Hell's Half Acre

Biking the Strand

2009-02-03T08:41:00.005+05:30

I've got to tell you, (you being the millions of eyeballs that read this blog surreptitiously), it took me a while getting used to calling a bicycle a bike. Where I come from, a bike is a machine with the impressive cubic displacement of (often) 100 cc and above, while a cycle is something that the masses creak away in. Out here in the US, a cycle is a motorcycle, and a bike is a bicycle. Crazy I know.

So, 3 weeks into the new bike, what do I have to show for my efforts apart from a butt that keeps chafing? The cyclocomputer tells me that I have so far ridden my bike 123.4 km with a Max speed of 39.5 km/h and an average speed of...no idea. I foolishly saved a few dollars and hence my cyclo can do every other computation but this. I could but it's a pain keeping time.

My first long ride here was to Santa Monica along the Strand- a two lane strip that runs parallel to the beach cities in south LA for about 50 miles or so. I managed about 70km on that first trip and all but huffed and puffed my way back home. Work and weekends away from home kept me away from extended trips for a while, till I finally decided it was about time to hit the saddle. So I just completed a 30 km trip to Manhattan Beach...I feel great, my fitness seems to have improved, and if I keep at it I should get to an average of about 28 km/h. I think i did about 23 km/h this time around.

Opening up a new cycling era

2009-01-31T17:44:00.002+05:30

I really love my BSA Mach 1.

But guess what, I own a Fuji Cyclo Cross 2.0 now!

And I love it!

'nuff said. time to pump it up and hit the road.

Reunited with the old flame

2008-09-12T20:03:00.008+05:30

She and I went around a fair bit during my adolescent years. We hung out pretty much anywhere and everywhere in my coming of age years in Chennai, the hot and humid Chennai weather notwithstanding. And then, one day she left.
I'm referring to my BSA Mach one of course, which was stolen while I was away at college. And then when I came to Bangalore in 2001, I bought another one which was also stolen soon after. I'd gone to the old Plaza theater on MG to watch a Bond flick, and when I came out the Mach one had disappeared, taken by some guy who couldn't afford Double Oh Seven's Aston Martin, so he made do with a "Mach one". I bought my third Mach One a couple of years ago in a rush a blood- I remember dragging Shwets to the Madras Cycle company shop on SJP road and lugging it in the Wagon R with the rear tyre jutting out. Of course, me being me, that initial rush of enthusiasm passed and the Mach one spent time in my basement, becoming a luxury condo for generations of spiders. I finally got around to converting this to a geared cycle- Shimano 6 speed- with a thumb shifter, thanks to lalu at Raja cycles (again on SJP Road) -and a pretty helpful chap he is too.
I grew up in an era of the Hero Jet- a quarter cycle version of the ubiquitous gentleman's cycle, reminiscent of erstwhile pictures of communist China with thousands of factory workers pedalling away in sync to Chairman Mao's drumbeat. Those days the Mach one was the snazziest thing on wheels that a teenager could show off on. I remember borrowing my friend's Mach one in Delhi and zooming down the street to impress some of the neighbourhood lasses. Unfortunately, the rusted frame had to give away during one such show that I had put on for two beauties who used to be the epitome of chic fashion in our colony. That ended my dalliance with the Mach one for a few years. Now the 80’s girls have grown up and had their Karishma Kapoor like bushy eyebrows threaded, but the Mach one lives on…

Chris Rea in the morning

2008-09-09T08:23:00.002+05:30

A combination of Chris Rea and masala chai in the morning makes me yearn to straddle the thumper and blaze off into the high Himalayas. It's no wonder that I have been watching "the Motorcycle Diaries" over and over again.
I've recently discovered how much I've come to like the lyrics of "Gone Fishing" though I'm normally not a lyrics kind of guy. Simple lyrics, but like the lines in a Hemingway book, they convey so much!

Im gone fishing
I got me a line
Nothing I do is gonna make the difference
So Im taking the time
And you aint never gonna be happy

Anyhow, anyway
So Im gone fishing
And Im going today
Im gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing

But just watch me go
And when the time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me

You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But you’ll never be free
May as well go fishing

Getting Touristy in Paris

2008-07-14T23:32:00.003+05:30

Well, in an unusual departure from my style of tourism, I decided to spend the day in Paris as a typical tourist would. So, it was from "must-see" monument to the next- From the Arc De Triomphe to the Eiffel Tower. Gosh, I've got to be honest, but the Eiffel tower was a big letdown (as most of the must see attractions in most cities are). I don't blame Parisians for having protested the idea of the Eiffel Tower when it first came up. Compare the iron girder structure of the Eiffel tower with the royal elegance fo the Louvre, or even the Imperialistic Arc De Triomphe and you'll know what I mean. If anything, the French should gift the Eiffel tower to the Chinese, for it is more appropriate for a nation that is one big construction ground:-)

My Bangalore friends will know my love for crepes, developed over many visits to La Madeleine on Lavelle road. Forget the Eiffel tower my friends, this is the city for crepes. I have tried them at several different restaurants and boy, do they know how to make them!

An interesting diversion was- thanks to a spot of rain that I wanted to escape from- the cemetery at Montparnasse, where many famous Parisiennes and French people are buried. This included Jean Paul Sartre, Simone De Beaviour, and many others.

48 Hours in Paris

2008-07-13T10:07:00.007+05:30

Well after a few years of seeing Paris as a destination while transiting through Frankfurt, finally got to the city. And wow, what a city! The architecture is just magnificent, and I've just been walking around all day since I touched down. Researh on the web had warned me about the rude Parisian, but everyone I've met so far has been real friendly and helpful- even if the help was a bit misguided eventually:-). The area I'm staying in is called the Place d'la Republique and it's close to most of the action, or as much action as can be had in 48 hours. I leave for Antibes on the grench Riviera tomorrow (by high speed TGV train no less!) and from Antibes make my way to Sophia Antipolis, where I have to meet one of our European directors.
Ok, before I hit the city (it's Sunday morning- 6.45 am, lovely day outside, nary a cloud in sight) putting up some pictures from yesterday.

Skiddddddddd.......!

2008-03-18T18:15:00.002+05:30

Back from a weekend at Chennai (and after having positively enjoyed the road rage free drive on the wide Chennai roads) thought I'd go for a spin. Just as I crossed a signal at K'mangala some *&^%$#*( idiot in a matador decided to come to a screeching halt right in front of me. And I hit both brakes and I knew rightaway I was in deep deep shit. Brakes locked, tyres skidded and I slammed straight into the 'dor's rear end. However the bike didn't turn turtle while skidding and that saved my beans for another day. Damage done- front mudguard bent like crazy, number plate broke in two. Hopefully nothing happened to the front forks...got to get the bike checked out tomorrow. Oh yes and to complete a rotten day, I got caught by a cop for not having a number plate!

And the family grows....

2008-02-21T13:16:00.000+05:30

Ah, what's this I hear you say? Have the cosmic forces and vibrations finally converged on the Aeromaniac and added a squealy (and rather leaky) lil one to the brood? Have the inlaws' extensive prayers (and no doubt sacrifices to the deities) been answered? Fear not people, that's not the path I'm walking down right now, though admittedly the pressure is on from all corners and the bullets are flying fast and thick. What I'm talking about is the latest addition to my automotive family...an Enfield Standard 350! Model 1993, condition immaculate, quirks many, mileage not known!

I know some well meaning folks think the Aeromaniac is going through a rather premature case of male menopause with an inclination for hobbies that people are giving up in their late twenties, or take to once in their forties.
The reality is far more mundane though. Since I'm on a sabbatical right now, having the bullet neatly dovetails with some trekking I intend to do in the North around April/ May time. The plan is simple- take the Bullet to Delhi by train and then roam around Himachal on the bike. Leave the bike at some village, and then start trekking. The catch in this simple Utopian story is that the Bullet is not your average fill it, shut it, drive it forget it kind of bike. No sir, this is a bike that demands you learn how to wield a mean spanner. So instead of just riding my bullet and depending on the local mechanic to fix the bike, I'm slowly getting to grips with tappet adjustements, a freakish electrical system, puncture repairs, oil changes, gearbox adjustments, tuning..the works. Of course the admonishment from the local mechanic is predictable-"don't adjust anything sir, if you disturb something we may never- not till eternity also- be able to make the bike right again". And then I stop and think, this is 1950's technology, how complex can it be even for a dumbass dead poet like me to figure out? And yesterday when I did my first oil change successfully and cleaned the oil filter to boot, it just reinforced my self belief. Of course I have another month in which to learn the basics before I set off on my sojourn. Till then, it's a few nights with Pete Snidey's Bullet manual and the friendly folks at the online bullet groups.

re·ju·ve·nate: to make young or youthful again

2007-06-18T16:23:00.000+05:30

Pics of cars being 'rejuvenated' to former pristine glory, at the workshop I frequent

1957 (?) Dodge Kingsway

Dodge dashboard

Austin model ?

MGTD- restored from practically junk!

Peugeot 403

Papa's here!

2007-01-11T10:02:00.000+05:30

How the East was won

2006-12-04T09:06:00.000+05:30

The winner gets Ladakh and the others sweat it out

2006-08-05T05:12:00.000+05:30

Bob,
Here's an open 'feeling envious and happy' letter from me typing in the sultry humid 'feels like 47 degrees celcius' heat in NJ while you're driving down that lovely road to Ladakh. I'm sure those final moments before you slipped that company badge down your pockets and felt the evening bangalore air like many times before, but this time it feels like independence, it feels like a prisoner being let out of alcatraz dressed in the emperor's robes and the keys to a million dollar vault in switzerland. You must have started that Wagon R and dashed off through the immovable bangalore traffic without a single swear word escaping from the otherwise quickfire hollow. You must have gracefully yielded to pedestrians, to cows, to anything that moves and doesnt move while your heart bounced inside with unharmonious happiness. You must have reached home and switched off your mobile phone and flung it to any vacant corner in your house, but it still managed to find the fin of a airplane model 'in the works' and you didnt care for once. Before boarding that plane to dilli, you must have saluted good bye to the hazy evening air of bangalore and as the announcements begin, you must have muttered to your better half, "That bugger Rambo might be sweating gallons out there while we're gonna be in paradise for the next few days"....Drip..Drip...Drip...."Enjoy Mate!!!"

Bombay....

