The Dark Side of the Man

The Rajasthan Road Trip

2009-02-17T01:47:00.000-08:00

DAY 1: DELHI TO JAIPUR – 260 kms
Started off at 9 in the morning after intending to start off at 7 am. Got caught in the mad long weekend crowd all of whom seemed to leave delhi towards Rajasthan. It was after 30-40kms of traffic that the roads really opened up and we hit cruising speeds.
All of us seemed to be suffering from a Rock On hangover and that pretty much was our anthem for the entire trip though we had decent servings of Queen, coldplay, GNR and the entire forgotten hard rock genre. Sarsoon ke khet: I blame DDLJ for wasting 20 mins of our time. The women wanted sarsoon ka khet pictures which we took with great amusement till we were intimidated off by someone who couldn’t have been the farmer of that field.
We hit jaipur after about 4 hours of leisurely driving. We made a spontaneous decision to visit amer fort. The fort wasn’t spectacular in retrospect, compared to the forts in jaisalmer and jodhpur. But it did have its moments. The langurs outside the fort were a pesky lot and seemed to be in cahoots with the kulfi vendor.
At this point we were starving and wanted to eat at the first visible food joint, but ekta’s insistence to adhere to a lonely planet recommendation and eat at Rawats paid rich dividends. The onion kachori and mirchi pakoda were incredible. And the ras malai was just pure poetry. “Better than sex” someone said, not sure who it was.
With our stomachs still in orgasmic overdrive we made our way towards our hotel “Chirmi Palace” (http://www.chirmi.com/). A value for money hotel is Chirmi palace, run by its probably erstwhile aristocratic owners, since it is a heritage hotel.
Choki dani turned to be a big disappointment after a long bumper to bumper drive. There were about a million people in line to get in. So ditching choki dani we made our way to MI road and dined at Hotel Natraj where we tasted our first authentic Rajasthani Dal Batti (frankly I found it to be overrated).

DAY 2: JAIPUR TO JODHPUR – 331 Kms
Planned to start early at 7 am. Managed to leave by 8:30. The initial drive till ajmer was a beaut – 4 lane highway with a median. Post Ajmer, it was a non median 2 lane highway, but the quality of the roads were still great. At this point of time I must state the general state of roads in Rajasthan is great. Smooth roads which re introduce you to the pleasure of driving.
Jodhpur was touched well past lunchtime at 2:30pm. Again we curbed our hunger and searched for our Lonely planet restaurant called Gypsy. The rajasthan thali was good, but the highlight was the makhiani lassi which was quite sinful. I experimented with a Pizza in a momentary lapse of reason.
We then made our way to our hotel Devi Bhavan where were told that we had no reservation, but that just led to us going to our first choice Ratan Vilas. Another heritage hotel, this one had really large majestic rooms with antique furniture.
The Umaid Bhavan Palace - Made all of us really envy those born in to the royal lineage. The museum laid down details of just how luxurious royal life can be.
Ganta Ghar – the jodhpur market. We decided to spend our evening scrounging for souvenirs of the trip. Fairly routine stuff, Supriya went into each and every store which sold something and I kept lingering near the door with the occasional peep in to ask if she was done yet (every 30 secs), or just shrugging my shoulders or trying my balancing skills on a stone.
The Mehrangarh Fort dinner – Easily among the top 2 moments of our entire trip. Be warned to book in advance though. The fort closes for visitors at 5. But from 8 pm to 11pm the terrace of the fort is converted to a dinner place with about 5-6 tables laid out, and you can have a royal dinner amidst the brilliantly lit fort on one side and the psychedelic night city of jodhpur on the other. The food though good was overshadowed by the surreal ambience of our dinner setting and gave us some of the most beautiful snaps of the trip

DAY 3: JODHPUR TO JAISALMER 305 Kms.
The day started off leisurely at 9 with a trip the Mehrangarh fort. Our guide was brilliant and so was the entire experience of seeing the fort. It took us a good 3 hours to complete the fort.
Then it was a quick dash to Ratan vilas where pigged out again and started off to Jaisalmer.
Easily the best drive of the trip. Single lane highway but a smooth road with minimal traffic made this an easy drive. The drive was perectly capped off by a beautiful desert sunset.
Enroute we did some roadside sand dune climbing.
Reached jaisalmer post sunset, parked our car just outside the fort walls and made our way in anna’s auto to Hotel Victoria. We were all eagerly looking forward to our stay in this hotel as the pictures on this hotels website were flattering and the fact that this was a part of the fort itself was romantic in a way. BTW the jaisalmer fort is actually inhabited by about 5000 families. The king of Jaisalmer had sold off portions of the fort to its subjects who later converted them to hotels, shops etc. The larger population of jaisalmer resides outside the fort which also housed a vibrant market.
Post soaking in our hotel rooms and view, we headed down to the market to shop. We ate dinner at Trios which had a great view of the fort while the food was average, but that didn’t stop us from pigging.
We celebrated Republic Day and Supriya’s bday by cutting a cake on the terrace of the hotel.

DAY 4: JAISALMER TO SAM DUNES – 45 Kms
Next day was a guided tour of the jaisalemer palace, jain temple and the patwa haveli. All majestic. But what was captivating about Jaisalmer was the fort itself, with its various café’s and shops. We also saw some local kids perform popular bollywood numbers with dance steps and everything. There were more foreign than Indian tourists and the place reminded me of Mcleodganj.
The sightseeing was capped off by a leisure beer and lunch at Café Shanti which had a majestic view of the city.
About 4pm we set off to Sam dunes to spend the night in the desert. After checking in to the rather luxurious tents at Prince Desert camp, we set off on our camel ride. Lallu and Michael Jackson were able mounts while their handlers took us deep into the desert after some friendly & monetary persuasion.
The sunset in the desert was again a breathtaking experience. We spent an hour quietly sitting on the dunes watching the sun go rather hurriedly over the horizon while anand clicked some memorable snaps.
The cultural program in the desert was surprisingly good. The troupe has some killer percussionists while the lead singer had a engaging voice. The dancing girl was average at best though she did perform some difficult but unneeded tricks.
The desert night was cold but not unbearable as we shut lights off early after an ordinary dinner.

