Long way home

Traffic jams. Integral, indispensable part of city life. These mystical blockages in the space-time continuum are cornerstones of healthy, everyday commutes. It’s what constitutes of much of your life if you leave for work post 8.30am, and for home post 5pm.

So, the cure seems pretty straightforward. The one and the only way to beat the city folk at what they do best (*ahem* create jams) is to catapult to work before fellow road users wake up from their deep slumber. Of course, to get back home for dinner on time, you’ll have to leave your workplace at 2pm, at the very least. Because, somewhere on the way, one small, little, itsy hatchback will just HAVE to have broken down at 3:02pm. That too precisely where a busy road bottlenecks. That alone would have stopped that area’s proverbial pipes from clearing.

But don’t worry. Even if you are stuck in a 7-hour-long jam, everything’s going to be all right, as long as you’re in the company of your uber smartphone. That you have already checked 76 times at the very least in the past 3 minutes. You shouldn’t worry unless you’re at the helm of an ambulance lugging an ICU patient to the operation theatre. Well, if you are the helm of an ambulance with a serious patient in the back – gasping for breath – and you aren’t worried, then a few, maybe all, of the below are possible.

a) You’re a psychopath.

b) You’re a psychopath.The chap/ woman behind is going to die while you’re stuck in traffic.

c) You don’t care.

d) He/She’s so going to die.

e) Maybe, he/she’s already dead.

If you’re an auto-rickshaw driver, you’re definitely having the time of your life, breathing in the smoke, dust and all that good stuff.  It’s going to extend your life by half of what you’ve already lived but in reverse. And, it serves you right, given how you swerve in front of cars, and cut lanes without ever using your indicator switches (What, you wanted to gift the switchgear to your great-grandchildren?)

However, there’s some bad news. The chief engineers of traffic jams – Uber and Ola drivers driving their loathsome Dzires, breadbox WagonRs and godawful Xcents – will sit safely in their air-conditioned death traps. Utterly unaware of the shit-storm that they have whipped up behind.

Now, mind you, there’s a cure. It’s called music. And nowadays, you don’t need a phone with 1TB worth of memory to carry all your favourite songs. You don’t need a fancy device with a click-wheel and a screen the size of a postage stamp to carry 1000 songs in your pocket. Because today, you can carry all, ALL your favourite songs in your pocket, without ever worrying about running out of memory. All you need to do is switch on the data on your phone, and sing along. All those miserable moments you’d have cursed yourself for not being able to find a work-from-home job, would dissipate into thin air when Kishore or Marley personally hum their melodies to you. Or is Beiber your thing?

That brings me to an observation that struck me a few days ago. It wasn’t long ago that we used to think a thousand times before switching on our mobile-phone’s internet connection. When the Nokias reigned supreme, GPRS was strictly the privilege of the elite. Slowly, the Samsungs and the Chinese phones stepped in, “Data packs” became more accessible, and we’d be off to grab hold of scratch-cards that would give, what, 100mb boosts of internet usage?

The DOCOMOs, Airtels and Vodafones of the world then turned a little more generous. They slapped on a little data, 250, 500mb, 1GB (if they were feeling particularly generous) into our tariff plans and let us rollick in a few moments of internet bills. However, the moment you’d spend a single extra megabyte of the data browsing your favourite porn site, your bill for the month would skyrocket quicker than the Apollo 11 crew could say “Oh Shit” together.

Status quo stayed status quo for a couple of years after which things got a little interesting. Very interesting. Because. Jio happened, and how. It’s the literal manifestation of Dhirubhai Ambani’s idea of “Kar lo duniya mutthi mein” (Take the world into your hands). Mind you, I’m not getting paid by Reliance to say this, but on a serious note, Jio democratised the internet for India. Haven’t you seen it yet? The service providers haven’t taken a single sigh of relief since Jio became the rage. Their calls everyday go like this….

“Good morning sir, I’m calling from XYZ service provider. We have a plan that gives you 999999999TB of data, unlimited calls, unlimited messages, unlimited roaming, unlimited massages, a Rolls Royce, an island in the Bahamas, and a lifetime’s worth of condoms and 15kg of Malana Cream for just Rs 359 per month. Would you like to port your number to our services?”

Me: Hell yes! But no, thanks.

Why am I saying all this? I don’t even use a Jio number. However, I must add, every time I drive back home, listening to music that’s not stored on my phone, there’s a certain sense of satisfaction that I get. Holy cow, you’re listening to stuff that your device is streaming, literally from thin air. From the stuff you’re breathing. How cool is that! Of course, you have the microwaves doing their mystical trickery, but just imagine. You don’t need to carry clunky cassettes, CDs or even a pendrive for that matter to keep your favourite music/video with you. And that’s pretty much the case wherever you go. Unless, you’re in Ladakh, or something. Only BSNL works there, that too sparingly.  

All in all, this world is a positively mesmerising place, don’t you think? Yes, we all have our daily miseries, the pay isn’t good, and neither is the reception from the cellphone tower near your home. The neighbour has the cute girlfriend, your dog ignores you after devouring all the biscuits YOU fed him, Yankee doodle went to town and you feel bad that he didn’t go to a city, a 3-week-long traffic jam stands between your office and your home, and the list goes on.

Meh, just switch on the internet, pump up the bass and let the music melt your sorrows away. 

A new hope

There's someone watching over you. Not in a 1984-Big-Brother manner, but in a way that mom mentioned when we were kids. There's someone watching over you, someone who's looking out for you, someone who knows what you need, someone who's vouching for you, rooting for you, conspiring to bend and contort the world into the shapes you imagine it in. But it's up to you to submit to this higher power without question or doubt.

Every now and then, you run into someone who changes your perception of how the world works, how your world works. For me, it happened twice recently. First, when I realised that I might have met my monkey mate (more of that in a bit), and second when I made acquaintance with this humble sardarji, who might have pushed me into digging deeper into what this life is about.

As promised, my monkey mate first. About a year ago, completely burned out, yours truly bought a bus ticket to God's own country, Kerala. It was a simple attempt to get far away from the maddening crowd for a good 10 days. Thankfully, my boss at the time didn't bat an eye before approving my leave.

I bought a Friday ticket on Thursday and was pleasantly surprised to get myself a seat without much of a fuss. Thankfully, I had a friend, Deepak, who had chalked out a plan for a little excursion to Coorg with another gang. So all I had to do was tag along. All new people, a clean sheet of paper, just what I needed to unwind. Well, no wait! I knew.... one, two, three... umm four, oh yeah, there was just one from the gang whom I'd never met before. Monkey. The basketball player, or so I thought the first time I saw her. She really wasn't a basketball player. She was just someone who looked goddamn athletic. And *ahem* hot. A bit out of my league, I thought initially. Thankfully, she turned out to be a bit insane. Someone you could peacefully fight with.

Fight we did, this girl and I. So much that the rest of the gang had to pull us apart, do this...

.......... just to keep the rest from tumbling into a frenzied killing spree and murdering all of humanity. Yep, it was pretty intense. But what's a friendship without a fight?

