One got left behind, or did he??

“This is my dream, this is my nightmare,” said the guide who took us camping to the Black and White desert in Egypt. Mine was a 9 day visit to the land of Pharaohs in the month of April, when my Bhaiya and Bhabhi called me to Cairo. I travelled via Nairobi and landed at the Cairo airport in the night. Two of my Brother’s friends were joining us from US of A and then the 3 of us were to proceed to Luxar. The mysticism wrapped pyramids and sphinxes open their arms wide to welcome us in Giza. The sheer magnitude of the structures makes me understand why it is called a wonder of the world. Enthralled by the magnificence and captivated by the sense of smallness I travelled through the sand and got lost in the history. The tales of the Pharaohs, their wars and primarily their belief in the afterlife and all the paraphernalia created around it which pretty much is THE MYSTIC of AGYPTEN. Fascinated as I always was with the splendour this kingdom once was I got drawn in tooth, nail and hair into it all. The visit of Citadel which remains till dare as a reminder of all the invasions Egypt has seen and all the conquerors trying to establish their supremacy.

But at the end of it all the most poignant experience that remained with me was that of Rashid, our guide at the camp in Black and White desert. It is called so because the sea once extended well inside what is today mainland of Egypt. There were under water volcanoes that erupted and resulted in mountains of black stones and limestone. The sea retreated leaving behind these mountains and stones. Rashid remained with us once we reached the village nearest to the campsite. Scruffily dressed in half sleeve shirt, Jeans and a sleeveless camping jacket he appeared a contradiction from the beginning, more out of place than anyone else around and still more in tune with his surroundings than even the palm trees. He remained quite for most part of the trip speaking only when spoken to. After remaining quite for most part myself, trying to soak in all, I settled next to his fire illuminated face in the night and asked him his story.

After a little probing I discovered that he has an engineering degree from the top most college in Egypt and after working for six month returned back to his village. He said he could not take the moronic and fast paced life of Cairo. He came back to his village as he could not think of life without it. After a point he started working as a camp guide to earn some money. “There is not enough of it, but I like staying in the desert, sitting in the sand. This is my dream, this is my nightmare.” With the campfire illuminating his bearded face, pale brown eyes catching the fire dance, smoke of cigarette escaping his tobacco stained mouth, he looked more content than even the Dalai Lama. He touched a chord in my heart which pulls me now to go back to Egypt again and experience it all over again.

PMji ki Amethi

I am travelling like the wind god, Pavan, through the deforested terrains of U.P. Taking the Janata Express from Benares to Ramanagar, the aim is to travel to tiger country. I am as ill equipped as they come, grossly misjudging the weather, the National Park and the train journey itself. I intended to take trains throughout this trip as a means to tear through and introspect. I am constantly reminded of Mr. M.K. Gandhi's train journey before he chose to resume his political career in India. Small grain of salt, though I am, I challenge none around and only myself to carry on unfettered and package home a wider understanding of life itself. Some would argue that life was right where I left it on 2nd Nov but there is no harm in evolving or looking out the window, at the terrain de-evolving.

The train has picked up and started rolling its ball bearings at 11.55 from Benares and in the typical frustration that plagues Indian Railway's patrons I was unable to find my coach to begin with. Nothing is marked and no official about to guide. In the typical Babudom drudgery of India one of them responds "arre kissi mein bhi baith jaiye na." “Just grab a seat in any one of the coaches. When the TC comes he will direct you to your seat.” Hissing loudly, I storm out of the baggage coach and decide to stroll till the end of the platform and Eureka I find S-8 at the fag end of the train loudly proclaiming the reservation chart with my name on it. I climb aboard and find my berth. Prostrating on it I vent my anger and then snooze for a bit. Waking up I find the train tearing through the Ganga basin and one of the most fertile regions in India. Not much has changed. For those who can afford it, the mud houses have changed to brick ones and nothing around has evolved in terms of infrastructure.

I wonder if these people don't have voting rights or if they choose their representatives for promises of simple things like electricity and road which seems absent all around. The train stops at the famed Amethi railway station. I look in amazement and disbelief at a small and insignificant looking village, which but for its name would have gone unnoticed. The Lok Sabha constituency has voted in 3 Prime Ministers, if you include Sonia Gandhi the ruling party's leader as one. I smile wryly, shrug off my disbelief and think if only they were remotely interested in public welfare.