“An ideal society should be mobile, should be full of channels for conveying a change taking place in one part to other parts.”

- Dr Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar

Three views on immigration.

The last chapter of Chinmay Tumbe’s book, “India Moving,” contrasts three views on migration: Dr. Ambedkar, Mahatma Gandhi, and Bal Thackeray.

Dr. Ambedkar was the strongest proponent of migration, possibly because he was a Dalit, the community of ‘untouchables,’ who often had to move far from home to seek better opportunities. Dr. Ambedkar called Indian cities a ‘sink of localism, a den of ignorance, narrow-mindedness and communalism.’

Bal Thackeray was a staunch Maharashtrian. In the past, people from across the country went to Bombay and Poona to work. Bombay and Poona were magnets, drawing people from across the country, and Bal Thackeray could easily whip up jingoistic fervor among locals, claiming people from other parts of India were stealing their jobs and ruining Maharashtrian culture. Bombay and Poona have always been cosmopolitan centers.

Mahatma Gandhi was the strangest of the lot. A man who studied in England and worked in South Africa, he later considered the ‘growth of cities as an evil thing, unfortunate for mankind and the world.’

Cities are creating modern mini-villages.

Both Dr. Ambedkar and Mahatma Gandhi spoke different versions of the truth. Indian villages have been dens of ignorance, communalism, and patriarchy. Indian cities have become polluted and are also dens of ignorance, communalism, and patriarchy.

As Indian cities have grown and traffic has become unbearable, most people in Indian cities prefer to live in their immediate vicinity and venture out only when they have no choice. We have created pocket urban villages in urban centers, and people are increasingly happy to live in small areas.

People have been moving for centuries.

Early Indians.

Yet, despite the rise of urban islands, people have always moved. If humans hadn't moved, we’d all be living in Africa with our earliest ancestors. Research indicates that the earliest humans arrived in South Asia somewhere between 74,000 years BP (before present) and 124,000 years BP. The supereruption of Mount Toba in Sumatra occurred, but our ancestors appeared in South Asia before it.

I’ve often said that a civilizational relationship exists between Indians and Iranians and not between Indians and Israelis. Research also shows a ‘genetic gradient’ exists between Iranians and South Asians. It is also possible that people from Iran migrated southwards, helping to form or contribute to the rise of the Indus Valley Civilization.

Marriage fostered migration.

Many people believe that Indian villagers are immobile. They live and die in the villages where they are born, and Chinmay Tumbe’s book, “India Moving,” disputes this commonly held belief.

He wrote that South Asian women often marry outside their village and, when they move to their husband’s village, carry the story and culture of their home villages. Over generations, this creates a moving culture driven by marriage.

Caste also fostered migration.

Years ago, I read Romila Thapar’s book on the history of ancient India and, if memory serves, caste distinctions and the growing problems lower-caste people faced; caste then became a major force for migration. In the earliest days, it appears, caste mobility was prevalent. Migrating from your home village could help you change your caste in your new village. Over the years, caste barriers hardened, yet they did not stop people from moving.

The Scythians and Parthians also appeared.

As people became more acquisitive and royalty grew greedy, they sought to expand their territories and brought their people (warriors, nobility, poets, and mystics) to South Asia.

To illustrate, the Scythians were probably the first. The Indo-Scythians, or Indo-Saka people, settled in modern-day North India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and beyond. They arrived from Central Asia and established themselves between 150 BCE and 400 CE. Then came the Parthians. A branch of the Parthian, or Arsacid Dynasty, called the Pahlavas also popped into South Asia to say hello!

Once again, their presence proves my statement: our civilizational relationship with Iran/Persia is deep.

Arabs from West Asia began visiting the shores of Kerala around the 6^th century CE.

Movements have happened for centuries.

The Chola kings of South India sent their representatives into South Asia. Bali's strong connections with modern Hindu beliefs are no accident.

The Chinese traveled to Nalanda for almost five centuries.

The Mamluk Queen, Razia Sultan, fell in love with her Abyssinian slave. The great general, Malik Ambar, started his life as an Ethiopian slave. Research indicates that Begum Hazrat Mahal, one of the great – and incredibly intrepid – queens of India, began her life as a slave. Her father, it seems, was African.

Hazrat Mahal is one of the ghosts I intend to chase, the others being Chand Bibi, Dara Shukoh, Razia Sultan, and Malik Ambar.

Babur himself had Mongol and Uzbek blood, if you like that expression, and during the Mughal Empire's heyday, people from across Central Asia mixed with locals in the bazaars.

I don’t want to launch into the benefits and problems of migration, but I will point you to an excellent book, part of the ‘Shortest History’ series: The Shortest History of Migration, by Ian Goldin. It appears that humans introduced passports to the world only after World War I. The rise of nationalism and the rising shrieks of self-serving politicians threaten to stem humanity’s natural flow. It is worthwhile remembering that Europeans pushed Native American Indians out of their homes, as they are doing to native Palestinians today.

Three Movements.

Let’s talk about three movements.

The first is migrant labor.

While I have been critical of the Western world for their current hysteria about migrant workers, we Asians are also guilty of the same behavior. The Japanese are notorious for their insularity, as are the Koreans; I read that Koreans now allow migrants to fill growing vacancies in menial work. My ex-boss, a Korean, typified the insular mindset of many Koreans, stating that a child born of mixed parentage is not Korean. There is no such thing as a half-Korean: you are either a pure-bred Korean or you are not a Korean.

Farmers in Punjab depend on migrant labor from Bihar, and migrants from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh have taken over taxi-driving. Migrant workers are indispensable for construction work across the country. Yet we treat them like vermin and refuse to acknowledge how much of our daily lives depend on their quiet work in the background.

The COVID pandemic demonstrated our despicable attitude towards these people as we watched police officers and citizens mistreat them – even spraying them with bleach- as they walked over 1,000 kilometers back home to their villages.

In Delhi's National Capital Region, we depend on Bengali maids, drivers, security guards, etc. Even though we depend on them and ‘look after’ our personal security staff, we brand large sections of them as Bangladeshi.

