Irreverent Letters

March 23, 2013

Senor Pope
I know God is omniscient but it seems that He has completely forgotten that snow belongs in winter and not in spring. Could someone shoot a memo to Him?

April 18, 2013
Senor Pope
OK I get it. You are the chief lobbyist with connections to the Big guy. All I asked (nicely) was why there is snow in the spring. Do you really have to rub it in by sending it down three days in row…a foot of it? I was looking forward to gardening, not shoveling. You and I have our differences but poor bunnies in the backyard ain’t looking happy either. Guilty by association, I guess. I hope we are done now showing off. Btw, how is your new gig going? The job sure has its perks. A fancy bulletproof Pope-mobile, a personal posse of Swiss fighters. Talk to those Swiss guards, they will tell you all about the importance of precision…especially in weather patterns. And what is up with that big Hat ? Who designed it, Don King? You fix this snow thing and we will get together to celebrate, talk a little politics, over, shall I say, a few Chalices of wine. My treat. And I know a great bar, right by the Basilica !

May 1st, 2013

Senor Pope
It is May here and I am enjoying the 10 inches of snow which came down this morning. Buried my garlic crop, but what is couple of cloves between friends. People are saying, Lord acts in mysterious ways but you and I know there is no mystery. Earlier in the season, when moisture was needed, one of you was goofing off and other was busy preparing for an important “Conclave” thing. And now you are fixing the water shortage by making up the average. I get it. Btw, we just call it election these days. If we start calling it a Conclave, the voting percentage will drop to just a few "Cardinal" offenders. But I like the White Smoke thing, very stylish indeed. Someday, we may announce the election results with White Smoke too, if Willie Nelson gets “conclaved”, or maybe we need a leader who wouldn't inhale. Please disregard all my earlier complaints. You know how we humans are. We like to blame others for our misery. But I must admit that you guys are good. Just a few millennia of practice, and you already know how to take credit for all the good stuff and ward off the blame for anything negative. Corporate America will be lucky to have you in their management cadres. My spouse is the same too. Only yesterday morning, she couldn’t find her Cell Phone, and lo and behold, that too was my fault. Well, summer is rolling around and you guys should drop by in July, when tomatoes are ripe and peppers are hot. My home made hot salsa is served with killer Margaritas. Now I don’t want to brag here but a few sips of my scotch spiked Margarita, and even you will be forced to describe the concoction as nothing but Divine.

October 27th, 2013
Senor Pope
Fall is wrapping up and I marvel at nature. Changing colors reminds me of passage of time, and I am not just talking about the color of my beard. We even had a little taste of winter with a few inches of snow, which melted on its own.....just the way we lazy humans like it. Anyway, I would like to thank you for straightening the weather thing earlier. A fabulous salsa and Margarita season we had this year. It does not matter if it was my incessant complaining or that "anonymous" check I sent to help defray the legal costs. I wonder if you have considered some public de-frocking. It could be more effective. Der aayed, Durust aayed (Corrections to one's mistakes often come late) is what wise men say in my land.

And talking of mistakes, I heard that a serious mistake has been detected on the coins issued by the Vatican to commemorate your favorite motto "Miserando atque eligendo" (Lowly but Chosen)....you folks spelled JESUS wrong ? You spelled him LESUS ! As my english teacher who had the misfortune of grading my high school term papers was known to say,"For the love of LESUS, can't you do a little Spell-check"?

And talking of Spell-check, would it be possible to send a warning thunderbolt of lightning by the Microsoft Office. Every time I write a report, their Spell-check software changes my overtly pious name "Satnam" to either "Satan" or "Santa'. If you are not familiar, latter is just a capitalist version of the former. Come December, and a Beer-fed one will be seen at every temple of Capitalism aka The Mall.

And talking of thunderbolts of lightning, it might be good idea to send a really high voltage one by the House of Representatives, Senate & White House.....and perhaps on a regular basis. Trust me, it will be a single act, which could convert agnostics into believers en masse.

Well, you do all this, and I promise to stop using HIS name in vain, except at all the PAR 3 holes, for post-life flagellation which I am sure to receive, would be worth the divine help I am trying to invoke to score another Hole in One..........FORE......I mean AMEN.

A Capital Experience : Mt. Rainier

It was time for that annual good deed and to test the boundaries of Clint Eastwood axiom : A man has got to know his limitations. Do good deeds really require a motivation? Why do people ask Why? Why can't some deeds be done just for the sake of deeds? Why do I drink only local beers, you ask? I can satisfy your curiosity by saying that it is to intoxicate the local economy but the fact is that good deeds are to be done for sake of good deeds.

Annual Climb to Fight Breast Cancer is one such deed. For 2013, it was fundraising and a symbolic show of struggle and a very possible victory against the malady with a climb to the crown jewel of pacific northwest : The Rainier.

Fundraising Blues

Fundraising : The act of asking donations mostly from same people again and again. Pestering near and distant family members is a must. Co-workers and friends are on the hook and complete strangers are not off-limits either. A good avenue outside Golf courses to invoke God's name in vain, unless the fund-raising is for a church.

What makes fundraising a really "capital" experience is the friendly banter, which takes place to complement the annoyance. Besides the usual good lucks and be safe, here are some chosen comments received this year and relevant commentary.

Mt Rainier?  aren't you getting a little ambitious? It is good of you to climb for charity but don't add to my tax bill by becoming yet another guy, the emergency rescue workers need to fly in from the glacier....

Spoken like a short term thinker there. Imagine all the long term savings to the taxpayer, not to mention the immense joy it will bring to the masses, if I don't return at all. In fact, the latter logic is so compelling that even my own spouse is thinking of making a donation....which if it does occur, would be rated at same probability level as church conferring Sainthood upon me. Now that I think about it, Saint Satnam does have a kind of nice ring to it. I will be the patron Saint of scotch drinkers.

I hope one day I do at least a fraction!
Gracias pero cuidado. When it comes to beer and scotch, I sincerely hope you stick to the fraction. 


Don't hurt yourself - we need you on our ping pong team ;-)
So there we have it folks. The great American plan to beat the Chinese at their own game with help of a transplanted Indian! Really Capital !