DAY 5: SAM DUNES TO JAIPUR – 640 Kms (the killer day)
This was the day we were afraid of. The day where man and machine would be pushed to traverse the entire breadth of the state of Rajashtan in one day. For the first time on the trip we actually managed to set off on our planned time which was 7:30 am (helped by us skipping showers and bfast). But Murphy’ s law struck when we had our first flat precisely 15 mins after we left Sam dunes. Though I knew how to change a flat, some bystanders presumed that us city yuppies were incapable of doing so and lent us a helping hand, well they changed the tyre while we supervised. We were then on our way and had to stop over at jaisalmer to repair the punctured tyre.
Breakfast was paneer parathas which we gobbled up and quickly drove off. We hit jodhpur by about lunch time and kept driving and driving and driving till we hit jaipur by about 7 pm. Chirmi palace welcomed us. Anand and ekta headed off to choki dani for unfinished business while me and sup slept off our fatigue.

DAY 6 : Jaipur to Ranthambore (190kms)
The drive to sawai madhopur was smooth till we hit Uniyara, post that the road had more potholes than road. Bumping along we made our way to Tiger Moon resort by about 2 pm.
Sup was down and out with fever, so the rest of us went off to see Ranthambore fort, where we were greeted by gazillion peacocks, deer and pilgrims. The fort though impressive was in a run down state, probably not having access to the funds jodhpur and jaipur had.

DAY 7: The TIGER
Despite our best efforts to do the ranthambore safari in a jeep, we had to make do with a 20 seater canter. Well , we thought that maybe it wont be so bad, maybe we will get to see a tiger. All those hopes were cruelly squashed about 5 secs into our journey when we saw our fellow canter mates. A large gujarati family that had umpteen children and even more theplas and dhoklas. Sakshi and her cousins insisted on spelling out every animal that we encountered. Our heads, which were pretty much resting on our hands staring at the cater floor, perked up when annoying boy #13 said “Giraffe Giraffe”, but it was only a larger than normal sambhar. Poor Mr Mukati had never hated his clan so much as that moment.
Our entire safari was more an excursion into wild human behavior than anything else.
This experience only cemented our resolve to go in a private jeep in the evening since this was our last chance at sighting a tiger. Sup was feeling better and thankfully decided to accompany us. Our jeep mates were an English couple. Daniel was supposed to be immensely lucky and though we put a lot of cosmic pressure on her, she redeemed herself beautifully.
Zone 3 was a beaut and we enjoyed the scenery and almost reconciled to the fact that the scenery had made up for a lack of feline stripes. But the guides all hushed over a point for 20 mins and the cry of a chital confirmed the presence of a tiger close by and golly was it close. We had a 10 minute close encounter with a tiger. Anand almost eroded his finger raw as he clicked away incessantly. The pattewali was really kind in letting us a beautiful view of her.
The mukati’s celebrated their anniversary and the sighting of the tiger with a cake and some drinks.

DAY 7: Ranthambore to Delhi 440 kms.
As was our precedence with a long day of driving ahead of us, we started the day with a puncture which happened thankfully at the resort itself. A quick changeover and we were on our way. Lunch was a thali at a dhaba outside jaipur. We made it to gurgaon by about 6 pm.

His first Proposal

2008-03-14T03:03:00.000-07:00

Neil swallowed hard as he tried to remember the line he had been rehearsing for the last 3 days. He was about 2 metres away from the girl who was about to become the recipient of his proposal. His entire courtship flashed before his eyes. He remembered the first time he had seen her board his bus 6 months ago. He remembered seeing her again in his college canteen and the happiness he experienced when he found out that she was from his college. Bumping into her on his morning jog was a joy so profound that he ran an extra kilometer that day at full steam almost resulting in him blacking out. From then on it was a courtship that even Sherlock Holmes would have been proud of. Tailing her on the bus home, sitting across her table in the canteen trying to listen hard to her voice while pretending to analyse a samosa on his plate, discreet questions to friends who knew friends who knew friends who knew her. Imagine his joy when he found out that she had broken up with her boyfriend about a year back. The two left legged Neil started dancing with a vengeance when he realized that Shobana loved to go to the disc. He even managed to brush past her a few times and his heart almost melted when she met his glance and smiled at him one Saturday night.
In 6 months time Neil had come to the inevitable conclusion that Shobana was the one the good lord had made for him.
The whole world had faded into oblivion for the last 3 days as he contemplated his monumental proposal. The English language had never been more frustrating for Neil as he mentally rejected over a 1000 approaches to tell Shobana that she was the one. From the casual approach – “Hey babes, I have been noticing you over the last few weeks and you look really interesting, you wanna grab a cup of coffee sometime?”, to the intense approach – “Shobana I believe that god made one person for everyone and I am fortunate to realise that you are the one for me?” to the corny approach “Was your father a thief? Coz he stole the stars and put them in your eyes”.
As he raised his hand to tap her shoulder, every other person in that bus stand ceased to exist. His heart was louder that the backfire of a 1950 fiat. His mind was screaming for his legs to turn around and bolt. When his sweaty palm was 2 inches away from her shoulder she suddenly turned around to see if her bus was coming down the road and her beautiful hazel retina met his outstretched index finger. A shriek escaped her lips as she dropped her bag in pain. Before Neil could offer an apology of any kind, Shobana’s mesmerizing vocals had called Neil everything from a moron to a behn****. Neil stood dumbstruck, still with his outstretched hand hanging in the air. The volley of abuses continued with Shobana finally signing off with “What the F*** did you want anyway?”. Neil putting his hand down said “ I just wanted to tell you that you are the biggest bitch I have ever seen”.
Aah the vaagaries of teenage love.....

