চুটকি গল্প

এই গল্প গুলো বিভিন্ন সময়ে বিভিন্ন বন্ধুদের কাছ থেকে শোনা। মুখ্য চরিত্ররা অনেকেই ফ্যাতাড়ু। তারা যে ভাষায় কথা বলে সেই ভাষাই রেখেছি।  পুরো টা যে সাংবিধানিক তা নয়। দরকার হলে কানে আঙ্গুল দিয়ে নিজ দায়িত্বে পড়িবেন।

*******

দূর পাল্লার ট্রেন থেমে আছে কোনো অজানা শহরতলীর স্টেশন-এ। ভোরবেলা আধো ঘুমে শোনা দুই হকারের কথোপকথন। এক জন আমার ট্রেন এ, খোলা দরজার কাছে। অন্যজন পাশের প্লাটফর্ম এ। 

"কিরে বাঁ? ভোরে ভোর চান করছিস? তাও আবার সাবান মেখে?" গলায় ঈষৎ তির্যক সুর। 

"আজকে বাড়িতে মাংস হয়েছে।"

*******

এক ই রকম পরিস্থিতে দুই হকারের কথোপকথন। 

- এই কটা বাজে রে? 

- সাড়ে ছটা। 

- তুই আবার ঘড়ি কিনলি কবে রে, বাঁ ?

- সেই, তুই যে বছর বিস্ খেয়ে হাসপাতালে গেছিলি। 

********

এরাও দুই হকার বন্ধু । একজন বাজারে সব্জি বেচে, অন্যজনের পাঁউরুটি বিস্কুটের দোকান।
- এই, একটা fruit কেক দেতো ! তোর fruit কেক-এ ফ্রুট আছে ত'?
- কেন রে বাঁ ? তোর ধোনে পাতায় ধোন থাকে?

আমার প্রথম বাংলা ব্লগ

বাংলায় একটা ব্লগ লিখলে কেমন হয় ? অনেক দিন ধরেই ইচ্ছেটা ছিল। কিন্তু বাংলা লেখার তেমন জুতসই কোনো সফটওয়্যার পাচ্ছিলাম না। অনেকেই Avro ব্যবহার করেন শুনতাম। আমি কোনোদিন সেটা নাবিয়ে উঠতে পারিনি। গুগল-এর দাক্ষিণ্যে এখন বাংলা লেখা দারুন সহজ হয়ে গেছে। কাজেই না লেখার আর কোনো যুক্তি দেয়া যায় না। শুধু চন্দ্রবিন্দু টা কি ভাবে লাগাতে হয় এখনো বুঝে উঠতে পারিনি। আশা করি বুঝে যাবো শিগগির। তবে গুগল দেখছি বানান গুলো মোটামুটি জানে। কিছু ওপার বাংলা মার্কা বানান আছে। কিন্তু একটু সজাগ থাকলেই ওগুলো এড়ানো যায়।

কেমন ভাবে লিখি গুগল এ? লিখে রাখি। হয়তো ভবিষ্যতে পুরো ব্যাপার টা পাল্টে যাবে। গুগল ইনপুট সরঞ্জাম বলে একটা ওয়েব সাইট আছে। ইংরিজিতে "Google  Bengali input " বলে গুগল করলেই সেটি চলে আসে। সেখানে একটি বাক্সে ইংরিজিতে বাংলা শব্দ গুলো লিখতে হয়। যেমন sudipto যদি লিখি গুগল অনেকগুলো অপশন দেবে। নম্বর দিয়ে। এ ক্ষেত্রে প্রথমে ছিল সুদীপ্ত। সঠিক বানান। তখন যদি স্পেস বার টিপি তাহলে ওটাই রইলো। অন্য অনেক বানানের অপশন দেবে। তার কোনটা চাইলে সেই নম্বর টি টিপতে হবে। মানে আমি চাইলে সুদিপ্ত বা সূদীপ্ত ও লিখতে পারি।

তবে হ্যাঁ, এই ভাবে বানান দেখে দেখে ও সঠিক বানান খুঁজে খুঁজে টাইপ করা বেশ সময় সাপেক্ষ ব্যাপার। মাঝে মধ্যেই ভুল বানান হয়ে যায় খেয়াল না থাকলে, আবার তাকে rewrite করতে হয়। 

