30 Days Alone in the Wilderness

Less than a week to go and I head off into the wilderness. For 30 days, no less. I have spent time in the wilderness, but nothing that came close to this long. Shorter durations are easier. They tend to get over before full scale boredom sets in. Also, resources are at hand. If one spends four or five days, maybe a week out in the wilderness, food can be carried. Not three wholesome meals a day maybe, but enough to keep the hunger pangs away. But there is no way one can carry enough food to last for 30 days. Ultimately the transition has to be made to living off the land. And there is enough food out there. Not necessarily big game like deer or pigs or goats or such like, but enough small creatures to feed you for the day. Animals like rabbits or squirrels or even creatures like earthworms. The problem lies in catching rabbits or even birds. Trapping and snaring is an art that needs to be mastered and to be honest I am yet to reach that goal. Sure, I know some traps and some snares, but these 30 days will put that knowledge to the test. I am sure to get hungry and I want to see how my mind and body copes in such situations.

My more immediate concern is water. Or rather, potable water. During the 30 Days in Uttarakhand, my proposed campsite is next to a mountain stream. There is enough rains happening in the region now and the stream should be flowing with water. So the source is not a problem, and neither is the quantity. The worry is germs and bacteria and viruses and other nasties that come along with it. There are villages upstream and there are animals. With no sanitation to speak of, the river becomes the source of washing and cleaning. The water is mixed with human and animal faeces, a sure formula to contract stuff like diarrhoea, e-coli, etc. Stuff that can make me sick for a very long time. I will lose whatever fluids the body has and then lose energy, strength and the will to carry on. Good, clean drinking water is what my focus will be. One way to make dirty water drinkable is by boiling it. And that has been proven across the world, for centuries. The worry is the faeces will boil along with the water. Sure, a lot of them will get killed, but am I willing to take the chance to some of them braving the heat? Maybe I will. And then maybe I will distil the water in addition to boiling it, just to be doubly sure. Distilling takes time, but then out there, all I have is time.

I expect the days to be quite busy really. Wake up in the morning, gather some pine needles and brew some tea. Walk down to the river and clean up, maybe take a dip if the water is not freezing cold. Then go out replenishing the stock of firewood. It takes a lot of firewood to keep you warm on a cold night and it is no fun running out of wood in the middle of the night. Foraging for firewood can be extremely taxing work, physically and emotionally. But with a raging fire in front of the tent with your dinner sizzling over it makes the effort all worthwhile. It does get tiring after the first few days, but then what has to be done, has to be done.

After firewood collection is done, it is time to go foraging for food. Either plucked off the trees or checking the snares and traps laid the previous evening. Trapping and snaring is a game of chance, it is a game of luck and it is a game of numbers. First identify animal trails and then multiple traps on the trail in the hope that something will catch. I am not very good at deadfall traps, and these are the go-to traps for small game. I guess over thirty days I will become a lot more proficient in setting traps and snares. I do hope to make a meal out of pine bark though. Fortunately the campsite is in the middle of a pine forest and there will be a lot of pine bark around. And if there are dead and fallen trees around, chances are there might be the tasty wood grub treats. Of course, the campsite is next to a river and that provides an opportunity for fish. But then fishing in the stream will not be nearly as easy as walking in to the store and picking up the choicest. Without a fishing rod, hook, line or sinker as part of the kit, one will have to improvise.

Another apprehension is the weather. Though monsoons are still a couple of months away, the region is being hammered by incessant rain, hail and thunderstorms almost every day. The weather forecast predicts rain and thundershowers for almost the entire thirty day duration of my trip. All I have in terms of shelter material I am carrying is a small bivy tent and a tarp sheet. No sleeping bag, no blanket, nothing. The temperature is in the low teens and if the fire does not do its job, the nights will be quite uncomfortable. Cold from the earth, wind through the netting that makes up one side of my bivy tent and convection from all around. Being a minimalist effort, I am tempted to dump the bivy tent too to be able to make a good windproof and waterproof debris shelter, but I think I will take it along. Like I said, thirty days in the wilderness is a first for me and I like to have the fallback of the tent with me. I think I will be ok.