2006-07-11T21:27:00.001+05:30

In the days of our courtship, my then girlfriend (now wife) and I used to traipse all over the places that we studied and worked together in. Bombay was one such city that I came to like very much thanks to some happy times we spent together during our summer internship. The local transportation system with the myriad taxies, BEST buses, and of course the ubiquitous local trains were the arteries that used to take us all over Bombay- from the waterfront at Colaba to the hep (and unaffordable for a broke student in love!) restaurants of Bandra, from office at Lower Parel to the used bookstores on the pavement at Fort, from the eclectic paintings at the Jehangir Art Gallery to the hobby shop in seedy Grant Road. Like other couples that I see today around me, we used to be totally engrossed in talking to each other, and hardly even noticed the crush of humanity milling, gawking, thrusting, jostling, and jabbering around us. Once in a while of course, I shunned the cocoon of semi consciousness that used to envelope me, and I used to take some time out to wonder at the parallel lives being led next to me. The group of 'local train friends' who meet in the same compartment on the same train day after day, the working superwomen who are dicing and slicing vegetables in sync with the rhythmic clacking of the wheels, the serious college student, the not so serious ones sharing a raucous joke; near me there's an apparently well read man thumbing through a Salman Rushdie (wondering if Salim of Midnight's Children and he are leading parallel lives), over in the corner there's another fresh faced couple, unable to take their eyes off each other.
At the end of a hard day's grind, it was always a welcome relief to plonk down into the hard welcome of those second class wooden seats, wrap yourself up in the cloak of anonymity that goes with the any railway journey and eventually be ejected out at your station. After today's news of course, I wonder if it will ever be the same again? There’s a flash bulletin which screams that over a 100 people died in Bombay when bombs went off in many local trains. Will I be able to hide my look of apprehension when I see a guy carrying a bag into my compartment? Will I become one of the paranoid across the seven seas who flinch at the merest look given by a radical looking stranger?

Indian Literature in India???

2006-06-09T17:50:00.000+05:30

Try as I might, I just can't get hold of any Munshi Premchand books anywhere in Bangalore- I've tried Landmark, Gangarams, Blossom (Premchand yaaru?) , but looks like these bookshops only cater to the yuppie junta (me included). Ask for the latest Booker wonder, or an old Dalrymple, and that's going to be there for sure. Indian writers writing in English are very welcome, but Indian writers writing in their own languages, how passe.

I'm sure if I looked hard enough I can find Premchand's writings translated to English, but that's not the real deal right?

It's been ages since I've read any of his stories and the last time I remember I was the South Indian boy in a Delhi school struggling through sthrilings and pullings, muhavare aur that lok word which I can't remember. Still screw up, and I'm sure my Bhopali inlaws have muffled many a chuckle over my linguistic gaffes in our weekly conference calls.

Anyway, while the rest of the Hindi lessons were painful, reading Premchand was amazing- I really loved his stories set in an India hidden to most city slickers, with the travails of the common man. That's the official line- the real reason probably was that Hindi Literature (Hindi Paper 2) used to be typically the last exam before the two month summer break, and writing a critique of a story was any day better than signing off the last day of school with yet another mediocre performance in Maths.

Ah guess what, even as I'm writing this, I discovered a nice blog site which has Premchand's writings:

http://munshi-premchand.blogspot.com/

Seems pretty comprehensive and I know what my weekend reading is going to comprise of now!

Maybe its the dancer or Maybe its the dance the dancer dances

2006-06-01T20:11:00.000+05:30

I'm in Chennai these days and 2 evenings back, wife and me happened to drive through a particularily old part of Mylapore called the RK Mutt road and a chance glance to the left into a old school there got us into a bharatnatyam performance by 2 lil girls. The descriptions on the board were elaborate and we decided to park the car and spend sometime encouraging the amateurs. The show started off with a pushpanjali, alaripu followed by invocation to the various vedic/puranic deities. The girls had to keep the stamina going along with emotive correctess with the humid evening only adding to the challenge. The vocalist, the mridangam player and the violinist who enthusiastically played along were completely oblivious to the fact that the hall was not even 20 percent occupied. Within a matter of minutes, they were transported into a different world, a different dimension where the audiences didnt matter, thunderous appalauses were not the logical end of a dream and "I still cant hear you" rock acts dont exist.
Later that evening, it rained and the loud diesel engine stalled willingly in a familiar lane quietened by the drizzle. Should artists need audiences to keep the spirit going? Can they continue nevertheless as they trance themselves into a plane where the act and the actor complement each other? My thoughts reached out to another evening almost 15 years back in a small town in Kerala where talented Kathakali artists perfomed a night-out as they became one with the lord and in the morning, the make-up wore off and they returned to the known world. A movie made some time back called vanaprastham tried to tackle this topic: An artist's alternate existence therefore becomes his true being as he flits between 2 worlds trying to define what is his real world - As an artist who plays positive divine characters as he dons his robes as opposed to his difficult existence in his daytime penury battling life's realities. He finds his alter-ego being able to transcend all societal rules by donning his robes and connecting with a love struck hallucinating audience member, a royalty from the Travancore royal family. The audience then has a tough task at hand to connect with the artist at this level.

The Night before the Day after Yesterday

2005-12-23T11:14:00.000+05:30

It is happening again..It always happens on the night before days where a big journey awaits..
It used to happen in blore waiting for 4 Am or 5 Am to escape the dark city while its still dark and enjoy the languid morning calm thereafter as it surfaces beyond the fields looming behind a unknown milestone..then life starts afresh and the sheer joy of making a good start is nirvana!
But its the wait on the night before that takes the life out of your system, waiting endlessly listening to the sounds of the night, sudden gasps of wind that buffets through the non streamlined arteries around your house, a late night train that hoots and bellows into the still night, a few canines holding a midnight session with arguments reaching an uncompromising crescendo. Before time, you know that its again one of those nights when sleep eludes you as thoughts fill your mind and old memories battle to remind the new of better times then..
Its like a 1984 Williams Selyem Pinot noir that will begin its slow decline soon and then another cask of enriching memories mature till it oscillates endlessly into your mind's moorings without control and shatters the peace within. Its best that these memories reside in the dark confines of the cellars to prevent its decline..not yet the occasion..Now, as i sit wating for 5 AM when i can begin the day afresh, to run over to the car rental in Kansas city, pick a friend, crank the iPod and drive into the interstates to drive for 800 miles to Michigan that'll have no unmarked milestones from tippu sultan's period, no tea shops by the side, no darshinis to fill your heart with masala dosa and filter coffee, no misplaced yellow karnataka police barricades to remind you of the morning after, no early morning break of the morning stop-by beside an aging decidious tree, no purple skies over nanjangud, no blueplastic sheet covered art goods that wait for another day for a buyer to release it from the mild deccan sun...Instead it'll be exits with rest areas and a recurring template of endless sameness in which i'll find my own Deja vu all over again...and again....till i find hope in a old simon and garfunkel soundtrack as i drive again through a familiar town here and there..

"’let us be lovers we’ll marry our fortunes together’’
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag’
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and mrs. wagner pies
And we walked off to look for america’
kathy,’ I said as we boarded a greyhound in pittsburgh’
michigan seems like a dream to me now’
It took me four days to hitchhike from saginawI’ve gone to look for america
Laughing on the bus
Playing games with the faces
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy
I said ’be careful his bowtie is really a camera’’
toss me a cigarette, I think there’s one in my raincoat’’
we smoked the last one an hour ago’So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field’
kathy, I’m lost,’ I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why
Counting the cars on the new jersey turnpike
They’ve all gone to look for america
All gone to look for america
All gone to look for america

Fort Kochi Photos

2005-12-07T18:59:00.000+05:30

The antique shops of Fort Kochi

2005-12-07T15:12:00.000+05:30

In the quiet bylanes of Fort Kochi, there exists a world of spice traders, Dutch palaces, a fast dwindling Jewish community and of course the ubiquitous antique shops that are expected in such a tourish mecca. I've always been fascinated by the treasure trove feel to these antique shops- you walk in through a front door feeling like Indiana Jones walking into the Inca temple in Raiders of the Lost Ark, not knowing what lies inside. Inside, the antique 'shop' is more of a warehouse (which is what it must have been once) that extends into the street that runs behind. Inside the rooms, piled up on the floor, along the walls and almost extending till the ceiling rafters are tons of furniture and curios.

The in-your-face items are the lineup of Victorian era (and made-in-Kochi replicas) bedsteads, candleabras, bookshelves, bureaus and what have you. Moving up the ages one comes across Art Deco period advertisments ( "So easy to take home the six-bottle carton" (Coca Cola)), cookie jars, tin soldiers... In addition there is the fantastic and the unusual- Prow section of a snakeboat, crystal balls, large scale models of an Indian Railways diesel and carriages (saar, thaat is onlly for sale to fourr-in-errs!!), Christian figurines, and some undescribable things that looked as if they might have been best employed for Chinese torture.

Will soon be heading back to Cochin for a friend's wedding- can't wait to see what else has been added!

Playing Games with the 'Whether'

2005-12-05T11:26:00.000+05:30

Statutory Disclaimer: Extreme use of ones creative senses urged. No photographs available to supplement the bad writing. The autheticity of the text is still disputed in Geneva and Not anywhere else which is a great relief to many.