Doad Sahib! This should get you off my back for another year at least :) 
Aren't you glad you know someone, who gets off so cheap :-)))

May the views at the top be clear and breath restoring!
E....L....O....Q....U....E....N.....T

Go Satnam and team Goat! Once again, I will miss climbing with you.
I must make it clear to my friends from state of Wyoming. The "Goat" simply refers to Goat tavern where we have been known to gather for pre and post-climb libations.....nothing more ! What happens at the Goat stays at the Goat.

How many more years you are planning on doing this *-+%$? I am dipping into my Children's college fund this year for you.
I do not know how long but Takao Arayama climbed Everest at seventy one years of age. I talked to both my nephews (your sons) about this college thing. Younger one is sure that he can manage a scholarship. The older one told me,"Even without this, Dad should start planning on delaying his retirement by at least ten years".

Climbing for charity? This is a brilliant concept! I guess drinking for charity hasn't caught on yet....
And if drinking for charity does come to pass, you and I will be the front runners and we better be, because we definitely need to get to the serving table before my brother does. More alcohol has been known to pass through my brother than many of the breweries.


People and Gear
Team of eight gathered in Seattle for gear check on August 7th. Some new faces (Rowena, Mark, Kate, Lisa) and some whose trails have crossed before (Carol, Chris, Steve and I). Some first timers and some have endured it before. Some young and some a little advanced. Steve Bley has been a motivator to us, since we met him first time as a Pentagenarian on Mt. Olympus. He is now officially over 60 years. Being a gentleman he is, he does not prefer numerical association.....he prefers a venerable term : Sextarian !

Gear check is mostly a check, check, check, until we arrive at the item in the list known as Pee Bottle and a serious discussion ensues. This is an item which remains optional until you find yourself hunkered down in a tent at 11000 ft., with pee pressure building, and nature awaits you outside in form of thunder and snow storm. For males, the item is nothing but an emptied bottle of Gatorade. For females, things are a little eh...complicated. There is an accessory involved : Pee Funnel. Mechanics are a little fuzzy to me but apparently the mantra is "Practice, Practice, Practice". As they say in old country, "Practice makes a woman perfect, and a man over-confident". 

In a moment of Gear induced sincerity, our very accomplished amiga, an extraordinarily charming specimen of fairer gender, who has trampled many a mountains, admitted to us, "Satnam, I like Pee funnel, but I am sure I want a Penis".

At this point. I will let readers take a pause here to let the momentousness of these historical words sink in. Not often, a desire for this part of male anatomy has been expressed purely for its ease of liquid discharge utility. With these words, "this king of anatomy", who since era of Adam and Eve, has prided himself on being the eternal provider of entertainment in spite of some recent loss of evolutionary ground to artificial insemination, was finally relegated to a lowly part time job in the department of sanitation.

Climb Day 1
An early morning drive to the trailhead with packed backpack. Even without tents, it still added up to over 40 lbs. Guides gave us the gist of first day schedule. We marinaded ourselves with some sunscreen and got on the way. Trail upto Muir camp is well trampled by climbers and day hikers alike. Mount Rainier is visible in all its glory right at the trailhead itself.....like a big old tree looking down at you. It was a clear calm day and Mt. Adams was clearly visible in the distance. Snow line began after pebble creek and some of us changed from regular hiking shoes to climbing boots aka Frankenstein footwear. Camp Muir is pretty impressive with stone shelters and pit toilets. As expected, it was very crowded. We had one shelter to ourselves. Bunks were there with foam pads and we made ourselves at home. Steve shared his Bourbon stock and dinner of Bean Burritos was incredibly good. Sunset from camp Muir is a beautiful sight.

After dinner we all tried to get some sleep and best way to break ice when eight people are trying to sleep in close quarters on a snowfield is to tell some dirty jokes. And yes, one of us, who shall remain unnamed, asked for advice and ideas on how to propose....and got a sackful of it.

I hardly ever sleep up there. Just lie down straight and let at least the muscles recover.

Altitude Gained : ~4500 ft.
Miles covered : ~ 4.5 miles

Climb Day 2
Wake up and 7 AM to clear out the bunks for next team, which was due to arrive later. Get ready, pack up and head to the kitchen tent, where pancakes were on the menu, bacon and eggs for carnivores. After breakfast and tea, it was time for snow school. Brush up on proper footwork, crampon walking techniques, self arrest. And then it was time to pickup the backpacks again and head to Ingraham flats camp at ~11100 ft. From then onward, it was to be all crampon, all rope team climb. 

It took us just slightly over an hour to get to Ingraham flats camp, where another team was clearing up the tents for their downward journey. Original plan was to rest at the second camp, wake up in the middle of the night and do a sunrise climb to the summit. However guides proposed a sunset climb to the summit on the same afternoon, which has its own advantages (no traffic, lazy short third day etc.) and a vote was taken. It was to be Sunset climb. Looking back at it, perhaps we should have stuck to the sunrise climb plan. It might have given a better shot at summit attempt for everyone in the team, and maybe somewhat easier pace too. But it wasn't meant to be.

One gets a really great view of Yakima peak from Ingraham flats....seems as if you can touch it by just reaching right across a large crevasse.

Anyway, six of us decided to give sunset attempt a shot. We packed only the essentials (clothing and just enough food and water) and by 12:30PM, we started our summit attempt in three rope teams of two climbers and one guide each. From here to the summit was to be done in three pitches only. 11100 ft. to ~12300 ft., from 12300 ft. to ~13300 ft. and then a final push to the summit.

First Pitch
Due to constantly present danger of ice and rockfall, first pitch to the top of disappointment cleaver has to be completed as fast as possible. We were told ~2 hours. Part of the first pitch is on snow and part of it is on loose rock. You don't want to know, what it is like to climb on loose rock while fully attired (boots and crampons) for a snow climb. At the end of first pitch, one more climber decided to head back and one more returned during second pitch. Now we were only two rope teams.

Second Pitch
Second pitch has a portion which is extra technical. Path is extremely narrow and grade steep, so rope has to be periodically clipped into and un-clipped from fixed anchors. This portion of climb also has about one 12 ft. vertical climb, half of which is fixed ladder. This vertical scramble is immediately followed by a 12 ft crevasse crossing over a ladder, covered with a plank. This crevasse bridge which is at ~12500 ft, is actually visible from Ingraham flats camp (~11100 ft.). Crevasse crossing over ladder plank is actually much easier than one thinks. Rope is clipped into fixed anchor, hold ice axe securely in one hand, hold the support rope in other....and walk across as if it was a zebra crossing......Simple !

