Bunnies"R"Us

Last year, my old friend Sukhdeep Dhami visited us and noticed a bunny couple frolicking in the back yard. Frolicking has led to multiplication since then, just as we were told back in grade school minus the detailed explanation of mechanics. Interestingly, there seems to be five bunnies now in the backyard. Due to un-availability of a facility and lack of opportunity for close anatomical inspection, I have to rely solely on my keen powers of observation to disentangle the backyard bunny relation-ship matrix. There is burly and stern, un-mistakable Papa bunny, agile and cute-derriere mama bunny, two adorable baby bunnies and a mysterious visitor bunny. Visitor bunny’s size and shape is somewhat confounding, but his timings and movements evoke suspicion. He visits often when Papa bunny is out to a baseball game with baby bunnies. Am I being over-presumptuous? Why He for visitor bunny? Why not she? Could it be that mama bunny is exploring an alternative? Or perhaps my all too male human mind is clouded by the visual connotations evoked by the word Bunny. Let’s face it. Even the most academic of rabbit researchers, upon hearing the word bunny, push aside the technical publications and pull out their favorite Center-Fold from the bottom drawer, followed by a most reverential salute of gratitude to Hugh Heffner’s greatest creation. Animal right activist will be delighted to know that all too familiar bunny costume is the only non-service uniform to be granted a U.S. patent. “History” buffs will be glad to find it on display at both Smithsonian and Chicago historical society....section of the museum frequented by fathers and their male progeny. I try to curtail my drifting gossipy frontal lobe with a profound anthropological question: Do I really expect the social mores of bunny world to be any different from their human counterparts?

The question actually goes beyond anthropological interest. These bunnies have begun to settle down in backyards, as per the articles of Homestead Act of the United States. Unaware of the complex domestic political issue taking shape, they make a strategic dug out right next to the fire place exhaust, for that extra warmth needed for multiplication. My neighbors have already started building a wire fence and support for the fence solution is growing louder in my house too. I, on the other hand, couldn’t be more in-decisive. I am weighed down by a guilt burden. It is true that I paid for the place with crisp and stable US greenback (now that our love affair with Euro is over), but truth is that bunnies were here first. They just weren’t party to the 100+ pages of ingenious contract devised by a good real estate lawyer. But I am a losing minority in this debate. The “speaker of the house” of the house has started to clamor for fence solution.

“At least fence will keep them out”.

“True, but wouldn’t the fence keep us in”. I dispense my philosophy 101.

One’s view of the fence solution always depends on which side of the fence one really is. Native Indians are perhaps the only group in the recent history, which has had experience on both sides of fence. First they were fenced out and now they are fenced in. Either way has been a misfortune for them. Has the fences really worked as a solution? Now extinct and infamous German fence, Israel-Palestine fence, India-Bangladesh fence, US-Mexico fence and if you prefer a more dated example, the Great Fence of China. As Genghis Khan told me once, in a brief moment of levity.

“China very smart. Build fence. Keep Mongol out. Keep Tourist in”.

As the political debate drags on, I have an inkling that my ex-servicemen friends are beginning to work on the military solution to the problem with a silent nod of approval from the carnivore members of the house. Details of operation 'Hare Raiser' have been clandestinely drawn and are being kept under tight wraps with a leak here or there to test the public opinion.

As a short-lived Colorado summer comes on, my gardening activity, as always takes a feverish pace. Papa and mama bunny have been here for few years and we have come to an unspoken understanding of peaceful co-existence. I have often watched them carefully making their way through the gardening bed without disturbing my precious plants. They keep their distance, feed on some of my tomatoes and carrots in inclement weather but nothing more. But multiplication is worrisome. Baby bunnies were born here. As they chomp on my true green Scott’s grass, they don’t even make effort to run away, when I pass by. They consider my biped form an intruder. I wonder if they won’t be as considerate as their parents. In a few weeks from now, are they going to view my garden as a free salad bar? Perhaps invite their female friends for a Multiplication Rave? It is an uneasy truce, ready to fall apart at first signs of trouble.

As my friend and I sit in the backyard sipping our beer, he points to Papa bunny and starts an exploration of the opinion on military solution with a finely tuned subtlety, which is generally the hallmark of retired and active duty Army drill instructors.

“Satnam, I know you are a vegetarian. But have you ever tasted rabbit stew?”

Mount Olympus Climb : The Inside Story

Yes, we climbed Mount Olympus. It's not that my belief in Clint Eastwood school of thought (A Man has Got to Know his Limitations) has diminished any since I huffed and puffed to the top of Mount Baker, but a great many occurances in history are a direct result of mis-communication, mis-understanding and mis-estimating. Some in-deliberate and some Floridian mis-communication has led to surprise presidencies. Some wars have been won, some lost, and some elongated due to mis-communication and mis-estimation. Mis-communcation has also led to many marriages around the world, and on flip side, excessive communication has ended a few. Phenomenon of mis-something is not new. After a weekend of inebriation, a self-proclaimed biblical scholar of extremely questionable repute enlightened me by explaining a classic case of mis-communication through mis-spelling in biblical era. Apparently, scholarly research indicates that the Lord's real words, characteristically voluminous for that era, to his loyal troops were "Ye Priests, go forth, CELEBRATE and be merry". A minor lost-in-translation error and we ended up with CELIBATE priests. Now Lord could have used the colloquial english and avoided this with a simple ,"Hey Padres, Just be gay".....but as we know, Lord acts in mysterious ways.