The Solution to the Indian Puzzle?

2008-03-13T02:33:00.000-07:00

“Nothing can improve the situation”, “Is Desh ka kuch nahin ho sakta” are oft heard of remarks in today’s day and age. Despite being in the midst of an economic boom, our country’s political system is as corroded and infected as it could possibly get.
How can we change it? Is there hope for India? Looking at the muck created by our country leaders you cant help but tend to agree with the first 2 lines of this article. Compare our country’s progress to a billion piece jigsaw puzzle. Frustrated with Gandhi and the freedom struggle, the British handed us over a billion tiny pieces for us to put together. Since 1947 our endeavor has been to correctly put each piece in its appropriate place, the end result of which would be a vibrant, colourful, developed, prosperous picture of mother India. There were some leaders who started us off in the right direction, these were the leaders who had sight of the goal and told each Indian that he or she has a role to play in putting a jigsaw piece in its place. But self centered interests, corruption and plain dishonesty has completely distorted the puzzle. Now everyone just puts a piece of the puzzle in the place which suits him or her the best rather than what’s best for the nation. Since politicians run the country, they hold the bulk of the pieces and therefore account for the bulk of the mess. The root cause for this mess is corruption - corruption of our legislative, corruption of our police, corruption of the judicial system leading to the corruption of our nation’s soul.
Today there are a handful of politicians, leaders, businessmen, academicians etc working ceaselessly to unravel and correct this mess but for every 2 pieces they are able to put in the right place there is a multitude of petty politicians, corrupt cops, unethical businessmen, lackadaisical babu’s who manage to put 20 pieces out of sync.
The so called educated, urban elite (like myself) like to look in dismay at this mess from a self created pedestal. We tend to passionately discuss the hopelessness of it all over a couple of beers or the more affected write an article about it. Well I intend to take it a step further and suggest a solution.
What India needs to put her back on the track to moral, political and economic retribution is a Benevolent Dictator. Today there are too many political parties, too many leaders and too many sects of people each with their own selfish agendas and who don’t give a rats ass about the big picture. We need one leader, one man or woman who can rule this country with an iron hand for the next decade. Coalition politics is certainly not the answer, coalition implies a bulk of politicians holding the reins, each trying to drive the nation towards his own ends. We need one person whose dictatorship is a function of his cognitive abilities, his leadership abilities and his meritocracy. Benevolent because his only objective is the prosperity of this country as a whole and dictator because any impediment in the achieving of this objective is to be weeded out. I know absolute power corrupts absolutely but we need to put our trust in this person.
You might say “Didn’t Indira Gandhi do the same and look how that worked out with the imposition of the emergency”. Well I believe that the economic condition in the previous century was not conducive for a benevolent dictator. Today the environment is just right, we are irreversibly on the path of economic prosperity despite our political environment. If the current slime of coalition and opportunistic politics continues, then this would also get derailed in a few years time and we would be reduced to become a nation of “what could have become”.
Just look 2578 miles east of delhi to the island nation of Singapore. A certain gentleman by the name of Lee Kuan Yew ruled and nurtured Singapore from a small insignificant fishing village to the economic behemoth it is today. Sure, there have been compromises on the way in terms of true freedom of speech, but ask an average Singaporean and he will say that these were small change compared to the quality of lives they lead today. All because one man saw the bigger picture and didn’t let his countrymen and fellow politicians lose that sight.
In the Indian context this person has to completely overhaul the current political, judicial and administrative situation from the quicksand it is in today. He has to deal with the dissidents in the political system with ruthlessness. Regionalism must make way for Nationalism. Corruption must be treated with capital punishment, narrow caste agendas must be replaced with economic reforms. Ministers should be chosen on their educational background and work experience. An MNC/corporate hat must be worn when choosing your ministers. The police force must be overhauled with fat salaries & a cut off education selection criteria to discourage corruption. Primary and Secondary education must be given the highest priority and highest budgetary allocations.
Can a benevolent dictatorship work in India? Doesn’t India have too many ethnic divides for one man to bridge? Do we have a person as capable as Lee Kuan Yew? I believe that the answers to the above questions are YES. Even Singapore had ethnic divides with Malays, Chinese, Tamils etc who were all united in their quest towards economic and social utopia. India today has no dearth of a leader like Lee Kuan Yew, just the lack of a platform for him or her to rise. Can it be a Rahul Gandhi or an RK Misra, Will a Narayan Murthy step up or will Vijay Mallya take the reins? That remains to be seen but nobody from the current crop of politicians can do it because they are products of this faulty system that has conditioned their minds & souls. Maybe a Sanjay Gandhi would have been the saviour…sigh.
India’s tryst with destiny, which she embarked on 51 years ago would depend now on one person, the one, the saviour. Only time will tell.