Later, when I asked Carol if she managed to get some photos or video footage of ladder and crevasse crossing with Helmet cam, her reply was, " Heck no. I was busy trying not to DIE !!!"

After this technical section, there are a series of switchbacks and some steep sections leading to the summit. At this point we noticed that weather was beginning to turn bad. Visibility was degrading, wind was beginning to howl louder.

Final Push
After a short break on the glacier to put on our wind gear, we made a final push for the summit. Perhaps weather had spooked the guides or perhaps we were too tired but pace was ratcheted up. Carol is in extremely good shape but I am sure that Mark, Lisa and I were operating in a gear, which until then we didn't know existed. This  is the time when one falls back on Psych tricks to keep one going....my favorite (and a really stupid one) is - These legs and feet are not mine, they are someone else's. And sometimes you think about people who have endured worse things, like Cancer....and that gets you another thirty minutes.

As guides often drill into you that getting to the top of the mountain is only half the battle. One has to be sure at all moments that one has enough juice left to get oneself down too, which is not easy. Anything less than full honesty puts not only oneself in danger but also jeopardize the rest of the team.

I think that if up climb pace was any higher than what we did there that day, my lungs would have exploded, but they held on. We had climbed the last ~900 ft. of vertical gain in about 45 minutes.....and then all of a sudden at 5:14 PM, we walked on to the Mt. Rainier summit crater. There was no sunset. With visibility no more than 30 ft. and howling wind, we somehow got the banner shot and a few pictures. We thought we will take 20 minute walk to the summit rim but exhaustion and weather was against us. Some 20 minutes later, we started our descent.

Worse part about descents is one can see where the camp is and yet one knows it will take a while. At ~9 PM, we walked back into the Ingraham flats camp. Utterly exhausted, and then the worse happens....and I knew it was coming. After burning so many calories, you would think that you need food and I had lost it. Jhangbu had prepared a delicious soup, which on any other day would be gone in no time but that night was different. A few gulps of Bourbon didn't help much either. I somehow shoved down half of soup down my throat.

This is not uncommon and my friend Steve Ortiz and I have come up with a theory. Your body's CPU, which is running a frequent systems check, after this grueling ordeal, checks the vitals and infers that this body is pretty close to heaven (in my case Hell) so it figures out : No need for food. And it shuts down the App called Appetite. Next it figures out that you don't want to walk into heaven (or hell) with your eyes closed, so it shuts off the App called Sleep. So there, you have perfectly logical explanation for the phenomenon.

And that night, while lying awake with lost appetite, we were also hit by a heavy duty thunderstorm.......remember that optional Pee Bottle !

Altitude Gained and Lost : ~3200 ft.

Climb Day 3
A sweet deal was offered for day 3. Get up early (6:30 AM), get down to Muir Camp, and have a breakfast of fresh pancakes. I was still groggy and appetite-less but seemed better than shoving down granola. Plus no blue bagging.....Pit Toilets are heaven. 

After lazy breakfast and tea, we headed down. After some futile glissading attempts, we just walked down finally we saw a welcoming sight : The Parking Lot ! It was about 12:50PM. I looked back at Mt. Rainier and issued a quiet Thank You note to the mountain for considering me worthy enough.

None of this would have been possible without our superb guides. A quietly determined Lauren Edwards, who has a few Denali summits under her belt. Though when you look at her slender petite form, you see hardly anything under her belt. Efficient Garrett, who has been up at Mt. Everest a few times, and hold your breath....it was his 177th time on Mt Rainier. Jhangbu....the man is from Nepal, need I say more. Plus I got to practice my Hindi with him after a very long time. And last but not the least, Devin the enforcer......Devin holds a dubious distinction of guiding us to the top of two most beautiful mountains, Mt. Olympus and Mt. Rainier....on days when visibility is low, winds are harsh and frozen rain is giving company. Is the correlation between bad weather and Devin a co-incidence....we don't think so !.....And we may complete the mathematical proof by doing another climb with him.

This team of eight gave their best....ordinary people brought together by a cosmic confluence of luck and extraordinary circumstances. I, the desk jockey, just happened to be at the right place at the right time.

Most often asked question after such a climb is "So, what is your next climb"?

And my answer is the same, "This is it. I am done. I want to walk into the sunset with a beer bottle and a Golf bag. Not with a 45 lb. backpack, pee bottle and a Blue Bag".

Enjoy the Mt. Rainier Pictures.

And here is short video of climb put together by Kate Roll

Some Notes Off Key too

There is definitely a difference between engineers and artists. Artists are born and engineers are programmed. Becoming an engineer is easy. If one can't figure out the right answer, just learn to figure out the three wrong ones. Artists on the other hand have infinite permutations and combinations to choose from, and then to come up with that one painting, that one sculpture, that one melody. No wonder, we, who are devoid of any such trait, envy the artistic community. Actually, envy is perhaps not the right word. After all, it is one of the deadly sins. Personally I prefer urdu word “Rashq”…..Envy with positive connotations.

When it comes to musical melodies, I am a person of very limited choice. I admit that I have listened to Beatles’ “Money can’t buy you love” but it was more for philosophical reasons than musical. When it comes to music, I revert to my collection of old hindi songs, Ghazals and some Punjabi. A collection of over 2000 pieces neatly catalogued into series of "Meri Pasand" and most of it goes back to my college days...I know, it sounds pathetic but can't be helped. No doubt, that limited taste presents its problems in dreary routines of life in western world. Have you ever tried to run 3 miles while Bhupinder hums “Dil Dhoondta hai Phir wahi phursat ke raat din” through your portable mp3 player? Or tried to keep pace while an indecisive Lata surmises “Ruke Ruke se Kadam, ruk ke Bar Bar chale”.  And Jagjit Singh, May god rest his soul, is worse. Listen to him and Lata's "Bar Bar chale” indecisiveness ends with one ending up in a real Bar rather than a gym.

My personal favorite for my exercise routine is a two in one….Music+Motivation by an in-imitable Mohd. Rafi.

