THE WRITER'S CURSE-- AND BLESSING.

[This piece was published in the TRIBUNE on 27.07.2025 with some minor editing.] 

It's a tough time to be a writer or wannabe author in India these days. If you write against the government you are likely to be stripped of your citizenship, and if you support it you'll be in Arnab Goswami's B team, or sharing a room with Sambit Patra in Gujarat Bhavan.. Or , even worse, you could end up like Ms Tavleen Singh whose sacerdotal efforts at the altar of the presiding deity of Indian politics didn't pay off- her son lost his citizenship anyway. So what is one to do? The safest course, I feel, is to do a Chetan Bhagat and write only about " The Girl in Room 105" or  pen motivational stuff with misleading titillating titles, like that other bestseller "The Subtle Art of not giving a "F--k." You will, of course, find neither the girl nor the "f--k" but your persistence in trying to do so till the last page will ensure that a couple more million copies of the books will fly off the shelves, quicker than you can say Man Force. 

   The other problem I've encountered is this: what does one write about ? History is a prohibited zone, because the RSS and Mr. Dinanath Batra have already started re-writing it, with novel inputs provided by the Supreme Court, no less, in some of its judgements. Mythology is no longer available as Mr. Amish Tripathi has already mined this seam till there is nothing left to explore there but the question: was the live feed of the battle of Kurukshetra conveyed to Dhritrashtra via Netflix or Amazon Prime or Hulu? Sardar jokes are a no-go area, like the area around Parliament Bhavan, as those poor chaps from JNU found out a couple of years back; the mountains have been denuded of all their tales by Ruskin Bond; the British era has been subjected to repeated biopsies by Shashi Tharoor and William Dalrymple; nobody reads about sports these days because everyone is hooked on to biopics; romance is nowadays confined to Twitter and Instagram and has to be compressed into 140 words: who has time for a novel? War books are unlikely because even though Messers Modi and General Munir both threaten it nobody is actually pressing that blue button anytime soon. Moreover, no two Indian generals can ever agree on whether we won or lost a war, including Haldighati. One potentially promising area is memoirs by bureaucrats, and quite a few are now rushing to the printers, having suddenly remembered their stellar contributions in pushing us onto a 8% growth path. But they are bogged down with their training, confusing "penal" with "penile" ( as in the Indian Penile Code), conclude each chapter with " submitted for approval, please" out of sheer habit, and think that "analogy" is the study of assholes. Their tomes do seem to bear out the unkind observation of Christopher Hitchins that everybody does have a book in them, but in most cases that's where it should stay!

   Why do chaps persist with writing, given the hardships involved? You just have to attend every literary festival to be noticed, which is pretty tough considering that they have now started organising them even in dumps like Jhumri Tilaiya and Kotkapura where the infant mortality rates are probably higher than the literacy rates. Nobody there will recognize you anyway because they are too busy either drooling over Shashi Tharoor and "Pyjamas" Dimple Kapadia or shouting slogans against Salman Rushdie. You'll never make it to any best seller list because of Amish Tripathi: he's the BJP of the Indian literary universe with an almost two-thirds stranglehold. What is the Competition Commission doing, and why is he not being hauled up for monopolistic practices, or at least for forming a cartel with Chetan Bhagat who takes up most of the remaining slots? Both should be banned from writing for at least three years so the rest of us can keep the wolves, if not the cows, from our doors.

   Ruskin Bond once said that India has more writers than readers, which explains why the publishers act like capos. Influenced by our TV channels, they insist on the seamier stuff. One guy in Daryaganj I submitted a proposal to did to my manuscript what dogs down the ages have been doing to lamp posts, and then advised me instead to write a kiss-and-tell book about politicians I have worked with, replete ( he suggested with a wink) awards of dubious contracts, girls in rooms other than just 105, booth capturing techniques (this was before the age of the EVM which has rendered all previous practices obsolete) and other such staples of governance. It would, he assured me, sell like   "Hot Kates"- I presume he meant  hot cakes but I'm not sure: maybe he wanted a hot Kate in there between the pages if not the sheets. It appears that my books are as popular as ice cubes in the North pole: the royalty cheques I receive once a year look like Yogi Adithyanath's compensation cheques for UP's farmers, rarely exceeding double digits. Sometimes I wonder, did they even print the books ?