Here is what happened in our case. Tim floated the idea (publicly) that we should sign up for the Mount Olympus climb, and a short conversation followed.

Chris : I will do it if Satnam does it.
(Real Thought : Ha Ha. I know Satnam. He won't, he is 40+. He was hurting on Baker).

Satnam : OK, I will sign up.
(Real Thought : It's too public to back out now. But it's OK, I can raise some money for a worthy cause. Maybe it will improve my credit rating with Supreme Being Life Distribution Agency).

Chris : Are you sure?
(Real Thought : Oh #$%^)

Satnam : Trust me Chris, we are going to have a great time....just like Mount Baker.
(Real Thought : #$%^, &*(>, #$%^).

And here we are...surprised. Not all of it was smooth sailing though. I for one will be the first to admit that raising money for any charitable cause is at least an order of magnitude harder than climbing a mountain. There is something about charitable giving which turns us into extreme cynics. In an age of instant gratification, even charitable giving leans towards causes with well defined visible benefits. Comparatively, Medical research is so in-tangible.

But, we are not the sort who get discouraged easily. First line of attack in fund raising war is friends and relatives. The word gets around pretty fast and e-mails go un-answered. One moves to the phone attack and they employ the defense shield aka caller ID...and one starts calling using a different phone. Sometimes, one does get through, but before even one makes one's fund-raising pitch, one is told that they are suffering from severe charitable fatigue and are already contemplating Vanaprastham. (VanaPrastham : According to scriptures, a stage of life when people renounce the material world and live off the nature. Highly recommended for people suffering from charitable fatigue). For a person, whose own repute with piety lobby has ensured his eternal damnation, I had no compunctions promising eternal salvation to many of my donors. When nothing else works, invoke the divine clause. When someone asks, if a fifty dollar donation would get them into heaven, behave like a decent religious messenger. Don't alienate your revenue source. Don't give specifics, Give Hope. "Lord's bar is high. Fifty dollars may not get you into heaven but it might get you a visitor's visa to the Jenana (ladies) section of heaven, where your wife will be...for she married you. But don't lose heart. There is still Hope".

Hope : A tenuous but uplifting trait of human existence. Engineers plot Hope on an axis obtusely oriented to the firm & pragmatic human trait; Experience. Hope is often exhibited by prom going young men and stock brokers. On happy occasions of 2nd and 3rd marriages, Hope can be seen gleefully thrashing Experience with a baseball bat.

In the end, it all came together and we were on for the Mount Olympus climb. The Hutchinson team started exchanging e-mails and we found that other members of this team had resumes with elevated lexicon of Denali, Kilimanjaro and Rainier. We fessed up that we are just trying to get past the second alphabet, Baker. After three last minute drop-outs, the final seven came together in Seattle for gear check on 7-12-11.

Three extremely accomplished outdoors-men (Jeff, David & Brent), two ordinary rookies (Chris and Satnam), one extraordinary climber, sierra club guide, a public defender & a very funny woman.....(Marybeth) and an uber-extraordinary penta-genarian (almost hexa), climber and a gentleman Steve Bley. Steve is going to be our motivation for many years to come.

We drove from Seattle to the town of Forks (an incredibly scenic drive) for the night before starting on the climb. Forks, a town made famous by its fictional "Twilight" residents: A human but ethereal beauty BELLA and face powder-marinaded vampire EDWARD. In spite of our best efforts, we couldn't find either of them, so we consumed some beer and went to bed. Oh yes, if you are ever in Forks, we highly recommend a really good and cheap "Taqueria Santa Ana", an authentic Mexican restaurant....so authentic that they do not accept credit cards or checks...a cash only business.

Day 1
After a hearty country style breakfast with our just-too-good guides (Seth, Devin and Matt, who waited at trail head), we drove to the trail head. By late morning we were on the beautiful hoh river trail to the ranger camp. This trail passes through a breathtakingly beautiful Hoh rain forest, which happens to be one of the last remaining temperate rain forest. Now, the definition of rain forest is implied in two words......Rain & Forest (lots of each). However, it seems that educational system of state of New Jersey has added the simian presence as another condition for Rain Forest. I assure you ladies and gentlemen, only simians you will find in Hoh rain forest are ones who are light on the brain cells and heavy on the backpacks.

Beauty of Hoh rain forest is beyond words. Host to a wide variety of plants and animals, one comes across large spruce trees rising 250 ft. into air and some 15-20 ft. in diameter. Moss covered trees appear like a shy debutante. Big Elk (and bear) roam free and so does tiny slugs. One can spend hours just wowed by mist rising from hoh river and puffs of clouds lining lower regions of mountains. It is said that more than 200 different shades of color GREEN exist in Hoh rain forest. Unfortunately, God awarded all the Color sense to fairer sex and we, the unfair gender, were given the ability to recognize just the basic seven. After numerous in-voluntary, torturous shopping trips and a continuing "adult" education, I am happy to report my ability to recognize two additional shades of green : Dark Green and Light Green. Someday, when my education is complete, I will be able to tell Chartreuse from Harlequin.

Evening camp was a little scotch, some cheese, bean burritos for dinner, a little reading, roasted marshmallows......and don't forget to pack your food into bear canisters for this night.

Distance covered : 9 miles, Altitude gain : Hardly any

Day 2
Exertion starts this day. We were still carrying the heavy backpacks to glacier meadows camp. Half way through, the snow cover started and it was time to take off the hiking shoes and put on our climbing shoes. There were some neat sections on this part of the hike. An avalanche chute and ladder. Made camp on the snow, Jeff the Chef made pasta, a swig of Canadian whiskey (courtesy Steve), guides explained the plan for summit day, we packed the essential for next day and hit the sack......we were only about 3500 ft. of altitude and yet appetite and sleep was beginning to be lost....

