I Want to Fly!

Image Courtesy: Google

Nostalgia… what is that? Going back to the past and trying to find out the lost old days, happy moments and then coming back to reality, realizing you are in just an opposite state.

May be you should think again. Did you actually leave anything behind? Or better to put it in this way, have I been able to leave anything? For the last 27 years, I have been waking up to the same old life. Of course there were phases – childhood days, student life and currently the great working stage. There were times when I believed, all I do is for a stable career. To get appreciation for the work I have done and by the end of the month get paycheck for the toil.

But what has left in for me to cherish? My degrees gave me a job and in turn money, to earn a living. As for the living part, I stay with my parents; so I still don’t stand to say “earning a living”. Or maybe I can say that because I see some of my colleagues are on the same pay-scale and still making a living out of it. Err, whatever!!

But, do I want that living? Do I want to go to a room enclosed within 4 walls with artificial cold air blowing down from a machine? The answer is NO!!!

I feel like a balloon that has been tied to a rod. It is allowed to float in air but it is not permitted to fly away. The wind thrust it in different directions but it cannot loosen up the string.

Yes, I feel like that. I can see places, I can see travelers, I can see roads but I cannot fly away. Every day I wake up to see the same old houses, trees, and people shouting about their unending problems. Papers have nothing good to say rather than printing the shittiest news on its first page.

Is this the life I presumed to live? I need to cut off that string or ill get deflated soon and accept the nostalgia of nothingness, killing the traveler that lies within me.     

            

A Temple on the Other Side of LOC

Even before religious discourses were set in and innocent bloods were spilled to claim authority on the northern piece of land, we shared a common history, culture and tradition. We used to live in a land where sky had no boundaries and birds flew away freely without worrying of getting hit by a bullet.

Yes, I am talking about the so long discrepancies that India and Pakistan share since 1947.

The huge sigh of relief after the partition didn’t last for long, soon the war clouds crumbled in to assert dominance over Kashmir; added to that are other territorial issues, which further created an insecure political relation between the two countries. I am here not to blame anyone, but trying to look back at the lost old culture and heritage that we once shared.

While browsing through the news websites of Pakistan, I came across an article that speaks on Hindu temples still standing strong in this region. Well, there is nothing to get surprised because Indian subcontinent, unlike today, was a huge mass of land that includes the whole of Pakistan and Afghanistan as well. Therefore, having a Hindu temple in these thickly populated Muslim countries is not shocking at all. 

The temple that captured all my attention was the Kastaraj Mandir of Katas. This is located in the divided land of Punjab in Chakwal District, witnessing the history that connected the two nations for ages. There is a pool within the temple complex, which is considered sacred because of its healing powers. The temple existed since the days of Mahabharata. It is believed that the Pandava brothers spent 4 out of 14 years in this place. It is here that Yudhisthir confronted the witty questions of Yaksha and answered them all correctly to save the lives of his 4 brothers.

Another story explains that the large pool in the temple area was the result of Shiva’s mourning over the death of his beloved wife, Sati. It is said, he cried so hard and for such a long time that 2 holy ponds were created- one at Pushkar in Ajmer and the other one in Katasraj. In some ancient manuscript, Katas is also considered as the birth place of Lord Rama. But there are controversies because Ayodhya has always been referred as the birth land of the Vishnu Avatar.




It is even said that Al-Beruni spent some time at Katas to learn Sanskrit and wrote his renowned Kitab-ul-Hind, which talks about scientific knowledge, religion and social customs of Hindus. The site houses a group of seven ancient and medieval temples, remains of a Buddhist Stupa, havelis and a few recently built structures. Ramachandra Mandir, Shiva mandir and a Hanuman mandir are the other temples found in this location.

Kastaraj Mandir is spread across the uneven slopes and the localites named it, Qila Katas. This sparsely populated region was once resided by Hindu population who migrated to India after 1947 separation. So, one can find presence of mostly Muslim residents in the region. However, the relationship between the Hindus and the local Muslims are cordial enough. It is quite amazing to see the Hindu devotees traveling from far flung places to attend Shivaratri festival, which is celebrated in this ruin. The government of Pakistan has recognized the temple as a heritage site and has worked for restoring its beauty and history. 