   But maybe I'm being too harsh on them, going by my own family and friends. Now, I have a fairly large extended family, even if I were to discount the guys who are either in judicial custody or have

 jumped bail, and they can also read though writing requires more effort. Members of my social circle are more law abiding and some of them even pay their taxes. But very few of them want to buy my books- they expect them to be dished out as gifts, never mind that it's nobody's birthday or wedding anniversary! I guess it's the effect of this new Amazon/ Swiggy culture of getting every thing at discounted prices or totally free, and I should be happy that nobody is demanding "cashbacks" ! But really, I don't mind giving them away- nobody's buying them anyway- but then I rarely get any feedback either. Nobody tells me whether they liked the book or used it as printed toilet paper. Except, of course, from the good wife who is never lacking an opinion or the urge to express it. I asked her about my last book and Neerja replied:
 " Uh, you really want to know?"
 " Sure," I replied cheerily, though not very truthfully, " I've always valued your advice."

 " OK, then, two comments: one, there are far too many conjunctions."

 " What's wrong with that?" I queried, "the idea is to stitch the story together. Conjunctions are good."

 " Nope, the road to Hell is paved with good conjunctions."

 I digested this Sadhguru type statement: " What's your second observation?" I asked, hoping for a more positive review this time. I was about to be disappointed.

 " Your style belongs to the coitus interruptus school of writing," she intoned.

 " Huh? What exactly is that supposed to mean?" I shouted.

 She was calmness itself, like a school teacher talking to a naughty child.

 " See," she explained," you use too many punctuation marks, especially the exclamation mark. It disrupts your rhythm, interrupts the flow, and delays the gland- sorry, I meant grand- finale."

    I'm still trying to figure that one out. Was she talking about my writing style, or did she have something else in mind? You never know with women ! ( Sorry for that exclamation mark).
   So why do I keep writing stuff that no one reads and not seek reemployment as an Advisor to the Minister for Open Defecation Free Himachal? Well, its partly because my net-working skills resemble those of Obelisk, and partly because the queue of retired Chief Secretaries lined up for the job is longer than the line outside the Moolchand metro's Sulab Sauchalaya, but mainly because , as some wise man once said: You are what you write. He was spot on, you know: writing bilge is better than advising about it!

   

THE CASINO IS RIGGED, LONG LIVE THE CASINO !

The oldest (and most disregarded) secret in the world of gambling is that you cannot win against the house. The decks are stacked, the cards are rigged and the slot machines are fixed. Oh yes! the casino will let you win once in a while, just so that you swallow a little more of the bait and keep returning to be ripped off. The house, folks, always wins. Which describes perfectly the state of our elections these days, after 2019.

What is happening with the SIR in Bihar, even as I write this, is the final turn of the roulette wheel: the Opposition (the real Opposition, I mean, not the Mayawatis, Owaisis, Kishores or Naveen Patnaiks of the world) will henceforth never be allowed to win an election, general or state. A few seats here and there, yes, maybe even a few inconsequential states, to keep the dumb charade going, but never a House- Vidhan Sabha or Lok Sabha: the House belongs to the croupier. No amount of petitions, meetings with the Election Commission, writs in the Supreme Court, grandstanding photo-ops outside Parliament, or threats ("We are coming after you") is going to change this inevitability. Maharashtra and Haryana were the prototypes and appropriate lessons were learnt from them- adding spurious votes is not enough, stuffing EVMs after 5.00PM is not enough, deleting a few thousand votes is not enough, the judicial pusillanimity regarding VVPATs is not enough; more work was needed to make matters fool proof.

And so the final product-the electoral Bramhastra, as it were- is on display now in Bihar. Make the nationalistic Citizenship issue the mechanism and excuse for getting rid of those pesky communities and classes who don't vote for the BJP and its allies, be selective in the desired documentation; Aadhar will do in the right wing areas, thank you, but in Seemanchal we need to see your birth certificate, and that of your parents. The motto being: show me the face and I will show you the document. Five million have already been disenfranchised, according the the ECI's own figures.

The Supreme Court will hear the matter on the 28th of this month, but don't hold your breath- the jurisprudence of the "fait accompli" will come into play and the loaded dice will keep rolling. The Election Commission knows this- it has already asked all states to prepare for an all-India roll-out of this grand larceny of democracy. At the most the Court may mandate the acceptance of a few more ID markers, but it's always the dealer who calls out the cards and numbers, and they are usually tucked up his sleeve. In the Supreme Court the SIR will go the way of the EVMs, VVPATs, paper ballots, procedure for appointments of Election Commissioners.