Distance covered : 8.5 miles, Altitude gained : ~3000 ft.

Day 3 (Summit Day)
After finishing a quick breakfast and plan from our accomplished guides, we started off to Mount Olympus. Weather looked great and backpacks felt so light. After first push we reached the moraine and from there, a vast blue glacier came into view. It was a beautiful sight of a 2.6 mile glacier. It was also time to rope up. Three teams of 4 , 3 and 3 and real climb was on. Guides decided to take straight route to snow dome. Steep climbs in snow, hard breathing, sweating like a newly wed bride (do they really sweat anymore?), waiting for that ten minutes of rest (Guide's call).....somehow we were trying to keep up with our accomplished (and very considerate) mates.

After about five hours, and gaining some 3000 ft., we reached the snow dome. Weather was beginning to get bad. Clouds gathering, reducing visibility and howling winds. Resting atop Snow dome, I had an inkling that we are having an adventure when Chris said to me ,"Satnam, This is worst @#$%^& idea you ever had. I will never listen to you again." (Adventure is an adventure only in retrospect. When actually in progress, adventure could be, and generally is a very trying experience).

Little did we know that howling winds will turn outright nasty. A mixture of rain and frozen droplets started coming down and rain gear was out. More snow climb, a small crevasse and we ended up on "False Summit". Apparently, Mount Olympus was only a few hundred ft. in front of us but we could not see it as visibility was extremely low. To get to it however, we must climb down a few hundred ft. first and climb up again on what I think was the steepest snow climb. And that is when a large rock, jutting out of snow came into view....the Mount Olympus. Looking at this 70 ft. of almost vertical rock, I realized what Guides meant when they had said ,"Last part of Mount Olympus is a little bit technical, but don't worry about it". Technically speaking, it is designated a class IV rock climb and there was no turning back.

Rubber met the wet rock here, so to speak. Almost every one struggled with tricky sections of this rock climb. Jeff and I, being in the last group here, stood on the lower rock ledge for over an hour trying to keep our bodies from going cold (by doing stationary jogs), and hands from going completely numb. Fortunately, we also had the opportunity to watch everyone above to see what they were doing wrong. There is hardly enough space for four people to stand atop Mount Olympus. That day, heavy clouds and rain obscured, what is apparently a gorgeous view of olympic range. A victory shot and we were on the rappel down on the other side. We roped up again now to start our descent. Descending on snow is actually a lot of fun. It is like running downhill....dig on your heels and let yourself go. Once we were down below snow dome in clear weather, we stopped to take a Team Banner shot for FHCRC.

It was a thirteen hour day and everyone was feeling the joy of an accomplishment. Just add boiled water dinner (Kathmandu Curry for me) and hit the sleeping bag. Sore body and aching joints, slumber still eluded me and sleep came in short spurts.

Distance covered (To and Fro) : 9 miles, Altitude gained (and lost) : ~4500 ft. (not counting those ups and downs).

Day 4
A late-ish breakfast (leftover Kathmandu curry for me). Uproot the tent, pack the bag and time to head back to first camp. With reduction in food, one imagines that the weight of the back-pack should go down but defying physical laws, it actually feels heavier. A weird encounter we all remember on this part of hike down was running into a taciturn woman in middle of nowhere, dressed in what didn't seem like hiking clothes, holding a large Golf umbrella. Walking back into rain forest was a welcome sight. Late afternoon, we got a large leveled group camp site this time. Weather was great, fire was lit, dirty smelly socks were put out to dry, Bourbon was shared (courtesy Jeff), weird tales from past were shared, a surgery was performed (and recorded) on David's now completely black toe, semi-dirty jokes were told, mushroom and mashed potatoes were served.....laughter came easily.

Distance covered : 8.5 miles, Altitude Lost : ~3000 ft.

Day 5
Pack up began at 7:00AM with a wake up call from a human imitating hyena. A quick breakfast and a 9 mile hike to the trailhead began. My faciitis was doing better but blisters were beginning to bother. But it was last day...just wrap them in duct tape and keep on going. By 1:00 PM, all of us were back in the parking lot. Celebratory beer and tequila. After wipe down, we headed to the nearest bar we could find to re-count some of the funny moments of this adventure.....and they became funnier after a few beers.

Mount Olympus climbing team had raised over $20K for breast cancer research at FHCRC in this effort. A great experience, for it was one hell of a great group of people. Enjoy the pictorial trip and please do not forget to donate, what you can, to my Climb to Fight Breast Cancer campaign.

Mount Olympus Climb Pictures

A Fast Rant

It is my hobby to often ponder upon matters beyond my control and by virtue of marriage, opportunity to indulge presents on a regular basis. However, to realize the full potential of this feeling of worthlessness, I still like to catch up on the political news by reading a few Indian dailies. Political landscape is changing. Notwithstanding his age, Mr. ND Tiwari, Hon. ex-governor of Andhra Pradesh rose up to the occasion to change the stoichiometry of political scandals and bring it at par with western standards, but his efforts have gone in vain. Corruption continues to top the parliamentary Bill board. And corruption has brought Fasts back in vogue, in particular its deadly strain: Fast unto Death. Fast unto Death until there is end to corruption. Maybe I am just wrong but isn’t it in the best interest of the country that all the uncorrupted people stay alive? And isn’t vice versa is desirable too?