Whether I wanted to do it, did it or did i not was never the question, It was always a question of whats the weather out there. But before I digress, the question had to be answered before i tried matching my ambition with the wind(Chill Factor literally..)
Summer and good sunny weather here is like a 3 day weekend that starts its mean countdown before saturday ends..Then the agonising seconds surge ahead and before you know it its Fall or Winter or whatever..All I know is that I cant get out without feeling like an astronaut.
Thats when the weekend of Thanksgiving happened...Last year, i had been to my uncle's place in Troy, Michigan where all the friends and family amounted to one huge gathering of wine and turkey consumers around a fireplace so warm. Those 3 days could be cruel to genetically disadvantaged lot like me who could accumulate as much as 10 pounds out of nowhere. This time, i decided to be careful and as i whimsically draw in my tummy to seat the laptop better, i realise that the genes got the better of me again this time...Damn Damn!
Atleast the trip was less gastronomic...I took a early morning flight into Chicago where a very friendly minus 10 degrees celcius awaited me. Nobody knew what lay ahead as the plane swivelled around the great lakes and shook itself on its way into the oHare airport(Children, Which is called the Windy City? Chorus: Chicago Ma'am). People with shorts and tShirts were sipping coffee and laughing away as they warmed themselves into a great thanksgiving weekend ahead..Clear weather and sunny skies and the thermostat controlled temparature inside made for some great times. It didnt hit when i picked the empty checkin baggage(that simply existed to accumulate the shopping friday sale) and walked into the exit..My friend Ajay was supposed to pick me up and i thought i'll step outside to enjoy the Chicago sun. And then it hit..I seemed like a ice-cold steel sword just struck right through all my veins at one go! This set the tone for the next 3 days as we spent the thanksgiving night at his brother's party devouring some great wine and turkey and a tired audience shook a weary leg at some late night 80s dance tracks courtesy Wined out DJ Blorrior's finely blended and aged iPod classics! Ajay's bro practically owned a mini cellar full of choicest wines from the merlots to the chardonnays to the now sideways inspired Pinot blancs. All his travelling into Europe has done his collection some good indeed. Sadly my knowledge of wine couldnt keep up with the pace of the conversation which is where i wished I had the winely-wise 'Commander of a Thousand wineries' for company who would have slam-dunked every conversation with a swish of his (now copyrighted) raising arm!
The next day, ajay and me set out for a 6 hour drive into Troy Michigan. We had to beat a snow storm that was almost chasing us around the great lakes..We had great fun doing the road trip stopping at times to grab a quick hot coffee and downing a corn cake or two. I love these road trips..Seems like i'm born for the road..Being on the road gives me a high nothing else can ever give..the only other high i get is from being on top of a mountain watching the world below.
I must have probably re-incarnated from an automobile that must have stood on one wheel and undertoom rigorous penance to attain a human form in the next birth..and like in the famed Amar Chitra Katha tales, a celestial being with silken robes and non matching ornaments lands up and grants the wish, but he also puts forth a condition. And so here I am on the road again with the condition that it'll end soon, just like the Whitesnake track, just like the weekend trekking chembra, just like the fuel in the Nissan Altima, Just like the good ol times.. No..I cant let it happen. The good times will never end..The good times will only end when the end comes and then it'll be the end.
And then the snow flakes started falling and it accelerated into a mild storm, we knew that we were being followed..by UFOs..Unidentifed Flakey Objects..darn i needed another coffee then..that was our last pit stop before Troy where i imagined I'll meet Helen and i'll match her dalliance with denial. Before dreams and wooden crafts took wing, my aunt met me with a confused mix of anger and euphoria. It was midnight and it was her nephew! So she heated some dinner that we devoured like black holes in human forms and graciously went off to sleep in the warmest quilt bed that i'd ever slept in. (Other accounts describe that Ajay apparently left home that night and drove 23 miles to his friends place in Lansing(not sparta), partied late, had coffee and then came back to my aut's place just in time for beakfast). Anyways, we had breakfast the next morning and set out shopping..We arrived with all fury and we found out that all prices have been marked up by 100 percent and then there was a 75 percent discount on it and people were buying goods like flies rushing into a flame..I was disappointed and we returned with just some necessities..We stopped by at a French Cafe in Troy where people were conversing in German and there was a football match between Romania and Latvia..This was the first time in the US that I ever saw something like this.
With such miracles that we encountered rested aside, Arthur and Gilligan went to a south Indian joint run by a friend and had some masala dosa, bru coffee and vada sambar...Sooper Dah!
Later that evening, i caught up with my cousin sis who drove in with her hubby all the way from phily and we chatted till i realised that we were running late and so adieus 20 miles away, we were seen driving into a rest area to re-fuel and as usual, nobody wanted to drive back..As observed on journeys with the Aeromaniac as well, eager and ambitious male drivers suddenly lose heart, hope and manhood when it comes to driving back..(Women I belive need to skip this process and get to the next step) . So 2 impotent drivers were left fighting as to who would bear the drudgery of getting behind the wheel and after a spin of the coin, I took the wheel and as usual, completed the drive aided by some great songs from Priest, Rockmachine, Induscreed, Phish, Sepultura, Pantera, Kishori Amonkar, some Buddha Bar, Some more coffee, some wayside conversations...
The next day was all running to get to the airport just in time for the flight that got late anyways and then after the wait, it dawned unto me that the whether had gotten the better of the weather.

Monday Morning - as the Italians would have it

2005-11-30T16:34:00.000+05:30

I know..totally inappropriate name for a Wed afternoon post, but some days just crawl on you so slowly. Lundi Matin (Monday Morning) is the name of this French-Italian flick by Otar Iosseliani which I'd picked up in a DVD shop in Delhi. Since misery has always loved company, the idea of watching a movie where the central character wants to break out of the Monday morning dullness was very appealing and so I watched it last weekend. It's about this factory worker who goes through the dull, dreary routine of life and *meets* his obligations towards family and work. The catch is that our man is at heart an artist, and of course the director takes pains to point out the incongruence of the two lives he leads- work is a smoky factory floor, where the workers are always directed to do menial chores like welding and pushing heavy things around. Read close up shots of sludge from the factory, dark smoke from the exhaust stacks, alarm bells ringing, typical factory noises in the background. Cut to the private studio at home- beautiful landscapes in watercolour, Venetian backdrops- see what I mean?

So our hero one day decides to take a hike and go off to Venice, and while there he has all sorts of interesting non-workday like experiences. The sad thing is that he ultimately comes back home (just like you and I go to bed on Sunday night and wake up to Monday morning), and gets into the same mundane rut.

Interestingly some of the more wacky movies I've seen of late have had this theme of people wanting to escape it all, finding mometary release/bliss, but always coming back to square one. There was this movie 'Sideways' where these two friends want to go on a wine tasting tour before one of the guys takes up marital vows. Of course amidst all the wine tasting in the Napa valley, the guy who's getting married also finds time to have some last minute flings with sundry residents- the other guy has been running away from his divorce... So while our married man enjoys himself on the trip the gnawing realisation is that he doesn't really want to get married. But of course, all the arrangements have been done, and there's no running away from it all, and so he gets married.

Probably there is a moral in all this...

Winter in the Air!

2005-11-14T10:20:00.000+05:30

Brrrrr...A 5 am autoride from the station, and boy was it nippy outside! Amazing how much the weather has changed over the weekend. Friday was cloudy and wet, Monday morning it's blue skies and with a cold breeze to boot. Looks like we've finally seen off the rain clouds and brought in the winter. Looking at NDTV's weather report, the whole country seems to be headed for a nice, cold winter. In the North of course this is the season for 'Western Disturbances'- a refernce to the weather patterns in the Mediterranean region which accounts for the winter rain in the North. In Bangalore, nothing like visiting Indian Coffee house in this season, or taking a hike through Cubbon park!
Even Chennai was very pleasant over the weekend, and that's something, if this born again B'lorean says it. Nary a sign of the sultry humidity or that scorching sun. That's for March 2006, for now I'm going to take a chill pill:-)

Truisms and Realities

2005-11-07T08:46:00.000+05:30

Interesting article- Am sure many of us working in the booming Indian economy have also seen the downside to it

http://www.indicthreads.com/blogs/316/software_job_india.html

The Big M

2005-11-07T07:52:00.000+05:30

It's that dreaded time again...Monday morning, after a blissful three days off. I've been working for a while now in different roles and in different companies, but if there is one constant then it's the feeling of being sunk which starts on a Sunday evening- and by the time you wake up on the Monday, the feeling's reached a fever pitch. From this state to office is about grabbing a sandwich, beating the traffic (which had miraculously disappeared on Sunday), seeing those familiar faces at office (familiar faces bring to mind familiar problems TM), opening the deluge of mails with thudding heart..wondering what s*** hit the ceiling in the USA while you slept and revelled over the weekend...By Tuesday of course you have settled into a familiar routine. Wednesday is time to start climbing down, Thursday passes by in a blur, Friday--ooh ever so agonisingly slow, please release me from here...and it's Monday again! Ad nauseum.

A quick perusal on Google reveals that quite a few books have been written on this phenomenon, which goes by the name of Mondayitis. Various cures have been suggested...ranging from 'balancing work-life" to leading the spiritual life. No doubt, these may work for different people- not so sure if this might work well for me. I remember the one extended period in my time when I was working in my first company, immediately after graduation. The job was cool (we were web designers), the immediate peer group was hep (just out of college teenagers) the pay was pretty decent- most importantly I loved the work I was doing! Since we all used to look at the workplace as an extension of college, staying around at work was never a problem.

Well clearly it makes no sense reminiscing about that time...things and realities have changed, and work no longer seems to serve a self satisfying purpose. So, I'm open to suggestions while I just grab this sandwich and head for work...

Those Friendly Ghosts

2005-10-25T12:38:00.000+05:30

Occasionally there are certain events that remind me of certain good times past, with some folks who have unfortunately passed out of my radar screen. Right now there's a steady rain pouring outside and the smell of freshly dug earth sure brings some wonderful memories wafting up. There was Capt S, based in Tatanagar flying club, with whom I struck a belated friendship- alas before the friendship could bloom, I was out of Jamshedpur, and repeated attempts to contact this intrepid hero of the skies have failed since. I hope he is successful now, flying for some big airline, getting his due in life. Always a great guy to hang out with, I can never thank him enough for taking my buddy and me up so many times in his Cessna 172- for free. And will I ever forget those rain soaked days at the aerodrome where we'd just talk aviation. His innate decency always comes to my mind when I pass these flying clubs nowadays where they charge people for giving joyrides. Amazing considering that I hardly knew the guy-whereas folks I know pretty well are not able to get out of the "do you serve a purpose for me, if yes good, if not step aside" school of thought. Then there was the late Dr R, who unfortunately passed away a couple of years ago. Nothing more I liked in the world than to drop by unannounced at his house on a wet day and kill time by admiring his paintings, scale models and the vintage car in the garage.

Sometimes you also wonder where all your good friends from a certain period went- At a certain point in time you were thick, but then priorities changed, and so also social circles and interests and I guess people just move on. Conversely a couple of friends I'd just about given up on due to the increasing distance between us over the last few years, just came back on the radar. The blip seems to be growing stronger on my screen- may it rain harder on all of us and bring back the good times!

Big Sur Vista

2005-10-18T07:20:00.000+05:30

Big Sur Vista
Originally uploaded by wilkie366.

Vladimir Yarets- Intrepid Traveller

2005-10-17T19:27:00.000+05:30

I had the good fortune of meeting this amazing gentleman in September, while walking around San Francisco- Vladimir Yarets. Hailing from Minsk, Belarus, this gent is on an around the world trip on his 1200cc BMW bike (it used to be a Jawa, until he took a fall in Baja California (I think, that's how I understood it) and had to write off his bike). No big deal you say, but what makes this special is that Yarets is deaf and mute. We struck it off pretty well, which is no reflection on my extrovertedness, but speaks rather well for Yarets' ability to overcome his physical 'shortcomings'. Apparently he lost his hearing during in WWII when the Germans bombed his city. In the humdrum of our narrowsighted 'corporate' lives, it is truly a memorable event to come across someone as intrepid as Yarets! To read more about Yarets, check out this link http://www.deaftoday.com/news/archives/000386.html

Solo Trip up the coast- LA to San Francisco

2005-10-16T18:10:00.000+05:30

Sometime in early September, when the clients had all taken off for Yosemitian heights and Vegas revelry, I decided to head out to the oft mentioned Big Sur/Monterey coast, about 400 miles up the Coast from LA. The drive was decidedly going to have it's own risks...having heard that Pacific Coast Highway 1 has its own thrills in miles of tightly twisting switchbacks with sheer plunges into the Pacific ocean on one side and landslides from the craggy cliff on the other- and that I'd be doing over a 1000 miles in the space of 48 hours. However, the fact that I'd bought camping gear, and that I had an awesome steed by way of a Pontiac G6 was enough to make me get out early one Saturday morning during the long Labour day weekend. The previous year of course, the same weekend had been full of bacchanalia, followed by knocking off THE monster (run up to which is available as a posting by blorrior).