How A Fledgling Bird Learnt To Fly

Learning to ride a bicycle is a basic life skill that everyone must know. Much like swimming. And once you learn it, you cannot forget it. I know of a distant cousin, who cannot stand erect from his waist up due to an accident. He walks with the torso of his body parallel to the ground. But he rides a bicycle every morning. It is an unbelievable sight. He is 70 years old.
I have willy nilly given up on trying to teach my daughter how to ride a bicycle. She is 14 years old now and has owned various cycles from even before she could walk (starting with tricycles of course). She just doesn't have it in her to learn how to balance herself. She needs prodding and at this stage I cannot run with her holding her under the saddle from behind (that I believe is the second best way to teach cycling, first being learning on your own through trial and error). Also I think anyone who needs prodding to take a bicycle out does not want to learn really and it is best not to push.
I will explain how I learnt and I think that's the way most of us in our generation learnt. May be not at that early an age and perhaps not all completely on their own. But generally speaking it's more or less the same story.
I was eight years old and probably three feet and a few inches tall when we went on a family trip to Shantiniketan where an uncle lived. I remember nothing of that trip except that my parents were sitting on the large balcony of my uncle's house and there was a bicycle in the house. A really tall one that I still find difficult to ride on (the cycle is still there even after a good 45 years of my learning on it when it was already an old cycle). I cannot remember if my father encouraged it or I pulled it out, but I was simply ecstatic when I was allowed to take it out to the field outside my uncle's house. They probably thought I could not have done anything with such a huge cycle. Indeed my chance was very slim.
I was so small that I could not hold the two ends of the handle bar together – an old-fashioned handlebar that I don't see anywhere except in India and also lots in Amsterdam. So, I held the left end of the bar with my left hand and with the right hand I grabbed the saddle. I was finding it difficult to keep the cycle standing erect, let alone take it anywhere. But that itself was a challenge. I kept it straight with all my little strength and then started walking with it, holding it as straight as possible. It was reclining towards me all the time and it was quite a struggle to keep it vertical. Soon enough it became easy and I was walking with the cycle quite comfortably.
The field in front had a gentle slope. I was going up pushing it and then coming down comfortably. On the return journey while coming down, the cycle was rolling much faster. This I kept on doing for an hour or two. Soon enough, while rolling down I started standing with my right foot on the left pedal and roll down a bit with the flow. After this I remember pushing myself intermittently with the left foot on the ground as the cycle was coming to a halt and trying to get some movement. Then at some point of time I started keeping both the feet on the pedal. My feet were so small I could quite comfortably stand with both of them on the pedal. I was basically hopping but with the wrong foot on the wrong pedal. In fact today if I try to do that I might find it difficult - hopping with the right foot on the left pedal.
My parents were busy chatting on the balcony with their friends and relatives. Perhaps they kept an eye on me. Perhaps not. But I was glad to be alone yet within their view of a few hundred meters. I soon started rolling down the slope, standing with both the feet on the pedal. I cannot remember clearly but once I got on the pedal I think I could reach with both the hands to hold the two ends of the bar.
What I do remember is my beaming father telling me, "I guess now you have the balance to ride a bicycle. You don't need anything else."
He then encouraged me to put the right foot on the right pedal while in motion and push/ride the pedals. We call it "half pedaling". Many children, trying to ride a bicycle too high for them, do this. Rather, used to do this. These days one does not see this sight on the streets of large cities anymore because youngsters get cycles suitable for their size.
After some time my father bought a used bicycle. It was a very good cycle but meant for adults. I was allowed to use it but I could manage to ride only half pedal. I was still too small for an adult bike. Then one fine Sunday afternoon my father told my cousin Mezda, who at that time used to live with us, to take me to the lake and help me learn how to ride sitting atop the saddle.
Mezda made me sit on on the saddle and ran for a few meters holding the bike under the saddle. I did not realise when he had stopped running. I could not do a full circle with the pedals. I was still a little short. Perhaps by an inch. So I would push the pedal hard while going down and then let the leg hang and then push down again when the pedal came up. Those who have done it will know what I am talking about.
This in long (as opposed to "short") is how I learnt to pedal a bicycle. As I look back with a matured brain I am trying to analyse what went right with me and wrong with my daughter?
Let me write them down.
1. I grew up with my father's adventure story of how he cycled from Hazaribagh to Ranchi crossing the massive Chutu Palu ghaat at the tender age of 14, even at the risk of being devoured by tigers. These stories probably sowed the seeds of adventure in me. So when I got a chance I pounced upon the cycle.
2. I never had any fancy cycle. There was a tricycle at home that I used to ride on our rooftop. I had no other toy, so to speak. I thoroughly enjoyed it. In our childhood one never got anything without asking for it for months. Children these days get things even before they ask for it. We parents are to be blamed for it. Probably we remember our childhood and try to ensure happier childhood for our children but we are probably destroying a lot of potential in them that a desperate want would have ignited.
3. I was exposed to the right environment for learning to ride. My daughter has never been to a field with a cycle. She has always been exposed to either concrete or asphalt roads where the fear of injury from a fall is high. The field I got had a very gentle slope which helped and hastened the process of learning for me. No such luck for my daughter.
4. My bicycle never had any training wheels which my daughter's cycle had. Training wheels are useless and do not teach you anything. You end up learning how to ride a bicycle with training wheels. In fact Mampu used to love riding her cycle with the training wheels. She stopped riding the day I took them off.
5. I was watching a training video from REI where they say a child must learn first to scoot, coast and then pedal. You learn to balance first and then pedal. This is exactly what I happened to do without looking at any website. Of course I first had to learn to hold the cycle upright first. That itself is a major first step. Ask anyone who does not know how to balance, to walk a bike. One cannot. If you can walk comfortably with a bike you are half way there.
6. I was way too young to use my brain and be afraid. Incidentally I never fell a single time trying to learn, despite my first cycle being too large for me even now. 