Fast unto Death, a form of civil disobedience, popularized by Mahatma Gandhi, who was not its father, as many might believe. Besides records of using Fast as a protest mechanism in Ireland, the early record of Fast unto Death goes quite far back even in India. In Valmiki’s epic Ramayana, Bharata used Fast-unto-Death as a threat, trying to force Lord Rama back from exile. Lord Rama however convinced him otherwise with logic,” Look Bharata, it is only thirteen years. They will go by. It’s just like finishing graduate school + some post doctoral work”.

For so many declarations of Fast unto Death, the statistical record of its practitioners actually achieving the publicly declared end result is abysmally low. And, for a good reason. It is a well established medical fact that once you cross the “unto” part of Fast unto Death, you will not be able to declare a repeat performance. During the entire Indian freedom movement, Jatin Das was the only brave man who went to the Fast end. If his name doesn’t ring a bell, that is because history is written by ones who stay alive. For every principled Swami Nigamanand, there are many others who know how to end their multiple Fasts unto Death just at the right time with a picture of the practitioner appearing on the front page (preferably a national daily) with a blissfully un-aware young girl orange-juicing the practitioner back into the mortal, material and corrupt world. If not that, obituaries are on page five, column two.

Unhappy with Manmohan Singh’s government’s not so Fast response, Fast front is heating up with Anna Hazare and Swami Ramdev. Now, Anna Hazare is from the same general area as Mahatma Gandhi so he probably has a genetic proclivity and experience towards Fasts but Swami Ramdev! Does he really belong in the Fast league? Already, two places of decimal are needed to record his body mask index. Plus, he was teaching Yoga to the likes of Shilpa Shetty, who by herself presents an extremely compelling set of reasons for not quitting one’s day job….all Punjabi intellectuals agree. But to his credit, an undeterred Swami Ramdev declared Fast unto Death and made his stand in Delhi’s Ram-leela grounds. However, when Death did arrive, somewhat prematurely and unexpectedly, donning the uniform of Delhi Police, Swami Ramdev showed how Fast he is on his feet, and escaped by camouflaging his slender form with a feminine garment. Mystery surrounding the make-up used to camouflage Swami Ramdev’s facial hair has piqued the interest of cosmeticians around the world. Armed with a spending budget rivaling that of NASA’s Mars mission budget, multinational cosmetic spooks have launched a secret operation to uncover yogi’s secret. Operation is code named: Hairy Rama, Hairy Krishna. Btw, it is common knowledge that on his Asian collection tour, grim reaper shuns his traditional cloak and scythe for standard local police and military issue.

Are Fasts really effective in this regard? And that question must be answered using scientific inquiry. Fortunately we are in luck here, for there happens to be a large population data available when it comes to selfless Fasts. Indian women have been Fasting regularly for over a millennium for a seemingly unselfish reason: Asking God to prolong the life span of their respective (one hopes!) spouses. And using the data from last census, the probability of a married man outliving his spouse can be calculated at 9.7%. Some of you may react….That is it? Over a millennium of Fast to prolong the married male’s life span and that is it? I say, let’s not be so Fast in rushing to the conclusion here. The result seems to be a statistical anomaly and it must be explained through….you guessed it….scientific inquiry. And I turn my inquiry to the nearest person with intimate knowledge of this matter: my wife. Her explanation starts with standard opening line.

“You are wrong. A millennium of Fasts is the reason why probability has risen to 9.7%. In absence of a Fasting wife, some of you would be dropping by the time last Phera is finished”.

Phera: A ritualistic circuitous route taken to solemnize marriage during Hindu and Sikh marital ceremonies. It is meant as a subtle but ample warning to a very blessed would-be-couple about the nature of marital life, where all arguments, conversations and even the entertainment will make them feel as if they are going around in circles. Warning is issued seven times during Hindu ceremony. Sikhs see no point after fourth.

My tech savvy nephew Wellwired Singh suggests that these Fasts are actually effective but married males are voluntarily choosing to forego the available, Fast-secured longevity benefits. I had a feeling that he was going to expound further on this particular line of perplexing reasoning but he decided to change the subject….coinciding with his wife Harsh Kaur’s entry into the room.

I say we take a cue from an extremely patient effort by fairer sex and try a periodic national Fast on corruption. For simplicity, we call it C-Fast day. I further suggest that date of this day be kept deliberately fluid and be declared very close to the final round of a major cricket tournament, where home team is in the finals, to opportunistically take advantage of nationalistic fervor. This C-Fast day, everyone does things the right way. You get a traffic ticket, you will not bribe. Instead, you will go to the court as the law requires. If you do offer a bribe, the temporarily uncorrupt cop will refuse to take it citing C-Fast day obligations. C-Fast could also turn into day of complements. A C-Fasting Suresh Kalmadi will walk into a meeting and people will say,” wow, Suresh. You look so different. Have you been losing weight (of those undeclared assets)”? And parliament will be at its most efficient on C-Fast day. The after effects of C-Fast however could be hard to take. While some of you might find this Fast outright exhilrating and uplifting, others might want to go back to the greasy ways,” My palm has been itching whole day. I wish someone would grease it today”. I propose that we start this C-Fast annually and increase the frequency based on democratic response. Our goal: 9.7% improvement by year 3000.

All this Fast talk is making me really hungry. As I ask my wife,” So what is cooking today”? She tells me,” Cook yourself. Can’t you see I am fasting for you”?