My body clock is completely out of whack. I am a night owl and generally go to bed when I hear the birds starting to chirp and a faint glow of pink colour the sky. In the wilderness, except for the campfire and a small torch, there will be no illumination. No books to read, no television to watch, no internet to browse, no mails to respond to. Come sundown, everything will go dark pretty soon. Dinner will be frugal at best and chances are that one will have to try and get to sleep around seven in the evening. Not something that I am used to. So sleep will be hard to come by. And once it does come, one will wake up in the middle of the night, after a full quota of sleep time one is used to. And then stay up waiting for dawn. That should make for an interesting experience.

The other thing that will take up some quality time will be practicing some necessary back country skills. Some that I am good at and then getting to refine them. Others that I suck at and trying to get better at it. There is also a friend who will be with me for the thirty days, hoping to pick up some tips and tricks.

Moreover, I am filming the entire experience. That should be fun. Tiring and frustrating, but fun. Go set the camera, walk back to position, film the clip, walk back to camera to shut it off. This is fine when the task being filmed is close to the camera. It just sucks when one has to capture a walk up or down the hill, for instance. Imagine having to walk down the hill to set the camera, then walk up again to the start point and then walk down again for the benefit of the camera. When you are fatigued, this really can suck. Wonder how I will react to this situation when the time comes to face it. Compromise on the shot or suck up and bear it? Only time will tell.

All this is daily living. But why am I out there in the middle of nowhere, without contact with the ‘civilised’ world? It is for a little bit of “me” time. I am going off to be alone, to introspect, to question myself, hopefully to find some answers. I am hoping that some of the onion skins will get peeled off over the thirty days and I will be able to find some relevant questions, if not the answers to those questions.

I am basically a person who likes to be cocooned within his own solitary world. I do not really look forward to human company. I am me and I am my best friend. Living in society does not always take kindly to this facet of an individual. That is one reason I am heading off for some alone time. Clean the mind, cleanse the soul, hopefully be able to discard external frills and luxuries. That is probably what this is all about. Primitive living. Living without the luxuries, comforts and necessities that we take for granted. Food from the stores, the grid for electricity, air conditioner for comfort, a vehicle for travel, the oven to cook food. When it really comes down to it, how much of the creature comforts are really required and how little do we actually need? Can we make the transition from the need and greed that epitomises our materialistic society to a life that transcends that?

There will be some food that will be a part of my kit. Basically some rice and some dal. But that will run out one day. If one were to make a long term stay possible, one would have to necessarily live off the land. Plants and animals for food. Will I be able to make that transition? That is one question I am seeking the answer to. Will I miss watching soaps on television? Will I miss social media, the updates, the postings, the Likes and the Shares and the Comments? Will I miss watching movies? Will I miss that crazy old dude who cuts me off on the road? The chatter of the marketplace? The cacophony of city life? Or will I become habituated to the slow pace of life? Get used to listening to the birds? Take comfort in the sound of the gurgling stream? Sleep when I want to. Eat what I can find. Have the fire to talk to. Will I welcome visitors during the 30 days or will I view it as an infringement on my private space? I do not have the answers. I have some idea about how I want to react and feel, but not having been exposed to that reality yet, I do not really know which way the fork in the road will take me. I know one thing for sure, I am looking forward to the next thirty days, if nothing else but the alone time I hope to get.

By the way, the next sojourn into the wilderness is scheduled for September 2015, in the jungles of Arunachal Pradesh. I am looking forward to that one too. Truly speaking I want to spend thirty days in the wilderness every couple of months or so. The planning has already started. Arunachal Pradesh is the next. Maybe Sunderbans after that. Maybe a deserted island in the Andaman next year some time. The target is to do one thirty day wilderness experience in the Yukon towards the summer of 2016. Yukon, that’s in northwest Canada and I will be in the middle of some 70,000 grizzlies, a thousands of moose, wolves, wolverines and a whole lot more. For some reason, I have a feeling that the Yukon will be a very rewarding experience.