The Opposition will never win again. It has only one path before it in order to save democracy-drink of the poisoned chalice and boycott all elections until this casino is shut down. It must take the bull by the horns, and not by the tail as it has been doing so far. As Debasish Roy Choudhury says in an interview with Karan Thapar on Friday (which should be compulsory watching for all who value our democracy), by continuing to participate in elections which are rigged and which they know they cannot win, it is only legitimising the elections and the winning regime. A boycott will take away this moral legitimacy, in the eyes of most countrymen and the international community. That will the first step to restoring the old sanctity to the whole process.

The Opposition has failed, thanks to its own ineptitude, avarice, lust for power and out-size egos, and the abject surrender of all our constitutional institutions, including the courts. The Opposition, therefore, is no longer a player in this game-it can at best now be a coach. The actual players have to be the citizens of India, whose right to select a government of their choice is being stolen. They must be persuaded to boycott the elections too, to show the world how the elections in India now resemble those of Rwanda, where the President Paul Kagame, won with 99% of the votes. The world, of course, doesn't give a damn about Rwanda, but can it ignore India, the world's largest democracy which has historically been the beacon of democracyfor the post colonial world?

Country-wide boycotts may lead to civil unrest, which is not necessarily a bad thing, as Jayaprakash Narayan's Sampurna Kranti movement against Mrs Gandhi had shown-it finally led to her being ousted from power. A boycott could be a curtain raiser to something similar. This applies equally to civil society organisations like ADR (Association for Democratic Reforms), CCG (Constitutional Conduct Group) and others- they too have to espouse and campaign for the cause of the boycott. They have written enough letters to the Government and Prime Minister and Election Commission, and issued their fair number of press releases, to no effect: they too have to change course. As Debasish says: when your house is burgled, you don't write a letter to the burglar, you go to the police! And the police here are the people of India- We The People. It is time to turn to them.

TIME TO DECLARE AN "INTERNATIONAL DAY OF HATE"

 This is the age of empty symbolism, make-believe and the suggestio falsi. Our revered Prime Minister goes trotting around the globe intoning "This is not the era of war" like a metronome, even as he almost started a war on his own doorstep, and repeatedly abstained from voting to stop two wars which have killed tens of thousands already. The European Union calls for "dialogue and diplomacy" even as it continues to arm and fund a country which is committing a genocide not seen since the Holocaust. Trump calls for peace and demands the Nobel Peace Prize in the same breath that he pulverizes Iran with the Mother Of All Bombs. Nearer home, the RSS says we should not look for a shivling under every mosque even as it eggs on its followers to do exactly that. The Election Commission says no  voter shall be left behind even as it imposes policies that will disenfranchises millions of voters in just one state (to begin with).

You get the point, don't you? It needs a Shakespeare to describe this global perfidy and hypocrisy: this  "killing with kindness" or "smile and smile and be a villain." And so it is with the various Days we are asked to celebrate every second day- Yoga Day, Doctor's Day, Father's Day. Don't for a minute doubt the intent, dear reader- the purpose is praiseworthy, if proforma, but the irony is unmistakable. For what we celebrate  on day one, we repudiate on the remaining 364 days of the year.

So we celebrate Father's Day even as we strip the old codger of all his properties and banish him to an old age home where he rots in his own excreta. Doctor's Day only reminds me of how one gets ripped off in corporate hospitals by unnecessary tests, astronomical ICU charges and "consultation fees" for informing me what I will get for lunch. On Teacher's Day we are exhorted to sing a paean for our teachers just before we lodge an FIR against them for "hitting" a student with a ruler. We celebrate World Heart Day even as we gorge on adulterated paneer, baby food with impermissible sugar levels, and cooking oils with carcinogenic additives, all presided over by an unconcerned government. 

But wait, it gets even better if more acerbic and cynical. October 2 is the International Day of Non-Violence, and nations observe it religiously (yes, even the USA and Israel) while 110 wars/armed conflicts rage around the world, all instigated by the very governments that flag this day. March 3 is the International Wildlife Day, celebrated even as we have ensured that 500 species of vertebrates have gone extinct  in the last hundred years, and 15000 more are under grave threat due to human activities. Wild animal populations have been decimated by 60% since 1970. The 2nd of December is celebrated as the International Day Against Pollution even as we are on the verge of breaching the 2* Celsius red line for temperature increase, and 7 million people die of air pollution every year (of which 2 million are in Viksit Bharat).This is not just hypocrisy, it is sanctimonious, deceitful, humbugging on a global scale.