Silliness on Board

The month of december, when time slows down to a crawl, vigor of summer discussions in one's philosophy group (Hon. Jack Daniels, Hon. Johnie Walker & One) quiets down to a whisper & one looks for a rush from sugar concoctions left at coffee station, reminding us of christmas induced genteel generosity. Fortunately, city library happens to be just across the road from work and I picked up Mankoff's "The Naked Cartoonist", and inspired myself to fill these endless hours between 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM with some silliness on board....drawing board.

Composting and Other Experiments

Now that you are here, let’s first make sure that you read it right. The word is Composting and not Composing. If you are interested in composing, I highly recommend my friend Kulpreet’s blog, where hymn and humor coexist in Raga-ish harmony. This blog on the other hand is designed to stink a little.

The agri-cultural marker is sewn into my DNA but other traits are acquired ones. I say “Neither” when asked “Paper or Plastic” at the grocery store. I only consume locally manufactured beers just to reduce the fossil fuel consumption from transportation. And some days when eco-bio rhythms are at their crests, some of us, self-proclaimed quasi-environmentalists, pedal our bicycles to the mother-ship a.k.a New Belgium Brewery and demand free samples of carbohydrate rich replenishers.

In my 40s, I am beginning to experiment with activities more in tune with my advancing age, mellowing temperament and painfully screaming joints. First wave of resistance to my changing persona comes from a domestic front. I hadn’t even started relishing my first effort to reduce my large “carbon foot print” when the “S” words started flying around the house. What is this SH**? Oh, look the mess you have created with this eco Sh**? If you ever put a brick in the tank to convert the toilet to a low flow toilet, you better sleep with one eye open, for same brick could be used for beat this eco-Sh** out of you. Well, domestic ecology is a very dangerous battleground. Some enemy snipe-r fire is expected. I decided to take my carbon reduction war outside, to my backyard.

Only people whose salaries have kept up with the price curve of organic tomatoes are members of the US house and senate. Even Indian legislators are not far behind either. Parliament members just approved a gigantic salary raise for themselves. What was a common man like me to do but take matter in one’s own hands. First idea was to cordon off and convert a corner of the yard to vegetable patch. The American handy man’s Mecca, Home Depot, happily estimated that the cost of bricks etc. to create this would be about thousand dollars. Yes, $1000. Apparently they had just incurred an expense of $150 million to pay severance package for firing their unwanted CEO, and were in for a quick recovery. So I went with pots, old plastic buckets, half drums and a used laundry basket to balance a part of my food chain. Many of my well meaning friends have been trying to change my food chain and convince me to convert but I am sticking to my vegetarianism. Vegetarians live longer, though death from hunger remains an ever present possibility. Only moral supporter in this quest: Chicken. Yes, Chicken, a noveau herbivore’s dilemma and a carnivore’s burden (my brother’s vision of avian world is much more altruistic than my vision of his). Chicken, an animal which is eaten both, after it is born and before it is born (my knowledge of biology is rudimentary but Eggs are unborn chicken. Compassionate Conservatives: Please take note). In my homeland of Punjab, Chickens have come to terms with the fate of their lot. When they come across a Punjabi in the early evening hours with a bottle of ਰਸ ਭਰੀ (honey-ful), they lay down their arms (or is it legs) and surrender unconditionally. They know that statistics is against them.

Produce in year 2010 has been plenty. ਟਮਾਟਰ, ਬੈੰਗਨ, ਮਿਰਚਾਂ, ਪੁਦੀਨਾ, ਖੀਰਾ, ਸ਼ਿਮਲਾ ਮਿਰਚਾਂ, ਪਾਲਕ ਤੇ ਏਸ਼ੀਅਨ ਜੜੀ ਬੁਟੀਆਂ (Tomatoes, Eggplant, chili pepper, mint, cucumber, red and green bell pepper, spinach and asian herbs). Tomatoes and chilies came at such a high rate that I had to expand my cooking regimen beyond Indian delicacies of ਬੈੰਗਨ ਦਾ ਭਰਥਾ (Eggplant Bhartha) and ਪੁਦੀਨੇ ਦੀ ਚਟਨੀ (Mint chutney). Only when you get to taste the Eggplant parmesan (Italiano) made with ingredients from your own yard, you realize why Mafiosi do not visit Olive garden. And when nothing else, tomatoes and chilies can be turned into Salsa (Mexicano), which goes really well with chips and home made Margaritas. And all this gastronomic gratification created a problem of food peelings (plus already existing weekly lawn mowing waste), which brings us to the experiment of Composting. Compost, which literally puts culture into agri-culture. For some of you, the word Compost evokes memories of ਢੇਰ, those scenic dung piles dotting the ਫਿਰਨੀ (boundary walk) of many Punjabi villages. But we are talking about Urban American composting here, a highly scientific and controlled experiment. A small deviation in experimental parameters, and you might be the subject of neighborly lawsuit accusing you of causing massive olfactory trauma. A well done compost has the odor very similar to the odor of earth, right after the first rainfall.

A "Composter" could have been immortalized by Asa Singh Mastana and Surinder Kaur with their rendition of ਭੈੜਾ ਕਮਪੋਸਟੀ (Naughty Composter) but music executives decided that ਭੈੜਾ ਪੋਸਤੀ (Naughty Idiot) represent a much larger market segment. Making compost is very similar to making yogurt, one needs a really good ਜਾਗ (culture) to start it. And hence, I enlisted the help of a rancher friend, who lives just across the Colorado border, in Wyoming [State of Wyoming: Where men are men, and Sheep are scared!]. As I tried to sneak a precious package of ultra-fresh horse “Culture” into my backyard, there came another round of sniper fire, “Ah, Are you on your way to become a net receiver of sh** rather than the usual deliverer?”. I tell you folks, we the loners, tree hugger types, get no respect, no respect whatsoever. However, not all is bad. My friend’s young daughter saw me tending to my green tomatoes. Taking pity on her dumb looking uncle, she walked up to me and decided to pass off some wisdom, which she must have picked up from some careless adolescent.