Anyway, so much for gazing into the future. The first one starts a few hours from now. I hope that turns out to be as exciting and pleasant as I hope it will be. Stay tuned, pictures and videos will come up soon.

Oh yeah, and do wish me Godspeed.

India’s Daughters and Sons

The last couple of days has given a lot of fodder for the media at large, the Government of the day, the twitteratti, the armchair critics, the bhakts, the feminists, the lawyers, and the general citizenry. A filmmaker released a documentary based on the horrific, barbaric, brutal, bestial, animalistic gag rape that shook India’s collective conscience on Dec 16, 2012. Six men, one 17 years old but by no means a “juvenile”, took turns at not only raping a girl, but went on to shove iron rods inside her private parts, ripped out her innards, beat her and her friend to pulp and when done, threw her away on the streets like a used and broken rag doll. India erupted the next day and the protests went on across the country for days, forcing the Government to bring about a change in the law. Other things crept into the canvas, Jyoti Singh aka Nirbhaya was forgotten and life carried on and girls, women, infants continued to get raped and brutalised. Till Leslee Udwin made front page news about the proposed telecast of the documentary based on this rape. Titled INDIA’S DAUGHTER, the Government was quick to get outraged, the telecast was banned, BBC cocked a snook and released the documentary on YouTube, millions saw it and shared it, discussions around it tended and no one really knows who landed up with egg on his face.

I have seen the film (probably minutes before it was taken down under Court orders, and found it chilling to say the least. Chilling, but not surprised. Largely the social media discussions were woven around what one of the perpetrators, Mukesh Singh, had to say. After two years in jail for the crime, sentenced to death by hanging, appeal pending in the Supreme Court, Mukesh did not see himself as the perpetrator of the crime at all. According to him, the girl was asking for it and for the love of God, Mukesh could not understand what all the fuss was all about. Why was he in jail while many others were roaming scot free after committing similar and, according to him, more serious crimes, he asked. Sadly, no one has an answer to his question.

I tend to agree with him. The malaise is very deep rooted in India. He was unfortunate to have got caught and sentenced after the public and media outrage. My question is regarding the defence lawyers who mirrored the same sentiment Mukesh Singh was verbalising. One said that he would pour petrol on his daughter and kill her if she was found in the company of a man. Another defence lawyer was more poetic, comparing women to flowers and diamonds, their place in society and where they belong. “We are the greatest society and women have no place in that,” he said.

These are not isolated voices. There was a policeman who told a rape victim who had gone to register a case at the police station, “You are old and haggard, who will rape you?” or words to that effect. A frontline politician and a pretty powerful one at that, was horrified that just because boys make a mistake the public calls for them to be hanged.

And it is not just about the rapists, the lawyers, the policemen and the politicians. Close your eyes, put a hand on your heart and ask yourself, “Do I objectify women? Do I know of any friend of mine who objectifies women?” You might be surprised to hear the answers your conscience tells you. As a community we ogle at women, we lech at them, while in the company of friends we revel at extolling the physical virtues they possess. Be honest, have you never heard yourself or your friends say things like, “Look at that ass, man” or “What lips” or “That mouth was made for a blow job” or “She gives me a bone every time I think of her or see her” or “Look at those nips struggling against her top”. We make jokes about a deep cleavage being one thing you can look down upon and yet enjoy. How many of us would walk away from a fashion show featuring wet white T-shirts? There was an advertisement a few years ago where a friend was asking another friend to test a microphone with the statement “What legs” just as a girl passed by. We all enjoyed it and life went on.