A Lust for Life

I do not remember when I first heard about Van Gogh. Probably in school and from my brother in law who was an artist himself and idolised him. I also do not remember who told me first about the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. But I remember that ever since I learnt about its existence I wanted to go to that city, even if it was for a day. 

When we learnt that Mampu would be visiting Amsterdam for a day trip from Geltsenkirchen, Germany, my only request to her was to try and get a Van Gogh postcard and post it from Amsterdam. Just like that. As a memento. Mampu unfortunately didn't get a chance to even see the museum building. I think they just went to the Museum Square Area and were shown the Van Gogh Museum from a distance. Sad for her. 

But soon enough I learnt that I myself would be going to Amsterdam for slightly more than a day. I would be in the city, with 200 office colleagues and some 1500 dealers, for two full days (the entire trip would be for three days with one day reserved for Den Haag - The Hague). 

My first reaction to office colleagues was: "my long cherished dream of seeing Van Gogh Museum would come true at last". To this a particular colleague said, "Who is that? The Monalisa fellow?"  I realised not only does he not know who Van Gogh is, he has no clue who the Monalisa fellow is either. But that's a different story. 

As the time for the trip drew nearer I realised that probably we would have to give the visit to Van Gogh Museum a miss. Because the two days in Amsterdam were planned in such a way that you had to go out on group tours of the city and its surrounding areas throughout the day. I wasn't too sure if I would be able to opt out of these trips. So I didn't book any museum trip in advance. I told myself that we will go to Europe on a family tour later and that is when we shall see the museum. 

Our plan in the Netherlands was like this. Day one is in Amsterdam. Day two in The Hague (Den Haag) and day three again in Amsterdam. By day one afternoon we realised that a. going out on these group tours is a torture b. we could easily opt out of them. The only cost was we would need to organise lunch or dinner on our own. By 'we' I mean Surajit Majumdar and me. 

Surajit suggested that we book the ticket for the Van Gogh Museum for 9th August, the second day of our stay in the city. After some initial hesitation I agreed. It was to cost us € 16 each. The hesitation wasn't about the money but just like once I make up my mind to do something I do it regardless of the obstacles, once I make up my mind not to do something I find it difficult to do it. But for Van Gogh Museum, I chose to be a little more flexible. 

