Sundays with Fr. Robin

I didn't expect coffee with a friend to turn out into such an adventure but it did. I was to meet Fr. Robin at 5 PM this Sunday, to also meet with a remarkable woman named Bindu who recently joined our gang. Ryan and Neil reached before me as I got held up by another errand that had me running about in search of Blood Banks and so I rescheduled my visit to 6 PM, yet reaching Holy Family only around 6:30PM. As I sped past I noticed a lean sentinel standing outside the Church who looked like Ryan but missing his side kick so I gave him a miss and ran up to Fathers Room only to be shooed out as he had a couple of visitors. I then wandered off into the graveyard and found a spot to sit and rest dead center of the grave markers and green cover afording me a good view all around and the towering statue of Christ stationed outsuide his tomb on the third day while Neil yakked away on his cellphone at the farthest end of the the yard.

Less than 30 minutes passed and the skies changed colour as we were summoned to his room and we settled in awaiting the arrival of Bindu and Ryan. Tuborg Strong was proffered from a crate just gifted to Father by one of his senior helpers (Im sure to repay all the beers we stole from him at camp!) I declined and went on to brew some coffee for the 3 of us, I assumed Ryan would do justice to the neglected Beer but he too declined as he had to ride his bike home. Neil was very surprised at this contagious virus that had suddenly gripped both of us making him the only one sipping beer while I drank down 2 mugs of Coffee and Ryan yanked out a litre of Sprite from his bag. Fr. Robin told of his recent Khandala Trip with the gang, their visit to the Wax Museum at Lonavala and the highlight of their trip- Their Find: A weathered old hip flask full of clear spirit alcohol of dubious lineage buried under moss and water in the pool at DEAR Falls. Our friend Bindu was first to taste it and declare it fit to drink... An act of sheer bravery or even foolhardiness some may say but it earned my respect! To see this flask was one reason why I travelled across Borivali to Andheri on a Sunday. We went on to discuss the probability of future trips, both the boys and I were pretty occupied to head out overnight just yet. I informed them about my day trip to Chinchoti scheduled for next Sunday and the potential trip to Kune later on in October.

Bindu met Meena on their way to DEAR FALLS and I was keen to hear hear view and perspective of the lady. Obviously meeting me for the first time she was guarded about what she said but It gave me a fair idea about her instincts. Tech gadgets were the next point of discussion, smartphones and waterproof cameras, then digital footage, pictures were flashed around of nature in all its glory as is now the norm among tech savy trekkers. I was impressed by the overgrowth that marked the old familiar monkey trail to the DEAR... I must make a trip soon. The Petrichor air complemented our conversation as the rain and thunder came down heavily around us signalling the end of the monsoons. Lightning crackled eerily close as we made our exit. The 2 Km walk back to the Station as Andheri flooded up felt like a game of snake and ladders as I treaded cautiously, through calf deep water unsure of what lay beneath.

Butter Chicken and Rumali Rotis

Made a plan to catch up with Fr. Robin yesterday so I headed to Andheri after work and was reached Holy Family Church by 7:30PM. We chatted for a while about this and that until Ryan and Neil caught up with us about 30 minutes or so later. More conversation ensued about Ryans travels around the country and why we couldnt catch up for over a month. We discussed people drowning and recalled lives we'd saved or people we let die depending upon the situation. I've been trying to impress upon Neil the importance of being cold and calculative about self preservation rather than being overcome by the noble intentions of saving lives. A dying man can drown you in his attempts to save himself so you must be sure and careful before you attempt any sort of rescue. The conversation drifted to more lighter topics like Choirs singing at the White House and the International Youth Day celebrations held at Rio de Janeiro, the New Pope Francis with his liberal thinking and how its changing and opening up orthodox minds hitherto closed to modern notions. I drank some Irish Whiskey Tullamore Dew, pretty much like the other Scotch I've been drinking lately although Fr. didn't seem to appreciate it much but then nothing could beat Remy Martin or Hennessy in his opinion. We decided to order a couple of tubs of Butter Chicken from Sai Palace next door and we ordered 8 Rumali Rotis in spite of their price (about Rs. 40/- each). By then we'd opened up our beers and I was drinking out of the mug I was soon to part with, a nice large mouthed jug that takes in almost the entire bottle. Fr. Robin was lamenting about the tall narrow ones that kill drinking pleasure and I'd promised to get him one so I gave him the best mug in my fine collection. Although purchased years ago, none of my later additions could compare to this crystal cut beauty and as I drank I kept stroking the mug fondly wiping away the moisture accumulating on its contours. Our order soon arrived and we settled down to a quiet dinner in the next room so as not to disturb the sleeping fathers. In no time we had polished off everything save one solitary Rumali Roti. Dishes were washed, garbage was dumped and we went back to our room for some chocolate. I felt like some coffee but didnt voice my thoughts as it was rather late and too much trouble. We spoke a little longer now in hushed tones, discussing the fears that grip people and human urges... The eternal battle whether to hold back or to give in. A while later the three of us left Frs' quarters to let him prepare for the Discernment Retreat ahead of him the next day. As we exited the compound we were on the look out for a place we could finish off the last beer in our bag.