Finally, people from northeast India are migrating to various parts of the country to work. We often call them ‘Chinki,’ which is a gross insult, and regard the women as ‘easy game.’

The point I want to emphasize with these three examples is that migrants often fill jobs locals don’t want. Then, sometimes they stay on and contribute to cultural and culinary diversity.

Would it be fair to say that, even though migration has undeniable benefits, when the number of migrants crosses an invisible threshold we deem frightening, our tribal instinct kicks in, and we say our ‘cities and villages and streets are just not the same anymore’? We fear those who look different, speak differently, wear different clothes, eat different foods, listen to different music, etc. Despite our technological advancements, we are, essentially, tribal people.

Listening to politicians and businesspeople like Musk ought to alert you to the simple fact that we are tribal people.

Historic Migrations.

I’d like to talk about Delhi now. Some say that the earliest inhabitants of Delhi populated the region about 5,000 years ago, drawn here by the Aravalli hills and the Yamuna River. One story says the city was named after a fabled king, Raja Dilu.

As we enter the age of history, those familiar with Delhi’s story will agree that the city became a ‘Rajput’ city. The Tomar Rajputs established their capital at Lal Kot, in South Delhi. Little remains apart from the walls, about 1,500 years old, but I bet the inhabitants' culture reflected that of the Tomar Rajputs.

Then came Mohammed Ghori and the Delhi Sultanate. Delhi’s culture became more Turkic-Afghan. Babur and the Mughal Dynasty followed, and Central Asians, Iranians, Afghans, and Rajputs created the city's Islamic-Rajput culture. The British added some flair to the city, but I don’t believe that they had a lasting impact.

The Partition: Forced Migration. And, Manmohan Singh’s reforms.

The next major shift came during the Partition, when the chaos that followed changed Delhi’s culture. Most of South, West, and East Delhi became middle-class Punjabi, with the Islamic core being confined to Delhi’s Walled City.

Urdu, which many erroneously believe is an Islamic language, actually flowed from North India, where it was born, to Pakistan, where it is now the country’s official language.

After Dr Manmohan Singh opened up India’s economy, Delhi’s culture changed again, and Delhi is now a smorgasbord of people from across the nation.

Dr Manmohan Singh’s reforms affected India another way. Prior to 1990 CE, a strong North-South divide existed in the country. It has not disappeared, but it has softened and has been replaced by another divide.

About four decades ago, North Indians strutted. Punjab was arguably India’s richest state, and most North Indians considered South Indians to be backward.

The coin has flipped, and people in South and West India are richer than those of North India, and they now consider North Indians to be uncouth, uncultured and violent.

People move in search of better livelihood.

Manmohan Singh’s great opening has prompted people to move across the country, and the number of mixed marriages is increasing.

India is changing again. Migration is no longer limited to migrant workers; white-collar workers are moving across the country as well.

Indians are people in motion, moving across the country and sending money home; moving to other countries and sending money home; or moving to other countries and creating new homes in their adopted lands.

‘If it were not for migration, the British would not have created a strange dish called ‘chicken tikka masala.’ Our kebab tradition has its roots in Turkey.

The old belief that crossing the ocean (kala paani, or black water) causes you to lose your caste is, probably, fading.

Politicians and people like Musk may try to shove us into ‘pure boxes,’ but, like water, people will find ways to migrate and change cultures.

If you have been reading my McLeod Ganj posts, you will realize the town’s culture is now largely Tibetan.

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I’ll keep this post brief, with little more than my first impressions. I'll have time for this later. After the nerve-wracking experience of smashing the lady’s pipe, wondering if I’d get lynched for my near-crime, and my friend’s abrupt act of treason by hopping out of the car and standing behind the crowd, I decided I needed sustenance.

I needed rum, and the two of us walked up to the market, where I managed to convince the owner to keep the shop open long enough for me to buy a half bottle of ‘Old Monk’ rum. The restaurants were closing for the night, so we walked across to a stall selling momos. These were spicy, fried momos, exactly what the doctor had told me to eat on a cold winter night after a good day’s drive. I gobbled a few plates of momos, and the world felt right again. To paraphrase Bertie Wooster, the earth rotated around its own axis and revolved around the sun as it should.
An old shop still stood in the main market. Established by a Parsi gentleman named Nowrojee in 1860, it may have passed to a non-Parsi family since then.

It is unusual to find a Parsi establishment in a place like McLeod Ganj. Most Parsis live in Gujarat, Bombay, Poona, and other parts of India. Parsis are Zoroastrians who practice sky burial and worship fire. They fled Persia after the Safavid Dynasty fell, and many settled in Gujarat. The story goes that the king promised them sanctuary if they learned the local language and blended into local culture.

The Parsis.

So, beyond Persian influence in our music, language, food, and clothing, we also have a subset of Persians who have lived in India for centuries. The Parsis are a tiny community, but their impact on India has been massive in industry (the Tata Group, the Godrej Group, etc.), philanthropy, and food. Yes, we also celebrate Parsi New Year. If you are familiar with Bombay or Poona, you’re familiar with the Irani restaurants that dot the urban landscape. I’ve had my share of happy meals at an Irani café. Hopping into an Irani café at dawn and asking the usually irascible owner for chai, scrambled eggs, and their special bread was always a joyful experience. But I shall write about them later.

Those days, McLeod Ganj’s restaurants shut by 8 pm, barring one in the main market. The absence of tourists compelled the restaurants to shut early, but they stay open late during long weekends and during the summer holidays, when the good citizens of Ludhiana, Hoshiarpur, Jallandhar, etc., drive up, fill the air with their cacophonous Punjabi pop music, stagger along the roads and eat their fill.

The nightlife hidden behind the quiet nights.

The town is peaceful in December, but we discovered that the calm hides a lively nightlife. The local Tibetans arrange private parties. While reading Chinmay Tumbe’s book, “India Moving,” I discovered that most of them have not obtained Indian passports. Doing so will rob them of the benefits they receive as refugees, even though many have been here for almost half a century.