After reading about this temple, I couldn’t stop myself leaving a comment in the blog that solely confines to the heritage and the beauty of the undivided India and how the imaginary lines have divided us. After a few days, I thought of taking a look at the same blog and I came across a reply to my comment. An Indian guy replied in a rough manner stating “Why cry over spilled milk!” But that was not my point. Yes, I mourn over the tragic incident and may be partition was the best solution, but the point is why someone cannot praise the lost history. I am providing an apolitical view, why can’t you accept it!

Let me not end my blog rumbling over some pointless issue rather I must keep my hopes alive to visit the interesting destinations of Pakistan and to that list I now add Kastaraj Mandir. Though this country remains one of the most threatening places in the world, but I wish to visit it someday and witness the history with my own eyes. I will have my own photographs then, and would not be depending on Google anymore.

(Photographs courtesy- Google- The Great Search Engine) 

November Rain

Today is just another Sunday. You wake up in the morning with gloomy eyes, desiring to go back to your bed. But Sunday errands stop you from clutching onto the bed sheet. With a mild curse, you drag the body out of the bed and rest of the actions followed.

Then you find sometime of your own; grab the book which you have been reading for a while and engross yourself to the world of fiction. Suddenly you find, each and every line written there is your state of mind. You feel, it is just a coincidence; but you cannot deny that the author actually relates to a situation you are living. 

In the evening, you decide to stroll around with someone and you wish to do that forever. As you sit beside one another, stare at the same old boats on the river and find men dipping themselves to clench off the daily stress...you hear someone to breathe. 

Everybody does! 

But how many times you feel that breathing can speak or may be it can dream? Yes, it actually does, only if you have the ear to listen. It’s a big dream on a rough canvas. It takes a brush and start painting from the bottom of the page with the zeal to color the whole canvas with wishes, desires and hopes. The air exhaled is so strong, you feel holding the elbow and speak, but it’s already said. 

And then you come back to your senses, wishing from the core of your heart, may all that you breathe get a shape, a life that says, “You made it!”

Red Light in Amsterdam

Everyone is typing around me, everyone is so darn focused; as for me and my colleague, we rarely get these times, when there is nothing to write for the whole day. However, I suddenly found her tapping the keyboard as well; she caught me staring and said, “Got a chance to write my blog!” She grinned and started typing again.

Being a travel blogger myself, I know how it feels to write your own thoughts rather than doing something instructed. So I smiled back and fixed my gaze on an interesting blog, which I suddenly came across, searching God knows what in Google. 

While reading the travelogue, I realized why I love this genre. It is here that I can be myself; I can explain my feelings without thinking about the various saintly concepts. I can use words, which actually describe my state of mind. I am more myself when I am writing about traveling. 

Adam AKA Chirpy, the travelogue’s writer shared all his travel experiences using the utmost funniest tone in the blog. His trip to Paris and the amazing rendezvous with an Indian is hilarious. While going through other write-ups, I suddenly came across a blog on the Red Light Region of Amsterdam. His memoirs took me down the memory lane, when I visited this enchanting city of canals, back in 2011.  

Never would I imagine walking through streets filled with prostitutes in Kolkata. The eerie feeling along with sad reality shakes me, every time I pass that area. But things are pretty different in Amsterdam.

First when I was told about the region, with dazed eyes I said, “People stroll around the area as a part of their trip; insane or what?” But l must confess there was a bit of excitement too. After all, who gets to visit a country everyday, where prostitution and drug is legal! 

P.S: Photography not allowed, so we took it, legally of course!

And then those houses with red lights come, where girls stand in the glass window wearing bikinis. They don't look poverty-stricken rather in good shape (looks are always deceptive, I know and they of course need to maintain). Men were nearly pounding on the doors, mostly to have a talk with the good looking ones or to make a bargain. Some might enjoy the legal right whereas some only enjoy the mood of window shopping. As per me, I found my blood pressure rising. What the hell! There were bikini girls everywhere and after a point of time I found it boring. Western culture is always very receptive about all these stuffs; so what's the big deal about an area specified for sex. Stupid dramatic fuss!!! (Nautanki sala!)

But then there was another surprise, shops selling drugs openly. Yea I know it’s legal, but a huge shop like that selling only substance was shocking. There were even museums of sex!! I feel enlightened and saw what Red Light Region actually is as well as learnt the real meaning of the word. 

As I stand on the small bridge facing the canal, the entire region was lighted with red or pink lamps. Red happens to be a color that symbolizes love but to be more precise, it is the color of temptation here in Amsterdam.