Highway Star: Manali - Leh - A pictoral

2007-08-27T00:46:00.000-07:00

Mere words cant do justice, even great pictures don't suffice. You just have to Be there

The Importance of Being Sachin Tendulkar

2007-05-05T01:39:00.000-07:00

If someone had told me that India would be booted out of this world cup in the very first week, and that The Icon of Indian cricket for the last 2 decades would be booed by the very public that would have pawned their right eye to see him bat, I would have told that person to jump in a well, after of course having laughed right at his face.
Well, the unthinkable had happened and my childhood hero is probably facing an inglorious end to an otherwise exemplary career. Even though I did not join the multitude in denouncing HIM from grace, I did not vociferously defend him like I used to in the past. In the past, when arm chair pundits (like my dad) talked about sachin reaching the end of his career or not performing upto expectations or rating batsmen like Lara or Ponting to be better than him, I immediately used to jump in to the ring armed with a plethora of past statistics, a dash of trivia and a whole lot of passion. This time around I couldn’t defend the man I had on numerous previous occasions. I sadly watched and listened to colleagues, friends and the media taking pot shots at the man who for me had defined Indian cricket.
The reason I write this article is not to melodramatically dwell in the past but to highlight an event which made me realize how deeply rooted He is in the lives of my generation. It was a lazy april fools morning and my idle mind was trying to conjure up some devious scheme to fool my friends with. I was quite a prankster in my younger days and have pulled some work of art april fool gags on my unsuspecting friends, but that’s another story. Anyways, while reading the morning paper and glancing upon the Bob Woolmer murder mystery, a sinister plot hatched in my brain. Before I tried the prank out on some of my more aware friends, I decided to test run it with my mom. A little background on my moms cricket knowledge, being in a family of 2 cricket loving sons she has been indoctrinated into the multitude of the Indian Cricket expert. And like many of her ilk her favourite cricketing son was Sachin tendulkar. In her earlier cricket watching days she came up with some gems like “Why cant the Indian bowlers always bowl dot balls?”. She thought that like the yokker, a dot ball was a type of delivery and not the resultant of no runs scored. Now she is as knowledgeable about the game as any of us with the exception of my bro who is an almanac of cricket.
So I called up and in a frenetic voice told her to quickly switch on the television, I told her breathlessly that Sachin tendulkar was found dead and it looked like a case of suicide. I quickly hung up the phone pleased with my theatrics and acting abilities. After waiting a while, I was sure that the hoax was caught by my mom as no news channel would corroborate the story, I called her again. This time however it was my dad who picked up and in a somber voice asked me if I had played a prank earlier. He said that mom was shaking and was in tears. Mom came on line and though she rebuked me gently between her sobs, I could sense the underlying relief in her voice that it was just a prank and not the truth. I myself was alarmed that mom had taken this so seriously and it had disturbed her otherwise stable emotional equilibrium.
I waited for things to cool down before I called again and had a chat with mom. Even she couldn’t justify why she broke down on hearing the news. She told me that upon hearing it, her thoughts went back to how much joy he had given to Indian cricket fan particularly my family and how unfairly he had been treated in the recent past and what a tragic end it was, when this world cup was being touted as his swan song. She was embarrassed that she had reacted the way she did, but I understood the implications of being Sachin tendulkar.
Growing up in Mumbai, when Sachin was at the peak of his devastating abilities (Sharjah series vs Australia), those matches were forever etched in my family’s memory and were counted amongst our most memorable times we spent as a family. Probably as much as any memorable holiday we’ve had or even as significant as a marriage or any other joyous event. As a result, he is subconsciously rooted into the fabric of our family and I would suspect a million other cricket loving families in India. This phenomenon I believe cuts across class, income groups and even religious boundaries. In a country where heroes are hard to come by and even harder to stand the test of time, this man has remained in our hearts and imaginations for almost 2 decades, from a precocious teenager to a mature veteran of the game. In a country plagued with uninspirational political leaders, and over hyped entertainment personalities, this man made his way into a billion hearts purely on the merit of his ability. His personal life too has been as admired as his cricketing one, an unflappable temperament, 2 lovely children, social causes, and humility which only accentuated his on-field achievements.
My stupid prank in retrospect had probably just one positive rub off, it made me realize the importance of Being Sachin Tendulkar.

Sourav Ganguly: The comeback kid

2007-01-31T22:57:00.000-08:00

First things first, I am not a bengali, therefore i don't have the genetic inclination that most bengalis have to worship Sourav. In fact i never even liked him too much as a cricketer , as my adulation and admiration were reserved for a guy called Sachin Tendulkar.
Therefore when the whole Greg Chappel - Sourav issue blew up last year, I was among the many who wrote Sourav off. Think of it logically.
1. He was in a deep slump in form, which seemed to be sinking to lower levels with every match.
2. Bowlers all over the world seemed to have him sorted out - with his susceptibility to the short ball.
3. He had a public spat with a man the BCCI wasnt going to forgo as they had spent millions to acquire his services.
3. His loyal teammates, though did have kind words to say about him weren't going to stick their neck out for him.
4. Cricket is bigger than any individual therefore if the Indian team didn't need Ganguly then he had to go.
With all the above duly considered I would have advised Ganguly to gather up his tattered pride, acknowledge the fact that his best cricketing years were behind him and try and retire with as much grace as was now possible. I would have told Sourav to look at a lucrative career as a television commentator or maybe get into coaching. This would have been the logical and easy path to take.
But Sourav decided to ignore the multitude and stuck to a path that was strewn with thorns, broken bottles and landmines. Treading this path was not only dangerous but more catastrophically it could also amount to nothing. Basically there was no light at the end of the tunnel which could keep him going. A lesser man or a good poker player would have cut short his losses and gone his way and looked back on what was definitely a good cricketing career.
I can only imagine the guts it took to for him to decide to gamble what was left of his already bruised pride and tattered ego.
I can only imagine the self belief that lay within him as he played domestic cricket with juniors who a few months ago would have considered it their lucky day to have a word with him. To put his head down and work on his cricket while ignoring the sympathetic looks of the world or the smirks and comments of his detractors would have been a task of herculean proportions. Every cricketing move of his was watched with intense scrutiny with either the doomsday pundits saying that they were vindicated or overzealous Bengali's hailing his modest score as a sure sign of his class. To put all this aside, to focus on an impossible goal, to have unwavering belief in yourself speaks volumes of this mans character.
As a cricketer, I have never admired Ganguly, as a captain i did admit that he was a good leader but he was never a name to inspire awe or carry a nation - like Sachin. But his comeback to the indian team, which is nothing short of a miracle, has catapaulted him in my eyes as an extraordinary man. Not only has he come back, but he has grabbed this opportunity with both hands and earned his retention in the team. Now that's the epitome of a professional.
I am sure his family and friends would have rallied behind him and encouraged him through his trials but finally its the individuals mettle and resolve which counts.
He has channeled his anger, disappointment and humiliation in to a steely resolve which ended up with him drawing praise from his nemesis himself.
I believe that Chappel was justified in dropping Ganguly at that point of time, though the way it was done was a bit questionable, I believe that Chappel and the BCCI have acted as thorough professionals when Ganguly was recalled to the team and when they praised him for his performances. It reinforces my belief in professionalism in a country better known for corruption, dirty politics and non-meritocracy.
I can only tell Sourav Ganguly that you have gained a big fan now who admires you more for your mental and character prowess, and I wish you the best for the World Cup.