Madikeri, in Kodagu, South India, also has a huge Tibetan community. My friend decided he’d try to gatecrash these parties, and I am glad he was unsuccessful. The locals told me that the Tibetan men guard their women with a jealous fanaticism and can become violent if they sense anyone is about to lay a lascivious paw on them. Fair enough. I was glad my friend didn’t trace even a single party, because I didn’t want to get dragged into a conflict I didn’t choose.

He’d wander the lanes at night, and I’d get into bed with a glass of rum and water and a book. I remember regretting not bringing my Kindle because the room’s lighting was terrible. Why do hoteliers want to ruin their guests’ eyes?

Breakfast in the market.

We alternated breakfast between a market restaurant and our hotel. Neither served breakfast before 8 am. I remember cribbing about their tardiness, but in hindsight, they were onto something I missed. Unless you need to be out at 4 am to photograph the blue and golden hours, why rush? The clock rules us and shares our attention with social media. We rush from appointment to appointment, from place to place, and even when we don’t need to, we have become accustomed to wearing a harried face and acting as though we are in great demand.

You see this in people’s agitation at traffic signals and our tendency to break the law. What is so urgent that you can’t wait 15 seconds for the light to turn green?

So, after the first day, I settled into the easy pace of McLeod Ganj. When I ate at the hotel, I put my phone away and gazed into the mountains stretching before me. At my favorite restaurant, I’d eat at an outdoor table, enjoy the winter sun, and watch Tibetans set up their stalls or walk up and down the road.

Daytime temperatures were just below freezing, and while I love cold weather, I made sure I wore one layer of woolens. A westerner offended my sensibilities when he marched past me wearing a thin, half-sleeved T-shirt. If I were a dark wizard, I’d have cast a spell to compel him to wear five layers of woolens. But I am not a dark wizard, so he walked past in his offensive, thin, maroon, half-sleeved T-shirt. Yes, I remember the color of his T-shirt!

Tibetans and Tibetan culture dominate the town. Tibetans and the original inhabitants seem to have found a happy balance and live together peacefully, but my subsequent research suggests that not everything is as it seems. Disputes often bubble beneath the surface and then explode, leaving everyone standing in wonder; when they do, jingoism replaces common sense.

Tibetan graffiti fills the town, or it did when I was in McLeod Ganj. Some of the graffiti features Tibetan symbolism, and some is protest art. They don’t protest the Indian government or people: we have given them a home and continue to do so, despite the Chinese government’s discomfort. They protest what is happening in Tibet, and they have every right to do so. Many were born in India, and while some claim to miss their ancestral home in Tibet, I doubt they’d want to return, even if everything returned to normal.

For instance, I have an emotional bond with my parents’ ancestral homes in West Punjab, but I have no desire to live there. My home is here, and everything in my parents’ hometowns has changed.

In the shadow of the Dauladhar mountains.

The Dauladhar range forms the backdrop to the town’s landscape. The sky was crystal clear and blue, with fresh air and twinkling snow-capped mountains in the distance. That was several years ago, and when I saw photos a student took, he traveled there the last week of December, as did I; I noticed the snow had disappeared. I’d like to say that the snow had retreated, but that would be a lie. When he traveled there last year, the snow had disappeared from the mountain peaks. It is impossible to say whether this was a bad year; the bare mountains are yet another grim reminder of the harm we are doing to our planet.

The term ‘homo sapiens’ means ‘wise man’ or ‘thinking man.’ We are neither wise nor do we think, and when we do think, we do not think well.

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McLeod Ganj is a small town, and we stayed in a small hotel about a kilometer downhill from the main marketplace. I remember passing a five-star hotel while driving to one of the town’s scenic spots. These are retreats for the rich who want to visit such towns without dirtying their feet exploring the local culture. Yet they have little respect for the region’s ecology.

The Assam government has reduced the area reserved for other animal species in Kaziranga National Park to build five-star hotels and casinos.

My advice: visit places like McLeod Ganj before neoliberals destroy them!

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Epidemic Sound

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After a good breakfast, we left for McLeod Ganj. Ludhiana always has a strange effect on me. It is a wealthy town, home to many successful industrialists and entrepreneurs. Hero Cycles, Oswal Fabrics, and the food company Cremica all began in Ludhiana. Each started small and has grown since. Hero is one of the world’s largest bicycle manufacturers. Oswal makes fantastic woolens, and Cremica began as a producer of inexpensive, low-quality biscuits but is now a respectable packaged-foods manufacturer.

Ludhiana and Kanpur

Kanpur in Uttar Pradesh is another town with a rich entrepreneurial culture, but Kanpur and Ludhiana share one characteristic that makes me want to leave as soon as I arrive. Both towns are crowded and filthy, and I have never understood why the local industrialists don’t push the municipality to clean them up.

We left after an early breakfast. I wanted to beat the traffic, so we soon crossed a bridge over the Sutlej River. I was in Delhi Public School for a year, in grade four. They had named all the schoolhouses after the rivers of Punjab. I was in Sutlej House; our House color was green, and I have had a lifelong affinity for the Sutlej ever since. When we crossed the bridge, I turned my neck around like a corkscrew, hoping to see a magnificent river with rapid, flowing waters. Instead, I saw only a dry riverbed. That wasn’t the first, nor the last, time I have lamented our rivers' tragic fate. We have converted the Yamuna in Delhi into a toxic bog.

One section of the Yamuna is clean around the Bihari Festival, Chhat Puja. Our theatrical Prime Minister always puts on a show of pomp and piety, and the government creates a small section for his exclusive use, where they pump in fresh water so he can prance in piety and get the filmmakers to make reels. Meanwhile, just beyond the section carved out for his exclusive use, normal citizens dip themselves in the toxic foam and declare that the Goddess Yamuna has purified them.

Driving through Hoshiarpur.

KO and I drove on to Hoshiarpur, then crossed into Himachal Pradesh.

I had not paid attention to Hoshiarpur’s history. It was just a town I passed through, but many famous Indians have deep ties to Hoshiarpur, including Manmohan Singh, Intikhab Alam (a cricketer), Zail Singh (former President), Mohammed Nissar (former cricketer), and the Sufi singers, the Nooran Sisters.

On Sufi music. A digression.

One of my favorite performances by the Nooran Sisters is their rendition of the famous Sufi qawwali, ‘Damadam Mast Qalandar,’ in Dhaka.