We all like women. We will be lying if we said that much of this liking does not evolve from lust. The more “educated” you become, you couch it and sugar coat it in more “acceptable” language. Somehow for PLUs (People Like Us) Motherfucker is less objectionable than Madarchod. Though, many of us freely use the vernacular in daily speech, without prejudice or malice. Like the politician said, “Boys will be boys.” But the fact remains that all of us (all maybe an exaggeration) objectify women. The form varies, the manner varies, the language varies, the intent varies, the action varies, but we do it nevertheless. How can we blame Mukesh Singh and his ilk who ends up venting his loin’s desires after a couple of hours spent watching some actress or the other gyrating her pelvis and tracing her bosom on a 70mm screen to words like “Main aayee hoon UP aur Bihar lootne” or some such other ludicrously seductive and provocative lyrics? Mukesh Singh probably does not have an opportunity to vent his frustrations other than go to a seedy underworld brothel which does not even come close to his fantasies, except to release his rising frustrations coursing through his loins. He is not having intercourse with the prostitute ... in his mind he is making love to and subjugating that actress he saw on screen. And let us not just blame Mukesh Singh. How many educated, urban, wealthy guys do you know who fantasise about some Hollywood actress or the other? Probably many. We hear of wife swapping in high end parties. There are escort services. There are private mujras. The flesh trade is alive and kicking in India. The rich can afford to pay for what they want, the poor end up raping.

INDIA’S DAUGHTER is really a mirror about the Indian male psyche. It will be wrong to confine the discussion to the contents of the documentary. We need to look deeper, hear the silence between the words to understand that what the documentary is doing, whether willingly or unwillingly, is showing us the malaise that has eroded the very sense of what human decency is all about, as far as women are concerned. It is not about Mukesh Singh the rapist. And it is not about Jyoti Singh, the unfortunate victim. It is about you and me. We can continue to hold candlelight marches, hold up placards, brave the water cannons, blame the politicians, nothing will change till the time we do not accept that each and every one of us is to blame for objectifying women and seeing them from the perspective of lust. Some of us more than others, but lust there is. Sex is as old as humankind. Prostitution, they say is the world’s oldest profession. One of the rewards of war was the opportunity to pillage and plunder the conquered kingdoms and to rape the women of the vanquished. Women became slaves to the conquerors, to be done with as they saw fit. Sex is a part of the human psyche and the sooner we recognise it and come to terms with it the better. We need to understand and realise that women are objects of lust and that all of us are guilty of that. Is it correct? Of course not. Should something be done about it? Most certainly. Will society change? It must. Will we suddenly start looking at women like the Goddesses we paint them out to be in our places of worship? I do not see that happening in my lifetime.

What does need to happen is a societal change about a lot more things than just looking at rape in isolation. We have to look at poverty. We have to look at education, particularly the girls. We have to look at equality. We have to look at gender not as opposites but as assets.

Debates and discussions and comments and articles talk about the whether or not the woman should be held responsible for who she is with, at what time of the day or night, what she is wearing, whether she is drinking, whether she demonstrates any public displays of affection, etc. Some say that it is the answers to these questions that will either save her from getting raped or end up getting her raped. Neither the question nor the answer is simple. No, a woman does not get raped because of what she wears. Just because she is seen in the company of a male friend after sunset, does not automatically make her a person of questionable character. She has as much right to a drink as her male counterparts. There are infants getting raped and no one can apply these reasons as to why that happens. No, it has little to do with the time of day or the clothes she wears. It is the warped mind of the rapists that rapes. Yet, the powers that be and the other sundry custodians of our faith and culture opine that women should dress a certain way or else they risk being raped. That logic is laughable at best and needs to be tossed into the garbage along with the person making such a suggestion.

However, and this is a big however. We live in a society where rape is prevalent. Is there any girl who has not been fondled in a DTC bus on her way to college? It has nothing to do with her dress, but more to do with the congenital (maybe “genital” is a more apt word) defect in the Indian male. Let me first take the example of dress. Dress appropriately, I say. I would not expect to see anyone, male or female, jump into a swimming pool dressed in their Sunday best. I expect them to be appropriately attired in swimming trunks. I do not want to impose a sari to walk on the beach. I do not wish to see a person in floaters and torn jeans at an evening ball where one is expected to be appropriate attired for the occasion. Personally, I do not like to see underpants hanging out from over the jeans anywhere at all, male or female. I wonder if they think that the underwear people pick up from the flea market is worth displaying to the rest of the world! I disagree with this form of rebellion, but that is just me. Go ahead and exhibit your underwear if you desire, but do so at the proper forum. There is a certain dress code demanded by certain places to maintain the dignity and the decorum of that place. We should not push the boundaries of liberty too far. I would not like to see anyone in swimming trunks in a place of worship for instance. But one can argue, that it is a personal choice and preventing such attire impinges on personal freedom. I am just saying dress appropriately for the place and the occasion.