Surajit booked the ticket online and we got a 4 pm to 7 pm slot. So we were all set to go. On that day we chose to opt out right from the morning. After a particularly heavy buffet breakfast at the hotel (which came gratis), I went out on my own to explore the city. Surajit and I decided to meet in front of the shop Hema in Central Station, where we went on day one to buy breads and butter etc for the dinner. We decided that we would meet at around 3 pm and from there go to the museum. 

The park behind the museum. We spent a pleasant time here

I came to the rendezvous point a little ahead of Surajit because I was close by at Haarlemarstrat buying my hiking boots from Kathmandu. The boot was a little too large for my 26 lit Deuter which I was using. Inside I had a warm woolen and my Precip rainwear. I think I kept the Precip on top of the shoe box, under the top flap of the sack. It was hitting me on my neck from behind. The sack just did not have any more space even for a fly. 

Anyway, after meeting up at the Central Station, Surajit and I took a tram and went to the Museum. We took tram number 2. I think 5 would also have gone. Earlier in the morning I had taken the same tram to go to Lightsupply (Leidseplein in Dutch) stop for a visit to the Bever store and Van Gogh Museum was a couple of stops after this. So going back the same route was not a problem at all, except that we had to spend €3 more on tram ticket. We could have easily walked this distance but Surajit didn't want to take a chance with the time and our arrival etc. 

We reached a little ahead of time. First I checked out the little shop outside the museum which was selling Van Gogh themed post cards and posters. I looked for a self portrait fridge magnet which they did not have. I decided not to buy anything from this shop before checking out the official museum store. 

There was quite a large crowd that had gathered outside to get the entry ticket. I felt great that we had already booked the ticket. We asked an official kind of lady about how to get in using our e-ticket and whether we needed to do anything else. Like in India if you book an e-ticket for a cinema you still have to collect the physical ticket from the counter. She said you need not do anything. Just show them the ticket at the gate from your mobile after 4 and enter. No line or anything. 

We spent the time taking some photographs of the building. In case you do not know, the Van Gogh Museum is housed in a rather modern building. Because this is not one of those old traditional museums, which the Rijksmuseum, for example, is. I think it was built in the 60s (google says it was built in 1973). There are two buildings. One houses the main collection. The other was running an exhibition of sorts for some Van Gogh paintings, putting him in the context of other contemporary European artists. 

The museum from behind

We spent some time sitting on the large lawn behind the museum. At the other end of the lawn one could see the imposing Rijksmuseum. But that's quite a distance. 

At around 4 pm we took our chance to enter the museum. It was the moment for me. I had seen a few Van Goghs in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art on an extremely crowded Sunday afternoon in December 2002. But entering the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam for the first time is a special moment in one's life.  

The Rjiksmuseum from the lawns behind VGM

From the entry gate one has to go downstairs that houses the official museum store. Here we left our backpacks for safe keeping and then decided to explore the shops. They have everything. The post cards, posters, replica paintings, T-shirts, bags, fridge magnets, pencils, pens, paints, key rings, pads, even Van Gogh branded hair oil and moisturisers. The way they have merchandised the artist is really remarkable. I didn't know whether to like it or hate it. I think I had a mixed feeling. I made a mental note of what to buy on our way out and went for the museum tour. 

We did not buy any audio guide but decided to explore it on our own. To be honest, the main paintings are so well explained through written notes next to them that one perhaps does not need an audio guide, which I thought might be a distraction rather than help. 

The first thing you notice in the museum is the tremendously low light. The halls are almost dark you could say. I have been to only the Metropolitan Museum in New York, among the globally famous ones. There the light was normal. Here things are different. It's an extremely subdued light that they have. 

Later I learnt that the real reason for the low light is a recent discovery that some of the pigments in Van Gogh's paintings are changing colour due to the effect of light. In fact his Irises, which are blue and the world has always known them to be blue, were originally purple! This is a recent discovery. Apparently the floor in the painting Bedroom, which is also housed in this museum, had a lot of purple in it as well. The museum authorities have thus decided to reduce light. 