The Giangetic Adventure

2006-08-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

Aaah the beauty of the ganges, the shimmering clear cool water reflecting the suns golden rays, the rich dark green foliage covering the hills on one side and the creamy white sand on the other. Is this what “heaven on earth” was all about? These were the thoughts that ran through my head in the 3 odd seconds in which my raft was plummeting a 10 feet fall, part of a rapid known to the rafting fraternity as “THE WALL”. Its amazing how silent, beautiful and long those 3 seconds were and in this almost zen like moment all I could do was admire the beauty of the place rather than ponder on my not so certain fate at the end of this fall. The raft nearly did capsize, friends were thrown overboard, frantic rescues did happen. As we floated, colder, wetter and more respectful of nature than when we started off, downstream on a much calmer ganges, all I could do was reflect back on those 3 seconds of silent lucidity where time had stood still, the sound of the thundering rapids blocked out and where the distinction of nature and man were blurred.
We were a group of friends from the same B school (Anisha, Sourabh, Namita, Shalini, Avneet, Pulkit and Anand (my best friend from Mumbai). The lead up to our spectacular collapse over the wall was beautiful. We drove down from Delhi to rishikesh and were pleasantly surprised to see the camp where we were staying. Very spacious tents with pucca beds and all. The toilets were the highlight of the day as it was a makeshift tent which housed a dug up commode in the sand and the flush was replaced by sand. For city slickers like us, this arrangement provided the fuel for many a joke, animated discussion which terminated in peals of laughter. The locale of these camps was spectacular to say the least, our camps on silver white sand with the ganges flowing next to them and the green hills overlooking the opposite bank.
Eddie: not to be confused with a small whirlpool which is also called eddie. This was the name of our instructor who was this 20 something cool rafting dude. We immediately took a liking for him as he seemed pretty chilled and friendly. He took us on a simple rafting run where we were taught the basics of rafting like rowing in unision, back pedaling, turning the raft etc and Pulkit due to his feeble contribution in rowing, was the designated “high side”, which basically meant that upon hearing the word “high-side” from eddie he had to throw his bulky body (ha ha, he was a featherweight with a heavy weight wit) on the nose of the raft so that it didn't tip over.
The first day was spent going over rapids creatively named like “3 blind mice”, “ball breaker”, “pot-hole” etc. The 2nd day we made our way through some higher level rapids. Rapids were graded on a level of difficulty and danger. Level 6 was the highest which bordered on the un-navigationable. Level 5 combined a fair element of fatality and was ventured only by the elite rafters. Level 4 was a high probability capsize with some elements of danger. Level 3 was a bone shaker but nothing serious. Level 2 was just fast flowing interspersed with a few bumps while level 1 was a float on the clouds. We had attempted some level 3 rapids on day 2 with eddie ably guiding our efforts to safe ground. We were drenched but our spirits were high, I even contemplated leaving it all and taking up rafting coz I seemed to be a natural. We even did some body surfing on the ganges with our life jackets on.
Come day 3 and we were already talking in hush tones about our tryst with “THE WALL”. On the bonfire of the previous day eddie regaled us with his stories and some history of rapids and rafting. He also informed us that we should be attempting a level 4 rapid called “THE WALL”. Inebriated with the beer and high on enthusiasm we were all unified in our approval of such an adventure. The next day and nursing a hangover, our bravado was deflated when we neared “THE WALL”. We had stopped the raft at a vantage point while eddie went scouting to see the wall as it was important to gauge the mood of the river and the force of the current. I didn't know what was more intimidating the thunderous sound of the falling rapid or the angry white foam rising from the falling water. Whatever it was, I was pretty intimidated and our usually boisterous party was sullenly quiet was we paddled our way towards the rapid. Eddie was furiously shouting orders over the deafening sound, there were other rafts from other camps which had ventured ahead of us and in the distance we could see each of them gathering speed in the rapids and then disappearing over the fall. We also reached the point of no return where our raft was now at the mercy of the rapid and all our collective rowing and eddies frantic orders were as ineffective as venkatesh prasads yokker.
The plunge as I mentioned before was a moment of beauty and the next couple of minutes passed by in a blur of frantic shouts, and lashing water. I don't remember exactly who all, but anisha, Namita avneet and Shalini were thrown overboard by the brute force of the rapid. I managed to stay on board but it felt like a giant had yanked at me with all his strength. The raft managed to stay upright though at one point of time it had stood upright as if to salute the mighty ganges. Now it was time to pull out the forced evacuees. I spotted avneet floating some distance away and anisha seemed alright, but there was no sign of Namita. Apparently she was caught in a circular eddie which kept dragging her down and bringing her to the surface again. Somehow she managed to resurface without going down again and the current was bringing her towards the raft. I was leaning over the raft outstretching my arm to avneet who was trying to make his way back to the raft. I saw a grateful look in his eyes which seemed to say “Thank you my friend” Then I saw the more beautiful Namita floating towards me. Instinctively my outstretched arm changed direction and poor avneet floated past the raft with a look in his eyes which seemed to say “*##** you ditched me for a babe???”. In my defence I think Namita was more in need of assistance and I thought avneet could have hung on for a few more secs. Well all being said, Namita was pulled out drenched like a wet hen and shivering, avneet was on board several seconds later with a little more respect for the water and a lot less respect and faith in me. The water was calm and serene just a few metres away from “THE WALL”, we all silently floated on, till Eddie reminded us that noone had died and we had just completed the wall. This gave vent to lots of chest thumping and soaking in the moment.
We made our way rowing happily onwards till we reached a point where we docked the rafts and climbed an overhanging ledge. On reaching up eddie informed us rather nonchalantly that he wanted us to jump off the ledge in to the water below. Normally we would have cringed away from such a dangerous request, but given our inflated sense of heroism being WALL conquerors, we agreed. I don't know the order in which we jumped but me and anand went up for seconds. Only poor Namita did a break even analysis, solved complex equations, philosophized the teachings of Plato while she contemplated her imminent jump. Eddie from master rafter revealed his alter ego – Inspiration man. Namita was subjected to motivational speeches, meditation, drawing energy from the sun etc to expedite her leap of faith. Well I can’t tell whether she got bored listening to eddie or whether his methods actually worked, but Namita jumped and gravity did its thing.
This trip was memorable for a variety of reasons. It was a heady cocktail of good friends, amazing nature, a pinch of danger and some good old fashioned near death experience.