Let me now talk about late nights. For boys and for girls. There is nothing wrong with that. When I am talking late nights here, I am talking about a party among friends. It could be in someone’s house or it could be in a pub or a disco. The boundaries are defined, the audience is largely known and symbiotic. Things are lively, drinks are flowing, people are singing and dancing and having a good time. There is nothing wrong with that. Things start going South when people lose control. Probably by drinking too much. Both boys and girls are guilty or over estimating their capacity to hold their drinks. Even so, given the audience that is largely within known circles, things do not get out of hand.

What sometimes happens is that this revelry extends beyond the boundaries of the venue. Couple get into their vehicles and the party continues. The back seat becomes active and a lot of cuddling and necking (and more) ends up happening ON PUBLIC ROADS. That is when the Mukesh Singhs of the world are unleashed. What Mukesh Singh saw on screen is suddenly unfolding right in front of his eyes in the car ahead. Here is his fantasy being handed down to him. The couple in the back seat drive away leaving Mukesh Singh in an enraged, engorged, excited state, looking for ways and means to vent. If there is an unfortunate Jyoti Singh he encounters, Nirbhaya happens. Boys and girls. By all means enjoy, but do so within the confines of a confined space. Do not display your physical love for each in the back seat of a car or on a park bench or in the darkness of a movie hall. We might want to believe that it is our life and our business, but we as a people have still not evolved to a state where we can believe that everyone will view such public displays of affection with indifference or equanimity.

Jyoti Singh is not India’s daughter. She is what she is (or was) despite India and what the State gave her. She was trying to fight the odds. She wanted to make it in a world dominated by men. She did all shes could to break through the ceiling of poverty. Her family not only supported her but sold their land to finance her education. It was but a few weeks away when she would have become a doctor and the family’s days of poverty would have been behind them. But alas, the Indian State failed her. The bus in which she was brutalised passed through police check points without being questioned. After her naked body was thrown out as garbage, no one came to help despite her feeble cries. Fearing public outrage and a deteriorating law and order situation, the Government deemed it fit to fly her out of the country to die. Her mortal remains were consecrated to flames secretly in the dead of night.

No, Jyoti Singh is not India’s Daughter. India belongs solely to her sons. The documentary should have been titled SONS OF INDIA, because a majority of the sons of India think almost in the same manner as Mukesh Singh does. Sure, many of the sons would stand at India Gate holding a candle, raising a placard, shouting slogans decrying the depths at which society has fallen. But many of the same sons will go back home and make money for an international porn star with ambitions of becoming a frontline Bollywood heroine. The SONS OF INDIA are more interested in a Baby Doll waltzing in through their doors, at least in their fantasies.

India and the world will not change in a hurry as far as how we treat women are concerned. And that is the sad reality. But we can try and make the country a relatively safer place for women than what it is now. For that the powers that be need to stop acting like a dick is growing out of their forehead. They have to stop sticking their head where the sun does not shine and do something about the situation. Instead of getting outraged at a documentary about a rape incident, they should be outraged about rape itself. Name the rapists, shame the rapists, bring them to justice in a short span of time and make examples of them. Punishment to the one that gets caught is unfortunately no deterrent in the short term. But with visible and swift punishment being meted out with increasing regularity and frequency to the ones that do get caught, maybe the incidences of rape will go down. Will it go away entirely? I doubt it, history is against it. Accept this fact and do everything in your power to put the bad apples away.

And what about the SONS OF INDIA? Let us take a pledge that we will not get excited by juicy melons or the luscious lips or the never ending legs. Let us wake up and smell the apples rotting in our own backyard before getting outraged at the way the world will look at India after seeing a documentary film. As if the world does not know already that India and Delhi is considered the rape capital of the world.