I remember Aisling once telling me about an English painter who donated his life's work to the Irish National Museum with an order for them to display the paintings only in winter months when natural light in Ireland is proverbially low. Otherwise they were to be kept in vaults throughout the year. He was in mortal fear of his paintings losing their original colours. He was apparently a water colour painter and used extremely subtle and faint colours. 

It is sad to think that a day will come when Van Gogh's paintings will not look like the way they do now. We have no idea how the original Irises looked in purple. 

In the first hall we saw all the self portrait in the museum's collection. It's a massive collection. We did not count but thought there must be some 20 of them there. I just checked the most elaborate website on Van Gogh . According to their list the museum has 17 of them. I am proud that I saw them all. 

In this hall we also saw a sculpture by Rodin. In fact although called the Van Gogh Museum, there are several other paintings in their collection which are displayed side by side with the Van Goghs. These are mostly his contemporaries or artists who had an impact on him. There are some paintings by other artists which are in the nature of their tribute to him. I saw Monet, Rembrandt, Gaugin and various other artists whose names I do not know.

There were two more floors of Van Gogh paintings. We saw them all. It is impossible to recount all that we saw. But obviously this museum houses paintings from all the important phases of his life. Among the notable paintings that I will always remember are the Sunflowers (there is just one them here), the Potato Eaters, the Irises, the Wheat Field with Crows the Almond Tree in Blossom, Seascape near Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. In fact, we had missed the Potato Eaters initially. We asked the guards and went back again to see it. You have to stand mesmerised before the actual painting when you see it. 

We saw a few remarkable paintings that we had no clue were done by Van Gogh. The most remarkable of these was the Japanese style painting of  Courtesan after Eisen and the skull with a burning cigarette. I had no clue about these.

And of course we saw a lot of his drawings with charcoal and other media. I have always loved bold drawings with charcoal. The study of Old Man in Grief has fascinated me for a long time now. I saw it as well. 

The two most notable paintings of his life that are NOT here in this museum are the Starry Night and the Street Side Cafe in Arles at Night. That painting is officially called Cafe Terrace and I believe it is now in the Otterlo's Kröller-Müller Museum (incidentally a new dream is beginning to take shape - can I ever visit this museum? It has the world's second largest Van Gogh collection. Otterlo is a small village in The Netherlands whose only claim to fame is this fantastic museum. Presumably this museum does not stay as crowded as the VGM.

Apart from the low light in the museum, the other problem there is the continuous flow of visitors. Well, we were also part of the same crowd so I cannot complain about that. But it does make seeing the paintings in detail a tough task. You are always blocking or disturbing someone else. It is not possible to block someone else for a long time. But I must say, the crowd here is not nearly one tenth of what I had to endure in New York. Of course, that was a bad day to go, being the last Sunday of the year. Here, we were visiting in the middle of the week. Still the number of visitors in front of each painting is quite sizeable. They do try to evenly distribute the crowd by giving slots. Even then it is quite large.

It took us about two hours to see the main collection. I think we spent a little more than that, doing a recap of a few paintings once again. After that we went to the other building where we saw a few more, including what was claimed to be "possibly the last painting of Van Gogh, painted a few days before his death".

Next we went to the official Museum shop. Oh my God. One should come here to see what merchandising is all about. They even have moisturisers and hair oil in Van Gogh's name, not to speak of post cards, posters, reproductions, life size prints, bags, wallets, T-shirts - in short everything. There were some paint tubes also. I knew what I wanted in my limited budget. I picked up a self portrait fridge magnet for the living room and a diary with the Seascape painting on the cover for Mampu. She loved it, incidentally. If I ever go again I will possibly pick up a Potato Eater poster. It is a bit of a gloomy painting. So I might just get the Almond in Bloom poster as well. (Apart from these mementos, from the Netherlands I bought a small blue and white porcelain windmill, a  tiny silver windmill pendant for Monisha and a blue and white small biscuit tin with some cookies in it.)

Van Gogh shower gel anyone ? Body lotion ?

I also picked up a small memento for free from one of the halls. It was a real ticket left on a table. I asked the guard if I could take it and he said it was fine.