Sab se Pehle Suno Mian, karke varzish bano Jawan

Chehra palish kiya karo, Thodi maalish kiya karo

Ishtile se uthe kadam, Seena jaada to Pet kam,

Ai kibla, Ujle baalon ko rang dalo, ban jayo Gulfaam

(Listen to me, Oh aging Sir, 

Exercise and regain youthful vigor.

Polish your face and get massaged-in,

Step in style, blown chest, Gut sucked in.

In those gray hair, add some dye, 

And turn yourself into playboy)

It all started last year with a conversation with my old talented friend Kulpreet Singh Badial, who happens to be an accomplished Tablist. I know, English majors among you are cringing….Tablist! Well, the word has been specially coined for accomplished Tabla players. It is not inducted into the dictionary yet but negotiations with Merriam-Webster et.al. could conclude any minute. You see, we Punjabis, who were taught English by an extremely underpaid but well meaning teaching staff, think that suffix –ist is the ultimate indicator of strength…..Pian-ist, Cell-ist, Flut-ist, and let's not forget the power of F-ist. English language is full of exceptions and the exception to the rule is Agricultur-ist. Here strength doesn’t matter, for sooner or later an Agriculturist will get screwed by a third party. The 'regularity' with which Kulpreet Badial is hitting his Tabla Riyaz (practice), either the word Tablist will soon become a part of lexicon, or an investigation will be launched into use of experimental steroid, Musical Milk of Magnesia developed at Tablabs research.

Now, I don’t want to give a wrong impression here that we can become artists, because everyone knows that we belong to a class, who have an unshakable belief in Clint Eastwood axiom “A Man has got to know his limitations”. Btw, not many people know that Mr. Eastwood happens to be very accomplished Pianist himself. There is a reason and purpose, why God has assigned folks like I to the lower band of distribution. And I am as comfortable in my assigned band as a swine ensconced in a sty. However, an occasional stroll outside the assigned band is still in the realm of possibilities. As a great man once said - Try to learn everything about something, and something about everything. And hence, the inception of this notes-worthy idea. Aim was to get the fingers to glide over the keys correctly (most of the times) for some tunes, figure out the notes of some old Indian songs from my youth and learn just enough to be able to play on a Keyboard for inebriated dinner guests, who may not notice an off-key note or two or more. Or better, inebriated enough to perceive off-key notes as a variation of the original score…….an unoriginal score!

We engineers have been taking a direct approach to everything. Many of our kind have been known to approach the opposite sex with an opening line – “You know, I am an engineer and I love to experiment”. The results of such approach of course are binary – all or nothing. Someone tells us, Read the Manual – We say Bah !.....Take Lessons – We say Poo-Bah ! Direct approach is our mantra. "Punch in some keys and let’s see what happens" is our modus operandi to learning. After all what is the difference, computer keyboard or musical keyboard......it's all just Keys !

First Step

The first step in learning to play Keyboard is to bring the Keyboard you bought at a garage sale, out of the storage, and into the living area. It is highly recommended that one clean it thoroughly before punching in any keys, for  it might spew some dust stuck in between keys, into your nostrils. I did not learn this from my personal experience. I actually read it in the manual.

Both Hands?

If you ask me, playing Keyboard with both hands is highly overrated. For novice experimenters as I am, I highly recommend keeping one hand free to hold that glass of Scotch. Unless you are blessed with a spouse, who is ready to stand by you unconditionally (and hold the glass) during this rougher phase of your musical career.

Getting There

Hidden somewhere in the major scales, minor scales and Thaats (Hindustani system of music, which forms the basis of countless Ragas) and at least three different octaves, is the combination to the melody you seek. Laxmikant-Pyarelals of the world knows where it is, folks like I have no clue, and Bappi Lahiris of the world knows someone who knows. 

After many months of enjoying a relationship of mutual contempt, my Keyboard and I finally warmed up to each other. It was almost accidental when I punched keys C (Flat) and c (Sharp) of upper octave in succession, and an image conjured up. An image of a young Shabana Aazmi, on rooftop of a house with beautiful southern coastal Indian backdrop, drying her laundry, smiling coyly to herself, humming, and waiting for Mr. Singh. Yes, that accidental punching happened to be a few opening notes to Pal Bhar mein yeh kya ho gaya from movie Swami. Considering that melody flows (as opposed to jumps), engineering logic dictated that next notes must be in the general vicinity. And sure enough, a few more punching in of keys and voila, now I had something which does hum like Pal Bhar mein yeh kya ho gaya.

C'c'C'c'C'aC'a


Following the same irrefutable logic, the notes to next line of the song (Woh main gayee, woh dil gaya) turned to be a little lower on the frequency scale, but with a similar pattern.

aC'aC'agag

And just as is true for weight and effect of opening lines in conversations with opposite sex, rest comes  relatively easy. The keys to first two lines of the song happen to be all from c Major scale (or Thaat Bilawal of Hindustani system). And hence, we are now narrowed down to a manageable subset of keys (btw, this is generally true but not always, as some songs do use more than one scale). Pump more Scotch in and Punch out some more keys of c Major scale and one pretty much has the song. With a thankful smooch to young Shabana Aazmi....wait is over. Mujeres y Hombres, les presento, la cancion indu muy sonora

A few more notes have been unlocked from persistent punching in of keys in months of winter. Here is a medley of many a mukhras (opening notes) of old hindi songs from an era, which arguably has produced bulk of evergreen songs, whose charm have refused to succumb to harshness of time. Many songs from this era has often accompanied me through my ruminations and moments of solitude. Unaided by musical milk of magnesia, regularity of my Riyaz leaves a lot to be desired and some notes here and there are off key. I recommend getting  a drink before you press the play button. And talking of drink,  I have completely run out of Scotch. So if you do end up liking this medley, please send me a bottle or two. As a return favor, I promise to play free at your childrens' weddings and birthdays. And thus, virtually guaranteeing an early and speedy departure of unwanted guests. If, per some remote chance, my single-handed effort fails to live up to the task, I swear, I will start playing with both hands.

My Grumpy Valentine

Valentine’s day just went by and Pope resigned. No connection between the two but I was hoping that as a parting gift, preaching from a comfortable yet fashionable pulpit provided by a pair of red Prada shoes, Pope Benedict might offer some benediction to tortured masses by clarifying the Valentine’s day matter just as the venerable institution has clarified by weighing in matters of evolution, planetary motion and gravitation. And now just like other old people, Pope will be retiring to Florida, where he will pray for the soul of Florida election commission.