The Monk in Camo

(Note: This picture has been taken from the internet and is not mine)

When one thinks of a monk, one think of renunciation, of one having given up worldly pleasures to pursue a future of contemplation and prayer, to probably embark on finding the deeper meaning of life itself. We have monks, of both genders, across the world, and we tend to associate them in certain stereotypes. Wearing loose fitting clothes, often with their heads shaven, the colours white, brown, maroon, yellow, orange, etc their preferred colours. Flip-flops, sandals, maybe even torn sneakers. Generally a person who does not spend time on attire so much as in the pursuit of peace and happiness and whatever depth of contemplation they wish to delve in order to find answers to whatever questions they are seeking an answer to. Sure, there are the other kinds, the shams, the so-called God-men that embed themselves in sundry street corners, all over the country, particularly this country of ours.

Why would someone renounce worldly pleasure and pursuits? I certainly do not have an answer to that question. But I do know that it is not to “run away” from it all, though I am sure there are a faire share of that kind too. People who have “lost” in life, maybe lost a loved one, lost a job, gone into depression, money might have vanished, there could be so many reasons why someone might want to run away and become a monk. But these are not the ones I am focussing on. Sooner or later these people will find that becoming a wandering monk does not necessarily chase the demons away from the mind. The only way out of trouble is through it. If one turns one’s back to trouble, it does not go away but continues to follow creating a shadow that ultimately becomes larger than the demon itself. No, that is not the person I am talking about.

I am talking about the actual renunciate, the monk in its purest form, whatever path they may be following, whichever religion they might come from. These are the people, in my mind, who are peeling the layers of the onion away, trying to get to the core of “is” and the why of it. There is a story going around attributed to the Dalai Lama. Someone asked him, “I want happiness. How do I get it?” His Holiness turned to him and said, “Let go of the “I” since that represents ego. Let go of the “want” since that represents desire. Then all you have left is happiness.”

Well said. The more I study the world (study might be too strong a word to use in my case) I find that the reason for our unhappiness many times emanates from these two basic instincts – ego and desire. If the “I” is deprived, sadness occurs. A bigger car, a bigger house, the corner office, a well-stocked bar, a cruise on the high seas, a bigger tv, a summer vacation home, the list is endless. Our happiness depends so much on possessing material things. And our life is spent in pursuing the gaining of such wealth. When that does not happen, or happens to a lesser degree, we feel sad. Often the “I” is not in singular but encompasses our immediate family, sometimes it extends a little further beyond to even our extended family. The central core of this remains “I”, “me” and “mine”. It is this wanting that the “I” in our life keeps craving that ends up in disappointment and frustration and ultimately sadness or rather lack of happiness. Many of us might justify our not attaining the desired material possessions, but then when you hand over an article of long desire, you end up seeing the naked joy in the face. So, we are really fooling ourselves when we say that a car is a car is a car. Money does not buy everything, but poverty is a lot more comfortable sitting in a Merc than in a Maruti.

The second reason for our sadness is desire. Or expectations. Or attachment. Or clinging. Or possessiveness. Whatever name one might like to give this emotion, the core remains the same. Again, it emanates from the “I” itself. When the “I” expects something from someone and is deprived of it, one ends up being sad. It could be a “thank you” from the kid or a raise on the job, the agony of unfulfilled expectations can really devastate a person.

So, the simple solution is to get rid of the ever demanding “I” and then rid oneself of desire. If “I” do not “desire” anything, nothing can make me sad. Simple. But then comes the hard part. It works great in theory but barely a few nanoseconds in practice. Desire is an integral part of our lives. And it need not be just for the Lamborghini. Desire for a snack can be as powerful as the desire for a personal jet. In fact, we in our minds realise that the desire to own a jet might take some doing, there is a level of uncertainty in that desire. But wanting an extra helping of dessert is within our grasp and when we are deprived of it, sadness envelopes our very soul. This kind of deprivation can and does happen many times through the day, throughout our lives. It might be easier to deal with the non attainment of the stated long-term desires, but the non fulfillment of simple desires like a ticket to the movies slowly add up. Often times we do not realise the role these small incidents play in our lives and lay them to rest as a part and parcel of living. But we do feel sad that life has to be so.

