preity

Preity

I miss your gentle calm expression,
Your honesty, your noble guise,
I miss your lovely serene smile,
Your gleaming, dark, beady eyes!
 

I miss the small cakes you bake,
The helping hand you always lend,
I miss your talk of zucchini, and mushrooms,
the paninis that you often make.
 

I adore your giving, caring nature,
When you write little poems, many a romantic song,
But then I dread your sentences that begin with
"Listen Karan, I love her, do not get me wrong..."
 

I like the pecks on cheeks I get,
When you hold my hand tight,
I am happy when you hug me,
A bit scared when you stare at me sleeping at night!
 

I know you will always love me,
We will grow old holding each other,
and always smiling - just as it should be,
Our time together, I will forever remember

Dedicated to Preity on our first anniversary Aug/03/2013. My our love blossom for a thousand lifetimes.

A letter to the love of my life

Lost letters...

Preity kept complaining that I never wrote her an actual letter - despite professing to her my love of writing on paper. I got an opportunity to do so when she left me for a week. Sitting all alone, I missed her dearly. So I began to scribe my thoughts, and mailed her a letter. This is that letter in electronic format.

Mar 14th 2014

Dear Preity,

As I sit here all alone on a cold Sunday afternoon I cannot help but miss you. Outside it is cloudy, and although it is just past 2 o'clock, it is surprisingly melancholic, and gloomy. If it were not for the comfort of a blanket, and the warmth of a hot cup of chai, I too would be morose. I can only hope that without me you are faring better than I am coping without you.

The view from my chair is that of some pale dried shrub in the distance, and a few lifeless tress beyond that. A confused black cat is playing (or preying) in the tall grass. A few scattered birds tried chirping in the morning in the forlorn hope that maybe they could convince the spring to finally arrive. But alas! The chirping has now stopped.

Sometimes I wonder if it is just as well that you are away. It makes me realize how truly I love you, and how incomplete my life is without yours. I wish you were here, I wish I could hold you now and forever. The house is quiet, and it seems the silent walls, the curtains, the lamps, and rhe shelves, everything demands to know of your return. It's no longer a home without you, and I feel utterly lost in it. As I cook, clean, walk, read, a nagging thought always linger in the back of my mind, there is always a sense of urgency, of a personal loss. I am sullen, lost, and miserable alone. Only when I talk to you do I feel a slight respite.

Each night though, I sleep soundly in the knowledge that there is someone out there who loves me, someone who cares. I cannot wait to embrace you...

I smile as I think about us, for I feel like a shy young lover, not a married man that I am. I would feel no different if we had met in high school instead. Nobody could love anyone anymore than I already love you. I thank my gods for making it so. Let us make our life a honeymoon.

All my love, forever.
-Karan

Sanawar

My Sanawar

High up on the hills of Himachal is located my father's alma mater. Ever since I was a toddler did I wish to visit this institution I had heard of so often. My father speaks of it so fondly, and so vividly, that now we somehow share these memories of his. I think of Sanawar just like he thinks of it, I can imagine waking up to reveille, and getting dressed to go for games in the morning. In my mind, I am with him as he studies, and dines, as he swims, and plays hockey, and I am with him as he chants "S-A-N-A-W-A-R, that's the way we spell it, that's the way we yell it, Sanawar!," to cheer his home team as they play against their arch rival, the Bishop Cotton School (Shimla).

In a way, Sanawar has become my alma mater too.

The Trip

As I boarded my flight back home (to India), I could never have imagined I would end up going to Sanawar. I had plans, in fact I was going to be very busy these coming days, so busy that I wondered if I would be able to spend any time sitting and chatting with my parents, enjoying a hot cup of chai, in the warm November Indian afternoon. What could be more relaxing? I was travelling back to Punjab to get married!

I did not have many vacation days, and the plans to visit Madhya Pradesh for our honey moon were abruptly cancelled when Preity and I decided to instead spend some time with my parents. Spending time with parents was important so Preity could get to know the family, and vice versa. We were going to leave soon for the states, and we did not know when we could return. Besides, I had seen Sanchi Stupa, Khajuraho, etc, while we were stationed in Saugor, M.P., so to me it was not too important to visit again. Preity was exhausted from all the travelling, and "living out of a suitcase", as she puts it.