If you want to see many of us Punjabis, including me, go wild, you must listen to Damadam Mast Qalandar. ‘Mast Qalandar’ refers to a person, usually a Sufi saint, who wanders as a mystic, intoxicated with love for God. The qawwali is dedicated to the Sufi mystic Lal Shahbaz Qalandar, who lived in India (now Pakistan) in the 13^th century. People claim Amir Khusrau wrote the lyrics sometime in the 14^th century and that Baba Bulleh Shah later modified them. Hindus and Muslims both claim Lal Shahbaz Qalandar for their own. Hindus call him ‘Jhulelal,’ and Muslims call him ‘Hazrat.’ We Punjabis love the poetry of Amir Khusrau, Baba Bulleh Shah, and Baba Farid. The lyrics have been modified again. Someone inserted a line: ‘Ali da pehla number,’ meaning ‘Ali is number one.’ The word ‘number’ could not have been in use when Amir Khusrau wrote the lyrics or Baba Bulleh Shah modified them. You can surmise that Damadam Mast Qalandar represents a living, thriving tradition that has evolved over centuries to stay relevant to today’s audience.

Sufism arrived in India centuries ago and influenced the rise of the ‘Bhakti movement’ in South Asia, as well as Sikhism. Unfortunately, thanks to Narendra Modi, we have now corrupted the word ‘bhakt,’ turning it into ‘Andh Bhakt,’ meaning ‘blind follower.’ ‘Andh Bhakt’ is an insult and a derogatory term for those who blindly follow the herd and ignore evidence that things in India are not hunky-dory.

We had to stop for a while in a crowded part of Hoshiarpur because my traveling buddy wanted to buy something. I remember hanging around my car nervously because the chaotic traffic threatened to smash my car. Still, I found time to have some chai and photograph some fascinating old doorways. I haven’t included any of these images in this post, but I will in Substack Notes.

The bridge

We crossed the town soon enough and stopped twice, once at the beginning of the bridge that took us into Himachal Pradesh and once at the bridge’s center.

Hoshiarpur stands at the border between Punjab and Himachal Pradesh. From the bridge, you get your first view of the snow-capped mountains, and your world changes. The mountains beckon.

The sow

A huge sow fascinated me. She stood at one end of the bridge with her brood of piglets, and she was massive. I took a few photographs, but I was wary. She didn’t look friendly, and I was in no mood to run down the road, yelling and screaming, trying to escape a furious sow. Their immune systems are clearly stronger than ours. She rummaged through the municipal waste, foraging for food for herself and her family. My lady was clearly well fed and probably satisfied with her life. Many of us in North India avoid pork because of the risk of tapeworms. Yes, her future was secure, and she strutted about like a spoilt little film star!

The first sight of the hills is always magical.

We stood in the middle of the bridge for a while. I photographed the river we were crossing and the mountain soaring above the trees. No matter how often I travel to the hills and mountains, the first sight of the hills, miraculously emerging from the plains’ dust haze, never fails to excite me. The hills possess an eternal magic, and it is unfortunate that many of us see them only as a resource to be exploited for humanity’s greed.

All you need to do is stand where the hills first appear in the haze, breathe the air, let the energy and magic seep into your body and soul, and you will realize there are things in this world far greater than man.

Crossing over into Himachal Pradesh.

Decomposing onions.

We crossed into Himachal Pradesh, and the air changed. The trees changed, and all was good. Well, not everything was good. We stopped at a chai stall, and then I wandered around. Someone, probably the owner, had strewn onion peels and other trash around the shack. I took a few photographs and watched the onions rot in the dappled light. ‘Organic,’ I thought. ‘Organic.’ At least the onion skins would decompose and blend into the soil, probably adding a few vitamins.

I went around to the loo and beat a hasty retreat. Malodorous waves wafted through the air, tickling my nostrils. If I could smell, I could tell you the stink was awful. That stink ranks among the world’s worst. Instead, I wandered over to a few trees and watered the ground.

A paratha and chai break.

Our next stop was at a dhaba halfway up the hill. We stopped there for a beautiful view of the mountains. The restaurant served fantastic potato-stuffed parathas. My buddy consumed three, I think, and I had one, resisting the temptation to have a second. Then we sat in the winter sun, my right hand contentedly stroking my belly as I sipped chai. Some of you must be wondering how much chai I drink.

In college, we’d gather around an aluminum teapot, drink chai from cracked china cups, and indulge in an adda that stretched for hours. Those were the days of tangential discussions.

Crash and bang in McLeod Ganj

We finally reached McLeod Ganj at about 5 pm. For clarity, let’s say we approached the town from the main road, which led straight to the main bazaar, where authorities restricted further access. Then, in a panic, we called the hotel, and the manager told us to reverse, go back past the Gurkha Regimental gate, and wait for a flunky to guide us to the hotel.

The back road is steep and winding, and the flunky buried himself in his phone, so we overshot the hotel.

‘Reverse,’ he screeched.

My brains left my skull, and I reversed down that steep, winding slope, which was a huge mistake. I swear the slope seemed to be 60°, even though it may have been closer to 40°. Isaac Newton and his awful laws of gravity stepped in, and my car careened down the slope, crashing into a lady’s water pipe.

She hopped out of her home, screeching and threatening to claw my eyes out. A crowd gathered, and my buddy hopped out and stood behind them like an interested bystander, leaving me to face her wrath.

I was lucky. The water pipe stood opposite the hotel, and the manager rushed out to protect my car and my limbs from damage. He assured me that someone broke her pipe daily. He calmed the crowd, and they all pooled in to help me get the car out of the ditch, into the hotel’s tiny parking spot, and to repair her pipe.

I tottered into the hotel and ordered a chai with pakoras to calm my jangling nerves!

The hotel room lighting was awful, and I regretted not bringing my Kindle. But the tiny dining room overlooked the valley, and their omelets were outstanding.

Ki Monastery. A future trip?

A photo of the magnificent Ki Monastery took center stage in the hotel’s reception. I swore I’d visit the monastery one day.

Insha’Allah, that will happen next year. Insha’Allah.

