Passage of Time

And just like that, fall season is over. It was like an Indian wedding. Nature bursting with bright colors, and visual feast lasted almost a week, like an Indian wedding. Nature and humans absorb from each other and pretty soon start reflecting each other. That is why perhaps, residents of Republica de California, where weather never changes, do everything to stem the passage of time with a little help from Botox infusions and surgical enhancements. City of Los Angeles may not have natural beauty, but it sure has lot of man made beauty, if you know what I mean ! 

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring again. A time be born and learn, a time to grow and be fruitful, a time to slow down and colorfully wither away, a time to stop and depart & a time to be reborn. Or if you prefer an analogy from animal kingdom , time to enjoy like naughty monkey, time to work like an overloaded donkey, time to bark like a bite-less dog & time to stare like a toothless hog.  And someone please cancel that re-birth program....too expensive ! 

There is an inexplicable joy and comfort in experiencing all the seasons. Every change opens a small window and lets one witness the phenomenon of Passage of Time. The person in the mirror reminds us of the passage of time too, arguably more so for the fairer gender than "los hombres". But the act doesn't bring much joy.  In this electronic age, where every instant is recorded with enough gratification to fill any gap in between, passage of time has become dimensionally diminutive . We read the teabag wisdom, which exhorts us to stop, smell the flowers, enjoy the season. And then we wring the extra tea out, discard the teabag and go back to our desks....witness passage of time....got no time to spare. Perhaps time passes, perhaps it doesn't but we all sure will pass. Time is the greatest teacher, but we sure make one sorry group of student body. Some worse than others, but none living up to the expectations of this great teacher. No wonder, that The greatest teacher has killed each and every one of its pupils.

Physicists are the arguably the only group of people who believe that they can see the passage of time. But trust a physicist to bring the unaesthetic language to describe the phenomenon........Big Bang is best they came up with, which is better than space-time continuum. They came up with a catchy "Light years", but dietitians started using it as euphemism for the yester-years of their clients. Theoretically Einstein-ian time is bendable. My famous experiment of "Treadmill running" proved that time does indeed slows down considerably when speed increases, but alas! In real life, it is the newton-ian principle of gravity which comes alive with passage of time. Stand in the front of the mirror and person opposite you will remind you of gravitational pull, and once again the fairer gender is more prone to scientific shock. As my friend's father, senior senor Ortiz says," be warned!  First the hair turn grey, and then they turn loose". And just when the follicle shedding is about to make the Newtonian principle come alive, they get stuck to your back and Darwin's theories don't seem like theories anymore.

Since time immemorable, passage of time has been on our minds and in our words. Some times, time hangs heavy on hands and sometimes Passage of time becomes a race against time. We teach young ones to put their pants on, one leg at a time. Benjamin franklin told us that Time is money but I know of no one, who has been able to make withdrawl from this ATM. Unfortunate delinquents of the society do time, many return for another time. Delinquents of wall street who avoid time, can take note because attorney general assures us that it is just a matter of time. Does the Time rejoices every friday evening and look forward to beer pressure? Concept of months was invented by a research grant from Julius Caesar, who was probably trying to impress a lady with funny hat ,"Hey, Can I see you in July? btw, July is named after me...Julius, July.....just letting you know". We ring bells on arrival of a new year to remind us that we are living on borrowed time.

What is your favorite time?

"Breakfast time, Lunchtime and dinnertime"

"Do you have the time?"

No sir, I wasted mine before you did.

"If you waste time, then doth time wastes you - W. Shakespeare"

You are right Sheikh Pir. That is why I stopped reading classics and concentrated on math and science.

"Qué pocos días son necesarios para que pase un siglo - Bram Stoker"

(How few days it takes to pass a century)

These are profound words from Dracula. Can't mess around with him.

"And then there is a concept called Daylight Savings Time".

Can the daylight be saved? "No, unless you can run faster than speed of light", a physicist will argue. At one time DST provided temporary employment to clock re-setters and now a temporary nuisance to general populace. Legal minds at ACLU take note that with this dubious premise, government is clearly infringing on our personal liberties by forcing many of us to reschedule our hour of bowel movement....liberty can't be any more personal. It is said that concept of Daylight Saving Time when once explained to an old native Indian, he replied "Only a white man would believe that you could cut a foot off the top off a blanket and sew it to the bottom of a blanket and have a longer blanket".