When we came out at around 7.30 we realised we were a little hungry. I had with me three cookies bought by Surajit on day 1. The three of us (Mr Ganguly had joined us during the visit) shared the three large cookies. They were very filling. After raising my sack back on my back I realised the Precip was not hitting me against the back of my neck. I quickly took the sack down and realised the Precip wasn't where I thought I had left it - on top of the sack.

I was in panic. I went back to the guards at the gate and told them about my issue. They let me in to talk to the lost and found section. The lady there was extremely helpful and looked around with me through all the shelves where bags are kept. We could not find it. She even showed me a jacket that was lying with them since the previous day. It was obviously not mine. I thought may be it had fallen off even before I had deposited it to their counter and gave up hopes of finding it ever. She noted down my email ID in case they found it.

I came out, feeling very sad. I just wished if it is really lost someone poor should get it. I even went to the part of the lawn where we had sat. The bench. No trace. Finally I thought let me check the inside of the sack. Did I really keep it on top or did I somehow shove it in? And guess what? It was there. I felt so happy and really embarrassed because the lost and found lady asked me several times, "Are you sure it's not in your bag?" I went to the guards and told them the story. They laughed and said they would inform the lady about it.

We came back. Happy to have lived through a big dream.

That's me in front of the museum. A long cherished dream come true.

The Snow Leopard - Peter Matthiessen

Arrangement, lights and photography - Geetanjali Roy

Just finished reading Peter Matthiessen's Snow Leopard. I think Sumit-da had originally suggested the book to me and that's when I first heard about it. I had purchased the book way back in 2014. But picked it up to read only after I came back from Roopkund and started planning for the Annapurna Base Camp trek.

I feel a kind of void that I always feel after reading a great book. Here is a review I wrote for India Hikes (I proposed to them that they carry a section on book reviews on their website and they readily accepted my suggestion. They asked me to help out with a few reviews to start off with). Actually I wrote it before completing the book. I still had about a hundred pages left when I wrote it.

Now that I have finished reading, I don't think I would have written anything extra if I wrote it now. So here goes.

In the September of 1973 Peter Matthiessen, a New Yorker, novelist, naturalist, wilderness writer and a student of Buddhism, teamed up with field biologist George Schaller to trek more than 400 kilometers over five weeks to go to a particularly remote and little known area in the North West of Nepal – the Crystal Mountain in the Inner Dolpo region, beyond Shey Gompa (not to be confused with the Shey monastery of Ladakh).

Their main objective behind embarking on this difficult trek was to undertake a scientific study of the bharal or Himalayan blue sheep. A mountain goat that abounds in these parts of the Himalayas. The mysterious animal was relatively less known in those days to the Western scientific community because its natural distribution and habitat is restricted only to difficult geographies that were closed to the Western world for a very long time.

Schaller, himself a renowned field botanist, wanted to prove that the Himalayan blue sheep was “less sheep than goat and perhaps quite close to the archetypal ancestor of both”. To establish this, he needed to observe them in rut (mating season) and study their behavior during this crucial period. They also hoped that where bharals were abundant it would be entirely possible to get at least a glimpse of their main predator – the elusive snow leopard.

The snow leopard in the early 70s was almost a mythical animal. Hardly anyone in the Western world had ever seen it. Schaller had, making him the second western scientist to ever see it in 25 years.

In the process the duo, then 46 and 40, ended up walking through some of the most scenic but difficult and lesser known parts of Nepal with its unique people and culture. Starting from Pokhara they walked through Dhorpatan to cross Jang La and past the beautiful Phoksundo Lake (also known as Emerald Lake) over Kang La to Shey monastery. There was an urgency of sorts in the inward journey to Dolpo. They had to reach before winter to see the blue sheep in rut, which happens in November.

The book that he writes about this now epic journey, some five years later, is written in the form of diary entries. But it never degenerates into a dry account of just a trek. It is a lot more than that and in the world of Himalayan literature this book is now seen as a classic that has withstood the test of time over almost forty years.