It is in this context that last week I received a suggestion from a WAF ( Whats App Friend) who, in his saner moments, is a very successful manufacturer of high-quality cosmetics. He suggested that the UN should now declare an International Day of Hate. His reasoning makes sense: the leit motif and zeitgeist of the world today- of national leaders, religious preachers, societies, generals, media (including social media)- is the emotion of Hate. Subaltern emotions such as Greed, Jealousy and Violence are the offsprings of hate. Just look around, or turn on the TV, and you will acknowledge that my WAF is bang on.

Hindutva types hate the Muslims, the Jews hate the Palestinians, Iran hates the Jews, China hates the Tibetans and Taiwanese in equal measure, Putin hates the Ukranians, the Sudanese hate each other, the Rwandans hate the Congolese, the Taliban hate women, Pakistanis hate the Balochis, Turks hate the Kurds, RWA types hate the slum dwellers. Donald Trump, of course, is the most eclectic and indiscriminating of the lot, he hates everyone and everything- Europeans, Asians, Islamic nations, liberals, Communists, non-binary genders, immigrants, environmentalists, judges. Arnab Goswami comes a close second to him.

In many countries which still retain a veneer of civilisation, laws do not allow this universal and all pervasive feeling of hate full public expression. But it is constantly bubbling under the surface, like the molten lava in a volcano, with occasional eruptions. According to my friend, it would be good public policy to allow this volcano to vent itself, to permit the de-facto to become de-jure. Hence the need for an International Day of Hate, when the haters can reveal themselves in their full glory and ugliness: no more dog-whistles, veiled references, obiter dictas, Prime Ministerial insinuations or vapid diplomatic niceties. They can, as the Beatles sang, "let it out" without fear of any consequences. In the words of a famous Madame- what you see, dear, is what you get!

Some country, of course, shall have to take the lead in implementing this visionary idea, and no one is better qualified these days than our own Bharat Mahan. For we appear to have elevated Hate to the level of public policy, a societal aspiration and a religious commandment. Over the last decade hate has embedded itself in every aspect of governance, education, institutional structures and social intercourse. Initially founded on religious biases and dogmas, it has now metastasized across the board- language, festivals, regions, educational syllabi, media, entertainment, legislations, even citizenship-  there is now no aspect of daily life in India which is not poisoned by this venom. Even our diplomacy is now coloured by this emotion, as our callous approach to the genocide and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians demonstrates so well.

According to a report in the India Cable dated June 27, 2025,  The Association for Protection of Civil Rights and the Quill Foundation has documented 947 hate-related incidents in the country during the first year of the present NDA govt's third term. Directed at minorities, this includes 602 hate crimes and 345 instances of hate speech; the perpetrators are rarely, if ever, punished.

No other democracy is as uniquely qualified as India to move a resolution in the United Nations for the declaration of an International Day of Hate. By doing so, we will have ripped apart the curtain of hypocrisy and deception that characterises all such Days, and will have loudly proclaimed that this is a New India. One which is prepared to venture into the heart of darkness to satisfy the lust for power, to self-destruct in order to rule for ever. For, as Satan said in Paradise Lost: It is better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven.

As for me, the only day I heartily endorse is Shobha De- and she might even get more votes than India's proposal. 

THE DAY THE MAGPIES LEFT

 For six months of the year, confined in my NCR flat like a Trappist monk, the only birds I get to see are pigeons, which have now become the ubiquitous symbol of urban avian life. But for the other six months, when I repair to my cottage in Puranikoti village near Shimla, it's a completely different world. 

The dozens of trees I and my family have planted on my land as a post-retirement penance over the years to atone for my large sarkari carbon footprint- weeping willows, horse chestnuts, oak, deodar, robinia, chinars, apple, plum, cherry, pears, kainth- have now come of age and are repaying our efforts in ample measure. They provide a dense vegetation and fruits/ seeds/ flowers which now attract many varieties and species of birds, which are all the company one needs at this stage of one's WhatsApp dominated life. Their social media type chattering, the bird songs at dawn and in the evenings, the ambience created by their happy presence alone, has been very well expressed  by a poet:

I sit in my garden, gazing upon a beauty that cannot gaze upon itself. And I find sufficient purpose for my day.

My avian friends are of two types: the first are the permanent residents (termed "bona fide Himachalis" in govt. parlance!) who stay on my land throughout the year- sparrows, bulbuls, tits, blackbirds, whistling thrush. Because of their established tenancy status on the land, they assume a familiarity with me bordering on contempt, literally taking the food off my plate! (See photo below). I have no choice but to grin and bear it.

                                         [Bulbul joining us for morning tea. Photo by author.]

