend Diwalis and Chirstmases in Running Room Dormitories so that you could have been home in time to spend it with your families. Those are the men who brave 45° C plus temperatures while you lounge in air conditioned comforts of your coupes. Next time you are at the station, try looking inside the cabin of a locomotive. You would find an apology of a seat - barely adequate for resting half a bum, but even then they would invite you to share it.

I know of a Chief - as we call the senior drivers (or pilots as the Railways likes to call them) who as a fireman spent 16 straight hours on the footplate of a freight train to cover 250 kilometers due to a strike. 16 straight overs shovelling coal into the firebox, 16 straight hours in a place where temperatures make the Sahara look like Siberia. I have personally been witness to drivers - staunch Bramhins drink out of the same cup as a Muslim while in the cab. Seen Jains, pull out the severed hand of a young boy that got stuck in the undercarriage as he got run over.

Try and imagine the nightmares these guys must be facing, try and imagine the responsibilities carry on their shoulders each time the signal turns green for in the palm of their hand rests the fate of 2000 lives. They carry the food you eat, the fuel you burn through endless winter nights and blazing summer days. Their children missed their father on the first day of school, just because he was ferrying someone else's children.

How many of us even know that it is not in their hands to drive fast or slow. Or that the train does not get late because of him - but because of a stupid section controller who puts a slow moving freight ahead of a fast express or a careless loco inspector who couldn't even screw a few nuts tight !! The driver drives just as he sees the signal. Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop ! They will perhaps be the few people in India who follow this religiously - unlike the morons on the road.

So the next time you are in a train - spare a thought for the man up ahead. He is not driving slow because he is lazy - he too has children waiting at home for him.