Beach,Backwater,Hill & Waterfall; God's Own Country Kerala has it all

Where faiths coexist since ages--Gods Own Country

Oldest Church in Kerala which has Holy Remains of St. Thomas.
Oldest Mosque in Kerela which is believed to have been built by a cousin of Mohd. Prophet
Garlands to be offered at 1200 years old Shiva temple at Thrissur Kerala
At Guruvyoor a 450 years old temple dedcated to Lord Krishna the motif of a tree with a human face is big attraction.
All photos by Rajbir Deswal

Remembering Kamleshwar

Noted journalist and literarature Kamleshwar was rememered at a function organised by Aasra an Ambala based NGO. Dr. Pushp Pal Singh, V N Rai and Rajbir Deswal were the keyspeakers. Tanveer Jafri and Dr. Pradip Sharma Shehi moderated.

And life came back to me...!

SHE LOVES ME! SHE LOVES ME NOT!
BY: RAJBIR DESWAL
Well, she is my granddaughter. Twenty-one months old, little Anaysa. She was to leave for the U.S. when we decided to spend maximum time with her. Only a day was left in her exit to the land of opportunity. To fulfill her parents’ American dream.
I planned the entire day with little more goodies to involve Anaysa more endearingly. We went to the lake and fed her favourite duckies. We also had a rickshaw ride. It was a day stuffed with Hi-Fives, Peek-a-boos, ghoomi-ghoomi, and gooli-goolis. We also went to our backyard where she always called out to the ‘white bird’ saying, “Wi-baad,wh-er-you! Kahan ho!” And believe you me the avian never missed putting up presence.
She posed for photographs as if she understood we would need them during her stay in the U.S. She was a tad more lovey-dovey that day. More cherubic and more responsive. We were amazed at her over indulgent behaviour with us. That day I didn’t have the faintest of an idea how differently she would behave with me the following day. It was quite baffling for me to understand child psychology.
Early morning the next day she said a casual “Good Morning” to me .I tried to pamper her as usual like a buffoon, but to no avail. She simply chose to cold shoulder me. She did not jump on to my lap. Didn’t respond to my gimmicks either. All through the train journey she avoided me.
Anaysa’s sudden change in behavior, particularly with me, baffled me the most. To very upsetting extremes. Why was she doing it? “Perhaps to make you feel the pangs of her separation in little less measures!” my wife tried to console me. “How come a child less than two years of age could be so impish, so elfish?” I wondered. And remained sad.
On the way to the airport, Anaysa was sleeping in her Dadi’s lap with Tanu sitting by her side. Sawan was driving while I was sunk in my seat by his side, utterly depressed. Quietly we pulled off having arrived at the airport. I stepped out to find out the gate we were to line up for bidding good bye to the threesome. When I joined them back Ana was looking through the window. And she smiled at me. My wife told me that the moment I had moved out of the car, Ana had said, “Where is Dadu gone?” This was so relieving to me as if it was a divine call that I missed. But I was relaxed.
Back home, shouldn’t those empty spaces which were full of screams, bawls and yelps, stare deep at us! “Life is like that only” wife and our younger son Sagar tried to console me. “Grow up Dadu! Crying like kids! Chee-chee-chee!” Ana would have said if she were around.
Next day the phone bell rang. We were expecting a call from Sawan. Know who was on the line? And what was I to hear! “Hello Dadu! How-er-you? Love you! Mich you!” And life came back to me. The call was no less divine. No less heavenly.
Click OFF TRACK - She loves me not, she loves me'HindustanTimes ePaper to see it published in The Hindustan Times of Feb. 19th 2008

Ever been caught in a jam,,,Enjoy the predicament

Jam jamboree

by K. Rajbir Deswal
I have no reason to disagree with Haryana Director-General of Police Ranjiv Dalal when he says he develops a “jet lag” after travelling(?) through the Delhi and Gurgaon traffic snarls, although I have been immensely benefited, having been caught up in these gridlocks, very frequently. And I gainsay, jams do help reduce stress in their own peculiar way.
You learn not to give a kneejerk reaction, at even listening to the news about a repentant Musharraf stepping down to allow himself being “judicially” dealt with, since your legs are always busy with the brake-and-clutch operations. Yes, you may give in to jumpstarts, and it is good for nursing ambition, and bolster your self-esteem.
I have even heard lovers say they met for the first time caught up in a jam. Their eyes met, at the same time when their vehicles “met”. And there was no looking back thereafter. Also there was no point, for nothing was visible except bonnets and windscreens. The reinforced stability in the lovers’ character stood reassured, besides a tendency to fall in line, for there was no “lane cutting” or “sidetracking” possible.
Driving through the melee of a traffic jam gives you a feeling as if you are driving a world-class vehicle. You can read a newspaper, plonked on the steering wheel itself, for it may not be your turn, to turn it for long. And you may enjoy the thrill of driving a car, with automatic transmission, since you do not need to jazz up the gear, and continue with the same, even after going five feet.
Road rage has become unthinkable for me, at least. I rather exchange smiles, with the one who hits my rear with a fender (no pun intended please); now look, how humble have I become. In fact some of us regular jam-jelled have really developed a bonding, as should be expected between “jam pals”. “Hi there! Still there? Wish you tortoise speed!” Zoom, vroom, zap and screech have lost all meaning for me, and I now like only a revved-up whirr, ghurr, dhum and pataak!
I have observed a change for the better, in people’s attitude, and now they give way to others, while caught up in a jam. The realisation dawning on them that the straggler has come thus far, and may go no further, is altogether a different issue.
I always take calls on my cell phone, telling the caller, “it really is a good time calling me now” without worrying for the prying eyes of a traffic constable, since he cannot be seen around, for as long as the line of sight travels — yes, and who said nothing travels in a traffic snarl.
The jams have come to afford a roaring business for beggars as also the vendors. Believe me, for I have seen many behind the wheel, patronising the favourites among them. Office-going Babus now proudly claim their files move faster and that experienced jam jockeys at least should not complain of red-tapism anymore.
I have found the jam- prone areas, to be crime- free stretches, for none can dare to execute a successful robbery, and find an escape route. You can jolly well leave your handbag by your side, on the car seat, with a windowpane wide open, even if it amounts to an open invitation, for being looted at leisure.
The jam-packed bounties have made me overcome my phobia of getting suffocated if, God forbid, a fire broke out and there was no escape for me. Obnoxious fumes? My foot! I now jam care for them! And many road users may tow the lane, when I say, “I enjoy the jam jamboree.” Do you?

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