Lunch with The Man!

I was roused quite abruptly on Sunday Morning not by the melody of birds at the window but by friends preparing to beat a hasty exit in the rain. Fighting sleep and other evils from the night before I donned my Trenchcoat and walked with them to the car parked outside to collect the umbrella they borrowed to sheild them from the rain. Next stop was the church compound where I stood outside the church like a sentinel in the rain until after mass got over so I could give my dad back his umbrella. In between masses I made light conversation with the congregational traffic hoping they wouldn't smell the rum on my breath as I made a beeline to the Hotel next door for some breakfast.

Well fed on Kheema Pav, Bun Maska and Cutting Chai I could now focus on other things at hand and the sketchy plans from yesterday took form in reality. A while later I picked up a kilogram of freshly ground coffee from the local Tuck Shop enroute to Holy Family Church Chakala, reaching in time for communion. After mass I rambled aimlessly through the graveyard beyond and all of a sudden I felt myself being reeled in like a fish. I was swept up by and finally gave in to a  long overdue urge to visit the Statue of Christ at the end of the hallway at Vinayalaya. I had no reason to visit this place ever since Fr. Robin was transferred to the Parochial House atHoly Family Churcc, but I've always been in awe of this imposing fixture that seems to guard over the olde preiests on Death Row.Today I walked down that old corridor again setting aside my burden as I bowed in adoration. Kneeling at His feet I actually felt the weariness in my shoulders recede as I relaxed in His presence and my mind picked up soft music notes floating about from another mass being celebrated in one of the Chapels next door. a small walk in the greenery  beyond made the wispy music from the Choir more audible as I drew nearer.

I realized I had unknowingly disappeared for quite long and made my way back to Fr. Robins quarters just as my cell phones went off like alarms with S.O.S. messages from the Man himself. I told him of my whereabouts as we settled down to some conversation with Liquid Sunshine for company. We discussed lives and deaths, the mornings sermon and its elements. Mental checklists were ticked of things that had to be spoken about, people of interest and persons in trouble. In due course lunch was ordered from Sai Palace and we were soon gorging on Butter Chicken, Rumali Rotis and some foreign chocolate for dessert. Just before it was his time to be comatose we exchanged packets of coffee and I armed him with his latest weapon against smelly shoes in the monsoon... A brand new pair of Floaters.

Happy Days are here again!

Last I heard Lokhandwala was extending its boundaries beyond the grotto right up to the Precipice leading to what we know as The DEAR Falls. A few months ago I received this bit of Information from Jerry when he camped out at the Dear along with 7 other youngsters lumbering wood from the Kathkari Graveyard atop the hill with which they kept the campfire burning. I Doubt the old bones would miss a few old crossses but we just lost another haunt if this rings true.

Years ago when the Expressway was being built that region was used as a dumping ground for large boulders found at the Excavation site near The Buffalo Falls, I then thought we'd lose access to the DEAR but the boulders simply added to Natures Obstacle Course. Later on they blocked off access to the Buffalo Falls though which in any case was now a Minefield of Stink bombs left by the construction team!