The second type are the seasonal visitors, more cautious, not sure of their welcome or of what they can expect. Among them are the swallow, swift, barbet, silver-winged blackbird, songbird, and the graceful, long-tailed Himalayan magpie. Each species has its temporal slot and arrives when its fruit of choice is ripe for eating. They are not selfish and do not overstay their welcome- a sojourn of a few weeks and they depart, vacating the slot for the next species, having stripped the trees of whatever fruit was on the chef's special. I don't mind at all- what they give us in the short time they dwell with us is much, much more than what those fruits would have fetched me at the local "mandi."

Last year, however, was a landmark year for me, for a pair of Himalayan magpies decided that they had had enough of globe-trotting and that it was time to start a family before the EMIs started piling up: they settled down and started nesting in a dense grove of trees on one corner of my land! (see pics below). This overt expression of trust in us was a quiet vindication of all our efforts over the years to create a safe and secure environment for our feathered friends. In due course of time they built a nest and laid two eggs, just before we departed for the NCR for our six month exile.

                                   [Long-tailed Himalayan Magpie. Photo by author]

We returned this April, to the sight of FOUR magpies- two adults and two offspring- frolicking on our land, their tenure in the grove now converted to adverse possession, if not deemed ownership, like a retired politician in Lutyen's Delhi but without the sense of entitlement! It was a delight to see them flying around the whole day, like trundling helicopters- the Himalayan magpie is not a good flyer- picking up insects, earthworms and the cherries and apples from our trees. I feed them every morning: the smaller birds are happy with bread crumbs and rice grains, but the magpies have a preference for  Haldi Ram's namkeens, which is what they get! In due course of time, unbeknownst to us, the female laid three more eggs on an oak tree in the grove.

         

           [The grove where our magpies nested. Photo by author]
 

We came to know of this only when, one day, one chick fell from the nest and was grabbed by a feral cat. Brutus-our Indie dog- spotted this immediately and pounced on the cat, forcing it to drop the chick. We picked up the little bird, examined it for any injuries (there were none, but the poor thing was traumatised no end, as can be expected). We kept it in a warm room for two days, fed it rice and milk; all the while its parents staged a 24x7 dharna outside the room in the manner of Arvind Kejriwal, demanding the release of their little one. Finally, on the third day, assured that the chick had recovered fully from its ordeal and it was time again for its anxious parents to take over its nurturing, we carefully put it back in the nest, where the other two chicks were none too welcoming, of course, at the thought of having to share their snacks with another mouth! The two adults were overjoyed, of course, but quickly chased us away.

Tragedy struck the very next day. Taking our evening stroll, we found the half-eaten body of a magpie chick about 100 meters from the grove. A quick check of the nest confirmed what we feared but did not wish to acknowledge- it was empty. It was clear what had happened: the cat which had discovered the nest had not forgotten it even though it had been thwarted by our dog the first time. It had returned, and the three chicks- still unable to fly- never stood a chance. Cats are ruthless predators of small animals, especially birds. A 2022 study estimated that cats kill 55 million birds in the UK every year!

Our magpie family was desolate- they repeatedly circled the grove without alighting on it, making plaintive cries. That night, they disappeared and we have not seen them since, even though it's been more than a week as I write this. It is clear that they have abandoned our place; our hearts go out to them, rearing a family in the wild is a Herculean task, and to have laboured so long at it and lose it all in a moment is so unfair.

But I am now haunted by a more disturbing question- were we at fault, somehow? Could we have been more proactive in protecting the nest and the chicks? Should we have put that third chick back in the nest or should we have reared it ourselves? There are counter questions too: Could we have reared a wild creature without robbing it of its "wildness"? Could we have taught it how to fly and forage for food?  How far can one go in meddling in the lives of essentially wild creatures? Should we intervene or let nature take its course? I am afraid there are no easy answers.

The question that haunts me most, however, is this- have the magpies left out of a sense of betrayal, that we reneged on our implied promise of giving them security? Will they forgive us, and return some day? Will they give us a second chance?

OVERTOURISM AND UNDER-PLANNING

 

                                  

The Deputy Commissioner Shimla announced last Tuesday that 300,000 vehicles had entered Shimla in the last two weeks due to the tourist rush. That is 15000 vehicles per day. Shimla has parking for just about 5000 vehicles, and if we assume that a tourist family/group stays for just two days, the daily parking requirement is for 30000 vehicles- six times what is available. (This does not include the locally registered vehicles numbering about 70000!)

The situation is no different in Dehradun, Nainital, Mussoorie, Manali, Dharamshala and other hill stations. And it’s getting worse every year.