“Uncle, Do you know why tomato turned red?”
“No, Why?”
“Because he saw Salad dressing.”

That one moment of unadulterated avuncular joy itself was worth all the sniper fire and some more.

As winter is coming around, we humans take out our warm clothing, but plants look all confused and scared. Perhaps they don’t understand why is sunlight suddenly decreasing, why nights are colder. I can get them through another few weeks by covering them up with cloth sheets and then another week or so by moving them indoors, but it is winter of their short and productive lives. I am beginning to believe that those lines on the faces of my farmer friends are not all economic, some of them are from an inexplicable attachment.

A few pictures ਸਾਲ ੨੦੧੦ ਦਿਆਂ ਸਬਜੀਆਂ (Vegetables from year 2010)

An Alpine Experience : Mount Baker

Though I am a firm believer in Clint Eastwood school of thought “A man has got to know his limitations”, and yet sometimes I tend to get carried away and get into situations which are somewhat beyond my capabilities and quite contrary to my idea of fun….my (hypothetical) idea of fun is lying on the couch with a Wodehouse, while another member of household brings peeled, cut and washed fruit to within my arm’s reach.

How do I get into these situations? Well, the word “misleading” comes to my mind. Some misleading here was of my own making. I was lying on the couch watching a documentary movie, in which bunch of amateurs went up Mount Everest, including one seventy one year old Japanese Takao Arayama. I know fully well that I would be glad if I am able to find the bathroom, when I am seventy and yet something clicked. If saner thoughts had prevailed, my core engineering cerebrum could have convinced my-self that these amateurs are at the end of the statistical distribution and not the norm……statistically normal population hangs out at KFC and is featured in other documentary movies with apt names such as “Supersize Me” and “Food Inc.”. Unfortunately, at that moment, by the power vested in me by two “Peg Patiala” of Hercules XXX military issue Rum, I mislead myself into believing that I am still young and strong enough to learn how to climb on snow and actually attempt a small mountain. A timely “Google” search convinced me further that some of the glaciated mountains in Northern Cascades, in particular Mount Baker (10778 ft. of elevation), would be ideal for my “fit-ness” level.

Next day some sanity returned but then I walked into the second stage of misleading i.e. friends who have been there. In my case, exact words from Nick were “You have been hiking in the Rockies. Snow climbing is nothing but lazy man’s hiking. Take a step, rest, take a step, rest”. I must admit that while climbing Mount Baker, I did entertain thoughts of subjecting Nick to a fair measure of water boarding and other non-torture techniques from the Pentagon manual. Now that adventure is successfully over, I still put a jewish curse on him, “May all your teeth fall down except one. And the one remaining may develop a severe tooth ache”.

Among such vacillations, damage was done and I signed up with Alpine Ascents for a three day Mount Baker climb. Nothing else pushes a man forward on an adventure trail but the thoughts of a non-refundable deposit. I actually trained for this climb.

On 28th of july, I finally met rest of the team in Seattle. Ten climbers and three guides. Seven climbers had quite a bit of experience, one with some experience and two novices, henceforth, known as the “Slow Team”. The other novice was a graduate student from New Jersey. Six of the climbers came through a very commendable cause of Fred Hutchinson cancer research organization, which sponsors one’s climb when you raise a certain amount of money for the charity. We were told that weather forecast is great for next three days and no problems are expected. On 29th morning we met at the Schreiber’s meadow trailhead and the climb was on with ~50 pounds of backpack. The trailhead is at ~3300 ft of elevation. Part of the trail passes through dense forest, small brooks & bridges and as soon as you bust out of the tree line, front part of Mount Baker comes into view in distance. Mount Baker gets over 50 ft. of snow a year and due to its northern location, it remains under snow cover throughout the year. Snow cover started at some 5000 ft. and it took the “Slow Team” about six hours to climb to 6400 ft. level where we set our high camp. Snow was leveled and tents were pitched.

The views from high camp were expansive and timeless. Here we were, sitting on the snow with wind and cold and yet Pacific Ocean is visible in the distance. Sunlight lingers on till almost 10:00 PM and setting sun gives a reddish hue to beautify the surroundings. It is one incredibly amazing place to sit down with a book from the back section of your book-shelf…..Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. On one side we had the Easton glacier and on the other the Deming glacier. At dinner time, Macaroni and Cheese was served. It is common to loose your appetite as you go up but spiked with Tabasco, it tasted great. In the night time as you are trying to sleep, large slabs of ice in the Easton glacier come loose and fall down with great noise, giving you an impression as if a thunder is going on outside the tent.