Known as California's first Scenic Highway (and CA has a lot of Scenic Highways), the coastal highway or PCH as the locals call it, the road intially heads straight through some of the oldest mission towns in California, and later speeds up alarmingly through some of the smallest towns I've seen so far inAmerica...Gorda, Lucia, and some pretty nondescript hick burgs...Getting the beast out of LA, through LA's famous freeways, was a breeze. Traffic was thin and fast moving at 5 am, on I-405 as I zipped through the farmlands of Ventura county , and by about 7 am I had hit the coastal highway PCH 1. The stretch till San Luis Obispo (SLO) is pretty straightforward and pretty much typical of any place in America..you zip through towns at 55mph with the ubiquitous Walmarts and Kmarts dotting the countryside feeling like a swimmer in a pool full of neon eels. It's after you get to SLO that the fun really starts. I stopped over at the SLO Mission, set up in the late 1770s by Spanish missionaries, who came across the rough seas driven by an SLA to add more numbers to the faithful. There was just another tourist at the delightfully peaceful mission- which reminded me of the Aurobindo Ashram in its serenity- in fact the whole town has a very Pondicherry-meets Spanish -America feel to it. None of your Walmarts or Kmarts here, or at any cost the Mission area does not have any. Peering at the stucco finish of the walls and musing on the intrepidness of those Spanish Michael Palins, I bumped into this chap who was carrying his SLR the way troops carry their M-16's or AK-47's or whatever. We eyed each other's SLRs warily, and then figured that hey, neither of us has as yet embraced digital so let's raise the white flag. The man offered to take a picture of me on my SLR, but I thanked him against risking exposure of my face on negative film, previous adventures having gone against the grain, pardon the messy pun- and I moved on.

After SLO, if I remember correctly, the road settles down into a comfortable stretch all the way till San Simeon. We pass low hills dotted with wavy light green grass-the sea is no longer visible but I know it's waiting for me up ahead. Traffic has picked up a bit and road has narrowed to one a single lane highway. I'm having trouble staying behind the gent driving his 1960's Volkswagen Kadet at a leisurely 45 mph, so my Indian overtaking-instincts take over and before I know it the terrified drivers coming in from the opposite side are honking away. The hell, I think to myself, and i'm back at 65 mph cruising away.It's 11 am now and I've just reaced San Simeon- known primarily for the Hearst Castle- a monstrous edifice commemorating man's desire to affix his physical stamp to the planet-reminiscent of Ozymandias failing legacy in the Saharan desert sands in Percy Bysse Shelley's satire:

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Rising up like a Neuschwanstein out of the neighbouring hills, this 20th century monstrosity was built by William Randolph Hearst- very influential in the publishing circles of the 30's and 40s. Today its become a mandatory stop for travellers on the Big Sur trip-but not for me these gargantuan edifices, and I continued on the slick asphalt.

By 2 pm, I had started winding my way up the craggy mountains that make up much of this part of the Central Californian coast. The ever permanent Pacific fog kept shifting to give me tantalising vistas of the crashing ocean, hundreds of feet below. And then just as suddenly, the fog would close its clammy hands, leaving me with a chill and real fear as I took some of those curves at 50 mph. Ah, the sheer thrill of shifting the beast into a lower gear and have those tyres hug tar! Reminds me of what blorrior used to say when we had the tata tea man driving- excitement at 50 km/h. Now I was entering National Forest Territory. All along I could see lots of vehicles parked in campsites and people milling around like the Saturday morning vegetable market in the Hoysala stronghold. Is this what communing with nature means? That you along with a few hundred other people bring your petty city clicker thoughts and attitudes to an area that was out of bounds till well into the late 19th century? For heaven's sake some of these folks had music blaring out in these campsites. All in all it was godsend for me that these campistes were full- I drove up to the ranger station at the Los Padres national park office. There I met a couple of very friendly young guys and explained my predicament..We got chatting and then I - hanging my head in deep shame now- gave them this cockamamie story about being from North India, very close to the Nepal border..a brief mention of Everest base camp, Lukla, Namche Bazaar later, these two dudes got up from where they were sitting, leaned on the counter and gave me their full and undivided attention. The pied piper would have been proud. And then hestitantly from the taller of them both, "is there trout fishing in the Him-a-leyas?". Man now I don't need much to imagine that there is trout fishing in plenty in these parts so I basically launched off on mahseer and how the Brit anglers have left their legacy behind in gentleman's clubs from Mussorie to Munnar. I think we may have two converts to India somewhere in the forests of Central California.

Anyway, I digress- this friendly bloke there told me to head up to a road called the Nascimiento-Ferguson Creek road and find any spot 'suitable' for camping. I was pretty darn elated when an hour later I landed up on this deserted road and found a really nice spot, a few metres into the forest by the road. The time being only 4 pm, I thought I'd drive around for a while before I made camp, so off I went towards Big Sur- about 50 miles up the coast. On the way the fog cleared, and I finally saw what all the brouhaha was about this part of the world. The coastline is simply stunning, and to sound like the Big Sur tourist guides, it is indeed "the greatest meeting of land and sea". One moment you catch your breath seeing jagged cliffs plunging into a frothing sea, and then suddenly you come across a sheltered cove. In the distance the giant winged California Condor (i think- looks like a large kite) floated above the violent sea- Much nearer seals frolicked on rocky beaches.

Carmel-by-the-sea is one of the larger towns on this side of the coast and after zipping into a gas station for some grub, I headed over to the mission here. You can see the Spanish influence everywhere in the mission which is a rather charming little place in itself. By now it's 6 pm, and time to head back to my little home and set up camp. Get back to the campsite and what do I see, some dude has parked his Jeep Cherokee in that spot. Cursing my luck, I drive around hoping that the man will leave. An hour later and the vehicle is still there, so I think what the hell and just go and squeeze my car over there. I walk about 10 metres into the forest and find a pretty clear spot where I start setting up camp. It didn't go up badly at all, considering I'd never camped out before. That night I sat under the stars for a long time, listening to my engine ticking down for the night, and listening to the varied sounds of a forest in a land far away from home. Slowly the Pacific fog rolled in and switched off the lights in God's great black sky, and zipping up my tent door I went off to sleep, dreaming of hairpin bends and crashing sea.

I slept pretty OK, and was up by 4.30 the next morning. Time to head to San Francisco, a city I have longed to visit ever since I saw the movie, "What's up, Doc?" starring Barbara Streisand and shot in the roller coaster streets of 'Frisco. The drive up north reveals the varied topography of California- the cliffs and crashing seas make way to rolling sand dunes promenading along a gentle sea. On the right side of the road there are farms, and I know not what they produce, but bountiful indeed seems to be the output, going by the machinery at work on those farms. By 10.30 am I'm struggling to find parking up a long street and my car is at a crazy incline. I'm in SFO, it's the day of the world cycling Grand Prix, a cold wind is whipping in from the Bay, and the city seems ready to deliver on the promise of being America's most loved city!

500 miles gone into the trip let's see what the other 500 miles were like!

Ramblings at Tennessee

2005-10-11T14:18:00.000+05:30

The southern lands are sleepy and slow

where the world stops and the diners flow

for grilled mashed potatoes and cole slaw

followed by the gentleman jack for all to glow

The ghosts of the prarie never will they yield
for at the Murfreesboro Stones River Battlefield
I learnt of Sheridan's stand, a mighty shield
and the slaughter house by the field

At thy Radnor Lake at Tennessee

I found nature a delightful glee

A Jogger's Paradise for all to see

The young and the old, flee from monotony

Now the jogging is all in the mind's eye

Some time again, to Tennessee I shall fly

In God Forsaken Land (Don't go by the picture of happier times on the road)

2005-10-11T09:53:00.000+05:30

Driving to work in the great silicon valley of India is an intensely involved experience these days. I live 6 kms from work but take anywhere between 45 minutes to an hour to get to work. If you take your eyes off the road, the road and the maddening traffic take the better of you. If you try to concentrate on the music playing out from your car stereo to disengage from the your immediate surroundings, the surroundings conspire against you forcing you to engage or be dead. This is not the silicon valley of India, this is our own death valley and my dear quarter bro, mind you that there is no valley of silent serpents anywhere in the vicinity of this city, there are hissing and vengeful serpents all around ready to strike you if you dare to take your mind off the road. These serpents literally snake through the congested main roads and bylanes of the city reminding one of how toxic the entire experience can be. Courtesy - did I say courtesy - is dead. I would rather be quick (to react) or be dead. Interestingly, a recent survey of commuters in this city highlighted how the current traffic situation is impacting people's behavior in a city once proud of its courteous and polite citizens. How else would you describe the general mood when everyone is subjected to primal emotions first thing in the morning. If we start our day by being transported to times when man's primary needs were to respond to threats of survival, we cannot expect to design and build great software or for that matter create great theater personalities and poets. Is there a solution to this madness? I am sure there is but how can one think when one is resigned to his fate. Survive we will then, all of us, in this God Forsaken Land hoping that a messiah will emerge soon to transpose us back to the 21st century that the quarter bro lives in at his adopted home in Kansas. Bring us some Kansas here, my friend.
Ciao then and more from me soon.

Rizanics for the Day

2005-10-10T20:30:00.000+05:30

While my quarter bro discovers new lands in America's mid-west - a modern day Columbus of sorts - I seek lands of the ancient Hoysalas to buy for myself a humble 60 by 40 plot that now takes precedence in my mind as I rapidly transition from being a FIDDER (fiercely independent & dangerously distant) to being a FEEDER (fiercely emotional, enamored, dependent, empathic & realistic). Being a FEEDER is the only way to be now what with a new love interest in my life and this one being here to stay. As I think of the imminent matrimony, my minds eye conjures up visions of a new reality. A reality marked by domestic chores, social commitments, a new extended family and a possible bankruptcy is all I can think of these days. Gone are the days of fidding away with the quarter bro and the last great living descendant of the Ramapuram Tamarind tree. In these days of transition, I wish the quarter bro, the tamarind dreamer and I could meet to converse of analogous experiences now that the two quarters are preparing for their better-halves and the already halved tamarind dreamer baptizes his other half. So much for quarters and halves. Hopefully, time will allow us to recreate that erstwhile whole when all the quarters & halves for better or for worse shall reconquer the unimposing Chembra followed by the imposing Mt. Washington. Speaking of unimposing conquests for the benefit of the tamarind dreamer, the quarter bro and I must submit that the visually uninspiring Bear Mountain was indeed an imposing climb (or rather descent). How else would one describe a mountain that is easy to ascend yet complicated to descend. I am sure the quarter bro has indelible memories of the ominous maple leaves enveloping the real surface of the mountain, the leaves marking our return journey with caution and uncertainty. Add to this the fact that the quarter bro and I in the inimitable style that marks our wholeness (excluding the halves this time) chose the most uncoventional of all routes, a choice that most people in the quarter bro's adopted (or perhaps adapted) home would dare not make. This was a route devoid of all possible symbols, signs and banners that otherwise scream at you from every part of that information inundated land. The thought of this incident makes for an interesting analogy. The unimal and the other quarter (inspired by the thermal and quarter) were indeed discovering the true pristine America quite like Christopher Columbus centuries ago. On a contradictory note, imagine Christopher Columbus landing in America only to be ushered in by a semi-naked nymphet dishing out tour guides marking out the nearest Wal-Mart and Dunkin Donuts for Uncle Christopher to replenish Nina, Pinta & Santa Maria while he and his compatriots went wolfing on a Bavarian creme donut and iced latte to go. Imagine also that dear old Chrissie is being led to the first Indian reservations by the characteristic loud green overhanging banner that proclaims "I-287S Exit 10 Piscataway Indians, Exit 5 Edison Indians". Wonder what Uncle Chrissie would have been thinking then while own quarter bro rides away into deeper America in search of his half of the united whole that he shall be shortly. I on the other hand am consumed by the concept of FEEDER. As for the bro of the tamarind tree, what pray was your muse for the weekend gone by?- Random ramblings and Rizanics for the day

When the 'Commander of a Thousand Warriors" became my quarter Brother

2005-10-09T23:59:00.000+05:30

I went to the local Mongolian Grill for a sumptous lunch and as i took the pre-stir fry contents to the famous grill that's a modern adaptation to the shields that the great Khans used to fry their meat after a war, I was asked by a kansas city dude "Hey Man, Are you Mongolian?" What a joke!! Hell, i dont look like a mongolian, Even Steven Seagal (http://www.stevenseagal.com/) as much as he tries to squint his eyes is pathetic when it comes to getting close to looking like a Mongol!!! and then ME? I have eyes that look like giant marbles that's got lenses that can make the hubble telescope go fungal green with envy!