Justified violence against women

2006-07-20T04:07:00.000-07:00

The title sounds macabre and controversial but its just a somber title for the story which is to follow.
As a boy growing up in the 80's, girls were a entity that was not understood by me and like Calvin I considered them to be my sworn enemy. What they had done to me was not important but having an entire species to target my shenanigans towards was a juicy prospect. The following episode in no way represents my feelings towards the fairer sex today, to which my wife should readily attest to (right?)

Rohini, was my first girl friend (the friend who is a girl variety). She used to live close-by and would drop in to play with me. Thats when I realized that the female gender was strikingly different from me. They didnt think, play or want the same things that I wanted. Our play sessions would typically be
Step1: Excitement, when she arrived as I had someone to play with.
Step 2: 5 minutes of fun
Step 3: Heated arguments about the game, rules, and other such triviality
Step 4: Either physical violence or both of us screaming at each other at the top of our voices.
Step 5: me asking her to get out while she stormed out in a huff, swearing to never return again and me swearing never to play with her again.
Invariably a day or two later, she ended up at my gate and the same sequence of events played out.
Once Rohini was at my place while my mom was forcibly trying to get me to drink my evening milk. As usual I was throwing a fit and my mom gave me a quick whack to get me to comply, Rohini was enjoying this domestic tussle. Finally shedding a few tears I reluctantly drank the milk. Now a background on my persona is essential to understand the next sequence of events. In those days I was a maverick of sorts to my class mates, the brat who was not afraid of anything or anyone. In class I openly challenged authority by playing pranks, I terrorized girls by pulling their pigtails and generally giving them a hard time. Being athletic, I was able to run faster and jump farther than most boys which earned me their respect and I was the de facto leader. So when a sworn girl enemy sees the so called stud being reduced to tears by his mom, she realizes that she has stumbled on a gold mine of information. By the time I reached school the next day, girls were giggling at me, talking in hushed tones and looking in my direction and laughing. I was foxed with their behavior, some of my loyal cronies told me that Rohini was spreading some story about me. Thats when it hit me that my unflappable reputation was in danger of being torn to shreds. My worst fears were confirmed when Rohini did a mock act of me getting whacked by my mom and shedding tears. The entire class were laughing at this parody and Rohini was enjoying it to the hilt. Anger rose through me like the Mt Vesuvius awakening after a decade long slumber. I chased rohini all round the classroom., her shrieking and all her friends giggling egging her on. Finally I caught her, pushed her to the ground and put my leg against her throat. My anger had completely blinded me, here I was a stud till yesterday and because of this mocking girl, I was a laughing stock. I had to punish her, I had to hurt her. I pulled out my school belt which was a leather belt with our school emblem on our buckle. With this weapon of choice, I started whipping a now startled and frightened Rohini. The laughing had ceased and the screams came out loud and clear. I don't know how long I continued in this fashion, but I remember being hauled off to the principal, Sister Yvonne. She was aghast at this new prank of mine which was bordering on the criminal. Poor Rohini was in a state of shock and was sobbing. I was asked to stand outside the principals office while the rest of school had gathered to get a glimpse of the drama. Everyone was asked to get back to lessons and I stood sullenly in the principals office. She angrily asked me what the devil was wrong with me, I told her that Rohini had irritated me (with a lot of venom emphasized when I said irritated). She in her very Christian overtone told me that a small child like me should not use such big words like irritating. I said I knew bigger words than that. Immediately Sister Yvonnes ears pricked, she thought maybe I knew some abusive language and asked me in stern voice what it was that I claimed to know. I told her in a bold voice ÂCondensation, evaporationÂ. She almost would have laughed if it wasnÂt for poor Rohini standing sobbing in the same room, waiting for justice.
Sister Yvonne asked me to apologise immediately to Rohini. My anger had not subsided and I refused to do so. Christanity always is merciful to the repentant, but what do you do with the unrepentant like myself.The sister just dialed my home number and asked my mom to come down to schoolÂÂÂÂagain. By this time Rohini and I realized that I was in big trouble. She made faces at me through her tear stained face, I just looked away. Once I told the Sister that she was making faces at me, at which I was asked to be silent and reflect on what I had done. I just put my head down and didnÂt look at her but was imagining the kind of faces she must be conjuring up. Mom did come and after a long discussion with the principal, she told me in a stern voice to apologise immediately. By now my bravado was deflated and in a meek voice I told Rohini I was sorry, without looking her in the eye of course. To add insult to injury Rohini said ÂIts alrightÂ, to me drawing immediate praise from the mercy appreciating Christians. I donÂt remember being punished for this capital crime, but I did stay away from Rohini for a week after that. But I was soon back to my old ways.

