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THE BAG THAT OUT-TRAVELS ME

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Date: August 20 th 2014. Place: Hyderabad. A bag came into my life. It was a green colour Quechua Forclaz 60 litre bag. The bag was pretty and I was immediately hooked. The bag belonged to Majid Siddique who worked with me at Deloitte then. I borrowed it from him for a trek to the Jhindagada peak, the highest peak of Andhra Pradesh. He also gave me trekking shoes that I would rather not talk about. I was astounded at how much the bag could fit. I was so excited that I put everything in it that I could carry. The result was that on my very first 3-day trek, I carried a load of 12kgs on my back. The problem, however, was that I weighed almost the same as the bag (See photo below for reference). Carrying the bag was an honour that came at a big cost. I was depleted by the time I returned from the trek. Truly Madly Deeply spent.  Skinny Paradise (Left) In front of the Peak - (Right) On the peak(Literally on cloud Nine. I counted) But as they say, the first time is

PEACE IN THOSE MOUNTAINS

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Dedicated to our guide Pushkar Singh who led us through the Roopkund expedition. He recently passed away trying to save a trekker who slipped on the trail. The news saddened us immensely and reminded us of our own trek. Pushkar hand-held us through tough stretches after we slipped on the trail ourselves. May your soul rest in Peace in those beautiful mountains, brother. Edit(on 20th September): After a phone call recently, we got to know that Pushkar is alive. This was great news for us. The Roopkund memory shall still remain a sweet one. :) In the midst of those cold windy paths, Lies a valley surrounded by those beautiful clouds The clouds sweep around the valley pouring down rain, When they do move away, they bring in the bright sunlight The paths I walk are long and arduous, They ought to be for they lead to harsh terrains, Beyond these terrains lie the lands of extreme beauty, The view shall more than make up for the hardship, I hope I take one step

OH BARBER, MY BARBER

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To give you a background on the whole issue, the barber shop I frequented for hair-cuts no longer exists. The building it was in, was broken down for road extension. The government has triumphed. The shop is no more. What has remained, however, is a hollow structure that shall be brought down very soon. The horror/hilarity of all the hair-cuts gone wrong and my love for Dead Poets society has resulted in this poem. Here goes: You stood there majestic on the bottle-necked road, In the stark cold, in the dry heat, even in the torrential rains did you open Gentlemen, some bearded while some with long hair frequented you, Coming out child-like was treasured by one and all. You stood there with open arms, wide doors and sharp scissors, Welcoming anyone who'd come to look more civilized, You made us wait with the odd newspaper, The pictures of beautiful women on Page 3 more than made up for the delay. We waited for you to wield your artwork on us, Ever so p