Getting back to main topic, to the historically uninitiated, Valentine’s day has its apparent roots in memory of Saint Valentine, who was incarcerated for secretly performing marriages at a time when marriages were banned. Yes, I know, marriages were banned once, henceforth, known as the Good old days. Marriage, as we know is the longest running experiment in human history, in spite of its proclivity towards frequent failures. In case of failure, main experimental parameters vehemently blame each other. In case of success, God is often credited, albeit falsely, as true credit belongs to first order products of experimental parameters. I am up for any celebration, but to comply with spirit of original intent and act of Saint Valentine, the day should be celebrated by only single people. Married people should be exempt from these forced festivities, having already been de-Valentined in the eyes of state and religion. Married folks already have a thing called the Anniversary. It’s the day when two people try to recall the details of same accident, while a disinterested third party tries to figure out if two parallel unrelated events are being related and would there be fusion without cosmic intervention.

So how did we get from the days of Saint Valentine’s secret marriages (circa 2 AD) to modern day mid-February mushiness and a coordinated assault on credit cards. Well, start with a first blame on English poet Chaucer (circa 1380 AD), who wrote this (original reproduced here verbatim)

For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.

(For it was on Saint Valentine’s Day, when every Bird came there to chose his mate).

Now the older readers are thinking, what is up with these horrible spellings. Was Chaucer heavily chomping on some Colombian contraband? With such spelling abilities, did English consider deporting him to France?The younger readers, un-aided by a spell-check, are saying, "What spelling mistakes, looks Klear to me".

And talking of french, Duke of Orleans (circa 1400 AD), who while incarcerated in Tower of London, sent this note to (apparently) his wife. This is the first known Valentine sent by regular mail (according the important research conducted by Hallmark and Hershey’s).

Je suis desja d'amour tanné
Ma tres doulce Valentinée.

And with help of my omnipresent polyglot friend Google Singh, I got it translated it into both Punjabi as well as English. Only English version is being presented here for your safety

I am already sick of love,

My very gentle Valentine.

English is not my primary language but does the words “Sick of Love” mean anything to you? And it was a matter of time before they started brainwashing young minds with extra-mushy nursery rhymes (circa 1800 AD)

The rose is red, the violet's blue,
The honey's sweet, and so are you.
Thou art my love and I am thine;
I drew thee to my Valentine:
The lot was cast and then I drew,
And “My Accountant” said it shou'd be you

OK, I admit that “My Accountant” in the last line was my own editing. Original word was “Fortune”, which for all practical purposes, is intricately tied to one's accountant.

Apparently, Valentine day is the day when some 190 million Americans, challenged in the area of sentimental composition, rely on Hallmark et. al. to provide them with an expensive ($2 per word) aid, to convey their inner feelings. The racket of course goes on as long as the effort remains written and anonymous. Once you go from written to oral, the words which come out are er….er….er….and as they say, To er is Human!...and the racket goes on. 

And yes, there are other Valentine’s day gifts, heart shaped candy and heart shaped chocolates. They are all bad for your Heart. This year, I noticed a Pizza joint with Valentine day special….a heart shaped Pizza. Nothing else says, I love you hot and heavy, better than a heart shaped Pizza. Throw in some cheese bread, buffalo wings and a large Coke and you may be able to seal the deal, if you know what I mean. If your Valentine date is taking you to a Pizza place, you sure have a big thing on your hand.

According to the survey conducted by reliable people of Surveys Galore, Valentine’s day is the 2^nd most despised day of celebration in the US. Which begs the question, what is the first one? Here is a hint. Section of society, which despises Valentine’s day, loves the other one and vice-versa. Needless to say, the validity of this survey is highly questionable, for no frigging way, St. Patrick’s Day can be the most despised. Who, I ask earnestly, in their right minds, could ever despise drinking whole day?

Valentine’s day is celebrated outside the western world in variety of forms. My Korean friends tell me that 14^th of every month, and not just February, is a love related day in Korea. Starting from January, Candle Day, Valentine's Day, White Day, Black Day, Rose Day, Kiss Day, Silver Day, Green Day, Music Day, Wine Day, Movie Day, and Hug Day. Black Day is the day when un-attached Korean people eat Black noodles to celebrate (some mourn it) their single-hood. Black Day falls on April 14^th, which in the USA, is the penultimate day to send your “Sweet Valentine” to the IRS (Internal Revenue Service). And may God help you if you don’t profess your love and promise (till death do us part) to IRS, in writing, by April 15^th. For the purposes of maintaining international peace, I must declare that I received this information from my South Korean friends. North Korea, apparently as a nation, also sends an occasional Valentine to South Korea and Japan. Their Valentine card is often tied to a ballistic missile for speedy delivery. No love lost there.

On a typical V-day early morning, a conversation takes place

“Love is in the air”.....She coos

“Really. That sure explains the smell”…...He wonders

[A pregnant pause, as she weighs her rejoinder against the fact that Mr. Singh has never capitulated to any other pressure except Beer Pressure]

“Will you be my Grumpy Valentine”.

“With Pleasure my lady, with pleasure”.

Pulau Pinang: 5+ Days of Indulgence

It was supposed to be mostly work and little play but then only Steve Ortiz and I were traveling this time. And when it comes to interchanging work and play, we are, in technical lingo, known as the turn around specialists. A travel plan with a strategically placed weekend in the middle of equally distributed working days on both sides generally does the trick. And we were off to Pulau Pinang (Literally, Island of Pinang), located off the western coast of Malaysia.

In Transit (We absorbed a shock)

It was almost thirty six hour journey with three transit stops from Denver to Pulau Pinang and we decided to kill some time in Singapore by downing a few pints of local favorite, Tiger Beer. Folks, who haven’t been to this part of the world have to be warned before they go into shock. Some of these countries tax the hell out of alcoholic beverages. So much so that one look at bill could snap you back to sobriety, and could potentially put AA out of business. Airport bars, which live in a parallel universe, take this to a new level. In our case, fear of sobriety immediately prompted us to order another round. About 6 PM, we touched down in Pulau Pinang. Steve, whose only prior experience with humidity was mostly theoretical and highly technical (Probe-Stress-Probe of hermetically sealed MEMS devices) got a first whiff of what it is like to be that MEMS device, for a change. To me, it was a nostalgic reminder of my younger days spent working and traveling around southern Indian coastal regions.