My first rumination about passage of time started with a conversation with my grandmother many years back, when I found that she didn't know how to read the time on the wall clock. For her, tick-tock of clock held no more meaning then a dull lullaby, inducing siesta at pre-determined time. Passage of time was simple, and perhaps key to her longevity. Sun is rising, sun is up, sun is down is all she needed to know to get through the day. Lunar calendar is what was needed for monthly scale, just to remember the religious events. And after the seasonal divisions, things got a little complicated on the annual scale. Folks from my grandmother's generation divided the passage of time by events. They could recall the birth of certain child relative to the year, when brown buffalo had a calf and milk was plenty, or the year of the great floods (which by the way, happened often), or in rare moments of sadness, the year the country was divided, the year of Partition. 

 With concept of mortality eventually beginning to dawn upon me, Passage of time is no more that seemingly infinite series of fleeting moments. There are times now when I wish that fleeting moments would slow down, slow down just a little bit. And then, just like that, fall season is over.

Tall Tales from Mt. Adams

Reaching the Summit is optional, Getting down is mandatory - Edmund Viesturs

Our caliber (or lack thereof) in physical activities have always conformed to good old Clint Eastwood axiom : A man has got to know his limitations. Only reason Edmund Viesturs appears up here because my well wishing friends, who never miss a chance to drop hints, presented me with this book called "English Writing for Dummies". As the book tells dummies, and I quote, "Open with a quote, and end with a Quote". Strange thing is that all three copies of book I have received say the same thing.....what a co-incidence !

It was that time of the year again. Time, when some of us let the members of fairer gender know, "I am doing this to raise money for Breast Cancer Research.......and when it comes to shopping, I still BEG to differ".

Begging : An art, which dogs and men have been trying to perfect since Adam asked Eve out.

This year, our team had picked beautiful Mt. Adams on the southern end of Washington, as our symbolic fight in the Climb to Fight Breast Cancer. It was also going to a sort of re-union of the old Mt. Olympus crew.......Your Honor Marybeth Dingledy, David "mangler" Kendall, Jeff Hazeltine, Steve Bley & and last but not the least, soon to be domesticated animal Chris Awad, who after benefiting from our valuable advice on various methodologies on "How to Propose" in previous years, was now planning on some continuing education in the area of animal husband(ry).....A high altitude Bachelor Party !

We were also joined by Chris, Chris and Kris. Yes, there were four people with acoustically indistinguishable nomenclature on this climb. For Chris' sake, why can't parents name their kids something unique....like Satnam. And one of these, Kris, happened to be very charming intellectual Kristina. What is this american obsession with shortening perfect names?

No Smooth Sailing this year !....
There were signs that it is not going to be smooth sailing this year. First, I tore my soleus and calf muscles (bending down and reaching for that dropped glazed doughnut is not a good idea at this age) which severely abbreviated my training routine. And then, the flight to Seattle was marked with a four hour delay, two of which were spent inside the plane sitting on the tarmac. Steve was kind enough to come around again for pick up. Chris Awad and I have been beginning to be known as Steve's annual friends. One friend who looks a like a terrorist, and the other who talks like one. Mrs. Bley makes great food, as always, and we have been known to attack food and wine supply lines with some Italian+Indian gusto.

Drive to Trout Lake....
Trout lake is a small place, where we had decided to spend the night before the climb. Drive from Seattle is scenic I-5, as always and it turns even more scenic as one turns on hwy. 84 along the Columbia river, which divides Washington from Oregon. The Oregon side of the drive is lined with many waterfalls. I highly recommend stopping, even if for a few minutes at Multnomah Falls. And Hood river, OR is where the team got together for some usual pre-climb libations at a place called Everybody's Brewing. Libations continued well into the night at Trout Lake inn.

Did I say, there was to be no smooth sailing!....
After a latish start to gear check and the nearby ranger's station, we were told by the guides (Mark, Sondra & Cliff) that trail head to our chosen route (glacier route as opposed to much trampled south spur route) is good 45 minutes drive on a reservation. After negotiating the dusty road for about 45 minutes, suddenly the caravan stopped. One of the guides in leading car came out and informed us that we have to turn around and we are on the wrong road for 45 minutes.....another sign that there was to be no smooth sailing this year!

He claimed that Guides are pretty solid on finding directions on the mountain but their record is mixed on the roads. I am sure that this timely interruption was perhaps brought around by the Lady guide Sondra. As you know, we have all been there.....Man driving the vehicle, misses the right exit and ends up in a different State or Canada.....and a woman sitting next to him with a frown of the size of minor moons of Jupiter.