In all honesty, I fought because I never thought that this orangutan would be my friend. Self-defence if you may. Insecurity in reality. She fought because... umm, I don't know, she was playing along I guess. Or maybe she really hated me, which isn't really hard to do. Either way, our gang was fully convinced that this girl and I would kill each other. That's exactly the point where we began warming up to each other. I remember we were in the car, driving through the winding roads of Karnataka. Sitting in the middle seat, I was flanked by my friend Deepak on the right, and this ape on the left. Switchback after switchback, our sleepy Ms. Monkey kept getting thrown around, sometimes onto me and sometimes onto the door. I felt a little bad every time she hit the door. Then, she settled down a little, moved away from the door, and by default, leaned onto my shoulders, and stayed there peacefully. It felt relieving in a manner I can't put into words. I was a little tensed up, but the fact that she was comfortable by my side put me at ease. I knew she was fine there, looking all innocent and drowsy.

Like a lame idiot, I looked at her once or twice, only to see her steal glances at me. That's when I knew, this is one human I could be friends with for a lifetime. You see, I have a hard time making friends. Or, as the Flash says in JLA, "I could use friends."

She throws her weight around, acts all wonky, annoys the crap out of you, throws a fit, acts like a four-year-old, smiles like a four-year-old, ties her hair like a four-year-old. Holy cow, she's a four-year-old. But when you're down, she's got your back, she'll give you company till four in the morning, maybe put you to sleep even. And the best bit? She'll bring you back to the ground when you're flying too high. Monkey, what a splendid creature you are!

That brings us to the second person who made my 2017 better. He's tall, turbaned, and the humblest man I've known in a long time. I ran into him on the very first day at my new workplace. A corner seat in the office meant that he ranked quite high in the pecking order. But, something about his demeanour made him look approachable, someone you don't need to pretend with.

From what little I understand, he knows India, Europe and the U.S of A. like their maps are printed on the back of his hand. He told me something recently that changed the way I look at life. Mom says that we should be thankful for every new day that we get to stay on this beautiful planet. My friend is of a different opinion.

His argument goes like this. Suppose that you have come to a big city from a far-flung village. You're here to prepare and clear an important examination and are staying at a hotel. Now, what would you like to do? Stay at the hotel for as long as possible? Or would you rather crack the examination and move on to seek the next big challenge?

He says that everything we do isn't even close to "We do". It's some higher power working the schemes through us. We're channels through which the world is unfurling itself, second by second. Just like how Jim Carrey recently, and rather scandalously, said "There's no ME". Here's the hard part, and something we all must get a grasp over. Remove the 'I', the 'Me', and the 'Myself' from all equations, and life will become easier. How do you do that, thought? I wondered. Mr. Baljinder said, believe. Believe that you'll do what comes to you, instead of planning and fretting over it.

Unbridled

What you're about to read is an unplugged account of longing, a little bit of hurt, a shameless idiot, a steadfast woman, and hope. All of what lies ahead spawns from the fear that the following words might never see the light of day. Anyway.

Gorgeous woman, 

How happy I feel when I talk to you, I cannot put it into words. I cluelessly throw jabs at starting a conversation with you. and you being a cultured soul, respond wearing a smile on your face. Here I am, wishing that some part of the chat struck a chord with you, my brain being fully aware that none of it did. Yet, the heart doesn't agree, and digs for every topic that should, could and would elicit a response from you. I know, it's called 'lying to myself' when I think that you chatting back is a sign of your agreement.

I'm also lying to myself when I discuss the Led Zeppelins, Welshly Arms, the Radioheads, the Myles Kennedies, the Brian Johnsons and the Amy Adams of the world with you. Because in reality, all I want to tell you is how incorrigibly smitten I am with you. It's like this. Your presence engulfs me, your absence eats me alive, and fortunately or unfortunately, I want the world to see you through my eyes. I'm a bit scared of this death wish of mine, too. Because if everyone got to see you for how splendid you are, well, I don't even want to imagine what will happen. 

It hurts, more than I can describe, when you frown upon my fruitless attempts to woo you. But, nothing, hurts more than not trying. It's a bit like waiting for your bus to come at a bus stop. The bus is taking too long. And so, you decide to walk to the next stop, hoping that the bus will arrive by the time you reach there. For all you know, the bus may not reach even after you have arrived at the next stop, but at least, you've moved a bit. Better than standing and waiting at the same spot. That philosophy could get kicked in the nuts if you are midway to the next stop and the bus passes by. Because maybe, the driver is not interested in stopping between stations, and that could spell disaster. 

In essence, I can't stop myself from trying to strike a conversation with you. I can't stop myself from wanting to tell you how fascinating you are to me. Not for a minute can I stop admiring the way your hair bobs and bounces about, the spring in your step, the two kinks that form below your eyes when you smile, or that button-nose of yours that can hardly hold those Saturn-sized specs in place. 

Of course, I wish I could be suave, capable of saying all of this out loud in a manner you like. But, more than wishing for useless skills, I want to be as lucky as your dad, who won the woman he wanted to be with. For that man, and the woman he loved are the reasons I get to write this today. 

You know what sucks the most? Anyone with half a brain could string together sentence after sentence to sound love-lorn. But, how do you convince the world, or the one who matters most, that there isn't a single false word in what you've dished out?  Do talking lessons work?

Learning the walk again

What do you do when you have three songs fighting for the title of 'Earworm' simultaneously? The contenders are....

Bohemian Rhapsody
It's the song that introduced a lot of us to the band called Queen. AND I WANT TO MAKE EVERY SINGLE HUMAN ON THIS PLANET LISTEN TO IT ON A UNIVERSAL LOUDSPEAKER, RIGHT NOW! In fact, I want to play this sound so loud, that it reaches all forms of extraterrestrial life, so even they wonder: Blimey, what a fucking amazing song! Why, you ask? Because of so many things. I think of mom every time I listen to it. It's the song that makes me feel that life is far too short to keep your shit bottled inside. Finally, which other song tells you more convincingly that nothing really matters?

Hurt (Jonny Cash's cover)
Thinking of the movie Logan? Look, now, I'm not the most musically literate around, but boy do I long for brilliant soundtracks, gems if you may, that come as part of good movies. Because honestly, it's plain excrutiating to run into good music all by yourself. Luckily, I know a select few who have exceptional taste in music, so they let me in on new stuff from time to time. 

Cash's version of this song by Nine Inch Nails is a lot more about the no-frills sound of the acoustic guitar than anything else. The baritone vocal parts only add to the tiresome warmth. But it's one of those songs that you won't rush to dig the lyrics of. Instead, it's the kind which you want to listen to in a quiet room, with your eyes closed and no one around.

Learning to walk
I know a smart, little bastard. His name is Deepak, and he's the one who first mentioned the name Foo Fighters to me. When I first heard the band's name, I was like Foo what? Fast-forward four years, the band is easily my favourite, the prime reason being Dave Grohl (the band's lead singer/guitarist) and his lion-like voice. Learning to walk is perfect if you're stuck in a rut, fighting the world in your head. It's capable of inducing in you a sense of despondence that you haven't known before. Moreso if you're stuck in a traffic jam, swearing at a sea of red, car taillights in front of you. 

Somehow, it still has a calming, almost elating effect, the kind that makes you feel stronger because of the challenges you face in your head. Who knew music could make you feel so much?