St. Stanislaus Villa, Lonavala will be organizing Family Camps in the Month of May 2013, for bookings you'll need to Contact the Priests in Charge at St. Peters Church, Hill Road, Bandra. Fr. Robin Selwyn sj will be conducting the last batch from 23rd to 30th May 2013. Camp is open to Catholic Families looking for a Community Holiday. The Package includes Accommodation, Food and a range of activities suited for people of all ages. There will be Mass and Rosary, Outdoor Games, Nature Trails, Live Music, Mini Olympics, Karaoke, Skits and other general entertainment programmes.

Last Season included  a walk up the Saddle to pluck Karwandas,  A Bush Trek up 4 of the Sausages,  Rock Climbing down to The Garden of Eden and Side Step Shuffles along the Reservoir.

Dont miss it!

Fr. Robins 79th Birthday

For 79  Fr. Robin seemed as though he'd knocked off a few years and shed a few pounds. As I walked into his room after he spotted me in the reception area and we wished each other 'Happy Birthday' over a nice big bear hug I couldnt help notice he was in perfect shape and with more life in him than some people I know who are not even half his age! Putting to rest rumours of his death I'd recently heard from none other than my good friends father who refused to take my word for it that the good man was alive and kicking, Fr. Robin and I went on to knock back a few beers, grab a bite and catch up on whats been happening around us amidst all the calls and visitors who kept coming in.

3 beers or so later we dined on Yung Chow Fried Rice ordered up from our favourite Sai Palace and split a booty of Chocolate and Bar Cake between us for dessert. In the meanwhile, Khaitan the hired hand at Holy Family brought a rose for Fr. Robin as a birthday gift. One Gift that had Fr. ranting and raving was a Grammaphone record of his early music recording back in the 40s by a record company that had since shut shop. As the day passed, he had more visitiors bearing gifts and greetings and it was a pleasant evening that wound down rather nicely. Sandwiches, Croquets, Patties, Onion Soup and Coffee did the rounds while everyone chatted away merrily on the Terrace. Lala, short for Cinderella was one of the early visitiors as I was helping Fr. Gerard fix the gears on his bike for a solo ride to Gorai the next day, close on her heels were Sheena and Troy followed by the rest of the jolly Gang: Captain Tesclin minus the wife and kids, Sam the Sailor and his wife, Carlos and Evonne, Marie-Elena and Francois with their two kids, Nishtha, Carol and her daughter Kim, Kenneth and his kids Cibel and Angelo, Ryan and a trio of others I cannnot name because I knew them not so well.

Ryan gifted Fr. and me a couple of sleek steel knives, just the kind I wanted because it can be concealed in my boot and I left the party with a bottle of Rum so the day as it turned out was grand. There was no cutting of cake much to the dislike of Francois' li'l boy and his lament upped my desire for cake as well so I went home and sunk my new gift into another awesome gift baked specially for my Birthday by my dad!

Graveyard Shift

During the college years I often stayed on at camp for the entire month or season stretching to 3-4 batches of campers without real need to go back to Bombay except for some errand or if I was forced to go visit my folks back home by Fr. Robin because he feared his Chief Helper would get home sick. Kune was the kind of place that simply grew on you. The only Helper I know who got homesick the first day he stayed back on after his folks left was Dez, a boy from Andheri who colleged with me for 2 years but who had never seen me before he came up to camp although we hung out at the same places and even shared a few common friends. I kept out of college and out of trouble most of the time so I guess that gave me a cloak of invisibility among the wannabe cool dudes at St. Andrews. Learning the lay of the land, I was familiar with every nook and crany at Kune so could dissappear at will to take time off away from the crowds for a quiet nap by the edges of the Cliff, to glug a beer in communion with nature, or to watch the Sun set with my feet dangling over the 300 Ft drop like you would idly dangle your feet while sitting on a swing or park bench.