A short cab ride and we ended up in a somewhat upscale “g Hotel”. If you have any doubts about the existence of chimerical g-spot, you need to visit the club of this hotel.

Day 1 (We had Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner)

I have always been a heavy breakfast kind of guy. In fact, I have been known to gain a few lbs. of weight during breakfast. Breakfast in this hotel is one of the most elaborate. Even if I count the fresh fruit section as only one item, there were over thirty items in breakfast buffet, which ranged from western staple of donuts & muffins to common Malay fare of Roti canai and everything in between. There were six different kind of Juices, two of which were freshly squeezed right in front of you. Unlike American supermarkets, where uniformity takes precedence over taste, fresh fruit in Malaysia was nothing short of heaven. Steve and I attacked it (and pressed on the charge for next five days) with such ferocity that effects were observed in slightly increased standard deviation of Fruits futures prices on commodities exchange. Breakfast was priced at RM 25 (~ US $8) for hotel guests.

Btw, Malaysian currency RM stands for Ringgit Malaysia. Money does have a ring to it and did Malaysians decide to exercise subtle mirth by calling it Ringgit? No, actually the word Ringgit in Malay means “Jagged”, which refers to the serrated edges of Spanish silver dollar, which circulated in this region few centuries back. And as any Malaysian (or Americans for that matter) of moderate means will tell you, when it comes to money, it is more like “Wring It”.

In the afternoon, one of our hosts (Eng) decided to take us for lunch to a place called “Passions of Kerala”. Just like original Kerala, the food was served on environmentally friendly banana leaf and consumed with minimal cutlery. Traditional rice and spicy southern Indian fare served from a bucket, with fried okra on the side to satisfy your crunchy needs, all downed with a glass of mango Lassi. And yes, we were able to go back to work after this.

When it comes to dining, Steve and I belong to different schools of thought. I, being a vegetarian, belong to careful Herbivore, who opens a dialog with food with a simple question, “Is it OK if I eat you?” If I do not detect any expression of fear and protests, I proceed. Steve belongs to school of Cautionary Omnivore, who skips the introductory questionnaire with an instruction to himself, “I better eat it, unless it eats me first”.  

Two of our hosts (Boon-Ghee and Voon) told us that they are taking us to a seaside restaurant. Immediately, an American image of seaside restaurant conjured up but we were in for a surprise. Hai Boey (Literally Sea Tail or End of the sea in Hokkien dialect of Chinese language) seafood restaurant has that natural ambience, which is a thing of past in most of the countries. Located at southern coastline of the island, this place has very affordable great food served under large flat canopy structure open on two sides, tables thrown in at random, right at the beach with a priceless open view of the ocean and another small island visible in the distance, and sun just happened to be setting at that time. This is where Steve also discovered another truth: All rest rooms are not created equal.

Chefs were kind enough to make vegetarian noodles for me and then there was Beer. “Save an animal, Drink a Beer” has always been a guiding philosophy of my life.

Day 2 (The day Durian almost killed us)

Durian is a unique fruit found in southeast Asia. The outer shell of this fruit is protected by a battery of thorns, which was apparently developed by Durian genetic research labs to protect Durian clan from naughty Orangutans. The real claim to fame (or vice versa) for this fruit however is its odor. Many a human-reactions to its odor have been recorded. People who find it somewhat pleasant think of almonds. People who find it revolting think of a teenager’s gym socks. One way or other it is true that fruit is officially banned from many hotels and public transportation in some cities. The eatable part is a yellow creamy custard-ish flesh inside, which actually is quite filling though taste along with accompanying odor may test the range of your palette and other senses. On Friday evening, we were driven to a roadside Durian stand by one of the hosts (Jackie). And besides tasting, we were also given a short lecture. Durian 101 covered the harvesting and selection of Durian (apparently best ones are selected by squirrels), varieties of Durian, methodology of cracking Durian shells and proper durian eating etiquette e.g. eat just the flesh and not the seeds. It would have helped some of us, if they had covered the eating etiquette first!

About 30 minutes after Durian tasting, commences a phenomenon, which is bound to stay in one’s memory for rest of their lives, and perhaps even in afterlife too: Most "memorable" burps. Our solution to burps has always been beer, so we got it started. It started in the hotel lounge with a buy one, get one free happy hour deal, continued on through dinner at Bali Hai (Literally Sea of Bali, a seafood place with a motto: If it swims, we have it), moved on to hotel club and finally ended at a bar named Michaelangelo’s around midnight.

Where is the killing part in all this? Well, two days later at work, when our hosts learned of our Durian adventure, told us with aghast faces that Durian and alcoholic beverages are medically in-compatible and apparently deaths have occurred with their con-current consumption. Some people think that just the odor of Durian is enough to cause a death or two. One way or other, it is now confirmed that Steve and I are walking medical wonders with proud ownership of robust digestive systems. 

This was also the day, when our host (Hui-Ling) introduced us to, without argument, Penangites’ THE favorite dessert of Chen-dul. Chen-dul consist of green glutinous noodles (green color imparted by Pandan plant leaves), red kidney beans, coconut milk, shaved ice, all topped with gula maleka (palm syrup). The word Chendul comes from original word Cendol (pronounced Chen-dul), which is the word for key ingredient, green noodles. So one can say, Chen-dul is made from Chen-dul.

Day 3 (Over the Hill)

Nothing cures the previous night’s excesses better than a good hike next morning. At 6:30AM, our host (Wong), who had graciously agreed to be our hiking guide, picked us up and ten minutes later, we started our hike to Penang Hill from Moongate. Penang Hill hike passes through a lush dense forest and is about ~2200 ft. of altitude. On the way, one gets great panoramic views of Pulau Penang, mainland, Malacca strait & a 13 mile bridge connecting mainland and Pulau Pinang below. Some resting points are built along the hike, one of them with some weight lifting machines, just in case you feel like building muscles while hiking up. A leisurely hike takes about 3-4 hours. Trail is mostly wet and slippery with some steep but manageable sections, so bring shoes with good grip. Do not try to attempt this hike in your CROCS, as some dumb guy was seen doing it. Near the top of this hike, there is a Garden of Carnivorous Plants, however we skipped it because we were too hungry!