This song left me with a lesson just today evening, and no it's not because of its lyrics. Enjoy your conversation. Don't worry about whether it will give you the end-result you want out of it. Enjoy it, have fun with your words, because maybe, you might end up saying something magical.

I fear I'll have another earworm, this time from this band called Alter Bridge. But this band requires a dedicated post because of who and how I came across it.

About the above-mentioned songs, picking between them is pure sacrilege. They make you wish that someone stick their fist inside your chest and rip your heart out. That's how much they hurt at times. You feel like a naive, little kid who knows little about how the world works. You wonder why it is such a task to get your feelings reciprocated. You feel reckless in your sorrow and think "How does it matter to be prudent when you're not going to get what you want anyway?"

Somewhere, your wiser self steps in, telling you to get a grasp over yourself. "I'll get you across this sea of shit. Just hold yourself together."

Now, I don't have a moral of the story. Yes, listen to awesome songs, and please share the ones you really like. There's always someone out there looking for great music. Crucially, listen to your inner self, or your inner instinct. It's the higher mind in each one of us that knows how to deal with all the bollocks in the world. It's also the part of us that is eternally hopeful of something positive. And sometimes, a little hope is all you need.

Wondering

Wondering, it's a luxury that the lucky ones among us get to indulge in. It's that blissful time when you get to empty your busy, little space between your ears, and let your squidgy, neuron-infested brain take a nice walk. Let it revel, jump and bunny-hop even. Phew, what an ability, what a gift!

It's what keeps us occupied in ourselves, helps us create the miracles we do. The paintings, the lyrics, the music, the art, the food, the cars, the wars, the works. Why are rains so calming? Why does friendship feel like a warm blanket? What induces respect, and what retains it? Why are some so hideous, why do some never wish well, or maybe, it's just yourself.
Why's that woman you admire all day so heartwrenchingly captivating? Why is it so easy to run out of adjectives for 'gorgeous'? And why does the word 'beautiful' feel so generic and unimaginative? Perhaps, it is, that's why.

I was standing on my balcony, looking far into the rain. A drenched pigeon came flying in,  looking for a dry perch, and I heard the sound it made. I tried spelling the sound that emanated from the bird; not the first time I'd heard the sound of a pigeon. I couldn't.
Ever wondered what sounds birds and animals make? Sure, the lion roars, the crow 'kaws', the monkeys chatter, and blah, blah, blah.... Except, they don't. In fact, if animals ever realise that we have names for the sounds they make, they'll positively die laughing.
No, really, pigeons never 'Guttar goo', dogs never 'bhow-bhow', and neither do cats 'meow'. The kids are being fooled, RIGHT from Kindergarten.

All the sounds, words put in place to represent sounds, are useless. They are all instruments placed for us to somehow feel that we've understood what's around us. Do we understand what the sounds these creations emit? Nah. Even our own languages are a lot of farce put together. Do we understand each other? Some of us do. The rest, well, we need to make note of the insinuations. I wonder whether those notes are useful.

Wondering is a wonderful thing. A bit abstract, but splendid nevertheless. And, it's strange that a good chunk of us wonder in a very narrow spectrum of things. Classic examples? Work, people, the gorgeous woman, books, music, more music, the little car, world domination from time to time, the likes. Maybe add in whatever you feel like into the list, but you get the drift.

That's probably why an Elon Musk is so fascinating. Their whole realm goes way beyond themselves. How do they wonder about things so much bigger than themselves? Colonizing Mars, bullet trains across the Pacific, teleportation, man-machine bonding maybe, who knows. Night after night, they work on pet projects, when the world is snoring away. Each morning, their dream coming a step closer to completion.

Staying up late comes naturally to a lot of people I know closely. They are all the creative kind, scratching away at some itch, and it's fascinating what keeps a good lot of us up and running till the sun raises its head. Maybe it's the wonders of the world, all that's left unseen, unfelt, unread, and the pain of going away without having experienced any of it. That sense of wonder is what probably has us snatching more hours from the day than our allowance.

What's before the starting line?

XYZZYSPOON "Shift+1", that was the definition for BAD MOTHERFUCKER till someone came and introduced expletives, and more importantly, Pulp Fiction to a good lot of us.

For those who didn't get the cypher at the start – sacrilege if you forgot what it is – XYZZYSPOON "Shift+1" is the cheat code with which you got NOS on Road Rash bikes. Now, NOS is the magic ingredient that made the bikes mad fast, and more often than not, helped you win the race, especially if your ride sucked.

It just happened that this movie "Dhoom" came along the same time that Road Rash was turning into a cult of sorts, at least among the bourgeoisie gamers. And yes, they used NOS in Dhoom, which was perhaps the first time we young ones from the '90s saw the ballistic effects two atoms of Nitrogen and one of oxygen; hence the chemical formula N20. And the pleasure of being able to control something similarly quick by pressing a button, on your own computer, was awesome!
But, as usual, there's always a but. Ever wished that you could go all over Pacific Highway, or Nappa Valley, and just let the remaining idiot bikers and the cops screw along the regular route? Ever felt like turning left along with the taxi that you barely missed thrashing your bike into? Or even better, ever wanted to turn the bike around and go back to the starting line, probably explore what the whole fuss was on the other side of the start-point?

The early Need For Speed games came as a welcome change to the relatively two-dimensional world of Road Rash. You could turn around, crash into the cars that were about to lap you anyway, bash into the fake taxis that moved around as part of the traffic on the tracks. Oh ya, one thing. As a kid, playing NFS II SE, I used to wonder where these taxis and buses went. When you completed a lap around the circuit, would you be running into the same brown car that you saw on your previous lap? What about the ones that you crashed into at full speed in your FZR2000? You saw the 'traffic' car flying away, toppling and tumbling. Who cleaned up the crash site before you finished another round of the circuit?
What was also a bit of a downer is that your car never bore any battle damage, at least not until NFS IV. And that means, the earlier games lacked that crucial sense of realism (Agreed, in a game that costed all of 250 bucks, that's nitpicking). However, there was one game that allowed you to go anywhere and everywhere you wanted, and smash and squash the car to smithereens. Mid-Town Madness (MTM), heck I loved the game the first time I played it at a friend's place. However, it was some time before I got hold of my own full-version CD of it. It felt like meeting a long-lost love, save for the fact that I'm neither old enough, nor experienced enough to have met a long-lost love for real.

MTM is, in all probability, the game that etched the landscape of San Francisco into our minds. Imagine, a game could do that. Anyway, in the free-drive mode, you pretty much got to drive around absolutely anywhere, in anything from a VW bug, to..... I don't know, a fire-truck or what. But again, you started out in the middle of nowhere. The game literally began with your car being gently dropped at the starting point. You could go around driving on and on, see the Bay area and the Golden Gate bridge, the China Town area, the cable cars going up and down the sloped areas, even drive your car right into waters around the Exploratorium, and drown them of course.

Mind you, I've never been to San Francisco. But. relentlessly driving around the simulated city got the better of me. I got bored of the game. The Mustang wasn't fast enough, thrashing cop cars wasn't much fun either, and the people on the footpath would just pretend that they were scared when you drove onto the curb. After you passed, they would start walking normally, as though nothing happened. But bloody hell, they had sharp reflexes.