A internationally famous research paper by Dr. Zacharias Thundy, Northern Michigan University details the history of Kerala. According to him, Nairs are early descendants of the Newars of Nepal. "The Kathakali which is a Nair art-form is closely related to Tibetan dances; Nair polyandry (which no longer exists today) is very similar to Tibetan marriage customs; in the mode of inheritance the Newars are like the Nairs; like the Newars, the Nairs are distinguished by their lighter coloring, Mongolian features, and smooth hair. The most remarkable thing about the Nairs is their style of pagoda-like temple architecture and house construction which are almost identical with the Newar style of temples and houses found all along the Kulu and Nepal Valleys. Serpent worship is another common custom between the Newars and Nairs. As mentioned earlier, the settlers of Kerala came from the northwestern parts of India and the Nepal Valley."According to his theory groups of Newars who were partially Aryanized and would be later Dravidianized joined the Munda exodus and finally settled down in Kerala after a long period of sojourn in the eastern plains of Tamil Nadu. It is the Newar-Nair builders who have given Kerala both the pagoda-type architectural style of the Hindu temples and the angular roof and dormer of Kerala houses. The 3rd theory that I came across was very recent. It drew a comparison between Bengalis and Nairs. This theory is something as follows "Emperor Ashoka won the Kalinga war (Kalinga was the Bengal of those days) but the huge killings affected him and finally he became a follower of the Buddha. The Emperor has become a Buddhist - so the true followers of the Emperor decided to go on a spree of forced conversions. The people of Bengal of that time were mostly Sakthas, followers of the Goddess Shakti and they resented the conversions. But they could not do anything against the Emperor's orders and therefore they fled Bengal and they traveled along the coast and finally they reached Kerala where they found the country as good as they can possibly have. They had the sea, they had the greenery, they had the fresh water rivers and the fish. So they settled there."The author goes on to comment "Take the Kerala of today - you will find a great percentage of Nair men and women fair skinned whereas the original inhabitants were having a comparatively darker skin. Most villages have Baghavathy Temples, Baghavathy being a form of Shakti. You will find many writers and poets and artists. And on top of it all they think alike - both voted for Communism! And have communist Governments for along time in their states, the only states in the country to have comunists rule over them! "

I replied back to the dude, "Hey No mate, I'm from India, but I think I have a quarter-bro(subject to his confirmation) who's Half-Mongolian and half-ahum"

After the customary hmm-hmm ok and As the sword shaped stirrers clanked and he was wondering what to say to me, I asked him 'So, i heard these guys have a new franchise in Ulan Bator ?'
He said, Yes..and they're comitted to helping the youth in Mongolia. You can donate if you'd like to on their website. As he offered me the stir fry, I thanked him and yes, Capitalism Rocks!!

Clinton Lake - Lawrence KS

2005-10-09T22:49:00.000+05:30

A Muddy path going away from the Lake

Of Grasslands and Lonely Trees

The Lake The Path to the Lake

*************************************************************************************
Just ask for KS, the ancient Indian saying goes..Well, i did exactly just that and knocked off a few miles in my Cavalier into the amazing flatlands of Kansas..The roads were as empty as a vessel that makes more noise and the landscape around was as flat as an international flight airstrip...Lawrence is unlike a princeton, but it is what princeton should have been..Wide roads, the well laid out university of Kansas buildings and all this planned well ahead in time..
If Stamford is the U Conn, then Lawrence is the U Kann! So be it I mused and drove into the wild. After a few miles, appeared in all humility, the Clinton Lake State park entrance. The man at the gate was very happy to see one of the earliest cars for the day and he gave me a day pass that needed to be prominently displayed in the bottom left corner of the car windscreen like a trophy..reminded me of the elite bangalore gliterrati and the wannabes in the early 90s sporting an array of stickers on their windscreens saying 'Bangalore Cosmopolitan Club', 'The Club, 'Indranagar Club', 'Association of wimps who bloated chimps', 'Coagulation of discreet crap','Unified souls hunting Corpses',"Commander of a Thousand Somethings" (he he..no offence Riz!) and more vying for attention on the windscreens back and front doing even a Nascar Car proud..Of course,today in bangalore, there are so many cars that one might even be forgiven for not noticing a sticker like a "Member of WhiteHouse" or "Future citizens association of Mars" or something! Well, after i heartily laughed to that, i entered the Park office with my bladder running riot after a monster drive. What do i see? A very very old woman who's got a tube running into her nose from a medical equipment next to her..well, yes, she was working that day and she was happy to give me further intructions and a good map of the area..I was really amazed at her enthusiasm and i left my car in the office and walked into the park..There was a main road that i could have taken my car through atleast to the camping grounds...but i decided to walk it after the sedentary week at work and i was raring to give my body a Go...
A few cars drove past me slowly and people waved and wished me good luck..I was begining to think that I was going to trek to the everest or something, but in the flatlands of Kansas, thats only a wish!! I hope to drive into Colorado and do some hiking out there...I got a few suggestions from a very talkative and lovely hair dresser in Overland park..Angelina Garcia who gave me a 1 hour guided tour of the state of Kansas and how Colorado from where she hails has got better things as she compared feature by feature..I told her that she should become a good business analyst and then she can do a good job and feel bad about how much her industry sucks! As she aptly ended, 'I like doing something creative like Hairdressing..its the closest one can get to being brainy"..well yes, in terms of sheer distance, mmm..yeah..mmm..YES you are right!! As my thoughts wafted to a conversation i had some time back with another Business Analyst dude who did a Profitability analysis on going entrepreneurial on jobs that are perceptibly of a lesser god in India! Snip, Snip, Snip...I gotta do Colarado soon!!

The First of many Rizanic Verses

2005-10-07T19:06:00.000+05:30

This, my friends - the aeromaniac and the blorrior- is my introduction

to a world of complication and needless to add, obfuscation

why else would I expose my true self to the internet nation

for all to see me in my moments of solitude and utter introspection

But then I learn that in this world wide web (www) one can cry out loud

yet one can remain, be made faceless by the powers of the techno-cloud

Thy techno-cloud creates a torrential downpour that seemingly makes us proud

that the world that we live in now is flat and levelled and crushed and cowed

So here's to a flat world my friends, where a Hosur Road is right by Kansas City

where a thought that erupts in the minds of a distant warrior is only made witty

by the comments of a maniac who flies into a well to seek his honey

where a verse of rizanics assumes huge proportions thanks to the power of synchronicity

Now then I must return to my current vocation

or else I shall surely be denied my imminent vacation

- Riz, the aging verse man in awe of the blog

The Weekend Warrior

2005-10-04T22:14:00.000+05:30

Today's been the most wretched day at work, in quite a long time. One of those days when all sorts of s*** just hits the ceiling and then falls back on your head. Woke up and let's just say that things went downhill from there..personal fracas (is this how you use the word?), car got a bit scraped, client review @ work was the Holocaust revisited, travel plans not working..man name it, the whole jing bang crap decided to fall on my head today. As a friend of mine put it most eloquently- Work? F*** it! Another friend out it really well and I quote him, "….always on duty….isn’t it that thing what we professionals like….what we need…..what our lifestyle is about……performance, stress and mobility….borderless intercontinental working…..oh we like it…but I tell you what, I don’t like it….and I go home now…."

Anyway end of rant, time to bring up those soothing thoughts of nice drives and nicer hikes up Pyramid mountain, before I vacate the electric chair for the day.

While our man Blorrior has been posting our old shared fun times together, I notice that I have been a bit lax (and moody as well, if my close friends are to be believed). Ok next post from me will be on the longest drive I ever did in the shortest time frame- 1068.8 miles in 46 hours! Hopefully the film (yes, I still use film) should be developed by Friday and then up goes the photoblog.

And I will take the effort of putting down a blog on our answer to Everest- Mt Washington which stands a gargantuan 6000 + feet above the meanest sea that ever levelled out, boy.

Favourite line I read in a book recently...From 'Chasing the Monsoon' written by Alexander Frater, when he describes a typhoon hitting the small South Pacific island that he grew up in- Man I really have Alzheimer's - i can't remember the darn line...

Anyway, there's something to be said about these former Observer correspondents who take to writing travelogues for a living. A few years ago I read this book called Slow Boats to China by a guy called Gavin Young...Brilliant travel writing, and I think Alex Frater does justice to the distinguished Observer lineup. Personally I don't really favour the Paul Theroux school of travel writing and I know that a lot of people think his word is the last word on travel. Yep, it's a pretty depressing last word that he puts out- I find his worldview extremely depressing and bleak. I have rarely come across any book of his where there's bonhomie and good cheer flowing...compare this to a nomad like Michael Palin and I don't even know why Paul Theroux is such a hot dog with the travelliterati.

Before we did Mt.Washington on Laborday 2004

2005-10-04T04:43:00.000+05:30

Strange as the post may sound, the reason for the drift is the enormity of the event itself being inescapable. To put it straight, none of the climbers Aeromaniac or the blorrior want to openly take up the onerous and ardous write-up of the event, writing only a shade tougher than the climb itself..We had 3 whole days to ourselves before we planned to hit the beast. The slickers we were, we never gave 2 hoots on proper things like planning, preparation, execution draft, project plan, implementation plan, metrics, operations plan and so on that dog our lives in the good part of the day..So, atleast somethings remain unplanned and exciting therefore..
There are some truths that we discovered as we sat thinking on whether a 11 hour climb and descent is feasible at all for the fitness levels we were in and morover there was a party in NYC to be attended on Fri evening..So the spirited us and with the car loaded with spirits, we headed out to first things first "Go NYC!!" We landed up in the aeromaniac's friends and friends of friends place in Astoria later that evening, the shortest journey we could have possibly taken to Greece! Astoria is full greek with desi influences rearing a head here n there which means you have both helen and damayanti vying for your attention. Since we were pressed for time and good reason, we didnt succumb (or rather we didnt have to!). The party took a feverish pitch soon with more foks joining the fun and soon it was time to rethink on the beast. Mt.Washingotn now seemed like a distant dream...But we were determined and raring! Soon, it was 6 AM and we wearily returned to our hotels in jersey...That day was passed in silence and contemplation. Nobody dared say anything that even remotely sounded like calling off the plan! Quietly, the travellers packed the required and set out to New hampshire in the early lights of the dawn the next day and then many hours later, we were lost (in paradise)...But, that wouldnt have been so before this exit....The exit 16...when the journey began afresh, when the mission was reinforced, when the heads were up in the air and time ceased to exist...

