We were put up 15 kms from Srinagar in the military camp at Sharifabad. The camp consisted of flat, table top, structures that were covered with thin asbestos sheets; so that the merest drizzle of rain, would clatter overhead like a band of monkeys, drunk on berry juice.

The closest village was an hour’s drive away and could be seen through the bathroom window of our ‘barracks.’ Faraway houses glistened balefully in the mild sunshine, like flat pancakes glowing on a warm fire. When the weather turned cold, the pancakes turned into white dough biscuits with the snow falling like icing sugar evenly over the tray.

Yet, a formidable adversary lurked beneath the sugar-cookie exterior. An adversary with terrorist sponsorship and fanatic aim of purpose.
In the opposite camp we heard of death very often; it was always someone young and cheerful, someone we had just met the other day. Although disturbing at first, this sort of news soon became commonplace. I learned not to let it affect me. I learned moreover to enjoy the beauty of the valley. A treasured, stolen pleasure; bought with the blood of the soldier who died everyday to keep the ‘peace.’ Like ice cream that must be devoured before it melts.

The valley was that ice cream in 1998. We went about feverishly in our vehicle; taking in Lal Bagh, Badami Bagh, Gulmargh and Dal Lake, each within the threshold limit of five minutes. (That’s how long insurgents took to group into attack posses) As soon as we got off the jeep, the QRT would circle us, hands on weapons, alert as snakes. The serene calm of the Dal was hastily stored in memory to be feasted on at a less dangerous time. The whizzing blur of Lal Bagh was painstakingly re-picked and put to order back at camp and the chubby, red cheeks of Kashmiri children, who stood by the road, collecting mushrooms, committed to mental snaps of murky resolution that remain murky till date.

The only ‘legitimate’ leisure activity was wandering about in the camp apple orchard. Every afternoon, prior to lunch, we would swim through the light brown paths around the trees and take in the sweet smelling blooms overhead. There is nothing more peaceful than the sight of the sun shining through green leaves. Even when the sounds of gunfire broke the silence of reverie, the yellow and green above our heads, put the universe back into orbit.

They were both rascals. The one Black and eager, the other White and weathered. They spend their time potting around the rubber plantation searching for wild fowl and generally kicking up a row when a cow wandered into the property.
One day, Black and White decided to mosey on beyond the broad purpose of things. They stepped onto the dirt track leading through the waving, green, trees and kicked their feet till they reached a ‘petti kada.’ Here they sat about waiting to be fed biscuits and tea before continuing with their daring exploit.
In the meantime, things at the plantation had warmed up. The planter was informed that roughly 20 cows had broken the fencing surrounding the estate and entered the unprotected area. He muttered something foul and hauled an air rifle from the rack. Black and White were in mortal danger from the home front although blissfully unaware of the swiftly approaching "end."
They were ambling along, tummies filled, heads held high, into the brave new world: till the sound of a familiar engine filled the air behind them. Their carefree, jaunty trots froze into panic stricken stumbles and the winning looks that they had newly worn, paled into masks of crushed defeat.
An hour later, properly chastised, they were locked up in their kennels with no distinct prospect of release in the near future. The next day they were back on the job terrorizing squirrels and hounding the cows.

Confessions of a 'Lord of the Rings' aficionado.

A visual treat, a cinematic monstor, a veritable masterpiece, the turning point in the history of animation, a Colossus in the world of moviedom.
The third film is splendidly supreme, supremely sublime and sublimely engaging.
It is one of the most visually vibrant films to come out of Hollywood in a long time. The construction of landscape is at once breathtaking beautiful and painstakingly detailed. The war sequences explode with action and burst with technology.
Apart from the movie itself, if you want to see a grown audience behave like a bunch of schoolkids on vacation (or a paid sitcom audience) go watch ' Lord of the Rings, Return of the King.' There's almost as much action in the hall as there is on screen; what with the galleries clapping their hands in a frenzy (when Legolas fells an oliphaunt) and the stalls whistling their heads off (when Aragorn pulls out his sword)
This sort of empathy from a largely 'uninitiated' audience is probably due to the fact that there is no conflict of interests in the movie even though the plot is complicated and the canvas, vast. The bad guys look like scum and behave like scumbags. The good guys look impressive, beautiful or cute and behave with the utmost magnificence. Its all very simple really; it's the putting-together that is altogether unputtdownable.

hand in the cookie jar
hand in the apple cart
hand in the fodder scam

rap on the knuckles
rap on the front door
wrap on the handcuffs.

Random lizard hit me in the shins when he said i shouldn't do poetry. He says i'm more of an essay writer. So i'm essaying an essay in the hope that random lizard wont rip apart my other literary pretensions anymore.

This happened when my mother was duty mo in the military hospital in Pathankot 15 years ago. An old lady, the mother of a 'Dogra' jawan came to the mi room with complaints of a sore throat and body pains. M wrote out the usual prescription and asked her to collect the drug from the compounder, which she did, but returned the next week complaining of the same symptoms.
M was intrigued. This seemed to be a particularily persistant strain of the virus in question. She went over the course of treatment again with the woman and it turned out the old lady had taken the entire course of antibiotics that very same night the previous week. When m tried to explain that medicine had to be taken in doses, the lady remained adament. Why bother with timing when one could do the thing at a go?
Later m found out that the majority of her patients were in the habit of doing the same thing. So she arranged with the compounder to only give them daily dosages for the term of their treatment.
she is very suprised noone has died on her till date.
In the family we're just very grateful.