While there are detailed accounts of the everyday highs and lows of a difficult trek done with basic equipment in delayed monsoon, he intersperses it with lyrical description of nature and the indigenous people of the area, his reflections on life in general, Buddhist philosophies, the memories of the recent death of his wife. He manages to move almost seamlessly in and out of subjects as varied as the effects of psychedelic drugs on the mind and the flight of a bearded vulture.

More often than not, Matthiessen adopts the stream of consciousness style of writing where he puts words to his train of thoughts only and does not follow a linear narrative. 

Matthiessen’s thorough knowledge about the natural world including astronomy and natural history comes out in every page without boring you, even if you know nothing about the subject. But his philosophical analysis of Buddhism or Zen and Tao theories can be quite dense at times. He also talks at length about the history of entry and evolution of Buddhism in Tibet (the Dolpo region is culturally and geographically more Tibet than Nepal) from India.

It is difficult to distinguish where mythology ends and history begins. For that is the way Tibetan Buddhism is all about. He also talks at length about Bon religion and its present form. The Bon religion used to be the religion of Tibet before Buddhism came. There are still some Bon monasteries in this region (there are some in India also) but the religion has undergone significant changes after its contact with Buddhism.

Only serious scholars of Buddhism can comment on the authenticity of all that Matthiessen says about the various forms of Buddhism. He gives copious notes on most of what he says with citations at the end of the book that mentions the sources of what he says.

But this is not a research thesis. There is a lyrical quality about his prose, particularly when he describes the natural environment or life in the remote, high altitude villages through which he travels. He describes the mountain people and their difficult life with a certain empathy that is often missing in the accounts of Western travelers of that era.

Matthiessen has no illusions about being a mountaineer, which Schaller, six years his junior, is. He speaks candidly about his fears of tumbling down the icy slopes and makes no bones about the fact that he was often scared about losing his life.

Matthiessen’s compassion and empathy for the locals is often in stark contrast to his and particularly Schaller’s contempt for the porters of the team and their frequent betrayals. He paints them as lazy and slow without pointing out how much load they were actually carrying or the quality of their protection, like shoes, warm clothes or eyewear. Many of them actually fall victim to snow blindness which hampers the team’s progress.

His love and respect for the two Sherpas of the trekking party is obvious but no such luck for the hapless porters.

While it is easy to understand why Schaller went for the trip, it is difficult to fathom why Matthiessen chose to undertake it. In fact, he himself raises the question without offering any plausible answer. Reading the book one gets the feeling that much as he was trying to discover himself and the inner truth of life through this journey, in the end it becomes a spiritual journey where nature and religion conjugate freely.

Here is a better review of the book, done in 1978 by The New York Times .

On Top of the World

There is a child in everyone. The one in me is about 13/14 years old, extremely active and has a number of unfulfilled desires. I have no illusions about anything otherwise and I don't want to pretend it to be anything else. 

Among various things, I have often thought about getting a wooden top for myself. Something that I had played with as a child. I think the desire struck me when, about ten years ago, I was shocked to know that one of my junior colleagues at work had never heard about lattus. I found it terribly odd because he used to keep pigeons !!! Calcuttans would know the connection. These are kind of similar hobbies and pursuits for boys of a certain age and socio-economic-cultural background. 

I did some casual enquiry but realised that it is well nigh impossible to find a wooden top in Calcutta any more. 

The other day in Benares as we were loitering in the Biswanath gali, I tried to kill time on my own when Monisha stopped at some souvenir type shop to buy a few Benarasi purses. I was looking at the other shops and was quietly observing who was selling what. There were these shops selling small tin boats that children run in little buckets filled with water. Childhood memories rushed back. 

Then I saw a shop selling various old fashioned wooden toys for children. Yet another set of childhood memories rushed back in. We used to buy these toys from a very similar shop in Deoghar. There was a toy called "Happy Family" which was our favourite. A wooden toy of a man standing erect. If you opened him down the middle his wife would come out from inside him. You fix him back and open the middle of his wife. Their daughter comes out. Fix the wife, open the daughter and her little brother comes out !! We could identify with this family and would have endless fun doing this assembly and disassembly. 

This Benares shop had various wooden toys including the Happy Family. Suddenly the wooden top I was looking for subconsciously for ten years or more came to mind. I asked him: "apka pas lattu hai?" (do you have tops?) and he said yes. I was quite thrilled. But when he pulled it out I was a little disappointed. 