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And now, I return to my world of Tramping around India. This time, I will take you to McLeod Ganj in Kangra District. I hope that you now understand why I have been writing posts about Kangra’s history.

Those days, I used to travel with an old friend, whom I shall refer to as KO. We’ve drifted apart since those innocent times, and we don’t travel together anymore. Much sadness has flowed beneath the bridge, but sometimes we must move on and leave sadness behind.

He and I live about twenty-five kilometers apart, and to be efficient, I spent the night at his house before we drove to McLeod Ganj. You can drive to McLeod Ganj in a day. The two towns are 475 kilometers apart, and to cover the distance in a day, you need to start driving around 5 am and keep going like an absolute maniac to arrive before the sun sets and darkness sets in. Few people like driving along the winding hill roads at night.

My approach is different: I believe the journey itself is the destination, and if you don’t enjoy the journey and take time to appreciate the surrounding landscape, you lose half the experience.

Controlling the stops.

The two of us left around 6:30 am to avoid heavy traffic. I remember the dense fog rolling in over the roads. We used to have dense fog in Delhi, which made driving difficult but added a weird, romantic charm to the city. When I returned to North India a little over a decade ago, I had resolved to photograph the Aravalli Forest in the fog. This project has yet to be born, along with my broader Aravalli Forest project. In the last decade, both the fog and the forest have receded, and if I don’t act soon, they will pass into mythological lore.

I was driving, so I controlled the stops. Since I drank a lot of water before leaving, I needed to offload the excess fluid a few times, so we pulled over on the side of the highway to water the plants.

Ham. Cheese. And excess fluid in the system.

We had packed a lot of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and coffee in a thermos. If you are dashing along the highway, with blind insanity filling your eyes, you will not experience the sheer pleasure of sitting on a highway milestone, sipping coffee and munching on ham-and-cheese sandwiches as the fog swirls around you and the trucks roar past, their acrid exhaust smoke leaving a slight tingling in your nose.

We stopped a few times on the highway to have chai. At one such dhaba stop (the sun had risen by then), I photographed this older lady walking along the road. I don’t know if life had fatigued her, or if she was disgruntled, or if she noticed me pointing my camera at her and was annoyed. Whatever the reason, she scowled at me, and I hurriedly packed up my camera and put it away before she marched up to me and pulled my ear, as if to treat me like an errant schoolboy.

I was also aware that if she pulled my ears, it would arouse the ire of the dhaba owner and the other patrons sipping their chai. Discretion, as they say, is sometimes the better path to walk, and angels (I am not an angel) do not walk the path of fools (I am not a fool either).

The Map.

Stealing a glass.

If you look at the map, you will notice that I have circled a place called ‘Karnal.’ We stopped at a famous dhaba here – the Jhil Mil Dhaba, where we ate pakoras and drank chai from glasses. Chai glasses are special. They are inexpensive and designed for chai. Nowadays, you may find yourself drinking masala chai out of a dhaba glass when you visit a five-star hotel in India. Remember, though, that sanitized masala chai cannot match the authentic experience of chai in a glass by the roadside. When you sanitize the experience, you rob it of its essential spiritual core.

We asked the Jhil Mil Dhaba if they’d sell us two glasses, but they refused. Miffed, we each stole a glass, planning to drink chai from it for the rest of the trip. I wore a jacket and slipped a glass into my pocket.

KO was a rather corpulent chap in those days, wearing baggy trousers and an equally baggy shirt. After he slid into the passenger seat, he urged me to drive 50 meters away from the dhaba, telling me he didn’t need a seat belt for that short drive. Then, he stretched his legs out in the car, reached into his underpants, and pulled out a glass, a complacent smirk spreading across his face. I don’t remember if I managed to maintain a poker face while waves of extreme disgust rose in me, threatening to engulf my soul. I refused to touch or drink from his glass, and nothing he could say about how his groin was just a natural part of his anatomy could convince me to use or touch that glass.

KO accidentally left his glass in my car when we returned to Delhi, and I held the glass with a tissue before disposing of it in a roadside bin.

Towards Kurukshetra.

After leaving Karnal, we turned left toward Kurukshetra, home to paddy fields, an engineering college, and sites made famous in the Mahabharata. I had visited Kurukshetra for a ceremony to honor my father and our ancestors’ souls. I remember asking myself why there was no version of the ‘Pitrapaksh’ for my mother, grandmother, etc. If you’d like to relive the stories of my wanderings in Kurukshetra, read the blog posts I am appending at the bottom of this post.

Crossing Patiala.

Then, we drove past Patiala. One of the Maharajas of Patiala was famous for his excesses, sexual and otherwise. I remembered Patiala because of its excellent pineapple pastry. Patiala is also my late mother-in-law’s hometown.

After that, we drove along a country road and passed an outlet called ‘Burger Singh.’ ‘Burger Singh’ became moderately successful and opened branches in Delhi-NCR. I don’t know whether the business still exists or has collapsed. I also don’t know whether his product is good or bad, never having had the courage to eat at his esteemed establishment.

Driving through Patiala was a nightmarish experience, with traffic worse than in Delhi or Gurgaon. Worse, the roads were little strips, intended for two lanes of scooters, not cars, jeeps, trucks, and buses. I refused to let the incessant, angry honking push me to drive any faster than 20 kmph. The people of the city believe that the only way to drive in that mad, bad traffic is to pretend they are all Formula One race car drivers.

Arriving at Ludhiana. Chiken tikka and beer!

We finally reached Ludhiana at about 7 pm. A four-hour journey took us almost 11 hours, but we did not care a hoot. The hotel did not look promising, but breakfast the next morning was fantastic. KO and I went out for dinner and had some of the best chicken tikka money can buy. Then, I bought a couple of beers from the market, guzzled them alone (KO is a teetotaler), and allowed the warm, fuzzy glow of alcohol to send me off into a blissful slumber.

I didn’t have a problem with insomnia that night, unlike ‘The Ancient Mariner’ after he shot the albatross. Gentle sleep slid into my soul.

Tomorrow would be another day!

I shot all these images with my Nikon F-75 camera, using Kodak Tri-X film.