The tourists, of course, suffer, stuck in jams for hours, sometimes for nights, without food, water or toilet facilities. Half their vacation time is spent on the roads. The real and continuing price, however, is paid by the permanent residents of these once quiet, idyllic, British-era towns, who are practically imprisoned in their houses for half the year, with no space left on the roads even for walking. I live near Mashobra, about 12 kms from Shimla for six months every year, and have decided to never, but NEVER, drive into Shimla during my stay here-there’s no telling if I’ll ever be able to make it back to my house!

States like Himachal and Uttarakhand bear the brunt of this vehicle-driven overtourism; their proximity to the northern states is their undoing, while Kashmir is spared the deluge because of its distance and the on-again, off-again security situation there.

The state governments should have foreseen this, with tourist numbers growing by 43% ( 2023 figure over the previous year),rising incomes, and the desperation of families to escape the heat and pollution of our deteriorating cities. But the governments never planned for this nightmare, content with collecting their GST and Luxury taxes. And when they did start making some plans, they were all the wrong ones.

 

The biggest planning blunder has been the construction of expensive, environmentally disastrous four-lane highways and expressways in the mountainous terrain of Himachal and Uttarakhand to reduce driving time and make access easier for tourists. This has led to an explosion in the number of vehicles coming to these destinations: before the Parwanoo-Shimla four-lane highway was built (it is still not complete, even after ten years!) the average number of cars entering Shimla every day was about 4000 to 5000- it is now 15000 to 20000. And when these vehicles enter Shimla there is just no space for them to park. It’s even worse in Manali, with 25000 vehicles crossing the Atal tunnel (below Rohtang pass) every day during peak season. The state govt. is a silent spectator: it took the National Green Tribunal (NGT) to impose a daily cap of 1500 vehicles for the Rohtang pass to prevent it from becoming another Karol Bagh, in more ways than one. It looks like it will have to step in again, given the state government's paralysis!

The Shimla and Manali mistake is now being repeated, with Mussoorie being the victim this time. A 26 km elevated expressway has been approved to connect Dehradun and Mussorie: we are told this shall reduce the driving time to just 26 minutes. This is a disaster in the making, even without the 17000 trees that will be felled and the 250 families who shall be displaced by the project. The Shimla/ Manali experience shows that the number of vehicles headed for Mussoorie shall triple or quadruple; what happens to them once they reach Mussoorie? The town has even less parking space than Shimla, and can barely accommodate those who come just to meet Ruskin Bond!

Bureaucracies are loath to think out of the box, and politicians are happy to sanction capital intensive projects like roads and multi-storeyed parkings to their favoured contractors. But this comfortable, parabiotic arrangement has to change: given the geology and terrain, one cannot keep “widening” roads and excavating more parking spaces indefinitely, and the limits have already been reached. What our mountain destinations need are fewer highways and more cable/ rope-ways- that way they can keep getting more tourists but fewer vehicles. A Dehradun-Mussoorie cable system would have served the purpose of the elevated highway, with no addition of vehicles, at one tenth of the elevated highway cost. It is to Himachal’s credit that it has finally seen the light and has approved four major rope-way projects: Parwanoo-Shimla, Dharamshala-McLeodganj, Manali-Rohtang, and Kullu-Bijli Mahadev. Many more are needed, including one from Parwanoo to Kasauli.

The Union government too needs to play a role in curbing this vehicular overtourism. It should NEVER AGAIN approve a monstrosity like the Char Dham Highway which is effectively a death warrant for Kedarnath, Badrinath, Gangotri and Yamunotri. It should put a hold on all four laning projects in these states (even at the risk of annoying Mr. Gadkari) and fast track central approvals and funding for ropeways. More flights should be started to these states- in Himachal currently all its four airports are being utilized at below 50% of their capacity.

More helicopter services should be introduced, and not just to religious places. Most important, the govt. should expand the skeletal rail network in all mountain states which have tourism potential, and not just for strategic reasons. In 75 years not an inch of rail line has been added to what the British left behind. This shall not only reduce the vehicular tsunamis in the mountains but shall also add an entirely novel experience for the visitors.

Harsh physical or fiscal barriers such as e-passes, capping numbers of vehicles entering a state or even excessive tolls or entry fees should be avoided as they cause inconvenience and will not serve the purpose in the long run. It is better to provide the tourist an attractive alternative to using his car rather than simply taxing him or embroiling him in red tape. The lazy solution is usually the worst. ( Though these tough measures will become inevitable if the numbers continue to expand at the present rate).

The vision should be: we welcome tourists, but not their cars.