Finally we reached the correct trail head, put on backpacks and were on our way. Initial part of the trail passes through a forest, which got burned in a forest fire recently.....nature's fury. We were chugging along but due to late start, things were not looking well. Guides decided that pace is a little below par and decided to take a direct short-cut by whacking our way through the short brush. We followed and some two hours later, ended up in a large gulch, with snow on the base, but lined with over 20 ft. of almost straight scree on both sides. Apparently, this gulch is usually snow-filled to the brim and crossing it is a child's play but not that day........another sign that there was to be no smooth sailing this year! After finding a part of the scree, which seemed negotiable on one side without rope and with rope on the other side, everyone crossed over and we made to the base camp by almost seven.

We are Pro-Choice but....
As we found the place to set up the tents, there arose a Choice issue. I will go on the record here to let women know that I have always been, and always will be a Pro-Choice person. With all the tents being three person tents, Kristina, the charming intellectual, had to make a choice...who to tent with. Chris Awad & I or other Chris & Chris. She chose latter and we sought from Kristina, what in corporate lingo is called, self-improvement feedback. Apparently, the underlying reason for her choice was an information of un-sound quality, she had received in Seattle....our reputation for flatulence ! I will admit that Chris and I have a certain predilection for excessive off-color mirth, but flatulence?.....a cathartic Joy, which God in his medical wisdom, distributed equally to both genders, but empowered only one to admit to exercising the blessing with regularity.

Ladies, I will go on the record here once again. If you are looking for a flatulence-less man, then your only option is to pray hard for significant advances in Genetic Engineering. Short of that, all other temporary options you have, involve use of a wine bottle cork.....& I will not delve into that subject for it opens a whole new passageway to a new chapter of off-color mirth.

Kristina's choice meant that our good friend Steve Bley was tenting with us and with three amigos, it meant un-restricted flatulence complemented by a complete linguistic liberty. As the forefathers said through US constitution : All men..........in pursuit of flatulence, liberty and resulting happiness.

It was a wind-wind situation...
Flatulence inside aside, night wind outside was also howling and fluttering sound of tent fly was really loud but we got some sleep. In the morning, when guides came to wake us up, we noticed that all our sleeping bags and other stuff were covered with thin layer of dirt. And that is when we asked each other with gentlemanly politeness :

" Who the &%$# went out to take a #$%^&* leak last night and forgot to zip up the #$%^&* side? What the &%$# ? "

And a check revealed that everything was in order. Nothing wrong with side zip. The fine dust, which happened to be in the air, apparently was getting through the vents of tent. Which explained why the food was tasting pretty gritty !

After breakfast, Snow school was in first item of order on second day. Guides believed that instead of preparing you for self-arrest, better to train you so that you never get to self-arrest situation. Snow school was a lot more elaborate than anything I have done in the past and I personally thought it was pretty good. After snow school, rope teams were divided, and we geared up (with crampons) and in spite of weather forecast and picking winds, it was decided to give summit a shot.

A matter of Degree...
Somewhat gentle slope turned soon into a relent-less 40 degree slope, and the real climb was on. It didn't matter how much distance we covered, every time I looked up, the destination seemed to be at the same distance as before. And we were looking up pretty often because every now and then a loose rock will come hurling down the slope. Safety rule for loose rock hurling down is to stop and watch. Most of the time it will be on a different trajectory, like an adjacent railway line, but every now and then we found ourselves on the same track as the train is. Guess what, we had to move.

As we got higher, wind picked up and even though it was manageable, but every now and then a wind gust of 40+ miles/hours would come through. And many a times it brought lot frozen moisture with hitting like little stones. We hunkered down with ice axes dug in. Guides started worrying about the situation as it was beginning to get unsafe and could get worse at higher altitudes. We were still a good 1500 ft. below the summit, when we decided to call it off and return to base camp.

Due to lose rock situation, turning back is not so simple as no one is watching the falling rock. So belay device was put on we were lowered down backwards about 400 ft. before it was decided to climb down normally. During the climb down, a hurling down loose rock came too close for comfort twice. One of them, which seemingly came out of nowhere as it came diagonally was big and spine-shattering scary.