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Tramping the Dusty Roads

Kurukshetra: I Was so stupid!

My Only Trip to Kurukshetra…

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Tramping the Dusty Roads

Ordinary People. Kurukshetra.

History…

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The Comfort Crisis Book

The Grapes of Wrath

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I bought and read Khushwant Singh’s book, ‘The End of India.’ Some may call the book a polemic, and in a way, it is. The book’s tone is deeply cynical and pessimistic about India’s immediate future.

Khushwant Singh wrote that he thought India died in 1947, with the Partition, and he was correct. Hindus and Sikhs blame Muslims for the carnage, and the Muslims, in turn, blame Hindus and Sikhs. No one blames the politicians or the British who fanned the flames of hatred, planting poisonous seeds that are blossoming into toxic plants today.

The British have long since left our shores, but our politicians continue to fan the flames, threatening to burn the nation as long as they remain in power.

Khushwant Singh does not reserve his ire for the current ruling party and also castigates past governments. I appreciate his even-handed approach because politicians only care about staying in power. Also, in India, politicians jump ship as easily as a cow chews cud, so blaming political parties is pointless

Did he mention Ayodhya in his book? I don’t remember, but as I have mentioned several times, I was in Ayodhya ten days after crazed mobs demolished the Babri Masjid.

When I walked up, my sales representative prompted me to chant ‘Jai Shri Ram’ as I climbed the hillock to keep me safe. I have been in shoot-at-sight zones before, but what I saw that day was far more terrifying than anything I had experienced. I saw a line of men and women, chanting ‘Jai Shri Ram,’ eyes blank. They resembled zombies, or people who have sold their souls and brains to the propaganda machine.

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I once liked Modi. I liked Modi when I was working in my corporate career. He eased regulations in his state, making it easy for me to get permission to set up a factory. My younger sister, who studied architecture in Ahmedabad (Gujarat), was always more skeptical, blaming Modi for the Godhra carnage, whereas I was willing to forgive him.

One day, a light dawned and cleared the cobwebs in my brain. I shifted from believer to critic. As Modi’s tenure as Prime Minister has progressed, hate speech has become commonplace, allowing crazy people and mobsters to flourish. Women’s safety is severely compromised, despite his pious words. The environment has been degraded, inequality has risen, the quality of education has suffered, and a generation of WhatsApp warriors has risen to proclaim the eternal glory of Modi.

Rich people, successful corporate people, influencers, celebrities, and all sorts of intellectuals and government officials have joined the ranks of the WhatsApp warriors, at least superficially. Many have suspended their minimal critical-thinking faculties, and most don’t care so long as they can buy expensive cars, watches, clothes, whisky, and pretend India is an immense geopolitical power. These people are probably the worst of the lot because they refuse to acknowledge the evidence that demonstrates the rot infesting our country’s roots.

Will India die? I doubt India will die, but maybe the country will suffer before people wake up.

Jawaharlal Nehru

I read Jawaharlal Nehru’s book, ‘The Discovery of India, ’ many years ago, and it is a book worth reading. Indian scientists and thinkers made wonderful discoveries over a thousand years ago, and our contributions to art and culture were immense.

Jawaharlal Nehru postulated that the Indian mind turned inwards when traders and invaders began arriving on our shores from the Middle East, modern-day Afghanistan, and modern-day Iran, etc. I don’t know if his postulate holds water because many other thinkers believe that our education system was excellent until the British meddled with it. I don’t know the truth of the matter, but it is true that the Indian mind has turned inwards. These days, we resemble a frog in a well, convinced that the well is the universe, and that our role in that universe is immense. This belief manifests itself in the increasingly raucous behavior of many tourists, or Indian-origin people living in other countries.

Very few people want to explore topics thoroughly, and when you do, their eyes glaze over. I often feel like I’m reading their minds, each wanting to revert to their favorite topics: clothes, gossip, watches, religion, whisky, foreign jaunts, etc.

Displays of religiosity have become more grandiose. Religion is a badge of honor. Often, people criticize those from other religions, branding them as terrorists or fanatics, while smugly proclaiming that they themselves exemplify tolerance and broad-minded behavior.

Will India die? I doubt India will die, but maybe the country will suffer before people wake up.

Now, I will move on to a different series of posts, and share my experiences while travelling to Kangra.

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Now, I’d like to conclude this little history series by talking about the Gurkhas and the Tibetan Buddhists in Kangra. With all this stuff I wrote about the mythological origins of Kangra, Dharamshala, McLeod Ganj, etc., I completely forgot about the Buddhists and the Gurkhas and their long association with this region.

When I visited McLeod Ganj, I noticed the strong Buddhist presence and assumed it had begun when the Dalai Lama made McLeod Ganj his capital in exile. In hindsight, I acknowledge I was just being mentally lazy. I managed to escape the clutches of the ‘educated illiterate’ clan by starting to write on Substack (and on Medium) and by reading up on the places I visited and wrote about.

Let us start with the Buddhists.

The Old Days.

Let’s start with the Buddhists. My vocabulary increased by one word after I asked Google Aunty the meaning of the phrase ‘gelid region.’ The term ‘gelid region’ describes an area that is frigid and frozen.

In the old days, people described Himachal Pradesh and Kangra as a gelid region. These days, you’d describe Spiti, for instance, as a gelid region in winter. I have wanted to visit Spiti for a long time, especially because it is home to magnificent landscapes and Buddhist shrines such as the stunning Ki Monastery. If all goes well, I will make that journey in 2027.

Let’s return to the tale. Buddhism has a long, deep history in the region. I will digress again. I have just finished reading a brilliant book, ‘The Shortest History of Migration,’ in which I learned that passports and visas entered our world just after World War I.

Passports did not exist in the old world, facilitating considerable interaction between the people of Kangra and Tibetans. It is impossible to state with any certainty that Buddhism passed to Tibet from this region. However, I can say there was considerable interaction with Tibetans. When I was in Munsyari earlier this year, local people told me there used to be a lot of trade with Tibetans, and that some people in the area (Munsyari) are of Tibetan origin.