TO B(2) OR NOT TO B(2)

 Move aside, Hamlet, and give way to the decisive deal-maker. The recolonistaion of West Asia is now in full swing, with Trump's bombing of Iran's nuclear sites on the night of 22nd June. It took him some time to decide whether or not to send in the B2 bombers with their payloads of the 15 tonne bunker busters or MOABs (Mother Of All Bombs). And he did it, as usual, with the MOAL (Mother OF All Lies), having announced just the day before that he would wait two weeks for diplomacy to play out. As with Israel's surprise attack on the 13th, diplomacy was once again knifed in the back.

Trump and Netanyahu are the Genghis Khans of our benighted times, and will probably never be made to pay for their serial war crimes and genocidal actions, but that is just a sign of the times we live in. Their game plan is now clear- regime change in Iran and joint hegemony over West Asia and its oil- though Ms Modi, Jaishankar and Doval cannot see it through their transactional, Islamophobic hoods. The story was never about Iran's nuclear weapons programme; it doesn't have one (as numerous testimonies have made clear). But then Saddam Hussain didn't have any weapon of mass destruction, either- that myth was created by the other two B2s (Blair and Bush) to serve their purpose. A similar myth has now been created by the two leading thugs of our times about Iran's nuclear programme, to green light another invasion and another war.

Which begs some obvious questions which very few in power in other countries, or even the media, are asking. Why should Iran not have a nuclear programme, even a nuclear weapons programme? Why is it asked to submit to IAEA inspections when other nuclear countries are not? Why does it not have the right to go nuclear when it is surrounded by none-too-pacific nuclear countries- Russia, Pakistan, India, and, of course, the biggest terrorist threat in the world, Israel? Israel does not even officially acknowledge that it has nuclear weapons capability, has not signed the Non-Proliferation Treaty, does not subject itself to IAEA inspections or protocols. And yet, the sanctions are against Iran, not Israel.

The West has created another myth- that Iran cannot be trusted to have a nuclear weapons programme because it's a rogue regime and exporter of terrorism. This about a civilisation which dates back to a time when the ancestors of today's Americans were still living in caves in a miserable island in the North Sea. From two countries least qualified to make these charges- the USA is the only country in history to have actually used a nuclear munition against another country; it has started (and lost) more wars and bombed and destabilised more countries (30 at last count) by military force than any other power since the end of WW2. And Israel, with its voracious appetite for land, is the biggest terrorist power in the Middle-east, the quintessential rogue nation which has, in Gaza, killed hundreds of UN workers, medical personnel, journalists, aid workers, more than 100,000 Palestinians, and is currently engaged in starving the remaining ones to death. Both have repeatedly cocked a snook at institutions established to promote the international rules based order- the United Nations, the International Court of Justice, the International Criminal Court- and have even banned, threatened and sanctioned its functionaries and assassinated political leaders and scientists they take a dislike to. In all likelihood Trump may bomb the Nobel Prize headquarters if he is not given the Nobel Peace Prize and sanction the Israel Supreme Court if Netanyahu is not discharged from the criminal cases against him! And we are led to believe that Iran is a threat to global peace? 

The ironies keep mounting, and would be farcical if they were not so sinister and dangerous in their implications. Pakistan nominates Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize the day after he drops the largest bombs ever made, without any provocation and in the face of all international laws! Trump himself, after practically triggering World War 3, tweets: It's now time for peace! Our own Prime Minister rings up the Iranian President after the bombing of the latter's main nuclear facilities by the USA, and advises de-escalation! Pardon me if I'm exceptionally stupid, sir, but shouldn't the party doing the escalation be the one asked to do the de-escalation? And, in the grandest gesture of hypocrisy and two-facedness, the EU fixes a meeting in the middle of July to "consider" sanctions against Israel- note, dear reader, the word "consider" and not "impose." By then, of course, another 1500 Palestinians would have been murdered in Gaza and the West Bank by a country they are all supporting, financing and arming. But Hey! what's the hurry, in the long run we're all dead anyway, aren't we?

I am sick to my stomach with the stench of all this posturing, deceit, barbarism, lack of any compassion or feeling of humanity, and evil power plays. Maybe I'm being too naive or am a bit of a simple Simon. But as I get along in years I find, in the words of Meryl Streep, that the funny thing about getting older is that while your eyesight starts getting weaker your ability to see through people's bullshit gets much better. Now, is that a blessing or a curse? Over to the Prince of Denmark to figure that one out.