Next day I woke up early to watch the sunrise over Deming glacier and perform “the task”, which has always posed great challenge for anyone, who has ever been on a camping trip i.e. ABLUTION Number 2. At 6400 ft. you are under "pressure". One side you have good folks of US National Park services who want you to keep it clean and on other, you have Alpine Ascents who insist on principle of “No Trace Left Behind”. You are about to expose your sensitive body parts to the mercy of Nature at high altitude only to find that privacy is not available, even at a premium. Together, these circumstances give rise to a whole new form of performance anxiety. It is a good thing that I grew up in a village in Punjab. Allow me to expose you to the invention called Wag bag. Ladies and Gentlemen, your tax dollars have not gone waste. Finest brains at NASA have developed a Wag Bag which offers human sanitation under extreme circumstances. You GO in a bag, tie the knot, knead it a little to mix with the chemical formulation inside, put it in the second zip-lock bag and voila….a true Port-a-potty. The problem however is that at 6400 ft., human refuse is a Dessert to Ravens, who will follow even a slight "aroma". One solution to this problem is to dig a small trench in the snow and bury the bag. But that gives rise to more issues…1) What if “pressure” returns and you forget where you buried it? Make sure you mark the location with a ski pole. 2)What if you can’t find the shovel?, keep one small shovel handy in the tent 3) What if there is fresh three feet snowfall while you were sleeping? Ha, Ha, Ha…..you are on your own now, unless you carry a spare Wag Bag or you can convince someone to borrow theirs....and remember No Trace Left Behind !!!

Now, I know many of you are going to say a very loud EEEEUUUUUU even in the privacy of your own homes, when I tell you that best location to store a used Wag Bag is the under the tent base. Once properly knead-in and secured in the zip-lock, a strategically placed Wag Bag actually solves the problem of not having a comfortable camping Pillow !!!!!

Second day was also the snow school day. Until this snow school, the word “Cramp-on” meant nothing more than a periodic feminine disorder to me. And ice-axe was something which a man must strive to keep out of eye sight during “Cramp-on” time. On snow climbs however, they are miraculous life savers. Learn how to go up in snow, how to come down in snow and most importantly, how to self-arrest with ice-axe when you (or others on your roped team) fall down and start sliding down the slippery slope. We were told to erase all images of Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger as he couldn’t have been more wrong and far from reality....hmmm, who knew. We were on the mountain when we heard the sad news of the team which fell into a crevasse on nearby Mount Rainier resulting in one death. It pays to pay attention to the Guide's words.

Guides decided that team looks fit enough so instead of climbing on third day, how about starting the climb at 2:00 PM in the afternoon….idea sounded good at that time. That way you can rest on third day and get down to trailhead with easy pace. The “Slow Team” of three (and our guide Matthew) was given a head-start of forty five minutes and we were on our way. The higher we got, more exhausting it became. Half way through the climb, we came across the crater of Mount Baker volcano. Mount Baker is an active volcano and smell of sulfur is pervasive (remeber those experiments with H2S in the Chem Lab)…..needless to say, an all men crew couldn’t resist cracking some “Gas Jokes”. Near the final plateau, the incline became quite severe and my lungs opened clandestine negotiations with my knees about the possibility of staging a coup d’etat. We wanted to rest but our guide kept on shouting,”Not a good place to rest. You want to rest, Rest on the top of the hill”. And miraculously, we all made to the top. After snapping a few pictures, the cold started setting in. It was already over 7:00 PM and we began the equally difficult and slow task of descending. A few hours, Sun set and darkness made us bring out our head lamps. Slow descent became slower. At one point we realized that we had taken a wrong path as there was a crevasse in front of us. We had to turn and climb up again to find the right tracks. I think those were the longest twenty minutes of my life. It was almost midnight when “Slow Team” got back to the camp, to a thundering applause from two other teams, who were waiting for us. Appetite-less, exhausted and cold, we somehow shoved the food down and hit the sleeping bag. Next morning, we all woke up late, had a granola breakfast and began uprooting and re-packing our back packs. At about 1:00 PM, we were all back at the trailhead, wiped ourselves down, and as a first point of action, we drove to the nearest town of Concrete and hit a bar called Annie’s for Pizza and Beer.

A wise man once said that an Adventure is an adventure only in retrospect. When actually in progress, an adventure could be unpleasant and generally very trying experience. Perhaps it is time I should think about sticking to just Golf and Crosswords.....trying but pleasant (especially after the arrival of Beer cart/girl).

Enjoy the Pictorial Perusal of Mount Baker Climb.

Travelogue : A Lost city, Español & some wisdom

Damas y Caballeros (Ladies and Gentlemen)

Summer travel season is upon us and first step in a successful trip is to pick a right place. As some of you are aware that there are places in this world, where they entice you through your children by parading unemployed Arts and Humanities majors dressed up in “Mouse” and “Duck” costumes with cute english names such as Mickey, Minnie and Donald. Beware, as these corporate folks are out there to relieve you off your children's college fund. Thankfully, there are also places in this world which can touch your soul and offer an adventure. Deep in the Peruvian forests at an altitude of 8000 ft. is such a place: The lost Inca city of Machu Picchu.

The most difficult step in going on such an adventure travel: Obtaining permission for it. Yes, Department of homeland, Ministry of vague and arbitrary authority is extremely fickle about granting such permissions. National debt might register an unhealthy increase and two presidential administrations might pass into history before your request comes up for consideration. If it is any consolation, remember that we are mere humans and the even the denizens of heavenly abodes are not immune to her vagaries. Consider Lord Shiva for example. We know that Lord Shiva was merrily hiking on the trails of Kailash Parbat, laughing at Nandi’s bull jokes, consuming a steady diet of Shiva’s Regal, breaking into Tandava at a whim, supporting then economically vital Trident manufacturing industry and BANG…..Parvati came along and changed his calendar. Nandi has been relocated to a location off the main premises ever since. As much as I would like to believe religious literature and its soap-operatic interpretation by a popular TV serial, I have a sneaking suspicion that when Lord Ram and brother Laxman were packing their allowed gear for a compulsory and unusually long Camping Trip, Sita walked into the room, stood by the door, hands on hips and delivered a monologue with timeless opening credits “It seems to me that you are least bothered by the fact that………….”.