Legends state that the Buddha visited Kangra to introduce his teachings to the people. The term ‘Buddhism’ originated after he attained Nirvana. No. Buddhism is an English word, so I don’t know what the Buddha’s followers called themselves.

People say that the Chinese monk Xuanzang visited Kangra and Kullu around 620 CE and discovered that Buddhism was alive and well, finding almost twenty monastic centers in the area, with over 1,000 monks studying Mahayana Buddhism. You may still find some old Buddhist temples in this area, dating to the 8^th or 9^th century, all of which indicate that ‘native’ Buddhism may predate Tibetan Buddhism in Kangra.

Buddhism may have receded from the area around the 12^th century onward. Buddhism moved from the subcontinent to China and then to Japan. Many years ago, when I was in Orissa, people told me that Buddhism threatened the livelihoods of Brahmin priests, causing fierce rivalry between the two and the eventual departure of Buddhism from the Indian subcontinent. When Buddhism arrived in Tibet, it gradually supplanted the Tibetan Bon religion; if you visit Buddhist temples in China, you will notice that Buddhism appropriated old Bon gods, recasting them as protectors of the Buddha, etc.

A spot of conflict.

I’d like to share a fascinating spot of history, one that I was entirely unaware of when I visited McLeod Ganj and Dharamshala years ago. The original - if we may use the term ‘original ’–inhabitants of this region belong to the Gaddi community, or tribes. These people are pastoralists and are indigenous to the region.

As Kangra has steadily become ‘Tibetanized,’ it appears that the original place names are being replaced with Tibetan names, causing people to forget the region’s heritage and creating tension between the communities. I have seen the militant behavior of some younger Tibetan-origin people in the area, and, as I write this, I’d like to point you back two paragraphs to the appropriation of the Bon gods into Buddhism. After my last visit to Kangra, I hadn’t thought of returning, but since we are planning a trip to Spiti next year, Kangra may once again appear on my horizon.

I won’t write more about the conflict because I have not done enough research. However, I’d like to point out that the British did not disturb the local culture when they established cantonments and administrative centers in the area: the Tibetans have caused more disruption than the British did, but you will not find any evidence of this tension on the surface.

Recent History.

Of course, some of you ought to ask the logical question: when did the Tibetans arrive in Dharamshala? To understand this story, you need to travel back to Tibet in 1950. Again, I won’t drill deep into the history, but if you want to do further research, I’d recommend a book I own: “Dragon in the Land of Snow,” by Tsering Shakya.

China invaded Tibet in 1950, and the world did not notice, like they did not notice (or care about) the Nakba. Most countries were recovering from the Second World War. China’s timing was perfect. The 1951 ’17-point agreement’ nominally allowed Tibet to remain autonomous but, in fact, it was the Chinese who controlled everything. The author writes that the Tibetans asked Nehru for help, but he naively referred them to the UN, as he had referred the Kashmir issue to the UN.

In 1959, the Tibetans revolted, and in March of that year, the Dalai Lama fled and entered India through Tawang in Arunachal Pradesh. The Dalai Lama’s escape and refuge in India have been a source of tension between India and China.

About 80,000 Tibetans followed the Dalai Lama into India. When I visited Tawang, people at the monastery told me that Jawaharlal Nehru did not want the Dalai Lama to remain in Tawang because of its proximity to the border and other reasons. Nehru offered him a place in McLeod Ganj, where he could set up his ‘Government-in-Exile.’

Most of us are unaware of history’s complexities and criticize Nehru for his mistakes. Not one of us honestly introspects and asks ourselves what we would do in his situation. We brush past the difficulties of setting up a new country, with the added complexity of dealing with the aftermath of Partition and integrating over 300 princely states into the Indian Republic.

We swirl our rum, whisky, or wine in our glasses, nibble on a kebab, sit back on our comfortable sofas, and talk wisely about the great decisions we would have made, while simultaneously being incompetent corporate leaders and running our businesses into the funeral pyre.

The Dalai Lama wasn’t in McLeod Ganj when I visited, so I missed the chance to have breakfast with him.

I will stop writing about the Buddhists here, because I will have enough time to discuss them in subsequent posts.

The Gurkhas

Now, I will turn my attention to the Gurkhas. Before I talk about Gurkha history in the region, I should answer one question: who are the Gurkhas? The Gurkhas have been integral to the British and Indian armies but, if rumors are true, our government – stupidly – wants to trim the number of Gurkhas in the Indian Army. The Gurkhas – or Gorkhas – are tribes of fierce fighters from the Gorkha region in Nepal. Gorkhas live in India today, and you will find them in Darjeeling, Sikkim, and also in many parts of the North-East. Gorkha is a district in Nepal, and its main tribes are the Thapa, Magars, Gurungs, and Rais.

You will refer to people from Gorkha as ‘Gorkhas’ and their culture as ‘Gorkhali.’ King Prithivi Narayan Shah united Nepal in the 1760s, and the Gorkhas made up a large part of his army. The British and the Gorkhas fought in the early 19^th century, and their fierce encounters led to mutual admiration and respect. After the Treaty of Saugali in 1815-16, the British created ten Gorkha Regiments, which fought for the British in India until 1947. After Partition, the British took four Gurkha regiments to England, and the remaining regiments (plus the 11^th) formed part of the Indian Army.

The Gurkhas, like all humans, began their western expansion in the 18^th century; their empire came to encompass parts of Kumaon and Garhwal (both districts in present-day Uttarakhand), and Kangra. If you click the link, you can see the difference between modern Nepal and the Gorkha Empire’s full reach. They haven’t disappeared, and even today, if you visit Uttarakhand and Himachal, you will meet many Nepali Gorkhas.

Their expansion finally ended in 1815-16 after the Gorkha War (Anglo-Nepal War) and the signing of the Treaty of Sugauli. Additionally, the Gorkha-Sikh Wars did not end well for the Gorkhas.

This history may give you the impression that the Gurkhas retreated from Kangra: not true. The British formed the 1^st Gurkha Rifles, or the Malaun Regiment, which is still active in Kangra. The name “Malaun Regiment” comes from the Gurkhas’ defeat at Malaun Fort. I have no idea why they’d choose to remember the site of their defeat!