Gaming never fascinated me after that, save for bouts of Sudoku, or an odd game of scrabble (I haven't completely figured out the ruled of the latter yet). It's been two years that I've begun earning my own money, and the to-and-fro that I grind through daily feels a bit like Road Rash. It was very much that when I started out, traveling in trains. Side blinds and all, Jogeshwari to Elphinstone Road and Elphinstone Road to Jogeshwari was an inevitable part of every day.
Then, I managed to get my grandfather's car, which allowed me a few more degrees of freedom. I didn't have to "Have to" use the same turns and same streets day after day. I could turn around, go back home, or go in the opposite direction from home when I got out of work. A bit like Need For Speed. No, actually, I kind of figured it out early on that if you go full blast into an oncoming "traffic" car, you will bear battle scars. And an eye-watering repair bill. More Mid Town Madness, then.

But, then I feel, what next? Why not a few more degrees of freedom? Why be locked within the city? No one's stopping you from taking that right turn, which heads to some place far off, someplace unfamiliar. And for that, I probably don't have to install Flight Simulator, or worse, Sims. 

Clandestine

Could you call it a bit of a drag? You're staring at a 15.5-inch screen for most of the day, leafing and scrolling through boring, familiar websites. A painfully stunning woman you've had the fortune to set your eyes on sits within three feet of you, and if you wanted – rather if you had the gall – you could stretch your hand and touch her cheeks.

Alas, I won't, because I ran out of ideas about anything with the first three seconds of sensing her near me. Every time she shuffles her hair, each time she sits cross-legged, her massive, universe-sized spectacles, her stubby little nose, that smile as wide as the Atlantic, just thinking about all of it makes me happy. A bit sad too. Because all of it is tantalizingly near, and yet, things feel like they are hovering like a flying saucer just, jusst out of reach. I'll have to throw a hook at it and pull it closer, I suppose.

There's something ballsy about the way she looks right into your eyes. It's not a quality that many people, let alone women are blessed with. And when you look right back into those deep, dark-brown eyes, it sends a current right through the centre of your being. It feels like she's gauging if you have the cojones to hold the stare. And that reassurance in knowing that you do, is absolutely elating.

If you ever get a chance, look her in the eye, preferably when she's absolutely lost her temper; I've had that privilege far too often. But you'll notice an almost endearing asymmetry of her face. In the interest of suddenly changing topics, I am a bit scared of her. Scared that she thinks I'll cause her harm, which perhaps she knows isn't possible.

But what do you do to win the heart of the girl who has been overwhelming your senses for two years straight? I've been fortunate to a massive extent for my friends who have done all the bidding that they could have on my behalf. But right now, I feel blank as a starch-white sheet of paper about what I should do next, or if I should do anything at all.

What confounds me, even more, is the fact that I find her so debilitatingly attractive. A bunch of my friends say that she isn't much in the way of beauty (Hey, blind fuckers), she wears clothing that's as simple as can be, and neither can her scent be even a smidge more subtle.
Is it her energetic walk, her bouncy 'Hallo', her round, delicate face, lush, curly hair? Bloody hell, I've run out of my capacity to observe. Are our fascinations that inexplicable that you can't put them into words? Or that's a skill I'll have to learn among a dozen others.
Maybe, just maybe, it's the things that we don't understand that draw us the most.

We might be wrong.

Lighter space-crafts are easier to launch into the heavens, it's simpler to travel light than with all your figurative and literal baggage, and – oh, I love this one – light, little hatchbacks are way easier to drive around in than big, long sedans and annoyingly popular SUVs. Even better if they have a nice, feisty motor between their front wheels.
Inspired by this whole 'lighter is better' scheme of things, a lot of us embark upon an arduous, perilous, and oftentimes pointless journey called weight-loss. Yep, I said it. The whole rant about losing weight, the slim waistline and having a super-proportionate body, yada, yada, yada is crap. In fact, a lot of it is just a gimmick to allow big conglomerates to eat into your savings. Ever seen that ghastly ad where they try to sell you the ab machine that gives you a toned six-pack in 3 months? What about that fat-loss pill ad, where they show this chubby chap transformed into a ripped Greek god? Greek god, because all of it is properly, and positively Greek.

But, none of it is their fault. We're fed the sort of hogwash we see because of a few reasons.
Number one.... We. Watch. TV.

Number two.... It's time for someone to make an application that allows us to watch Youtube videos without the ordeal of braving unskippable (and painful) ads. I hope someone's already made it. That's not just for fat-loss videos, it's just a general plea from all the horribly pissed Youtubers I suppose.

Number three.... We need to understand that weight loss does not equal fitness. I know, it's common sense, but no one is going to tell you that. You don't need to lose weight to be fitter. Yes, if you feel like you want to shed a few kilos, do that by all means. But do that because you want to do it, and not because you saw some ripped human who eats half a garlic clove for breakfast.

Another misconception. We need to lose fat. Wrong! Dead wrong. Why, you ask? Fat-loss is a consequence, not the result, for fuck's sake. The more you develop your musculature, the more you'll lose fat. The reason, too, is pretty straightforward. The more muscle you have, the more energy your body needs to maintain them. And your fatty parts become a ready source of energy for your muscley bits to gorge on. So please, do not pound your knees on that fugly treadmill, thinking you'll lose the love-handles for good. Pick up the dumbbells. Actually, you don't need a Rs 25k gymnasium membership, or dumbbells for that matter to put on muscle.

Is your office on the fifth floor? Ditch the lift, use the stairs instead. Can't climb all the way? Climb till where you can, then use the lift, maybe. However, I strongly recommend that you climb all the way and do the "Gonna fly now" dance from the movie Rocky.

Have a little free time in the evening? Get a jump-rope and do a set of 50 skips. Fifty feels easy? Bump it up to 100, then do 2-3 sets. If you're motivated enough, aim for 1000 skips in a set. The least I can say is that you feel like a superhuman when you cross 1000 and have more left in the tank. Not only is skipping quicker, more intense and more fun than the treadmill, it strengthens and sculpts your legs and shoulders.
Ah, for those who say "Skipping gives you bad knees", a word of caution. You are partly right because jumping rope is a bit taxing on your joints (even sitting on your favourite chair for long is taxing on your backbone!). But, there's a way around it. Use, a soft surface (garden grass, or a rubber mat; wear shoes when working out), stay on the balls of your feet, and maintain a slight bend in your knees.

There's easier stuff you can do too. I, like most people, rely heavily on pushups. lunges and squats when I can't do my usual routine; nothing like it if I can find a monkey-bar or a high ledge for pull-ups. No equipment, no fuss; all you need is your own bodyweight. To top it off, the heavier you are, the better it is in this case; more weight = more resistance = more strength and health gains. Simple.
Plus, you don't need to go ballistic to get results. So 2-3 sets of 10-20 repetitions each. For starters, 10 pushups and 20 squats should be easy-peasy. Build your endurance from thereon. It will be a matter of a month before you start seeing results if you're at it 4-5 times a week.

If you get bored, there are a gazillion variations of the push-up, pull-up, squat, and the lunge; the advanced kind can, and absolutely will, whoop your arse. But meh, it's all worth the health benefits you gain in the process. Mind you, you still haven't shelled a dime.