On the top of the hill, there is a beautiful serene old Mosque and an old Hindu temple, which exist in perfect harmony side by side, just as God intended, and bears testimony to Malaysian society’s diversity and tolerance.

We took the funicular rail down the hill, which takes only about 10 minutes to get down.

Our host Wong happens to be to an excellent food blogger in Penang (http://www.bestpenangfood.com), so he decided to introduce us to a sampling of Pinang’s hole in the wall places in the afternoon. We started with a small jam packed aromatic place, where a long line of people waited for, you guessed it, Chen-dul. In accordance with capitalism principles, one can cut the line here, if you ready to pay more. We ordered Rojak (Literally meaning Mixture in Malay), fish curry and of course, Chen-dul.

Rojak is a kind of fruit, dough fritters, bean curd salad heaped with peanuts and a thick sauce. Pregnant women love taste of Rojak. There is a popular folk-lore around Indonesia that if an Expectant lady’s verdict on Rojak taste is sweet, then it going to be a Girl and if verdict is spicy, then it is going to be boy…..Girls are sweet and Boys are spicy….go figure!

After this, we moved to a roadside joint, where a pair of well practiced hands (all fingers were intact) were dexterously hacking green coconuts with a machete for its delicious water and flesh. And from there we were brought to the Him Heang confectionery, which is renowned for its signature Tambun and other biscuits. The queue for Tambun is so long that it is better to order today and collect tomorrow.

For dinner time, we decided to visit the Little India area of Pinang. After downing a few Paulaners at a German pub, we explored the area which is declared UNESCO world heritage. The real attraction however around here is the interactive street art (combining real objects and drawn objects) by Lithuanian artist Ernest Zacharevic.

Little India is just like real India. Latest Malyalam music blaring at high decibel level and eager entrepreneurs ready to give you an irresistible deal on pirated DVDs. There are three kinds of shops here. Women’s jewelry, women’s clothes and Restaurants…..just like real India. Steve and I grabbed a prime out-door seating (roadside front of the restaurant) at Anand Bhavan and proceeded through the menu starting with appetizer (Vada Sambhar), intermediate (Cheese Naan, vegetarian accompaniments and Tandoori Chicken), final course (Plain dosa, Masala Dosa & Mutton Dosa) followed by dessert (Burfi and Boondi Laddoo). The bill rang at RM 30 (~US $10).

Day 4 (The Day God was proud of us….well, kind of)

This was the day we visited Buddhist Kek Lok Si Temple (literally Temple of supreme bliss in Hokkien dialect) located close to the middle of the island. Besotted by the eternal question “Does God look differently upon people who take a cab to the Temple compared to people who walk to it?”, we decided to err on the side of caution and walk six miles from our Hotel to the temple. It was a walk, which took us through most affluent sections of Penang (Mansions with 8 expensive cars parked in the front) to a tin-roofed houses of a common man. The humidity made us sweat approximately one bucket for every mile.

Kek Lok Si temple, though highly commercialized on lower levels, is a wonderful piece of traditional Chinese architecture built alongside a hill in ornate colors, which stand apart from its sorroundings. Construction started in 1890 and continues till this day around the 100 ft. statue of Kuan Yin (Goddess of Mercy), which comes from original Guanshiyin (Literally, observing the cries of the world).

After being reasonably sure that God was proud of us (just that day), we took a cab back! In a city full of cabs, what are the odds that the Cab driver who showed to pick us up from the Temple was same one who picked us up from the airport.

This night, we ate at famous hawker joints of green gurney drive. There are over hundred small stalls serving every possible tasty fare at cheapest possible price. And here I found a stall which makes mouthwatering asian dishes with a twist, they are all vegetarian. I had fried Tom Yam and Steve downed Laksa (a spicy prawn noodle soup)…..with some Tiger beer.

Day 5 (The day we wrapped up)

On one side, work was wrapping up and on the other side, the weighing machine in hotel room was indicating that there is something wrapping around my waist. We proceeded on to lunch at old town café and dinner at a pricey Indian restaurant Kashmir.

Day 6 (The day we couldn’t stop saying Thanks)

Our marvelous hosts had set up a whole new standard of hospitality. We were completely floored and we just couldn’t stop saying thanks.

As the plane lifted off the Pinang airport in the evening, I wistfully looked out of the window, and remembered the breathtaking landscape of this island. And among this landscape, resides Malaysia’s most important, most beautiful and most wonderful asset: It’s People.

Link to the Penang Pictorial Trip

Mounting Mount Shasta

With an utter disregard for advice and caution from gym trainers, medical community, insurance companies, well meaning family & friends and complete strangers, who have slammed on the brakes of their automobiles to offer us a ride home/nearest hospital, whenever they see us jogging (and I use the term jogging with a fairly wide interpretation of its meaning) on the sides of the road, Chris Awad and I continue to test the already seams-stretched boundaries of Clint Eastwood axiom: A Man has got to know his limitations!

Perhaps it was our famous learning disability or perhaps it was the power vested in me by that bottle of brand-less beverage I bought in India, we signed up for yet another Climb to Fight Breast Cancer.

PRE-PRE-PRE Climb
A profoundly philosophical internal dialog which took place in the wake of commitment already made.

Is it OK to ask for donations from the same donors, who donated generously the previous year?
Absolutely yes.

Is it OK to expect them to donate generously again?
Are you kidding me? Why shouldn’t I?

Is it OK if they start avoiding you?
They will never do that.

Is it OK to call them and remind them multiple times?
With kids and mortgages, they sure forget a lot. It is my solemn duty to remind them.

Is it OK to invoke HIS name in vain and make false promises in HIS name during fund-raising?
Of course yes. HE has forgiven me before for other minor and a few major infractions…..Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Would you be grateful?
If they only knew how much


PRE-PRE Climb
Seeds of doubt about the standards of education in the state of New Jersey were sown in my mind back in 2010. In 2011, these seeds sprouted into a healthy looking plant in the “Rain Forest” of Olympic National Park. And plant grew into a tree in the yards of California State Capitol Building in Sacramento this year. Folks, I admit that English is not my primary language (in fact it is a distant third) but just as the Rain Forest is the Forest where it rains a lot, “Show Oranges” are just for show and not for eating. Chris Awad knows exactly how Show Oranges taste and how quickly to spit them out before your palate becomes permanently infected.

