c u on top - satyabrata dam

People often ask me what have been my worst moments in life, when I almost died, or felt that I wouldn’t get back alive, when everything seemed hopeless and totally lost. My answer normally is that despite anything nothing is ever hopeless. As long as I have my last breathe within me even if I am totally lost and on the verge of dying. There is hope as long as there is life. And then I embellish it with saying that there are no worst or best moments in life; it all depends on which side of the fence you are looking at it from that decides if it was worst or best; albeit it was certainly a MOMENT. Whereas it is said that you should count your life by how many moments that took your breath away, I normally count them by how many mistakes I made and therefore learnt something out of it and in my case my mistakes are always goofy since I laugh about them upon my own silly attitude. Oxford dictionary defines goofy – ludicrous or foolish; and mistake – a wrong action attributable to

The other day while wading through Kalahari I met Mother Teresa and Madam Mata Hari One sweet lady and the other deadly I asked 'Hello girls, how do you do?' Mother said, 'Bless you son' Madam said 'I better kill you' I love them both so couldn't say no Mother embraced me within her glow Madam put an arrow to her bow Being a warrior of peace I told Mother to walk with the breeze And to oil her bow I gave Madam some grease So Mother ambled spreading love and joy I tumbled behind like a lost boy Madam would have nothing of this decoy Following one and pursued by another Two beautiful ladies asunder I wished being a better runner And then my dream ended Upon this earth I again landed Bruised and a bit jaded Two beautiful women with hearts of gold Kind Mother and Madam bold My soul to them both sold The above utterly ridiculous lines are a no-holds-barred impromptu take on two very dear friends, I have recently met. I respect,

Your Russian Guide in Kremlin I just returned from a madcap adventure in Russia with a group of friends to visit the highest summit of Europe – Elbrus in the Caucasus. This post is not about this climb. I know or knew Russia and Russians well and a smattering of the language that had taken me from the high volcanic plateau’s of Kamchatka to the Baltic or Finnish Lapland and from the frozen shores of Laptev Sea (Northernmost tips of Siberia) to the breezy Caspian, often pursued or accompanied by stern non-smiling men and women in uniform whose purpose was to ensure I did or came to no harm. So rushing through the Russian Tundra aboard the Trans-Siberian Rail or reindeer-sleding towards the North Pole, I had always been amazed and impressed with the Russian diversity and the people’s tenacity over so much anarchy and butchery. My first trip to Russia was more than 20 years back when KGB ruled that world and the mere mention of Lubyanka could make any lion-hearted feel dizzy;