Food can save your soul too. Chuck the chips, cold-drink and biscuits, and your body will thank you. Sadly, there's no one-fits-all diet plan, from what I understand. Some of us lucky ones can gorge on ice cream and stay svelte, while others just can't. Either way, we intrinsically know what's healthy and what's not. Stick to what your gut says, and we'll all be fine.

You know what's most endearing? It's to see someone happy in their own skin. Skinny, fatty, plump, ripped, six-pack, four-pack, family-pack, cornetto, cup, who gives a flying fuck? Look at the person in the mirror. Admire the curves if you have them. And by the way, who the fuck gave you the right to be so gorgeous 24x7, eh?
Peace!

Volume down please

This is life as I know it, a constant tussle to keep ambient noises where they belong - right fucking outside. The crass shouts began the day I was born, or perhaps even before that. It hasn't stopped till date, and has only exchanged voices. The creators came first, then TV happened, some acquaintances followed, the mind too grew loud and unpleasant. Arnab Goswami and gang, a few bewilderingly noisy fellow faces, some more ear-splittingly cacophonic ones later (these are the ones who you wouldn't want to acknowledge even), I wish just one thing in earnest. Someone, please turn the bloody volume down!

Ever seen Iron Man 2, the movie in which Iron Man and War Machine fight the villain together? In the final battle, the two leads are with their back against each other, defending an impending attack by a swarm of Stark's bots gone rogue.
In this scene, Rhodey (War Machine) says "This is the kill box. It's where you go to die".
Pssst... here's the clip.

Ha, where were we? Kill box, yes. So, wherever you are, home, work, railway stations, marriages, traffic jams, temples, heck, Mount Everest, there's always going to be a gang of people blasting their lungs out at each other, and yes, you're going to be stuck in the crossfire. Needless to say, the shouting ensued in a bid to prove who's got the puniest cock. Holy mother of donkeys, you should see how ladies fight. Same reasons I suppose.
Maybe, just maybe, we should all hide a joint in our chaddis. That way, every time an argument breaks, we light ours, take a few drags, and chill the fuck out. Malana cream anyone? Idukki Gold is long dead, last I checked. But if you know someone selling the strain, my number is 8454043983. Call me. Call me even if you're just lighting a joint, the regular variety will do just fine.

Even better, shut your undoubtedly dispensible trap. Okay, this way, fewer folks will get to experience the miracles of pot, but who gives? Think of it. If mankind is this loud and becoming moreso, we are so doomed. Or maybe it's just some of us subdued ones, because honestly, noise is positively debilitating. Of course, the rest thrive, rolick even, in the mayhem. How I envy them.

My systems shut down when I hear loud voices. Well, actually they don't; some go into overdrive. Like, the fists turn into metal stampers, the breath becomes shallower, eyes pop out of rage, jaws clench and the imagination takes great pleasures in decapitating the source of agony. Thoughts, precious thoughts, how they alleviate ever so slightly the pains of the heart. But that's when Monty Python movies come to the rescue.

Because no matter how mad you are, you feel like a giggle when you hear "Biggus Dickus".

Have a drink with me

Is it a deal with this crop of "Those from the '90s will understand" beings, or is it how it's always been? The moment we cross the tender age of 20, we think of ourselves as proper adults. Yes, secretly, somewhere down the line, we know for a fact that it's not true. Oh, and the moment we've crossed living a quarter century on this beautiful planet, we are under the impression that we have the wisdom of an octogenarian. Well, some of them do, and I bloody hate them for that.

Now, an important aspect of adulthood is drinking. Of course, if you're a Parsi, or a Christian, that doesn't apply to you. Because, well, your cultures sort-of-seemingly rock in terms of drinking mannerisms. Goodness, how I wish I could guzzle from the moment I was born . In front of my parents.

Be it with or without consent, going tipsy isn't a phenomenon discovered in the last one hour. And part of that parcel is coming back home drunk. It's a scary prospect, especially if your folks can't sleep until you're back home, safe and sound. It's a fortune to have a haven of that sort, I recently realised. And then one day, I came back three beers down. Bad idea. My mom caught me within half a microsecond of seeing me at the door. And it was just 9pm, not like a late 1am. scene, where I came in with a stupor and a shaky walk.
That's when I realised that the most embarrassing moment in your life is when your mom catches you drunk. I bet getting caught naked in awkward positions may be way more ignominious, but eh, let's go there when we get to it. So, yeah. Sneaking into your place drunk, getting caught red handed = somebody gonna get hurt real bad.

My mom got so hysterical, that even my dad panicked, as though I'd killed four people on my way home. He heard the case, and to my surprise, he remained rather calm. Not the reaction I'd anticipated, for I was dead sure he'd tell me to find a place for myself somewhere else. He did reprimand me in front of mom, gave me the "This is not the age to do all this rubbish. Focus on working hard." line. But for the horror story that I thought the evening would pan out to be, what I got was gentle acupuncture. And trust me, the soft treatment actually amplified my misery. I'd never apologised to my dad. Until that day. Fuck knows why.

Fast-forward one week to today. I'd just come back from a hard workout, my whole back tight as an extra-small spandex costume. Dad was out with his single-malt bottle (yeah, he has a nice little collection of his own), having a drink with dadaji, and goodness knows from where, he offered me a drink.

Flabbergasted is a word I don't get to use as often as I like, but that's exactly what I was in that moment. I don't know if it's a thing with guys, but the saying goes that your dad considers you a friend the day he offers you a drink. And is it always overwhelming for the kid? For hell yes, I'm bloody well overwhelmed. And what's worse, I don't know how to put what I feel into words. So, that's ..... awesome.

Maybe, just maybe, you're not supposed to make such a big deal out of it. Maybe you're supposed to, because your parents actually think that you're a grown-up and everything. Or, maybe you should try doing something serious with your life, something that makes the world a better place. Just for the record, I didn't take the drink. But, then again, I don't think that matters. Adulthood, phew, it's heavier than deadlifting 120kg. 

On injections, buttocks, nurses and chocolate

Is it normal to be a little scared of hospitals? You step inside one, and they have all these countless rooms and chambers, labeled with abbreviations, ICUs, OPDs, etcetera, that sound a bit disconcerting. It's as though anyone stepping into one of these rooms will be eaten by some big monster, and that the door to the room is the monster's mouth. Plus, no one will know about it. 

Also, is it a bit off to be scared of injections? Pointy little things, dripping with weird liquid that a few sinister beings take great pleasure in jabbing into the buttocks of others.... these. Speaking of injections, buttocks and sinister beings, you just can't leave out the sisters and - what you call the male chaps 'brothers'? - well, them, or nurses, if you may. How glad am I that most of them are ladies, and that's for more reasons than would strike you, sir. But a few questions before we start here. 

Why do they call each other 'sister'? Why do they all look like they can Karate the crap out of you? And why do the really cute ones look like they can wield a cleaver (or even worse, a Katana) and lop off your head any time they please?

In case you were wondering, a cleaver is this scary thing...

And the Katana is, well, the Katana. 

