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?”

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.