The Inmate Checks in

2005-10-03T18:44:00.001+05:30

There's a new body occupying the cubicle next to mine. I rarely see him, but often spot signs of him having been around. A stained paper coffee cup in the can, freshly printed papers-but fanatical order to all awards and certificates the man has received. In fact from my cubicle I see a trophy peeking above the cubicle horizon- looks like someone took some Brasso to the trophy recently. The certificates are neatly lined up one next to the other- 'best performer 2004-2005, 'spot award', 'spot award'- repeated so many times I'm sure it's an award for spotlessness.

Once, very briefly I caught sight of the man. He had invited over a couple of friends, and the man gave them a run through of the accolades pinned up.

Kansas City!

2005-10-03T02:29:00.000+05:30

After the series of "What the?? Kansas" back in Jersey, i took the flight to Kansas city, a city that's got a concept like Chandigarh and Kunti and baikonour cosmodrome...those drifts apart, kansas city's shared by Missouri and the state of Kansas...atleast it looks like that that...After i checked into the hotel and set up myself to comfort, i decidd to check out Kansas city downtown on Sunday. After I stuck 5 postIts on my Car steering and dashboard to ensure simultaneous directions noting and quick exiting and merging, I drove into a surprise..As i neared the city, the traffic thinned down to almost nothing from atleast something..After Jersey and the skyways of NYC,driving in Kansas is like deep sleeping! I got down to 12th street from the Broadway boulevard and parked the car in an empty parking lot that promised may a scheme if you park your car, almost so that one may believe that cars are meant to be parked only and not driven at all...But i did the due to an empty audience and walked into the err empty streets of kansas city downtown! Now, these kinda scenes give you a shiver as to whether something went wrong and that a indefinite curfew has been laid down on the city or something..2 cops passed by and smiled and wished me goodday later, such vicious thoughts were put to rest..from the horizon, i could see a guy walking down the same 11th street i was on..but he disappeared into an unknown alley that sucked him in hungrily like a blackhole.. 2 cars passed me in silence near the 10th street...I walked past the law school and the convention centre and then i met a surprised tourist..I asked him as he covered the camera cautiously not knowing whether am a surprised tourist myself or someone who could spring a thieving surprise! After he was convinced that the 6 footer is actually a friendly bloke, he told me "Beats me..We dont have these in Nashville"..
I thanked him and veered my weary legs into the 9th street and there it was a lone pub belting out firehouse that instantly got me in..It was called the 'kansas Downtown Pub' and an eager waitress slowed me into the zone...My question got her to say that there was the Giants vs the St.louis game on and that why the city is deserted!! oh..Ah...Now i know why i was the bumpkin...reminds me of the question an american asked me in TGIF on the evening of the Titan Cup when tendulkar braved the sharjan desert storm to get us into the finals...but,i persisted, is this city as crowded as NYC ? She said,,maybe if the St.louis guys win...
Of course yes i said as we got talking more serious topics like what music they play and ancientness of the place, the legacy the pub carries and so on...I was reminded of my flight itself where there were boisterous NY Giants fans flying to Kansas City to cheer their teams..At the Atlanta airport, they'd almost lost it...Victory songs followed in the ensuing flight to Kansas city with more beer fuel adding to the fire. After a good conversation, I rose and strode into the silent streets of Kansas again and met my chevy Cavalier after a stroll..We silently rode into Lenexa with Nickelback giving us company.

Adieu NY-NJ

2005-09-29T02:08:00.000+05:30

In the begining of time, we had Farewells in office since farewells used to happen like a rare drink in a long marathon, but today who cares? People come and people go, but farewells have lost their prominent place in motivating indivuduals who leave..well, now we know what the problem is..dont we? Why motivate someone who's anyways leaving and hell, what if he decides to come back in a week? Another tenner down the drain!
Well, till yesterday, these emotions didnt hold any relevance or rather i used to uphold these tenets unknowingly.! But, today am one of the eager guys looking around sniffing for a farewell..I'm moving to Kansas on a new deputation..Some people were happy for me for my new role.."wow, at a young age" well, young age?? Am not running for president, please!.
One guy was apologetic."What?? why??..i mean..ahem..well, if you really like steaks and bluegrass, you could have ordered them home aint it?" well, People in Kansas cant order Bad driving and brooklyn home rite? i know am not comparing on equal terms, but thats exactly the point!! One guy was jealous "Man, You arrrr going to sava so much da dei" went the comment. "Dude, I aint getting any location living allowance there in Kansas. I actually am gonna lose some salary", but he perisisted "but still da, it is so cheeeeeep there da". I thanked him profusely and he promised me to send a "supaarb" excel sheet loaded with macros that help you save for a rainy day or many in succession. One dude living here since he was born didnt know the difference between Kansas city and New Orleans..He ranted "Are you crazy to be going right there to the coast? Man, Isnt this place close to New Orleans?" Well, yes mate..you gotta sit on the hubble telescope and presto, its closer than you ever think it is, hell i might even carpet the distance! One desi warned me "man, you better forget going to the rock concerts ok? some red neck might turn you all red ha ha ha" ok mate, if you're so happy for me, am happy for you too!
But apart from these jerks (as in that the episodes were jerky, like "The Flight was turbulent".."These maggots are consuming the leaves"..etc etc, dont take me wrong..Pleez!), lots had great and nice things to say...People promised me paradise, some promised contentment, some good health, some low insurance(there u go again!)
But one thing stood apart again as was the case many times before as i moved out of a role where I'd made some good friends and acquintances..A lot many times, I used to spend lots of time chatting up with acquintances to whom over the last one year, i havent made a decent conversation apart from the weather, but in the final moments in the farewell zone, we've talked like as if we were high school girls meeting up after years! Hell, we even went out for lunch and coffee and discussed, raved, argued, analysed and what not! So i'm bidding farewell to friends and acquintances recently upgraded to friends and many silent souls over the last one year to whom i've just exchanged a warm smile or two or a quick 'How's it goin?'
Well, to be honest, i appreciate the 'How's it goin with you' bit.Maybe its never meant from within your heart, maybe the one who says it really doesnt care whether you're not doing good for a change when you answer, but It introduces a much needed contact between two indivuduals who never met before, who may never meet again, who may be of different cultures, races and all that amazing terms that distinguish and separate water from water.

Laaaas Veggies, Los Waygas or Lost Wages

2005-09-28T20:29:00.000+05:30

There's something about Vegas...that magically attracts every desi techie within a 1000 mile perimeter. Thus descends our man with sartorial preferences leaning towards a marsupial like money bag peeking below a soft belly, handycam strung from the neck (replacing the company IT tag or 'votive necklace' as others more gifted have termed it) and the latest 5.1 mp Nikon digicam causing collateral damage upon the nearby innocents gambling away.
Well to be fair it's not just 'em dwellers from the cubes that sell Vegas-mania, but most like any desi of any hue. Last month, while in LA, I was advised from fellow countrymen to make way to Vegas for the Labour Day weekend. I had messages sitting on my office messaging system, guys over lunch telling me what a fab place this was...every Indian American website also seemed to join in the exhortation.
I ended up hitting the Southern California coast instead- and I hit gold in a little strip of land, a few miles up the Nacimiento-Ferguson road. More on that in another post, while I chat with this guy who's in LA and advise him to head for Vegas this weekend.

The Chembra Ascent 2003 November

2005-09-28T03:07:00.000+05:30

The Monster looms large from all corners of the viewable terrain
You've come a long way, baby(all to get snapped at)
You've cheated all the way baby(dont forget who did the backpacks err..mostly)

I'm like a Bird (only that I weigh a stone!)Good Guys always finish Last (and grab the first slot for the next appointment)
Think am a bird...Am a balding eagle
Concentrate harder (and your worries will reappear in all its glory)
The Victory Dance (costumes are likely to undergo creative changes soon)

The Edakkal Climb 2003 April

2005-09-28T02:47:00.000+05:30

The Cliffhanger Trickery

No treasure is worth this...

The Celebratory Champagne

Where's the booty??

The Unborn

I owe this one to the Aeromaniac..Our old blogs! Nostalgia, Wish it were a shooting star!

2005-09-28T02:32:00.000+05:30

The Exit not taken (Inspired by wrong exits of the modern traveler to New
England)

The woods by the I-95 were bright, sunny and deep,
as Sir Bob and my person took the giant leap,
of driving through New England, pristine and all of teak,
T'was before the rest area that we rambled for our leak

Shrewsbury, Worcester, New Haven and Derry,
New England it is, if thou knew your 18th century history,
cause these are the puritans that built thy American story,
while others sailed to our homeland with thy East India Company

At the Frost farm, we experinced the "tour",
A tour that tore our guts out to the floor,
as we learnt that the great poet was indeed a sore,
a dejected family, melancholy in his heart he bore

And so ended our tryst with American Highways, New Hampshire and Poetry
As I repair to my establishment, Sir Bob braves the Chevy Malibu to Whippany

Riz

Note: From the Rizanic Verses (Chapter I - New England Memoirs), Circa 2000

Fear like opportunity is one of those things that you dismiss or rue in retrospect. Writing from the comfortable, compressed Burma teak wood enhanced confines of my cubicle, looking out at a surrealistic azure sky framed in the windows near my workstation, it seems ridiculous that I could have been scared 20 ft above the ground on a rough boulder a few days ago!

Rambo and I decided to hit Turahalli (spoken by the rural Bangalorean in a single rush of breath as if to get the word out and done with-especially on a nippy day) early one cold Saturday morning. This late in November winter was setting in and as we sped towards Turahalli in the Red Baron we shivered a bit. The haze hanging over the surrounding landscape whizzed past as I put pedal to the metal. A few false approaches later we found ourselves going off the main road and through a rather modern concretized eyesore of a village, which served a reminder that the main city was just a few kilometers away.

Parking the car near a building under construction-probably on land wrested from the grip of massive boulders we headed for a distant hillock peppered liberally with boulders. The contrast was strange-we could see civilization creeping up slowly in this outreach of Bangalore in the form of neatly divided layouts and yonder city buildings in the distance. The rocks beckoned us the way Hampi has a fatal attraction towards any self-respecting historian.