When I began working spending time at camp got difficult due to work schedules and other engagements, more often house hold chores and women held me back apart from the occasional social events that would sometimes conflict with Camp Dates. Still I'd try to lead the bunch of campers on the big treks to Eden or the Sausages, or when Fr. Robin was short of helpers so I'd run up the previous night or in case I managed to wrangle a few days off to spend at camp in between schedules. No more at luxury to take the Sinhagad express from VT or Dadar in the afternoon to reach Khandala in time for tea and games at camp I had to find a quicker and more random means of transport. By then the Old Bombay Pune Highway also sported the New Mumbai-Pune Expressway and that provided a constant flow of road traffic I could take advantage of. Apart from the Govt and Private buses were a slew of Private vehicles ferrying passengers up and down for prices far cheaper than and often quicker than the buses would. These vehicles weren't bound by "working hours" so even if you missed the last bus, you could put your self in the hands of chance and destiny to get you to your destination.

Soon that impromptu travel service became a staple for me and I'd set off for Khandala after dinner, drinks and whatever knowing I'd some how reach Camp before dawn. No highway robberies were reported then or even if they did take place -left no survivors to tell the tale. No waiting in queues, no tickets, no haranguing mobs on crowded stations... Just a busy intersection, a few touts, and then it was va va wroom in a Sumo, Pajero, Tavera, Qualis or the like packed tight like a sack of potatoes a motley crew of slumbering gents journeying through the night. Sometimes I draw a few raised eyebrows as concerns about safety were raised when I directed the driver to stop the car in what seemed like the middle of nowhere to descend into the dark recess off the Highway that led up to Kune. One cold dark night I crafted a makshift beacon out of the empty mineral water bottle and a stump of candle to shield the flame from the wind as I walked up to camp. Most nights were uneventful, sparse conversations with fellow passengers at the rest stops, awed by my lonesome travel and talk of adventure yonder morn I'm sure some must have even thought I was demented. I loved the eerie chill in the air and the electric buzz of the nighttime insects as I walked alone for about half an hour first down and then up a winding slope across a bridge and then chanelled by a mound of rocks on one side and wild shrubs and plants growing wild on a mud slope on the other before I finally rounded the bend up to the Kune entrance within view of the outpost lights to let my self in to a sleeping camp.

Encouraged by the frequency and ease at which I made these midnight jaunts to camp on a couple of occasions women who knew me well chose to accompany me, not so much for the love of me as for the love of camp. The woman I was into then wouldn't put herself in the way of such danger and was subject to tight deadlines so the worry of night time travel seldom arose. These women sure posed a few new problems though. I had to now give more thought about how and with who 'we' chose to journey with. I first had to trade off the 10-11 seater horse wagons for more roomy sedans and hatch backs that seated 4-5 people at the most...that also served to even the odds a bit just in case the going got rough. This done, the women added oomph to the ride and drew more attention from the passengers who'd try extra hard to make pleasant conversation. Luckily the women curled at my shoulder or travel slept fitfully through the ride and I'd deftly parry any probing questions into where we were headed so late in the night or the depth of the relationship I shared with them. One night our car almost ran out of fuel on account of a gas station strike and we were in the red on the outskirts of Panvel, The driver detoured through some unknown by lane off the Highway in search of fuel or else we'd be stranded in the middle of nowhere when the tank ran dry, after 2 failed attempts we came to a pump with downed shutters and lights out who agreed to supply fuel for the rest of the journey and we reached camp over 2 hours later than expected. On another instance we had to deal with a flat tyre and I cut myself on a worn out radial as I helped the cold numbed driver replace it with the stephanie in the boot.

Unscheduled stops and long waits to pick up anonymous passengers along the way always had me reaching for the knife I kept close at hand, and to palm the wooden tang of my Khukri or even the plastic handled  Elk Skinning Blade at moments like these brought both comfort and courage in equal measure. Theres truth in the saying: "A Survival knife is the knife that you have with you" A spine chilling experience was while browsing through the pictures I clicked on my Nikon S1 I noticed a strange light in the background, zooming in for a closer look the light pixiltated into a horizontal hazy face of a man with a forked beard and tell tale sign of a single horn on his head. Crazily enough I derived great pleasure in showing that picture to a few close friends just to get their reaction until I was forced to delete. No evidence of that picture remains.