The word ‘malaun’ is also a Bengali insult which means ‘cursed’ or ‘deprived of Allah’s mercy.’ The word comes from the Arabic root, ‘mal’un,’ which further comes from the root, ‘la’nat’ meaning ‘curse.’ I will talk of languages and pidgin language at some point. We don’t use the word ‘la’nat’ much in modern India, but we who come from West Punjab (now in Pakistan) used this word regularly until at least a decade or so back. I am convinced that people in East Punjab villages (now in India) use the word. I grew up hearing people say, “la’nat ho tujh par,’ which means, ‘may the curses be on you.’

Arabic and Persian words have a long and deep presence in the Indian subcontinent, especially in the Punjab.

I will now end this series of very short histories and, after a brief polemic in the next post, I will move on to sharing my memories of my journey to Kangra.

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I had chai at Mr. Mondal’s chai stall a few months ago and took lots of photos, especially with my 7Artisan 4 mm lens. I had attached this lens to my Fujifilm X-M5. These days I am experimenting with all sorts of ways to distort reality.

If you look at the image below, you will see Mr. Mondal sitting at his chai stall. It has a bamboo roof, and while it does not protect him from the hot winds, it did protect him from the sun.

Then, the Municipal Corporation decided to break down his stall. They claimed he was obstructing the traffic, even though he was nowhere near the road.

Mr. Mondal now sits under a tree and sells his chai, but when the sun starts to go down in the afternoon, the infrared rays of the afternoon sun light him up and warm him to an almost intolerable degree.

So why does this annoy me?

Over the last decade, Indian banks have written off 121 billion USD of loans that they gave to big corporations.

A gentleman called Subhash Chandra owes $2.62 billion, and India's National Company Law Tribunal wanted Mr. Chandra to pay $0.774 million as a settlement against the $2.62 billion in dues!

So here’s my question: why do we forgive big business people and torment the common folk who have no recourse to justice or the means to protest?

I used to think I'd become a socialist after my corporate career ended, but I realized I was mistaken and discovered I am an egalitarian. Maybe I have grown soft in my dotage, but I believe justice must be fair to all.

Meanwhile, you can also watch my video about Mr Chaurasia’s tea stall below.

Substack Half-Dead: Mr Chaurasia’s Chai Stall

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This is an image I made at Halebidu in Karnataka. I used a 50 mm lens with my Olympus OM-2n

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This month features very short history lessons, similar to the “Very Short Introduction” series but much shorter.

Dharamshala is the principal town in Kangra, and I will write about Dharamshala and the Tibetans in the next and subsequent posts.

McLeod Ganj is a major suburb of Dharamshala and is a considerably more charming town of the two. McLeod Ganj’s history is quite new. The town is almost like a toddler.

The British founded the town in the mid-19^th century, while looking for a suitable place to shift their administration and to set up a cantonment. You will find traces of the British settlements scattered across several parts of McLeod Ganj: a few cottages, a church, and a graveyard that I will discuss later.

The town lies in the shadow of the Dhauladhar mountains: mountains that are stunning. When I visited the town in the last week of December 2015, the snow on the mountains and the sky were stunning. A student visited McLeod Ganj in December 2025 – last year – and the snow had disappeared.

Global warming and McLeod Ganj.

I know that many fools deny the twin realities of global warming and the breakdown of climate systems. The same people deny the evidence staring them in the face. Ministers, greedy businesspeople, lobbyists, the press and scientists gather annually for the COP (Conference of the Parties) meetings – meetings that the fossil fuel companies are hijacking. They sit around meeting tables, piously intoning the need to change, debating charts that predict calamity, watching the Doomsday Clock tick, and discussing ‘exciting’ technologies like blocking the sun, without considering the world as a system, while the snow disappears from the mountains.

Meanwhile, we – the public – discuss the latest watches, the most expensive brands of whisky, and debate religious divides. Meanwhile, the Doomsday Clock brings us closer to midnight. Read this article: in the top-right corner, you may notice that we are 85 seconds from midnight. Have I scared you sufficiently? I certainly hope so.

Who was McLeod?

Now, let’s return to McLeod Ganj. Who was McLeod? The correct pronunciation is McCloud, or something close. I am grateful to the man for ‘discovering’ McLeod Ganj, though he was evidently vain enough to name the town after himself. But I acknowledge that he was no more vain than others guilty of the same sin. Sir Donald Friell McLeod was the area’s governor when McLeod Ganj came under colonial rule after the Anglo-Sikh Wars. Born in Calcutta, he was perhaps a cool character; he founded the Lahore Oriental College, now part of Punjab University (in Pakistan), and invested in education and philanthropy.

A spot of mythology and history.

Like many Indian towns, McLeod Ganj has a mythological past, mentioned in ancient texts. But it appears Panini (India’s premier grammarian), the Chinese traveler Xuanzang, and King Harshavardhana were also familiar with this region.

The Katoch Dynasty ruled McLeod Ganj, and I really have no idea what the ancient name was. Later, as the Katoch Dynasty’s fortunes declined during the Mughal Era, the town became part of the Mughal Empire. As the Mughal Empire began its long slide toward doom, McLeod Ganj’s fortunes followed Kangra’s: it became independent, then part of the Sikh Empire, then part of the British Empire, before finally becoming part of independent India.

The town and region’s character changed again in 1959, when the Dalai Lama set up his base there.

I will leave you with this ‘Very Short Introduction” to McLeod Ganj, and in the next post, I will turn my attention to the Buddhists in this area. And from October, I will start writing about my trip to Kangra.

Until next week, then.

Be healthy, be safe, be patient!

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Kangra’s history stretches back far into the past. Some say the region’s history stretches back 3,500 years and, if so, then we enter the world of prehistory where myth blends with historical memory.

The rulers of Kangra belong to the Katoch dynasty, one of the world’s longest dynasties, it seems. The Katoch dynas…

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I read ‘Roots’ by Alex Haley when I was a teenager or, when I was in my early twenties – I don’t quite remember the exact time – but it is a book I ought to read again. The book centers around Alex Haley’s search for his family’s roots in Gambia. As people migrate from one place to another, the memory of old traditions fades, and they p…

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