(Japanese way of saying.... Bad Motherfucker)

Speaking of nurses who jab you RIGHT in the arse, I recently had the fortune of getting pricked by a cutie of sorts. Now, in all honesty, my mind is quite bloody pre-occupied with thoughts of a gorgeous of a different kind. And apparently, as per this lady who my thoughts remain preoccupied with, I am supposed to be a sapiosexual (someone attracted to intellect and intelligence). Yay, yoohooo, party! Just that I haven't had much success getting through to this fine young lady. 

Back to the nurse (Ahem!). Turns out she's a Malayali, as with all, and I mean ALL the nurses in this particular hospital. They are all Mallus! This lady is young, lithe, looks sharp, and devious with an injection in her hand. Oh, shit. I hate injections, and I hate anyone holding an injection. 

Before me, a kid, accompanied by our star nurse, had gone into this room which was labeled (unsurprisingly) 'Injection room'. Now, all I could hear for the next one minute was screams and squeals of the poor little 5-year old. You ask how did I know he's 5? I didn't. I thought he was 5, so I winged the age. Anyway, with the sort of noises coming out of the room, I was sure the kid would come out with his head sticking out of his belly-button, and his fingers out of his butt-hole. And yes, I'm five times this kid's potential age, and I shat my pants even before I was to get pricked. But the screams and squeals stopped, and a minute later, our likely-to-be-five-year-old emerged unscathed. 

With a chocolate in his little hands. I rejoiced! Yay, you get chocolate for getting pricked!!!! Oh, only if you look 5, is it? Shit. 

The cute-lithe-devious nurse stepped out, and called me in. *Gulp* I stepped inside. It was cold, The bed I was told to lie on had a bed-sheet with 'CASUALTY' written on it. So that's what happens in here.... Then she told me to lower my pants YESSSSS!!!!!!........... NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! She's about to lop off my weiner!!!! 

Then, she told me to lie on my back. (Phew, junior's safe.) But me arse! Too late... *Prick* YIKES!! JERONIMO!!!! 

"It's over, don't move."

I turned around, the lady was pressing down on my lovely bum (with a cotton patch of course) to keep the contents of the injection from spewing right out of my gluteal muscle (the bum in sexy words). And then it was over. I buckled back my pants, got off the grave-looking bed post, and looked to leave. 

I still have a kid inside though. And I love chocolate. And what do I lose to ask for one from Ms deviously efficient injection-specialist? Tops, she won't give me one.

"Hey, may I get a chocolate too?", I said (almost) jokingly.

Baloney, what a smile I got in return! The lady almost laughed. Bloody hell, who needs chocolate? Okay, tata.

S.O.S

From some time, this is how I feel perpetually. As though someone is trying to slice through my chest and rip my heart into sheds. There's no rest in sleep, I feel strong as fuck, yet bleak like a kitten, and worst of all - well, this hasn't changed since your very own has known existence - I abso-fucking-lutely suck with people.
I suspect that the last one has been the silent killer that has brought me to this abysmal end. Strange is the manner in which people function, which is probably the wrong way to look at the scenario anyway. Perhaps, there's a 'social' gene missing in the author, or whatever makes us the herd hunters we are. I keep wondering as to what gets people together, and well, keeps them that way. Is it gossip? Oh, I know! Sense of humour! How can I forget - a leader. An idea, a common office? Common preferences? Relatives? Oh, yes, even Tinder I suppose. Never had the heart to try that one. But yeah, being the odd one out isn't fun. Not one bit. Maybe, I'm hunting in the wrong places. Or as the few I am close to say.... you haven't met the right gang. I'm like whaaaa???

The recent Justice League trailer came as a bit of a respite. Especially the part where....
Bruce Wayne (Batman): I'm putting together a team of people with special abilities, because I see there are enemies comin......
Barry Allen (Flash): Stop right there.. I'm in.
Batman: You are? Just like that?
Flash: Yeah, I.... I need friends.
(Watch the video from 0:32 onwards)

Phew, what a relief! Even lightning fast super-heroes have people problems. I'd love to mention that even Peter Parker had a tough time around people, but yeah, that would risk going overboard.
Not that it's a case of people aversion. I like people. Just that the feelings aren't reciprocated.. Hmm I see my supposed eccentricities are playing spoilsport here.

Now, it would be rather easy to blame everyone for sticking their heads into their respective touchy devices, but heck. I still see (and envy) the ones who waltz into any surrounding, make friends and fuck off to live a life. Are they 'Alpha'? Are they 'Gamma'? 'Delta', 'Theta', 'Geeta', 'Neeta' blah blah blah? How in the world are these chaps so smooth?

There's a saying in Hindi that goes this way "तुम करो तोह चमत्कार, हम करें तोह बलात्कार।"
It reads TUM KARO TOH CHAMATKAR, HUM KAREIN TOH BALAATKAR.... That of course means: When you do it, it's a miracle, but when I do it, it's considered rape.

I'll give you a classic example of the phrase from the very pages of my yet unreleased biography.
There's a girl I'm damn fond of. Now, as with all cute girls, everyone (I know of) is unequivocally petrified of the gorgeous's father. When I asked her why so..... well... no response.
A friend of mine asked the same question to her... She was gleaming, effervescent if you may.

"Eww!! Creep alert" vs "What a cute question". Clearly, you know which side of the spectrum yours truly falls in. How do you solve this conundrum??!!

My life positively sucks!

Maybe, there's an upshot to all of this rubbish. That's of course something that I haven't stumbled upon yet. And until I do, SOMEBODY TELL ME HOW TO TALK TO PEOPLE IN GENERAL. A few expert driving lessons would help too, so would lots more money, an extra three hours everyday and lifetime supply of espresso. Well, yeah, that's about it.

Stuff no one says

A friend of mine sent me a message which read like this.... "Don't beg anyone to be part of your life." Surely, you must have gotten the drift of what the gist of the message would have been. But yousee, here's the problem.
She walks in, bouncy hair and all, just at the time when the brain is craving for a strong shot of black coffee. Well, her arrival absolutely decimates this entity called sleep. I particularly watch my jaws drop to the other side of the globe when she makes a simple pony out of her lush curlies. For her hair then sways about like the the tail of a well-fed stallion walking in all its glory.
The heart skips a beat at her sight, the mind takes a little stroll, and her presence itself is debilitating to say the least. My ears stand up when someone utters her name, her giggle-ish laughter rings in my head, and I silently burn from within when she talks to anyone. She doesn't talk to me.

Yessir, this is the definitive case of unrequited affections, and don't ask me how we got here. Long drawn story cut short, it's a classic case of "Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! I have no clue what to do with my fiery passions!" My plans have bombed, both in planning and in execution, a reputation must have shattered somewhere, but then again, who gives a crow's rotten arse? You see, refusals, rejections and et cetera have never been an issue. They will happen, and if they haven't happened in your case, well, wait for it. Either that, or I'd like some of what you're smoking.

Herein lies the real problem: How do you decide whether to quit, or to keep powering through the barrage of  Nos', Nays and indifference? Phew, the indifference is what really gets you, and boy, ladies are skilled in this black art. Also, you need some tremendous skill to reach a stage where a woman can just walk past you, maybe even through you. Of course, of all things, that's a skill that 'some' of us have mastered.