We traversed our way through a dusty path, occasionally passing curious villagers who stopped from their morning chores to stare at the city slickers. Probably it was something to do with Rambo’s taste in climbing attire, I mused. In this fashion we reached the base of the hill and had to hop someone’s private gate and onto the path beyond. Walking through this we saw a bit of Eden-the path was crested on both sides by towering coconut trees interspersed with the odd Banyan tree. One thought laterally while the other looked at depth. In the distance I could see a shaded well we could hear the wind swishing over the top of the well. As we started to climb the hill I turned back to see a little brown and black puppy, watching us curiously from the portico of a house. Rambo impervious to the charms of villagers and puppies alike continued leading the way with me playing tag. The two of us kept a constant banter going, and commented on everything from Rizanic verses to The Lifestyle of the Modern Man.

By this time we had reached the first of the big boulders-a fairly smooth piece of rock inclined at an angle of about 15 degrees to the vertical. We decided to let me have a go at this behemoth, and my approach was anything but aesthetic to say the least. The classical rock climbers would have shuddered to see my uncoordinated feet struggling to keep a grip on the rock. Not without reason do I flop badly on the dance floor! 10 minutes of this and my lacerated hands gave up and Rambo had a go.

Enterprising as Rambo is on a rock face, he could not make the first couple of tries good and landed with a thud on terra firma next to me each time. And then Rambo decided to grit his teeth and go after the sonofabitch boulder. Using what David Breashears would call a dynamic move, he stood on his toes in the bottom most foothold, which was a little gully you couldn’t have placed a marble in, and made a lunging move for a handhold on the top.

His fingers slithered down the sharp rock face and just as he and I thought the attempt was doomed, he found a tiny handhold and held on with his bare fingertips. And then in a classical display of fine technique he moved his right leg up searching for another foothold. Placing his foot delicately on a small ridge, hanging on with one hand and with his body in coital embrace with the rock face, Rambo stretched out and climbed to the next level in one fluid, Rudolf Nureyev-like movement. The tough bit was over and the next few feet were devoured effortlessly. Seeing Rambo’s triumphant yet I’m-a-modest-guy-it-was-no-big-deal I thought that there’s more to this rock climbing business than meets the eye and I resolved to take a few dance lessons before venturing into rocky terrain. It was a terrific display of treading the fine line between balance and power.

We moved on-this time we saw a massive 40 ft high boulder. On circling around it we peeped into a crevice under the rock and saw something resembling a viper residing under the rock. After the initial shock-both Rambo and I collided in our haste to get away from the Vale of the Silent Serpent, we gathered some courage and decided to have another dekko at the serpent. To our considerable embarrassment the deadly viper turned out to be a few harmless twisted twigs. Phew! We sheepishly consoled ourselves telling us that if Riz had been in our place he would have claimed seeing an anaconda after getting back to civilization! (No Riz we didn’t do anything of this sort-pulling your leg mate!)

This rock was much easier to climb and within minutes we found ourselves spread out on the flat rock on top, cooled by a chill breeze and under a vast overcast sky. Absolute silence need not bring always tranquility-the wind as it carries through swishing coconut branches, hitting the terraced fields, bending the little sapling to its will and on past grazing sheep causing the bells to tinkle like wind chimes, before bouncing against the rock face and ascending up to two weary climbers is a better way to experience bliss!

We descended and trampled through the long grass keeping a watchful eye out for Riz’s snakes. Our objective was to reach the temple on the top. With the faux viper still weighing heavily on my mind, I was extremely careful about where I chose to place my foot. Rambo, I must freely confess is pluckier than I am-he will fearlessly tread where no man has gone before. If ever they decide to remake Star Trek he’s my top vote to play Captain James Kirk. Just to show the old James Kirk is an antiquated old fogy Rambo might even leave his Enterprise (no pun intended ye EASer!) to climb a few asteroids!

I believe that the best and most interesting climbs at Turahalli are near the temple. There are a bunch of tall rocks, seemingly loosely clustered together and a neat pile of rock art. To get to the top, the climber must either ascend the sheer face with the aid of rope, or in our case, minus the rope and sundry equipment, climb from one small boulder to a taller boulder till you’re on top. This is easier said than done, because in our case we saw huge gaps between boulders. The first boulder itself was proving a challenge and we had another 25 feet to climb! Between the first and the second boulder there was a five foot gap and the only way I knew I would get on to the next boulder was by jumping through the yawning space. I took a few deep breaths and eyed the opposite boulder which was slightly more raised in elevation than my current perch. I finally tensed myself enough and leapt off on a wing and a prayer as the old-timer pilots used to say. With a slap my hands hit the opposite rock face and my knees swung and banged into the unyielding rock below. Before I could slip into the mass of vegetation below I had desperately clambered up and now stood triumphantly on the boulder. Bloody painful but hugely satisfying!

Rambo meanwhile eschewed the Indiana Jones way of bouldering and decided to climb using more aesthetic movements. I was not surprised to see him join me on the top a few minutes later.

Overhead the sun had momentarily escaped from the clouds, only to be caught up in the curvature of the huge boulder above us. I felt like an ant about to witness a frisky young dinosaur about to emerge from its massive egg. We were wondering how to climb this boulder when we discovered a crevice running between this boulder and another one. We chimneyed our way through the crevice, and barreled our way to the top. This sounds easier than it is, because for the first time I was really frightened to death! If I’d fallen through the crevice it would at least have caused multiple fractures! But no harm done and we were finally on the highest point at Turahalli! From our vantage point we could see the valley below and the farmers tilling away at what must be very unforgiving soil.

The sun meanwhile had again been obscured by the clouds and valiantly tried it’s best to break through-We saw a glorious ray of sunlight finally burst through and spotlight a patch of field far away! The clouds moved at a fairly fast clip and the spotlight seemed to follow…we had box office seats and we were watching nature acting upon the giant stage before us. Soon the curtain came down on the final act and we were driving back home.

- Captain James(and a certain character out of Jungle book)

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

Remember The Bermuda Triangle. Even pythagoras couldnt do a damn thing about it. God knows if the squares on the hypotenuse matches the sum of the squares elsewhere...who cares!!! Remember the Rosewell incident....Some godamn craft came crashlanding on a farmer's cash crop. Instead of compensating the farmer, the US authorities dug away the land to hide the clues!!!! Now, what on earth could it have reference to the current mystery that i propounded in the previous blog....ok folks, its unsolved and will remain so till we hit another price point differential ????? Ok, the baseline is that theres gonna be nomore blogs on sakleshpur. So, all you godamn maggots reading this fu*king blog can go take a hike!!!!!!! Oh yeah...that's exactly what we're gonna do in 2 weeks from now!!so u betcha watca outta!!!!!
posted by Rambo on 03:22 AM

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Wednesday, October 08, 2003

okie...i have hit dull time...now thats the time when the late night US telecons are done away and the sleepy mittens in yankee land are kissed goodnight and Europe meanwhile is still brushing their permanent teeth or heaving away their well exercised limbs at the nimble alarm clocks that have replaced the pesky and lovable cuckoos.Now, thats also the time when i could sneak out another blog without feeling sinnish and finnish(am indien and we have begun to love this new found indulgence in managing time zones). We're always credited with having invented the Zero and now the human Time machine that can stay awake to cater to the yankees and wake up early to cater to the Japs and feel good on moody afternoons to service the Brit(ney spears) and the Kittelbergers.

Meanwhile, continuing on the Sakleshpur blog with renewed vigor and vim, I remembered that i have to take forward the intended mystery that never was there. Ok, we saw riz's and bob's friends in that god forsaken train that stopped precariously at the edge of a Left to Decay Bridge. Seeings so many familar faces, riz's and bob's faces twisted and contoured in several unsynchronised motions of feigned happiness and rapidly descending sadness. I once remembered Bob remarking to riz with a sad but wise look' "Familar faces bring in familiar problems". True, we all live in a remarkably closed society that pays homage to lip service, whatever that means and Fashion statements are the order of the day. Lemme make a difficult fashion statement here...The US fashion industry has a market size of 37,324,962,000 dollars and none of them are addressed with the fashion statements per se. Now, this could be passed off as a insane comment from a blogger who's blogging for the sake of blogging. Exactly, That's what I now call a Blog Statement. A few 'Ha ha's later, Riz candidly and rightly remarked, " Let's get the hell outta here". I could see the coarse shawl and the loosely dangling cigar liberating orgasmic spurts of cigarette smoke as riz spake. As the 3 men set out in the other direction, the unbeaten track and as the statement before began influencing those Western dreams, I realised, I had to take the "Bad" role cos I knew I wasnt the Good one or even the Ugly one!! As the 3 bangaloreboys stood in a triangular formation and the lush green hill sides turned barren and the guns locked into position and the Gold shone as ever before, I realised I needed some water to get me outta this fatigue influenced dream!! "Splat" went the remaining contents of the ever pure Aquafina and I could hear the babble of the fading footsteps as the familar crowd departed, walking in the other direction. Suddenly, we're all alone and not much decision making was needed before we descended down into the snake infested slopes of the hill leading to the crystal clear sound of the brook. Ancient folklore has it that the pandavas were lured by the sound of the brook and by the pellucid waters to drink the mysterious poisoned waters till afterward a wise yudhistir rescued his brothers from being dead forever. Yes, those were strange days when people could be dead for a while and could be revived with a charm or a cute looking herb. Today the rules are clear, If you're dead, You're Dead for sure except that you have different terms to convince people to leave once you're dead, like clinically dead, medically dead, brain dead, casually dead, visually dead, chemically dead...alright alright, I needed more water and to get back to prodding the hill sides for a possible viper from jiving with you. Riz was the situational leader this time and he'd made a fine stick that could almost divine a King Cobra from its osama(n) hiding place. At times, the sounds of the brook were coming from a clear spot ahead and at times, it was behind us even as we're descending the slopes. All of a sudden, the coarse way ahead dissappeared behind a upturned wet tree trunk and we're left nowhere. Morover, the vision of the road almost looked upwards and we could find ourselves climbing once agin instead of descending! Few hundred meters later, we descended and came face to face with an absolute dead end. Now, we were absolutely sure that a brook lay ahead of us and that we were almost there. But, then, as more snake pits emerged and as more demons occupied the moorings in our mind, we decided to wisely ignore machoism and embrace pragmatic freudism. Of all the isms, Pavlovism was begining to drive us towards hunger. We now tried to unsuccessfully retrace our footsteps and bob decided to take on the onus of taking us to safety. We were by now treading on very wet and loose soil all this time with interspersed brooks and rivulets streaming accross our feet haphazardously. I was by now begining to feel very itchy in my legs and as my fears were being dismissed by bob and riz, i decided to do a sanity check. Hell of Hell, What a sight it was with nearly 10 odd leeches bleeding my leg and stuck to my pants and boots. I have never seen such small leeches and Riz soon found to his dismay that he was bleeding equally bad.We spent the next 20 minutes carefully removing the real leeches and the imaginary leeches in every part of the body. We didnt stop even as we reached the rail road again and we stopped by a brook to wash. We stripped ourselves of the worldly covers and picked out every leech that resided within ourselves. We decided that we shall apply the same cleansing mechanism whenever we felt itchy at workplace and when blood hungry leeches were draining the life force out of our systems, only that it would turn out to be one scandalous event in time!! We're back on the railroad now and then it happened!!!!!!! Did the uneven tide turn one up on the Junkies???? Did the tradelaws of sakleshpur prevent sinister manifestations only to rock hard the gentry elsewhere???? Will the hands of time snigger and snap the timeless dudes into a warp leading to Koramangalafication????? Only time will tell and yes, watch out for the next blog that shall appear when the Clients are undemanding and when the world is sleeping...Yes, my friends....We're Watching!!!!!!