DHELA THATCH - MY HIDEAWAY FOR THE DAY AFTER

 These are perilous times for homo sapiens, regardless of whether you believe in the predictions of Nostradamus or the epiphanies of Baba Venga. Thanks to a trio of psychopathic megalomaniacs, we are being pushed to the edge of extinction, one lie and tweet at a time. Drones and rockets are raining down in Russia and Ukraine like confetti on a Victory Day parade. West Asia is being showered with hypersonic missiles and ICBMs like the guests at an Ambani wedding with Rolex watches. Nearer home, there is no telling when the "sindoor" in our Vishwaguru's veins gets replaced with enriched uranium and we nuke Pakistan, to be nuked by China in turn as a return gift: the Chinese are nothing if not polite to a fault.

It's time for us to start looking for a safe hideaway to weather the nuclear winter that appears to be on its way, notwithstanding that current temperatures in North India do not presage a winter anytime soon. Donald Trump may have his underground shelters in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, and Mr. Modi may have his cave in Kedarnath to tide over the Day After (with or without cameras), but here in Puranikoti there are neither bunkers nor caves, just houses designed by Delhi-based architects which would not withstand a Kangana Ranaut tantrum, let alone a nuclear blast. So I've been applying my rapidly atrophying brain to think of a safe place where I could repair with the family and the pooch, and I think I've found it!

Dhela Thatch. (A thatch is a meadow or glade surrounded by thick forests, a traditional camping site for shepherds, Gujjars and trekkers). Dhela thatch is located deep in the Great Himalayan National Park (GHNP) of Kullu district, 35 kms from the nearest roadhead at Neuli in the valley of the Sainj river, at an altitude of 12000 feet. It takes two days of strenuous trekking to get there, and once there you don't want to leave, believe me. I didn't: I've camped there on three occasions on my treks in the GHNP: it's the nearest I've come to Eden, and if Worsworth  had been there he would have immediately dashed off a few poems before you could say "My heart leaps up..." 

                                      [ Dhela thatch in the GHNP. Photo by author.]

Dhela is a gently sloping meadow, about two acres in size, perched just below the ridge line that divides the Sainj and Tirthan valleys in the Great Himalayan National Park in Kullu. Surrounded by thick stands of oak and deodar, with dense thickets of dwarf rhododendron and hill bamboo on one side, it is an ideal camping site: there is even a little brook which provides water. The camping site is surrounded by a vast thicket of juniper and dwarf rhododendron where the monal and rarely sighted western tragopan come to feed at sun-set. The Forest department has built a stout log hut at its upper edge for use in the winters (at 12000 feet Dhela can get a lot of snow)- for the rest of the year one can happily pitch tents anywhere on the dale. The height, mix of vegetation and undergrowth and the open spaces make it an ideal habitat for Himachal's two most prized pheasant species- the monal and the highly endangered Western Tragopan (Jujju Rana- the King of Birds, literally) and sightings of both are quite common. The crags below it are home to the "ghoral" (mountain goat) which can be easily spotted sunning themselves in the morning sun. The view of the GHNP landscape from here is stupendous, framed by the majestic 16000 high Khandedhar range to the north, the even higher Pin Parbat massif to the north-west, the Tirthan ridge to the south-east, and beyond that the bleak ranges on which is located the holy peak of Srikhand Mahadev. There is a small "jogni" or religious cairn at the top of the ridge, bedecked with colourful prayer flags which is ideal for meditation, bird watching or simply sunning oneself with a favourite book.

       [Trekking party approaching Dhela Thatch. Photo by Sanjeeva Pandey]

          

Dhela is not a place where you have to DO anything; it is God's, and nature's, ultimate creation which invites you to simply immerse yourself in the simplicity, beauty and unhurried rhythms of a life unsullied by technology, materialism and human ambitions. Listen to the birds singing joyfully at dawn and dusk-not for you, but for the sheer joy of greeting another day, observe with wonder the rising sun every morning and feel its spreading warmth bringing to life God's myriad creatures, dip your hands in the little spring and drink of its snow-melt waters, marvel at the sight of the ghoral grazing on 75 degree slopes, gaze above at the lammergeier hovering in ever enlarging circles in the emerald blue skies, keeping watch on the world on behalf of its creator, sit cosily by a blazing campfire at night wondering why the moths hurl themselves into the fire-do they love its glow or do they fear it? Dhela has the questions, it also has the answers.

                          

                           [The incomparable Western Tragopan pheasant]

This is indeed Omar Khayyam territory for me:                                  

" Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

 A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse- and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness-

And Wilderness is Paradise enow!"