We used to hate this particular design. These tops would be very unstable. Bounced a lot. And spun for less than a minute perhaps. But the shopkeeper said, this is the only one left in stock. And it is lying there for a very long time. No one looks for these any more. I said give it to me. I thought even if I could not spin it, at least I could show people what a top means. He charged me Rs 50, which I thought was a little on the higher side. 

It came with a rope to wind. But I realised it is a useless piece to have. Upon return to Calcutta I went to Jogubajar to get a proper "letti". Luckily I got it in a shop with the right thickness and material. These days everything has gone nylon. But this shop had cotton ropes of various thicknesses.

Back at home I soaked it in water (my father had taught me this trick) and wound up the top. In two or three attempts it spun and how !!!! I was simply overjoyed. Ecstatic. I can't explain this feeling really. That familiar sound of the nail hitting the floor and sight of it spinning at full speed after some 40 years almost. 

I must say this top is a bloody work of art. All my doubts about its quality was completely unfounded. It is perhaps the best spinning top I have ever owned. It spins rock steady. For a long time. Very long. And once it stops I does not roll out of sight under the table. It drops within an inch of where it was spinning. 

I cannot yet get it to spin straight on my palm (they call it boomerang). As of now I can pick it up from the floor with the letti and make it spin on my palm. But I am at it. I should be able to make it spin on the palm directly pretty soon.

I did some googling about the wooden toy making industry in Benares. Apparently there is a place called Bhelupur where there are clusters of this cottage industry. As is the common refrain, the industry is in deep trouble with diminishing customer interest in the old products, government policies and corrupt NGOs.

Next time I go to Benares Bhelupur will be in my list of "to go" place.

An Old Memory of a Book

A long time ago my brother in law (my sister's husband) had this wonderful hobby and habit of buying old issues of Life magazine from a street side book seller, ridiculously cheap. I would read them as and when I got a chance. I still remember a few images. Monsoon in India which had some wonderful images by Raghubir Singh. There was an issue on Bjorn Borg - my hero at that time. 

In one such issue, I read a book extract. It was an autobiography of some black American photographer (in those days the word "black" used to be used to mean African American). Fighting abject poverty he picked up a knife and decided to do a burglary. He held the knife on the neck of a bus conductor late at night. His plan was to snatch his day's earning. The conductor understood it was possibly his first crime. He advised him against choosing this path in life. He felt embarrassed and dropped the idea of going down the path of violence. Later he picked up a camera and started shooting arbitrary images to ultimately become the first black photographer of Life magazine and possibly its photo editor as well.

I really loved reading whatever I could in that short extract. But in those days of late 70s and early 80s we did not have the luxury of buying any and every book in the world. Such books were unheard of in the local market. For a book to be available here it had to be either a classic or a bestseller or the subject had to be something very popular. This book wouldn't fall in any of the categories. Gradually I forgot the name of the author/photographer and also the title of the book. I thought it was "I picked up my weapon" or "I chose my weapon". 

After a long time gap when internet happened, among other things I started looking for this book. I found the website of Life magazine and wrote them a mail asking them about this book. The mail bounced back and I realised that Life had actually shut down. But I kept my hunt on. I hunted for many other such long lost things and friends too. 

Finally I found the book. I do not remember when exactly. The man's name was Gordon Parks and the book was called "A Choice of Weapons". I read about him. I found he had written many other books. He had even made films. But the book was possibly not available then. Or even if it was, it was unrealistically high priced and certainly not available in India. Once again the book was lost within the oblivion of my mind. 

A couple of days ago, as I was telling my daughter about various renowned photographers whose photographs are worth seeing, I remembered the story. But once again I had forgotten the name Parks or even the name of the book. But this time finding it out was rather easy. And for a pleasant change I found the book had been printed again in 2010 and it is available in India now from Amazon. 

Needless to say, I placed an order for the book. I hope I finish reading it when it comes. I did not buy it to read but to give vent to that original craving I had for the book. Let me see what happens when it comes. They will take a few weeks to deliver it. But it will come for sure.