Each and every day, my mind pleads to me "Please stop this rubbish pursuit. It's fruitless and taxing on both the mind and heart. Plus, plus, plus and plus, your pulse racing to 180 beats per minute around someone may sound cute, but if the person is around you for 6 hours a day, it's like running a marathon everyday. Not good for the knees"
There's another friend who told me that I could never make this lady mine, no matter what I did. That was harsh, and his words still pierce me like a thousand daggers.
Another buddy of mine says that she isn't all that gorgeous. Yeah, I bet his eyes are infallible. Honestly, I pondered a bit about what he said. Then, I asked myself... So? I didn't get a response.
A part of me tells me to not back out, and I know that my selfish little ticker doesn't want to give in.
I must be going insane, because right now, I can see a weird creature floating outside my balcony. It's got a hissy voice, a bit like a snake, and it's asking me for my soul. I'll get what I want if I give my soul away, or some bollocks of that sort.
Is this what going bonkers means? Why is it that the lady you grow fond of takes that extra measure to pretend you don't exist? What about her makes you so tongue-tied? And do miracles exist? Because if they do not, SHIT! I'm doomed.

A little trip away from home: Chapter 5

Chapter 1: On a whim
Chapter 2: Beginning of the end
Chapter 3: Riding the train
Chapter 4: The best day

Happy falls

This brings me to the last day of the little trip that the gang and I set out on. The drunk night before was followed by a late, and rather alarming wake-up call. 

Deepak: Da, the girls are ready already.

I: Oh fuck, I missed my workout chutiya!

I was supposed to get up early and go for a little sweat session with Deepak and Geetu, but never managed to wake my arse up on time. In fact, I barely made it through my morning ablutions on time for breakfast. On to the last tourist spot for the trip…. Happy falls!!

It wasn’t until 350 metres before we reached the place that I realised that it was actually ‘Abbey Falls’ and not ‘Happy falls’, which sounds like someone called ‘Happy’ falling from some place. From a little research on Wikipedia, I found out that this beautiful waterfall and its tree-laden surroundings is close to where river Kaveri begins. And the forest you’re surrounded by here, boy-oh-boy, it’s straight out of a Lord Of The Rings movie. These 80-100 feet tall trees truly make you realise how fucking incy you are on this planet, and boy are they some sight! The waterfall itself wasn’t much of a big deal. Yes, the background was gorgeous, misty and dramatic, but there was little about the water falling that would blow your mind. Maybe, it’s better to go to this place during the rains, when the stream is stronger.

The way back out was a nice little hike, where again, the chaps went berserk on the photo session. This time however, I think the massive number of clicks were a sign that we all were coming to terms with the end of the trip. Or maybe, it was just me.

Our long drive back to Mangalore was through quite a windy set of roads. It was left, right, left, then hard right, and that went on for a good 15-20 odd kilometres. While most of the chaps were quite silent throughout, Geetu and Yaseer were feeling some serious motion sickness. What the hell is motion sickness?? Whatever it is, both puked their hearts out, which kind of sucked, as in maybe nature should have spared them their motion sickness.

Back on the move, it was almost noon, and quite a sleepy time for most of us. I was sitting in the centre of our Xylo’s middle row, with snoozy Deepak on my right and puky Geetu on the left. It was that time that I felt the pesky lady on my left lean on my arm and dose off. The pressure of her weight against my arm felt a bit strange, warm, soft, almost comforting if you may, like she trusted me. Perhaps, she didn’t hate me all that much. What a woman. It’s just that we are fire and ice when we’re in a group, but otherwise, one-on-one, we actually got along pretty well, I think. I’d realised this first time during that final bottoms-up shot of rum, and now, as we were headed back for Mangalore, where this trip would finally come to an end.

A pit-stop for lunch on the way and some more stray chats later, we reached the point where the gang and I were to part ways. It was kind of happy sad. Some ties had grown stronger, many new ones were built, and then there was boatloads of memories that this trip packed into itself. The weekend felt more like a week, that too in a good way. Honestly, that’s not something you get to say often.

Importantly, it was a complete U-turn for me. I’d set out in search of closure, in search of that woman who now seems to be a creation of my fantasies. Now, I have a new clan that I can rightfully call mine, one that took me in without an ounce of doubt or apprehension. A better way to start a new year? Not that I can think of. 
Perhaps, this happy little song makes for the perfect ending.

A little trip away from home: Chapter 4

Chapter 1: On a whim
Chapter 2: The Beginning of the end
Chapter 3: Riding the train

The best day

We’d wrapped up the second day of the trip pretty quickly. The rafting bit didn’t take much time, except for all the posing and the harsh morning sun which made clicking photos a proper pain in the neck. Then as usual, dear Geetu had to do the skirt-blowing Marilyn Monroe position on every rock she climbed, which took another year to get right.

By the way, we had two members in the gang about to get hitched (not to each other!). One’s Mr Deepak of course, and it’s quiet little Ms Leela who is going to hear the wedding bells soon after. Her groom-to-be was roaming around Coorg around with a gang of his own about the same time that we had planned our little trip and our gangs ran into each other a couple of times. I liked the leather jacket that Leelu’s fiancé wore, and Krishna and Geetu liked Leelu’s fiancé’s good-looking best friend. What our hungry lot liked even more was that the groom’s gang treated us to tea and snacks.

Following that, we headed straight for the Golden Temple (Namdroling Monastery), which last I remember, was a serene, ultra-peaceful place to be. That’s however only if you manage to get there by afternoon. By the time we got there, the place was teeming with noisy humans. Anyway, we got into the big main hall, sat around for quite some time, and I can hardly remember a word we’d uttered. It was mostly tales of our native villages in Kerala, how all the neighbours want to know when you last had sex, which one next door is scheming what and a lot of things that aren’t currently coming to mind. Back to the hotel then, with a good bottle of locally made rum! Yum!

By this time, we had gotten a bit more accustomed to each other’s eccentricities… I think. The ladies called me Ganapathy for some reason. When I asked Geetu why, she said, Ganapathy was a god, who you offered the first plate of food, as he’s the one who alleviates you of all your troubles (well, something along those lines). Understandably, I understood little from the explanation. I was just happy to get the first shot of the rum. Haha. Maybe, I was the only one that got properly sloshed. Actually no. I was pretty much in control. I do remember Leelu letting a bit of that guard of hers down, Deepak was a little looser in his manners, Yaseer had gone to bed after one drink or so, Geetu didn’t kill me, and Krishna looked as peaceful as Buddha.

A bit about Krishna here. At 5’11, she’s a towering giant, a gentle one at that albeit, and she’s the first woman I’ve hit it off with straight away on the very first meeting. She’s the protective kind, the kind who’ll never let you stay low, perpetually effervescent in manner, or at least that’s the part that most people see. Dig a little deeper and you’re likely to break down on the first story she tells you of her life. Fortitude, bloody hell. No wonder she looks like an unshakable mountain.

Back in our room, the booze party continued, and that bottle of rum lasted less than I’d thought it would. I’m partly to blame for that. What I don’t get is why people mix their liquor with weird soft-drinks. Coke, Pepsi, Limca, goodness know what all, cumin flavoured fizzy pop, wha?????