Looking forward to a drink.....
Once outside the danger zone, we stopped by to take some pictures and Your Honor told me that she is looking forward to be at base camp and have a drink. She had packed some Bourbon with her. And I, ever the gentleman, told her and she doesn't have to wait till the base camp. I was carrying my stock of Scotch in my back pack for I had planned an intoxicating celebration for the summit !

Now I don't want to say that people of this team were carrying a lot of alcohol but I think there was enough for a small Bachelor party. Here is the synopsis

Person #1 : Bourbon
Person #2 : Scotch (Johnie Walker double black)
Person #3 : Bourbon (High end brand)
Person #4 : Single malt Scotch
Person #5 : Bourbon
Person #6 : God bless this guy because not often, someone carries a six pack of Beer

What happened to the Animal Husband(ry).....
I can let all the gory details out but this is a respectable blog, which is meant to be read aloud to young children of impressionable minds, distinguished guests and lady friends on Friday evenings. Let me just say that consumption of alcohol was accompanied by a very nice looking blow up Sheep..........I am sure you get the idea.

And in the end......a quote....
On last day, we all got down the mountain to a much needed shower and then began our personal wine and beer fest in Hood River, OR. Strange stories from the past and laughter rising from the bottom of the soul.

On the day of judgment, this blog will be used against me to justify what has already been decided and just waiting to be pronounced. I hope that some leniency will be exercised on the grounds that I am personally documenting the truthful evidence ! Here is A link to the Climb Pictures



There are a few reasons why we do this. Primary reason is that we want to raise money for breast cancer research. Second reason is that we want to spend time climbing a mountain with people, whose company we really enjoy. And after that, if we can reach the summit some times, then that is good too. - Steve Bley

Me Talk Sweet Today

Some people eat to live and some live to eat. We Punjabi folks have often been relegated to the latter, and for a good reason. Every city in Punjab has its claim to a niche product in category of snacks and sweets. Hoshiarpur has its Samose wala, Phagwara has its Gajrele wala, and Jalandhar has its Cheese-Chili wala. If gluttony is a sin then try committing the sin ( and ask immediately for forgiveness) in holy city of Amritsar, whose claim to fame in edible category is for certain perishable goods….and they perish very fast, when my brother is in town. Some of these Vendors are a hole in the wall places and some a little bigger but almost none elaborate. No wonder that one invariably needs a local connoisseur to guide you to such places.

Every product is designed to hit very specific nodes on your taste buds with precision of a laser guided missile. And I should know, for I come from a family where at least four generations have been known to pride themselves on their fondness and prolific consumption of snacks and sweets, especially the latter. My grandmother, may god rest her soul, once requested my father that even though she intends to depart this world abruptly, but in case God wills to keep her on this earth in an unconscious state for some time then make sure not to hold back the sweets from her diet. And my father like a duty bound son, promised solemnly that if situation ever calls for it, he will puree her favorite sweets and add them directly to the I-V line. And why not? Before we decided to suspend his driving privileges on grounds of public safety, my father used to ride his scooter over an hour to an obscure place to get ਬੇਸੱਣ (Besan). Our tastes in Besan have differed but he claims that this particular one brought him many kilos of joy.

My brother and I happen to be chips off the old block. The thing is woven into our DNA, which incidentally also explains the double Helix structure around our waists. Scientific principle is much clearly illustrated by my brother though. We have been known to skip the service at the Temple to explore and pay obeisance to these chapels of gastronomic nirvana. And this December, I was told of ਬਿਰਜੂ ਬਰਫੀਵਾਲਾ (Birju Burfi-wala) in town of ਗੌਰਾਇਆ (Goraya).

Ladies and Gentlemen, there is Burfi and then there is Burfi of Birju Burfi-wala. Birju apparently started making Burfi in 1952, so he had a good half a century to perfect the recipe and perfection in simplistic form is what he has done. In this modern era of flashy commercialization, where vendors treat Burfi as nothing but another sugar delivery device, trying to fool our overloaded senses with an odor of cardamom, a silver foil and unscrupulous use of milk powder, this Burfi is in a class of its own for simplicity and taste. Milk thickened over slow heat to the right point, and just the right amount of sugar. A good Burfi is not to be chewed. Just take a bite and keep it there to let the outer layers melt and fill the nooks and crannies of your palate, before letting the inner ਖੋਆ (Khoa) crumble with a minor implosion.

Today I am having the last piece from the box of Burfi, which I brought back. To the multitude of reasons to visit India, I have just added another few sweet Kilos more.