posted by Rambo on 12:42 AM

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Tuesday, October 07, 2003

We finally did it...The non agendaless junkies hit gold the other day commencing the 'long weekend' (as lil mortals in cubicled fortifications call it)
Alright, Lemme tell you what did we finally do and what the toutatis is Gold all about especially if it is not Mckanna's. The Sakleshpur gold rush started off on a cold bleary morning on October 2 with 2 of the junkies driving with fierce determination towards the 3rd junkie's place in Koramgla. Half an hour later and with Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence warming up the Wagon R, the junkies were on the way on the famed Pune Highway. The effects of the previous night's exigencies hadnt still worn off the city and upturned cars and smashed roadside dividers greeted us with sombre disdain. Just one of those days when we reminded ourselves that it is indeed a nice thing to be alive and late than dead and never arrived. As Simon and Garfunkel gave way to Bach and Menuhin, and as I snapped my undergarments to their new found comfort zones and clicked my vertebraes into zone royale, my dendrites were getting accustomed to the twilight transition and the Wagon R for one felt like it was cruising at 30000 feet. I could see bob and riz dressed up in Swiss Air costumes and "Can I have some Whitewine please" later, I was drooling at Ground Zero with Riz and Bob giving me that "You havent paid me for the last 2 months" look. Meanwhile, Bob swayed to a halt near a roadside hutment that was gearing up for the new day. The old lady was apprehensively friendly and handed out to us the elixir from Mesopotamia that went down into us like a torrent and taking us to explosive highs. Farmers were begining to set out for yet another day of 'As you sow, so shall you reap' endeavours. The road ahead of us was divine to say the least, 2 wide lanes of absolute heaven and less vehicular traffic from the opposite end. It was getting all the more fascinating as the early rays of the morning kissed the tar alive and prepared it for another day of playing Atlas, the legendary king of Atlantis.We filled ourselves to the brim at a Motel and the new found nourishment geared us up total and clean. As we left the motel, our eyes were begining to notice the gradual topographical changes, Grass besides the road, hexagonal condensation on clear float glass and our slicky lungs breathing real life. As we neared Hassan, the land had changed completely. Neat meadows and extended green topped mountains cut accross the landscape with elan almost separating paradise from Mortal lands. We had been driving for nearly 3 hours now and we hadnt noticed the gradual ascent all the time. At 1500 metres above mean sea level, the air was nippier and wholesome. We realised that we were nearing Sakleshpur railway station and brought us to the memories of our dry run last time round. Yes, the Vision(see prev blog on sakleshpur) had the better of us and we were all out this time round. Our research was also complete and we decided to start off ur trek from the elusive and now dilapated donigal railway station. After stopping by at a familiar Tata tea outlet and few questions later, we knew where the station lay. A rapidly descending narrow road followed by a sudden rough stretch towards the right flank saw the Wagon R rearing at newer challenges being thrown at it. Riz and me got out and Bob braved the slithery staircase like road toward the station. And it appeared.Straight from a setting in Transyllvania, Donigal station that has nothing to do with the county donegal railway of Irish fame. A dilapated 2 tier structure greeted us and abandoned houses with rusted safety locks completed the outlandish look. Bob parked the car behind the station that hasnt seen a train run through in the last 40 years according to certain locals. People whom we asked for directions were certainly sure that we were out of our minds absolutely unknowing of our modest intentions to walk the track. As we began walking, a certain strange looking man screamed to us in the local dialect that the train is coming. We could only shake our heads and we applied ourselves to the task of sizing up the proposed walk. The mist was now descending fast or rather the clouds were lowering their wings as we picked our water and energy foods and put our heads down and hands in our pockets and began walking like the Bounty hunters into the thinnening air. All of a sudden, we heard the hoot of a train at a very close distance. All of us convinced ourselves silently that we didnt hear something like that...but again...and then we were puzzled. The track was last used in 1940 and as the headlights of the train approached us, we could see a skeletal man waving us off the tracks. Now, we didnt believe in ghosts and least of all, Ghost trains!! Ok, Hitchhiking a unbelievable train aint a bad idea and off I started off practising my dialect. Ok, I claim that i know all the 4 south Indian languages to the many punjabi friends of mine, but hey, time to perform and i as usual needed to grope into corners of my Mind to squeeze some communicationworthy lingo. Contact established 5 mins later, ascertained that the driver was real, he beckoned the bewildered trekkers to the last bogie. We climbed in and heavens of heavens, we found a huge bunch of city slickers with all their jazz locked behind. Riz and bob grinned and I dont fail to reciprocate such gestures that allow controlled excercises of your facial muscles. The guard told me that the train was laden with pebbles that were going to be strewn alongside the track with an intention to renovate the track and that it was 20 days since they began embarking on this since the track's abandonement 40 years back. Now, thats news and not many people know this. A free ride in the western ghats with the mother of India's railway operations, the Southern Railway is something not many people conjure in their wildest imaginations. The train was no better than the railway station. As grim as the reaper, as old as good ol Rip, As broken as the Great wall of China, travelling in this train was so full of Danger and a strange sense of fun. At times it was like living through Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, At times it was like edging with Aerosmith, Then all of a sudden, we approached a bridge. It was rattling out in pain as the train went over it, a slip here could slip you backwards into that all familiar dark tunnel where you then emerge into a procession of angels. We went over it without much talk, the rust had eaten up half the train and it was snoozing away at the speed of a left to dead cheetah. Meanwhile, more trekkers joined the train and some of them wanted to a chaiya chaiya. Chai Yeah, when you want to flock a dead horse... Another bridge later and we're ready to alight...what do we see?? Aquintances of Bob and Riz ????
Will the agendaless junkies allow the familiar morons to get away with the gold? Will Sakleshpur trun out into yet another grave of city slickers? So many questions and as the non existant mystery deepens, We only have to say one thing to you....Flock into this very same Blog....same time...next week....FOR THE NEXT PART!!

posted by Rambo on 02:26 AM

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Sunday, October 05, 2003

PS: This blogging was pre-existant from the time rambo got a fresh lease of life way back last year after certain bullish invensment behaviour influenced the catacombs to open up earlier than planned. Upon speshul request from boba and a certain piece of Loba, i've made it a common forum for the junkies to interact and share their lil Sh**ty episodes in and around bangalore...
Saifa, we welcome you heartily into this club now that you step into this land ...but remember, Laziness is a Virtue, its not a personal disposition.(Alternately, We actually love your dollars)
posted by Rambo on 10:47 PM

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Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Suck Leash pure?????? what on earth could that mean when the demi gods of junk rap set out to drive along that heavenly stretch off pune road....the drive took a altogether new dimension as the junkies landed closer to hassan. mind blowing foliage, eclectic sights, multi hued landscapes interspersed with non agendaless stupor....alright, we parked the Alto at the Sakleshpur(he he didnt i know the spelling already eh??) railway station and we set out on a non expectant walk down the metre gauge that dived into and outta recklessly careless undergrowth. Noone wanted to be a laggard in the first lap and as expected, the drive took a toll on us....the jaundiced marketing man, the HR man and the process man soon began whining under their breath that dopplered down the vale. Soon we found ourselves in the car and driving back and "ha ha ha" later we were driving back to Bangalore....ok ok...It was a dry run...Even spielberg has a dry run so that the impact of the real thingie is biggie...Take Chembra for instance, take ramanagaram for instance...the junkies always had a dry run before hitting it big. It wont be too long before the men were back to live their dreams...Sakleshpur has lotsa wonders to offa and we're not gonna losa that vision....
posted by Rambo on 07:19 PM

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Monday, September 29, 2003

Sir Bob?????? when are you getting your blog in? What abt the rizanic Verses from the Casanova from Assam??
posted by Rambo on 10:06 PM

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Wednesday, February 05, 2003

Saw someone who matched up to the Mummy ka magic image. She was something, she was all, excpet that with some imagination, I could see her coming in late at night(that’s if I’m early home!) and we just have a gr8 time!
posted by ITTeam Pune on 09:41 PM
She’s not the typical IT company gal(unless in HR) with specs(hidden contacts) and that studious discerning look hung up all the time.
Vivacious, bubbly, effervescent are just adjectives on paper until they manifest in this godess…
Not that am very choosy about things live and lively, but I always had a vision of a ‘my kinda woman’ in my mind what I’d call “Mummy ka Magic”(trademark)
Now, that’s the kinda woman who comes on the kelvinator ads, the one who is extremely independent and works all day and makes it great in a Male Dominated Enterprise, comes home in late at nite after a hard days work with a great smile and we cook a quick meal together and recount the happenings on the great day we’ve had! Seems good on paper, it takes a lot of attitude from both of us to get to this pic perfect situation…hmmm.

posted by Rambo on 09:41 PM

not to be undone totally, i had a reaDY appetiser for him:
Then,

In Scotland, heraldry has a recognised place within the law and the Lord Rambo of Arms is a judicial officer. He has powers to regulate heraldic display in Scotland. Sir ******, as Lord Rambo, laid down prescriptive rules for the form of the banner. In particular, Rambo of Malabar specified that the personal heraldy should be the surface of the 'shield' spread across the entire surface of the banner in the same way that the arms of the Sovereign occupy all of the Royal 'Standard*'. Even though there may be an 'approved' form for the pipe banner within a regiment laid down in its Standing Orders (which are themselves unlikely to follow Sir ********'s precepts), there are often exceptions as a banner is made for an officer at his own expense and “He who pays for the pipe banner calls the thread”

Now,

Today after several reincarnations and with the royal titles swept asunder, A marshal ***************** has made certain exceptions as a formation flying in an Alto with a machine of lower decree like the Wagon R and in short in modern times, “He who drives an Alto calls the Shots”

posted by Rambo on 09:28 PM

My friend finally got that promotion....hey thats good!!! I have an alto and he got a wagon R....and this is what he had to say:
"Hey Marshalls of the IAF, charlie charmer will be inducted into the force today at 5 p.m. I shall execute a few snap rolls and a breathtaking cobra manoeuver.

watch me razzle and dazzle the ladies with a low pass where i buzz the tower, tally ho!

I need A Mshal ************** code name (Rambo), a famed warrior who fought equally well in the badlands of malabar and afghanistan, to shower his blessings. maybe we could do formation flying with the venerable Mig 21 of the Indian roads the Alto, while i handle the Sukhoi Su 30!

posted by Rambo on 09:27 PM