More Childhood musings

2006-07-17T22:23:00.000-07:00

The second birth:
I don’t remember too much of my mom being pregnant with my brother, but I do remember that my granny and her male servant thambi staying with us. I vaguely remember dad remarking to me that I would soon have a brother to play with in the house. I don’t know where I first saw my brother, hospital or home, but I do remember his face when I first saw him and to me it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I remember planning a lot of games and things to do with him. I remember mom and dad asking me to think of a name for him. I actually took this task very seriously and came up with some names “Pavithran, Policeman, Deepak etc” Dad and mom even today tell me that I was the one who thought of his name, well I’d like to think so. I remember the pram on which I would push my brother along. I remember his silky hair and small feet and I liked the fact that he unfailingly tightened my finger with his tiny hand every time I put it there.
Lock up:
As a kid and even today I create, think and live in my own fantasies. If I had a toy gun, then the jungle, the enemies, the wounds, the drama everything was conjured up in my fertile imagination. I used to spend hours by myself with some tools of fantasy and my imagination took over. Even today I do the same, the scale and situations vary.
I remember a small godrej (I think) almirah that I used to play a train simulation in. I used to sit inside the almirah and keep pulling the doors. I spent hours there playing out my fantasies. Once when my mom was quite pregnant with my bro, she had gone to collect the laundry from outside. I was playing in my favourite almirah, pulling and pushing the doors with much gusto, making sure that the doors don’t completely lock. As it happens with most of my mis-adventures, I pulled the doors a bit too hard and the damn thing closed on me. A 4 year old hyperactive kid in a confined dark space just reeks of utter panic. And panic I did, I screamed and pushed the doors with all my strength, so much so that the whole almirah was now rocking. Mom heard the din and was rushing as fast as her 8 months of labour allowed her. She was confronted with a daunting sight of a mid sized godrej almirah rocking on its axis and the muffled sounds of her son emanating from within it. Her dizzy spells kicked in just to add a bit more drama to an already tizzy situation. Mustering her maternal instincts, my poor mom waddled up to the almirah and yanked the handle open. Out tumbled her very suffocated, blue bundle of joy. I was apparently blue due to the lack of oxygen and all that shouting. She tells me that she remembers my very white teeth as I flashed a big grin and told her that if there was a light bulb in the almirah I wouldn’t have been so scared. Poor mom must have wondered what she had done in any of her previous births to deserve me, and must have looked with fear at her protruding belly wondering what untold mass of protoplasm was brewing inside this time.
Back to school:
Another incident I remember vividly thankfully does not involve any blood but is not short on drama and trauma value for my parents. I don’t remember who this friend was, but I think his name was pawan. One day he and I got into an argument as to whose school was bigger. I argued vehemently that mine was and he scoffed and retorted on this claim. With no closure looming on the horizon, we decided to take a look at his school and bring an end to this matter of honour. Pumped on adrenalin and fostering a deep resentment for each other, we decided to walk the distance to his school. It was a good 3-4 kms away on the main road, but distance was no barrier when it came to adolescent pride. We started off without of course informing anyone, these things never struck you at that time in life. With Lilliputian legs and strides, we made slow progress towards our destination and I remember crossing crowded roads teeming with Hyderabad traffic, going below an overbridge, and sweating it out in the hot Hyderabad sun. Meanwhile mom had realized that something was amiss as there was no pandemonium breaking out at home. She searched high and low for me and quickly concluded that I was lost. She freaked as most moms do and anxious neighbors started scrounging the neighborhood. Our hyper concerned neighbours started talking of kidnappings, which put more panic in my panic saturated mom. Dad was informed at office that his son had gone missing.
About the same time we had finished seeing his school which was locked being a holiday and obviously we couldn’t conclude whose was bigger. On our way back, a neighbour who was out on his scooter looking for us, saw me and pawan and picked us up. All during the ride back he was admonishing us for gallivanting without informing anyone. I then realized that I was in trouble and every metre being covered by the speeding scooter was a step closer to a good shouting and a painful beating. Sometimes when you expect the worst, it doesn’t happen, well this was not one of those times. Mom hugged me, slapped me and cried all in one motion. The neighbours were all thanked for their efforts. Dad yelled, mom cried some more and I was left to ponder on what was so terrible about a perfectly legitimate adventure.
Some of the stories I have heard about myself and I have heard a lot of stories about me, involve mischief to the nth degree. I was the kind of kid that would have justified infanticide. Satan was a church choir boy compared to me. I cant imagine how my parents put up with my shit, and despite that still loved me and provided for me. My mom was just 19 when she had me. If I think of the nineteen year old girl friends I knew back in college, I can’t imagine anyone taking care of a child, let alone one who made the hair on your neck stand. The mental strength it must have taken for my mom to take care of me is unimaginable. I think mom and me share such a great relationship because of the fact that we are separated by only 19 years and by the realization that many times I was one step away from being abandoned in a dumpster.