Have these monks really given up all desires and all ego or are they on a conscious path to achieve this goal? I do not know. I for one, am not at all evolved enough to go down that path. I do not even have a list of questions whose answers I am seeking. I am a simple person, trying to lead a simple life, warts and all. And yes, I do feel sad. Many times every day. And I realise that my sadness emanates from the non fulfillment of my desires. Let me try and explain. Who would argue that wearing a helmet while riding a two wheeler on India’s death traps that go as roads are a good idea. Many do and most among them do so for fear of the law, not because they fear cracking their skulls open in case of an accident. Many others show their bravado by refusing to protect themselves. They believe their skulls are made of steel and nothing ever will happen. Try telling them otherwise and they will laugh at your face for being a wimp. How many people actually know how to administer CPR to someone having a heart attack? Very few unfortunately. If per chance they are faced with a loved one having a heart attack, they will make sure that they take the person to hospital soonest and be proud of the part they played. If the victim succumbs, it was God’s will. Little do they realise that by administering CPR, the life might have been saved. It has been known to happen! This is a fact of life.

How does this relate to my sadness? Well, if my life and times revolves around spreading the knowledge of safety requirement in everyday life that people need to be aware and I end up banging my head against a brick wall at each corner, I feel frustrated that people do not realise the importance and then end up feeling sad when I hear of a life needlessly lost due to lack of immediate medical intervention in the form or first aid. I am firmly of the opinion that any two wheeler rider who has met with an accident should be barred from availing of subsidised medical care at a Government hospital if his injuries were caused due to not wearing protective headgear. When I see people disregarding these basic tenets of safety I end up angry, then frustrated, then helpless, then sad. There is nothing I can do to convince them.

So what can I do? I can continue to spread the messages I feel are important. I can continue to do the things that are dear to me. The essential change I need to make in my attitude is to stop expecting results. As long as I continue to do what I think is right without fear or favour, without any expectations of the results, without being discouraged by the reactions and the responses, I should be able to live at peace with myself. It will be a kind of renunciation from the pressures of an interactive relationship with the rest of the world.

In comes the monk in camo!

Before I go into the reason behind a camo robe, let us look at another human trait. We all like to belong to something. We feel comfortable in different tribes, groups, communities. Starting with the family, then we belong to our neighbourhood. We belong to the city. We feel proud to belong to the country we reside in. We advertise our belonging to a particular faith or religion or caste. We have groups at work and at play. We support one sports team or the other and feel insecure when we find ourselves in a minority in a group that professes a different allegiance. We find it comforting to belong and we feel empty and insecure if we find ourselves out on a limb, belonging nowhere. It is as if no one wants us, we don’t have a strong belief system, outcast from society with nowhere to go or to call our own.

Step back and visual you are flying through space looking down at the blue marble we call Earth. Boundaries do not exist, people do not exist, it is as if the Earth is flying through space completely oblivious of the machinations on its surface. The Universe does not care where you belong. It is due to our insecurities that we wish to belong.

Let us extend the same analogy to the robes. A saffron robe means you belong to a certain faith, a white one somewhere else. Maroons mean you profess a different religion while orange is a deviation from one to another. The colours signify the path we are on, the community we belong to, the belief systems that are core to our existence. Cross that colour line and life becomes complicated, we feel naked, alone and vulnerable.

I understand why and how different people end up following different faiths, different path, different ways of life. Some appeal to them more than others. For many of us, it is not a choice, being hereditary in nature. We are what we are because of the circumstances of our parentage. Wouldn’t the world be a much nicer place if we were told to think for ourselves, questions our beliefs, arrive at our own answers and be trained to question our beliefs as we gain more knowledge. Why can’t there be a universal truth instead of being straitjacketed in rituals and forms and norms? That is utopia and I do not see things changing in a hurry.