One fine day mother decided that we needed an outing. My brother and I agreed it was time to finally see Sanawar, so at the dinner table we finalized our plans to drive to Shimla the next day. My father started reminiscing about "the good old days", and countless stories were told by the masterful raconteur.

The journey of over 120 kilometres started at 8:30 in the morning. By 11 am we were on the outskirts of Kasauli. We knew we were close when our ears started popping. Sanawar is located on a mountain top. Our journey took us through very narrow streets in small hilly towns.

On to Sanawar

Indian flag flies high over the mountain top in Sanawar

Indian "hotels" and chai stalls along the way

Sanawar

The school is located on top of a hill, and the scale of it boggles ones mind. How was it all built? Who carved and transported all those stones up the mountain, a task that seems impossible even after the invention of modern automobiles. Sanawar in a way is like the pyramids to me, their construction remains a mystery.

As we got to Sanawar we discovered that the children had all left for their winter vacation, which goes on to explain the peace and quiet.

Finally!

For though your heart seems bursting, up sergeant Tulley's hill, though you may not win you'll yet come in, if you "stick it" still.

Maj William Stephen Raikes Hodson

The memorial at Lucknow (for Sir Henry Montgomery Lawrence)

Send him to Sanawar and make a man of him!

Replica of the memorial of Sir Henry at Sanawar

To those who died for their motherland

A poem. Note: the cursive script. Sanawarians have excellent handwriting (the author finds)

A bit of trivia

Arun Khetarpal stadium

Lt. Arun Khetarpal memorial

Till the last bugle call

At the gymnasium

Gymnasium

Cemetery 

We also visited an old English graveyard, which is right by Sanawar. Papa had mentioned that is where they buried their Australian Geography teacher when he passed away. We drove part way up to it, but thereafter we had to walk on a trail for a few hundred meters. Unfortunately, it appeared like someone had a party on the trail and did not bother to collect their rubbish when they were done. We saw empty crisp wrappers, disposable plates and cups, and alcohol bottles. Oh, what shame!

The gates to the cemetery were locked shut, but we noticed someone on the other side. Papa told him how he was an ex Sanawarian, and he opened the gates for us. Initially we tried to look for the Geography teacher's resting place, but we soon gave up. Some of the graves were old. Broken and battered by time, we could hardly read most tombstones. It was sobering to see the number of children who rested there, even at the dawn of 19th century, the infant mortality rate was astonishing.

Preity showing the "victory" symbol. The author believes it was no coincidence.

Sunset and evening star. And one clear call for me. And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea.

Matilda May Rogers. 10th May 1932.

Marcurrite Florence. The beloved little daughter of D and C Hastings. Died 26th July 1892. Aged five months.

John Bauso* Sergeant B U L Who died of Cholera, at the Lawrence military asylum. 14th June 1887.

Major William Robert Hilliard. Royal Engineers. Who died October 29th 1901 at Kasauli. Aged 43 years and 10 months. Asleep in Christ until the day break and the shadows flee away. I sleep but my heart waketh for love is strong as death.

Little Ada ***. Darling child of William & HA***. Born 22nd of May 1865. Died ** May 1866.

Hyllis Ella daughter of George and Ella Giles. Born Aug 5th 1890. Died July 6th 1891.

Suffer little children to come unto me, for such is the kingdom of Heaven.

Kasauli

We could not claim victory unless we also had the legendary "bun samosa". Dad and his classmates used to walk all the way from their dorms in Sanawar to Kasauli some weekends to watch movies and eat bun samosas. Bun samosa is available for purchase in one of the many small shops in the Kasauli market. It consists of a samosa, some cholle, and chutney stuffed between a bun. It is divine. We started off with one bun samosa and chai each, but my brother and I quickly ordered another bun samosa... and another thereafter. I ate so much that it made nauseous on the way back.

Author's brother in front of the bun samosa shop

Author enjoying a well deserved bun samosa

Way Back

The setting sun looks more spectacular in real life, than it does in a picture. The descent made me more nauseous still. Just as I needed some tea to calm my nerves, we decided to stop at Walia Pickles. My parents had seen a small news article about how good their pickled chicken was. My brother needed no further encouragement. He likes his chicken.

Sun setting over the hills

Author's beautiful wife

Walia pickles. Special boneless chicken, mutton pickle. Yummy. Author's mother and brother enjoying a quick bite.