Childhood musings

2006-07-17T04:21:00.000-07:00

THE BHOPAL EXPRESS MEMORIES (1977 – 1980)
My earliest memories of my childhood are of Bhopal, of dad coming home in his car and the honk announcing his arrival and my running and or falling down the stairs to meet him every time. My closest near death experience came quite early in life, when, excited by the fact that dad had come home, I tried to cycle down the stairs, tumbled and fell cycle et al and landed right at my dads feet as he opened the door to the stairs. Sometimes these memories are so vague that it feels like maybe its just some movie that I saw long back and am mistaking it to be my own.
I don’t remember much of the house we lived in except I remember living on the first floor and I remember my red tricycle which I used to drive around like a madman and a “hit me” doll which always used to bounce back. I vaguely remember our neighbours, but remember a kind old balding man, a slightly portly woman who used to feed me snacks. I however have no recollection of being called “tinku” which apparently was my pet name.

HYDERABAD BLUES (1980 – 1982)
I remember creepers in the front of our house. I remember a lot of trees and a long road along which I used to run. I used to love the gate to our house on which I used to stand and swing for hours. I remember a neighbor down the road where there used to be an older boy who for some reason used to pick on me. I think he was the first “Moe” (bully) I encountered.
I remember my second near death experience so vividly. I even remember the clothes I was wearing, a blue small checked shirt. There was a squabble and then me trying to play David to my goliath. The result was that I was on all fours on the cement walkway in front of my house and he was playing “horsie” sitting on me. He was pushing my head up and down and on one such exaggerated oscillation, I banged my head to the ground. Now a glass piece with a jagged edge lying somewhere on 1000 sq ft of ground in front of the house is not what one would describe as a remarkable fact, but my head banging 1 square inch of that ground and finding that very glass piece could be classified as a wicked coincidence. Well, that happened and a curtain of blood streamed down my face from an angry looking cut right on my hairline. My bronco bully panicked like he had seen a ghost and ran away running down the road to his house screaming “khoon, khoon”. I was bawling, more out of shock than pain. Mom saw me and rushed me to the bath room and the bleeding was soon arrested. Soon we had a two member delegation to my house, my head banger bully and his very concerned mother. If there ever was a time I felt sorry for that boy it was then, he looked like he had cried so much that his eyes were ready to fall out, his leg was red and swollen from a beating his mother had given him and to which she referred to several times during her apology to my mom as a sort of compensation for my loss of blood. She slapped his hung head a couple of times during her tirade to my mom of how she was fed up dealing with the shenanigans of her son. My mom clearly was embarrassed by this violent apology and kept telling her that it was partly my fault also. At one point of time I actually went up to the deflated bully and put my arm around his shoulder. (Well I don’t know if I actually did that coz I was quite a “harami” when I was young, but I think I did, so we leave it at that). I remember dad being angry initially with the whole event but I did get a lot of attention and love post that event. I think I did get stitches for that wound but have no recollection of it.
Speaking of stitches I did get my fair share during my time. The one occasion I remember with some clarity involves my much beloved gate who turned a villan on one dark night. We had some guests in the evening and there was a girl my age to whom I was showcasing my gate swinging abilities. She was clearly impressed and this spurred on my already maxed out confidence. I was on one gate and she was on the other portion, and using one leg as a push off mechanism, I was easily lapping her over and over again. Then the unthinkable happened With constant increases in gate swinging speed, the performance barriers had been breached and for some reason which I am not clear about even today, I found myself off the gate on the ground and her swinging gate hit my head from behind. Again there was blood, tears and concern. After some candy had shut me up, the visit came to an end and I don’t think I said goodbye to this girl who had seen me fall from a swinging hero to a wounded sulking crybaby. After our guests had left us my mom and dad again examined my wound which they had kept telling the guests was just a small cut. I distinctly remember my mom’s gasp when she parted my hair and her remarking to dad that she could see my skull. Wow, skull was a word that I didn’t know then, and I felt a sense of excitement mingled with fear. “What is skull? Why cant I see it? Will my head open up?” were some of the questions I posed to my already beleaguered parents. The doctor examined my wounds and recommended a stitch. Well my mom held my legs and I think dad left the room while I was reacting to this entire episode like a weak secret agent going through Chinese torture. I screamed, squirmed, bit, kicked, spat, howled my way through four stitches which I felt the sick doctor enjoyed. When it was all over, I was given some candy by the doctor which did little to change my hatred for him. Well that was the end of that and to quote my wife “A stitch in time saves mine”.

Monkeys: There used to be a daily migration of the red snouted monkeys across our backyard. They were fairly fearless of humans and always looked out for a quick grab and run opportunity of food items. Spices left to dry, coconut pieces etc used to be disturbed often by this band of simian pirates. We used to have face offs, general mom engaged in a tug of war with an adventurous monkey who dared to waltz away with her laundry.

Uma Montessori: This was my first school, where I did what was then described as LKG and UKG. I don’t remember much about lessons, but I do remember having pencils and a blade to sharpen them, for some reason blades were more popular than sharpeners. There used to be half and full blades and we used to sharpen them. I don’t know why every vivid memory of mine involves blood but I remember cutting my thumb with the blade and rushing off to the bathroom to wash it off. For some reason I remember the classrooms as dark and damp. I remember mom picking me from school and me walking back home with her holding her hand.