PS:
If you happen to be ever in Sacramento, make sure to visit a farmer’s market. You have no idea how much fruit can be bought for just five bucks…..from pretty Latinas, who will let you practice your Spanish on them absolutely gratis.

PPS:
The Gobernator Arnold Schwarzenegger’s portrait is still not done for corridors of state capitol. They are waiting for his muscle mass to decrease just enough so that they can fit him into the same state mandated standard portrait frame, where Ronald Reagan almost fell out of, during the hanging. Apparently size does matter.

PRE-Climb
Scientists will tell you that alcohol is the worse dehydrator which should be avoided before any high altitude climb. And yet, the liberal attitude with which extra large libations are consumed at any pre-climb eve gatherings is just another testimony to the sheer determination with which these folks try to dispel all scientific myths, including gravity. And every now and then science wins and this time it just whooped me.

But we must treat this as a learning opportunity (for others). First lesson of course is that one must imbibe responsibly. And second and more important lesson is not to mix different varieties of alcohol. These lessons are especially important for young folks, who have often mentioned to me that they have come to look up to me as an elder brother. The fact that they are putting more emphasis on “Elder” rather than Brother hasn’t gone un-noticed either. Little do they know that time is as much their enemy as it is mine.

In all, there were nineteen Hutch climbers this year on Mount Shasta. Team Goat, Team PPB (Powerful Pink Bunnies) and Team C-4. Together, we had raised over $100,000 for Breast cancer research before getting to this point.

Climb: Day 1 (June 29th)
Waking up with a blurred memory of previous night’s events is never easy but someone has to do it. Gear check took place at a lazy pace, bags were packed and it was time to head to the bunny flat trailhead. Perhaps you would like to know what it feels like to see other climbers merrily hiking their way to camp one with their 40+ lbs. pack, while you trudge along nursing the after-effects of pre-climb excesses. But I am not going to tell you. I want you to learn from your own experience. System flushing continued with pure fresh Shasta water.

On humanitarian grounds, Chris and I had a tent which was pitched at a safe distance away from rest of our group (Monica, Dave, Bob, Jim). Bean burritos for dinner were yummy. Sleep came in just a few short spurts. Otherwise just toss and turns.

Distance Covered: ~2 miles, Elevation gained: 1000 ft., Altitude: 7900 ft.

Climb: Day 2 (June 30th)
A late wake up, pack up and eat up. Last use of real facilities and second part of climb began. It is always hard traversing the rocky path in climbing boots. I feel like Frankenstein (with looks to match). But soon we were in the avalanche gulch and felt nice to be on snow. Deep breaths, step rest routine and we began to feel like real climbers. We made it to the next camp site in decent time. All covered in snow with a view so beautiful that one can never get tired of it. Tents were pitched, snacks were consumed and it was time for snow school. Walk up, walk down, self-arrest. A little rest, an early dinner of macaroni and cheese and it was time to hit the sack for next day starts at 2:00 AM.

Distance Covered: ~1.5 miles, Elevation gained: 1500 ft., Altitude: 9500 ft.

Climb: Day 3 (Summit Day, July 1st)
Guides came to wake us up at 2:00 AM but we were already awake. Infact, I did not sleep at all. Sleep or no sleep, it was time to get ready. It was really cold out there. A quick deposit in the brown bag, get dressed, put on harness, helmet and head lamp. Shove down the oatmeal, gulp down tea. Backpack felt so light now with just few essentials. At 3:00 AM in the morning, lamps on, poles in hand and it was time to go and climb a mountain.

Early morning hours on the steep slope, a mixture of rain, frozen rain and snow flakes came down. Wind made a few howling runs but we were told that it was just a squall. Everything calmed down when sun came up. It was a beautiful sight with multiple climbing teams making their way up to the Red banks. Crampons had to be taken out at close 11000 ft. and then came the rope. After Red banks, came the Short hill, which is not short at all. Infact, it was reasonably steep and about 1000 ft. of elevation. Then came the Misery hill. All the miserable jokes were told while climbing Misery hill (Q: How many Democrats are needed to screw a light bulb? A: Only one. Bill Clinton. He can screw everything including a light bulb). And then summit came into view and we got the first rush of success within reach. The view from this spot was incredibly beautiful. On the way to summit, there are small hot springs where John Muir once stopped by. Pervasive smell of H2S made Chris really confused and guilty conscious….”Not me, Not me man, Not this time” was uttered a few times. Another 250 ft. of elevation gain and we were home. The beauty of vistas from the top of Mount Shasta can not be described in words. If you ever develop an ability to step out of an airplane in mid-air and walk around, you might see something similar. It was about 11:00 AM. After basking in glory for some time, it was time to head down to base camp, pack up and head back to trail-head. It was a long day.

Distance Covered: ~7.5 miles, Elevation gained: 4700 ft., Elevation Lost: 7200 ft.


Conclusivo
In the end, all this is about people. People who gave us life. People who nurtured us. People who taught us how to wade through this maze called the world. People who influenced us. People we met at random in a strange country. People who made us laugh, when just a smile would have done it. People who are still here and people who will continue to look at me from their heavenly abodes with a raised eyebrow, until time comes for me to depart and take up my assigned duties outside the boundary walls of heaven.

And talking about people, I can’t help but be thankful to wonderful guides of Team C-4. One guide came in a large frame with a carefully concealed southern accent brought out at crucial moments. The other came in a compact, intelligent and comely package with a self-deprecating sense of humor (Q: What is the difference between mountain guide and saving bond certificate? A: Savings bond certificate eventually matures and becomes useful). It was no surprise that I had to finally learn the proper use of my large Butt from a woman, when glissading down 2500 ft. I was misguided but all I needed was a little Miss-guidance. And as if these lessons of such humility weren’t enough, our guides brought another quasi-guide, an extremely charming denizen of an always humble, hockey playing neighbor from north of the border.

On these adventures, there comes a time when your body’s fuel gauge seems to be at E and it seems that there is just enough left to take perhaps one more step. In such times, some people breathe in thin air and go another mile and redefine the meaning of will power. On Mount Shasta, I have had the privilege of huffing and puffing along with more than a few such uber-extraordinary people.

Click here to enjoy the pictorial trip.

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?”