The beauty and mystique of lost city of Machu Picchu is beyond words. Who were these mysterious and accomplished people ? How did they manage to build such a city at such an unlikely location ? How did they develop a technology so advanced for their time ? How did they device such an ingenious water system ? An agricultural system which became the pre-cursor to present day crop modification ? And their seemingly sudden disappearance with no written records ? There are so many questions and so few answers. One thing for sure is that these ancient cultures knew how to live in-sync with nature.

Though one can take a train to the nearest city of Agua Calientes (Hot Water) and then take a bus to Machu Picchu but that is not the Inca way. Total immersion calls for taking the Inca trail (a longer 4 days with overnight camping or a shorter 2 days without). Advantage of being on the trail is that besides spiritual cleansing of your soul, you are bound to get a pressure cleansing of all the McDonald’s and KFC grease accumulated in your pores. If nothing else, I recommend that instead of going by Bus, take a short two hour trail from Agua Calientes right upto the entrance of Machu Picchu. It passes through lush green, dense forests and early in the morning, misty clouds will be rising through the mountains gleaning the sweat off the tip of your nose.

Machu Picchu are Quechua words, which mean "Old Mountain". Care must be taken however to pronounce the second word as "PiK-chu" and not "Picchu" as we all do, especially Los Gringos. I would disclose the altered meaning with incorrect pronounciation only if it weren't for the fact that this Blog is intended to be read aloud to young children, distinguished guests and lady companions on friday evenings.

If you have a few hours to kill in Lima, I suggest a visit to Museo de Oro (Museum of Gold). Gold, which turned to be the curse for aboriginal south american cultures. Gold section of museum is wonderful and located in the basement. Real surprise however was the upper section of the building, which, unbeknownst to me was called Museo de Armas (Museum of weapons). Apparently, Gold and weapons go hand in hand, in museums or elsewhere. Collection of weapons and battle paraphernalia is large and exquisite. Some pieces hold the charm for the hands which once held those weapons (Napoleon, Robert E. Lee, Nizam of Hyderabad and Fidel Castro) and some simply for their age and worksmanship. A set of 16th century chinese daggers came with a short dynastic poem.

Al oir el canto del Gallo,
Se empieza la practica,
De la danza de la Espada.

(Upon hearing the song of the rooster, start the practice of the dance of the sword)

It seems to me that I have been underestimating my Español ability. Unlike the French nationals, who begged me to cease, switch to Deutsche, and never attempt vocalizing French again without prior written warnings, Los Peruanos showed no such reaction to my español. Of course I am using the word "ability" in a fairly loose sense, as the cause and effect correlation here can also be explained on the basis of national tolerance levels. Spanish, a musical languange with notes, tones, volume and gestures. One look at Gabriela Sabatini or Shakira and the dire need for a romance language becomes crystal clear. With evolution, languages struggle to add new words and to balance expression and subtlety. Allow me to illustrate by presenting you the "original meeting minutes" of Spanish Linguists, men who were charged with graceful evolution of español. Meeting took place to induct new spanish word for what became the modern day Handcuffs. (English translation is provided by yours truly)

¿qué es esta cosa con anillos de metal.
[What is this thing with rings of Metal ?]

No se. Algo nuevo cosa.
[I don't know. Some new thing.]

¿cuáles son sus usos.
[What are its uses ?]

No se completamente, pero me han dicho que es una cosa para dominar los hombres.
[I don't know completely but I have been told that this thing is to subdue men.]

No me digas (Miradas de sorpresa !!).
[Don't tell me (looking surprised!!)]

Si Señor, especialmente los hombres indisciplinados y revoltosos.
[Yes sir, especially unruly and naughty men.]

Intresante. Muy intresante (Miradas de sorpresa y interés !!)
[Interesting. Very interesting (Looking suprised and interested!!)]

No necesitamos palabra nuevo para esto. Ya tenemos una palabra para tal cosa (habla linguista viejo y sabio).[We don't need a word for that. We already have a word for such a thing (wise old linguist speaks)]

¿Tenemos. (muchas voces simultáneamente). [ We have? (multiple voices simultaneously)].

Si. Yo la llamo Esposa. [Yes. I call her Wife]

Hmmmm....Que bueno (muchas voces otra vez). [Hmmmm....that's good (multiple voices again).]

Vamos a decidir entonces. Esposa es la palabra. [Let's decide then. 'Esposa' is the word.]

And right there, a bold decision of profound subtlety was made, and left for posterity to awe and ponder. Esposa - Wife or Handcuffs - Same thing.

In Peru, a wise old Quechua man told me that Human War is always on. And most important war a human fights is when one is alone….a war with one's own self. The outcome however doesn't manifest until the last moments of one’s life. I presume that in the meantime, it is good to take time to do a fifteen mile hike in, around and sometimes atop the Peruvian mountains and forests. It is definitely a good location for shooting a war scene. Chirping birds, rain and gushing sound of Rio Urubamba (Urubamba river) far below provides a free background music for the scene. If not you, Peruvian economy is sure to come out a winner.

And last but not least, I always recommend carrying your own toilet paper. Perhaps I am just unlucky that one I bought was made from military surplus material. I am just guessing here but apparently military discontinued manufacturing Sabres and material was released for civilian use !!!!!

Click here for a Pictorial Perusal.

Hasta Luego y Buen Viajes (See you later and Happy Travels)