Book Review - Three Cups of Tea

Written by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin - it’s a New York Times bestseller. A lot of books make it to the top but then not all of them make it to the personal favourite list and have this privilege of being talked about in my blog.

The sub title of the book “One Man’s Mission to Promote Peace . . . One School at a Time” says it all. It tells the real life story of an American, Greg Mortenson (who is also the author) and his transition from a mountain-climber to a humanitarian committed to reducing poverty and educating girls in Pakistan and Afganistan. The book's title comes from a Balti proverb: "The first time you share tea with a Balti, you are a stranger. The second time you take tea, you are an honoured guest. The third time you share a cup of tea, you become family..."

The story begins in 1993, when Greg fails in his attempt to scale K2, the second highest mountain in the world. He drifts away from the rest of his team -alone and exhausted in the mountains he ends up in a small village Khorpe (Baltistan) where the villagers nurse him back to health. To repay the people of the remote village he decides to set up a school for them. For a middle class American who has no real contacts in the world this was no easy task – building a school in one of the remotest corners of the world and that too on Pakistan-Afghanistan border- an area know for its cold deserts and the Taliban.

Undaunted and focussed on his mission Greg manages not only to build one but fifty-five schools in that region. He grew from being a common man to a legend but then there was no stopping- he still does what he loves most – using education as a means to eradicate poverty and terrorism from one of the most notorious(and physically difficult) regions in the world.

The book is written in simple language and there is nothing fancy about it- it reads more like a personal diary than anything else. For sure it’s a page turner – especially in the part when Greg is captured by the Taliban. He not only survives the capture but manages to convey to his captors that the mission he is working has nothing to do with any kind of extremism- if not the one taught in the “madarsas” where the future Talibanis are produced then certainly not the one that teaches Americanism or hatred against any religion.

The book gave me a fresh perspective to the conflict happening in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India- especially made me review my thoughts about the one between the Hindus and Muslims in Kashmir/Siachin Glacier. A lot of times I have heard that the common people on both sides of the border want peace and the war is more political than anything else. Newspapers (from both sides of the border) carry a lot of stories but then they always looked biased. Not this one. The descriptions of the atrocities suffered by the Pakistanis during the Kargil war at the hands of the Indian army made me think twice. I realised I have been so blinded by the gruesome descriptions of the atrocities on the Indian soldiers that I never thought the other way round. Reading it evoked almost the same feelings as Mani Ratnam’s Bombay had done – noone really benefits from communal riots no matter of what scale. The people on both sides of the border are all the same, with the same needs of roti, kapda, makaan an education for the kids and peace.

Another part that I liked was that Greg doesn’t sound pompous or out of the world anywhere in the book- he is a common man with common troubles – like not knowing how to raise money, failure in his love life and not knowing how to operate a computer. But then he still manages to be a success. I waste a lot of time, doing nothing and thinking that I do not have enough money- when I can afford a lot of things that he missed out on while raising the funds single handedly for the girls in Pakistan- like a decent dinner, like a clean pair of clothes, like a clean bed to sleep on. Made me feel ashamed that I work less and complain more- even when I am working to give my self a better life and here he was doing everything and not complaining so that someone high in the mountains (who will probably never would have been asked for an opinion) could fare better.

A must read – after all Greg has managed to become my personal hero.

New Beginnings, Old Endings

That was the first focused thought or image on landing onto the Delhi Airport. I had turned into Scrat, the saber toothed squirrel from Ice Age chasing an acorn (read: something unattainable) A squirrel with popped out eyes running after something really really insignificant in the real sense of the world but that which has acquired mammoth proportions...leading to avalanches and a change in age kinda scenario. My mind beeped again and again “Welcome to earth” in a robotic tone, again and again…and why shouldn’t it? Wasn’t I back from the seventh heaven?

As a Taurean, I strictly resist change of any kind but then within a couple of days the adaptability and optimism take over. Much to my indignation, time and again it has been pointed out to me that the same stuff that I found yuck some days back has become an essential favourite…But that’s the later part of the story…lets go back to where I was, at the airport.

The flight had been a tiring one…both physically and emotionally. In the 11 hour flight from NZ to Singapore all I had done was to sit and wonder as to why I was getting back to one place I hate so much. Gurgaon. But then forget saber toothed squirrels, even humans do not have much of a say once the flight is in the air. So I did what humans do when the chidiya has chukked the khet…I sat and wondered “he Bhagwaan…mere saath hi aaisa kyun?” as silent tears fell onto the unread book in my lap. But Bhagwaan true to his nature as always remained silent. Find your own answers. If I got down to answering “mere saath kyun” to all mortals wouldn’t I become a saber toothed squirrel myself??

Singapore, to much of my relief had terminals with working internet (so what if they were as slow as the huge dinosaurs which could move only a few meters in all day). This fact, like the Bhagwaan thing didn’t bother me, for wasn’t I the squirrel (sorry the saber toothed squirrel) from the same age as the dinos? The super slow dinosaurs managed to transport me (in the virtual sense) to my hubby and for a few minutes I was back to my old bubbly self. But then it was time to go and catch the next flight.

As soon as I was seated and had realized that there was nothing interesting till the next few acres, I dozed off. The air hostess came and asked if I wud like to have veg or non-veg. By the time she came back with the order I had slept off again and had to be shaken (not stirred) for dinner. Ate and slept off again and was still sleeping when the plane hit the ground and came to a standstill. It was finally time to wake up from all the dreams…even the ones I had been living in since the past few months.

Delhi, bursting with all its energy- the energy further energized by the special energy at the airport. It made me feel like the saber toothed squirrel to the power two. Here I was alone (I realized the true meaning of the word for the first time-pre marriage I was the “Bandar” in Bandar kya jaane adrak ka swad). My loneliness was again raised to the power of five in the absence of a working cell phone. But then…saber toothed squirrels don’t have any instruments…all they are supposed to do is to chase the acorn.

The night passed and the next day dawned. I, the saber toothed squirrel, resolved that I would not cry anymore…but will rather catch hold of the acorn. Struggled through the day and finally managed to get a place to stay, a Vodafone connection and an internet connection. More than I could ask for. And then late in the evening when I stepped out to buy fruits (for a midnight snack-old habits die hard) in an odd way I felt happy and relieved to be back…for wasn’t this my real life, my real self? Alone and independent?


Moral of the story: You (oops!! Sorry, I) can find happiness in any situation. Sometimes the grass is really greener on my side. Green grass means fertile soil and fertile soil means more acorns…yeah I know most of them are unattainable- but so what? They are there, I am there and so shall it be till death does us apart.