Back to the camo. I do not want to belong to any community, or sect, or faith, or belief. I would much rather embark on a journey of discovery, trying to evolve my own questions and attempting to find the answers through the information I receives from around me and from the knowledge I have gained over the years. And I come from an adventure background. I love to live off-the-grid. I am a trainer in survival skills, for times when you have to make do when you have nothing you possess. Making shelter from the elements, rubbing sticks to make a fire, finding a stream to drink from, looking at the stars to tell directions. Isn’t that what an ascetic does too? The monk living in a far-off cave, away from the hustle and bustle of city life is really living off-the-grid. He is a survival expert. The only difference between that monk in the cave and me would be the colour of the robes. I am happy not to advertise my affinity to one form of belief or the other. I would rather stay with my own faith and belief system, which is living off-the-grid. Hence the camo.

Would I end up living in a cave as the monk in camo? I doubt it very much. Not in the immediate term anyway. As I have being doing for some time, I would end up living off-the-grid for periods of time and then getting back to my friends and family. Would the duration of such off-grid living extend over time? I really do not know, may be it will, maybe it will not. The important thing in my attempt is to give up attachments and desires and grasping and wanting and living life as it comes. I do not like austerity and punishing the body and mind to arrive at some deep seated understanding of the human soul. I am a simple person who wants to look at life from the outside, without having any expectations from it. What about food? Well, there is enough food on the jungle floor for sustenance. But shouldn’t a monk become a vegetarian, swearing off killing other creatures? Well, whether we like it or not, we are a part of the food chain. As “civilised” humans we are right at the top of the food chain. We eat more than we need to, we consume what we don’t want to. In a simpler animal world, you eat to sustain life, not for the pleasure of killing. If you have to live, something has to die. That is the law of the land, out there in the jungle. It is about survival, not about the glory of the kill. And as long one pays respects to the animal who has to die to keep you alive, in my mind, it is all right. I do not much care for animal rights activists or vegans who profess their love for animals but end up cursing the larger human community they belong to. Animal abuse is abhorrent and I dislike it, but when you have to eat to survive, it is a resource that has been put on the face of this Earth for all animals. That is what a food chain is all about. When the chain breaks, chaos reigns.

I hear a lot of people talking about “running away”. Is it? Frankly I do not have a coherent answer to that question. Running away from desire is a good thing, isn’t it? Running away from the chase of material things is a good thing. What about the people who love you? Your children, for instance? Like I said before, it is not as if one is leaving home and hearth and heading off into the proverbial sunset. It is about heading out for a while and then coming back. I can choose my neighbours, but I cannot change the fact that I belong to a family and my primary allegiance belongs to them. It is a question of how does one demonstrate that allegiance. What about the School you run? The School will continue to run. The only difference will be in the fact that the teachings will be to people who sincerely desire it and seek it. It will not be a mad rush to fulfill the numbers. It will certainly not be about training so many people at this cost. I do not how it will work. Hopefully more and more people will invite me to conduct these survival Courses in their Schools. Maybe some people will want to experience my life living as a monk in camo and will leave some basics behind for the opportunity. Some might pay the cell phone bill. Others might bring some food along with them. One common first-thought that comes to mind of many people when they talk of monks is the existence of the one who is getting on in years – the Old Monk. Who am I to resist when some kind soul walks in to my camp with a couple of Old Monks. Maybe someone will leave behind enough cash to pay for the bus ride back home. In the process they can experience the life of a monk in camo and learn some basic skills that could come in handy some day. It is not about the money anymore, but about sharing the little knowledge one has gained over time.

No, it is not running away but a new perspective on how I want to live my life. If people still think it is running away, so be it. I am not hear to prove others right or wrong, I am here to do what I think is right for me. Simple.

Where will I be in my wandering days? I really don’t know. Here, there and everywhere I guess. A wandering monk in camo does not require too much. I might impose on friends who have wilderness camps in the hills. I might end up on a beach and be a beach bum. Maybe in the middle of some jungle or the other. The decision on where to spend the next few days or weeks or months will evolve I guess while on the road. The destination is not important, the journey is. And that is the joy of this journey.

I like writing and I will continue to do so. That is one way to stay in touch. I guess these addictive pursuits like social media are not going away in a hurry. The frequency might become stretched, but the medium will continue to be a part of my life. At least as far as I can see for the moment, which is not very far.

Wish me God speed on my journey. I am the monk in camo. Do I hear someone wanting to make a movie out of it? Well, seems like a plan. Why not?