Anyway, there was the fag-end peg or so left in the bottle by the time I saw it finally. Krishna had decided not to drink, Leela didn’t look like she was up for one more, Deepak was probably too lost thinking about his fiancé, Yaseer was in deep slumber by now, which left Geetu and myself as the last men standing. “Let’s split the last one” I said. She agreed. “Neat”, she agreed to that too. “Bottoms up”, I was a bit surprised that she didn’t refuse. Glug-glug-glug-glug, I poured into her glass, let the rest of it into mine. 3, 2, 1 and it all went in within the blink of an eye. Damn, that was fun! “Rum khatam, paisa hajam.”(The rum’s over, the money seems well spent)

Chapter 5: Happy falls

A little trip away from home: Chapter 3

Chapter 1: On a whim
Chapter 2: The beginning of the end

Riding the train

Deepak, Geetu and I reached Trissur at about 12ish at night, with the rest of the party having already reached the station beforehand. We were hungry, and to our luck, there were a bunch of shops open at that time. That too in Kerala, a state where bed-time means 9pm. We got into one of these restaurants and began hogging. We stuffed our faces till it was 1:25am, when we realised that our train to Mangalore was at 1:30. We reached the platform just before 1:30, but Indian trains behave just like Indian people. If a meeting is at 3:00pm, everyone arrives at 5:30 the next morning. The train was, from what little I remember, about an hour or so late. And so, we decided to wait till the train showed up. Not like we had much of a choice.

Waiting at the platform was fun of …. For the first three seconds. Yes, we had little Ms Leela’s Gio high-speed internet, which we made appropriate use of during the intermittent dance sessions. But by then, 4000 year old Deepak’s back began to creek, Geeta became allergic to me, I became allergic to Geeta, and Leela’s cold got a little worse. That left everyone except our superwoman Krishna(because she can punch a hole through any human) and super-Mallu-man Yaseer(because he largely speaks in super-fluent Malayalam) in pain, and there was no sign of the train. And then, when we were all at the brink of dozing off on the platform, it came. Chhuk-Chhuk, Chhuk-Chhuk.

The remaining chaps had booked their berths on the train. I? Well, in my scheme of things, this trip to Coorg was more of an afterthought, a last minute quick-fix that saved my vacation. As a result, I hadn’t reserved my own berth for the night. That meant one thing and one thing only. I had to find a seat in the General Compartment, where all of India’s population had lodged itself, so there was no place to sit. Also, I had to endure the cold winter night, which this year, was notoriously colder than I’ve ever experienced. Unsurprizingly, I didn’t have a blanket. Hence, tata sleep.  To really top things off, I did manage to find an empty seat. This seat, which was RIGHT in front of the coach door, had a draft of cold air blowing STRAIGHT at me all throughout the night. So, I crouched into a foetus position, or my best attempt at the foetus position, and endured the night, sleeping in pockets of 5-10 minutes. That was a bad night. Poor Deepak had offered to share his berth with me. But that was a touch too gay and 69-ish, not to forget, a little too unfair for him, and hence I chose to freeze to death.

But things improved with the rising sun. The cold subsided, we reached Mangalore in one piece, and everything fell into place as per the plan, whatever the plan was. Before I was even in the picture, the group had planned the whole shebang. A seven-seater MPV to haul our arses all around Karnataka, all the accommodation, the spots we’d cover on the trip, the works. So all I had to do was pay up on time, and annoy the nuts out of the rest of the zoo clan. Awesome!

Out of Mangalore, our first pit-stop on our way to Coorg came in the form of Malpe beach, a fishy-smelly port that had lots of little motorboats ferrying people around – mostly to this place called St. Mary’s island. That’s precisely where we were headed.

St Mary’s Island is where the waters are clean and blue, the beach is made up more of little crustacean shells (amazing for acupuncture) than sand, and you feel like at that place, the world is somehow at peace with itself. Of course, that’s exactly a location where our Ms Geetu had to get all over-excited and wet her pants….. in the water of course (man, she’s going to kill me when she reads this). Most of us followed suit; Deepak and Yaseer even followed shirts, pants and underpants too, and just three of us walked back with our “Chaddis” nice and dry. Many poses and snaps later, it was time to head back to mainland, and so we did. That’s because the next leg to Coorg, was a good 200-odd km away. We left the beach at about 4pm, so it would be about 11 by the time we made it through the winding Karnataka roads. We had to have a food break too, which would eat up an hour at the very least. And we were famished as fuck. That brings me to our hungry Leela.

Usually, this mild mannered vegetarian saint hardly lets you know she’s around. During this trip, though, she’d gotten all of us scrambling for our plates. That was of course because of a teeny-weeny fault of ours. We’d stopped at a pure-veg restaurant, which, little did we know, would turn out to be Leelu’s den. We ordered, the food came, it vanished, we ordered, the food came, vanished, and the cycle continued. Our driver was taken aback when his food disappeared by the time he turned around to pick up a phone call. The culprit was Leela of course. One can just imagine how hungry she must have been. Or maybe, that paneer was a bit too delicious.

Through all of this, we managed to reach our hotel at about 10:30 at night. Two from the gang had gotten the drinks. The smart one, I don’t recollect who, got brandy (yay yay!!). The slightly soft one in the head (I bet it was Geeta) got whiskey. Goodness, I hate whiskey! But in the interest of getting sloshed, anything sounds good. Well, the drinks went on till 2am, the morning of the 1^st of Jan, and what an entry into the new year. We yacked, yacked, yacked and yacked, gibberish and globberygoop of every size and kind, and this was the night when Geeta tried to punch me for reasons known only to her. Damn, why did she want to punch me? I’d asked Deepak as to why this woman hates me so much, and his response left me a bit startled “She hates you for the same reason you hate her.”

We three boys went back to our room soon, and I still had no understanding to my recently answered question. Overthinking….. Ah, FTS.

Next day was déjà vu, only that last time, I was with my parents. The itinerary for the day was a water rafting place in Coorg followed by the Golden Temple, a Buddha monastery that’s pretty nearby (Google the place if your curiosity gets the better of you). Apparently, the monastery sold some really nice momos, or so we presumed when we read the word ‘momo’ on its canteen’s menu. Sadly, they had run out of momos for the day. And hence began our hunt for momos in the nearby restaurants, all of which sold the dish. Nice.

We spotted one which proclaimed that it served authentic Tibetan and Chinese food plus the momos. Quite obviously, none of us gave things a second thought, and barged right in. Little did we know that the place offered a loose-motion inducing super-spicy chutney, which had the potential to have us all sitting on the commode for the rest of the trip. Thankfully, we had the lord of digestion on our side as we powered through the maida-wrapped momos, plate after plate.

Back in the room, our choice of spirit for the first night of 2017 was RUMMMMMMM!!!! Neat, desi stuff, that you could chug right down. By the way, it was on this trip that I realised my capacity. I’ve never downed some six-odd neat pegs before, that too without dancing on the table tops, which I think is quite an achievement. This night was actually an improvement over the previous one. We’d all gotten along a bit better, and could tolerate more of each other’s rubbish, and the best bit? The chaps knew how much I liked rum, so I got extra of the dark-golden liquid, which is absolutely brilliant! I’m beginning to suspect that I drank most of it, and the gang just watched me polish it all. But was I the only one getting drunk that night??

Chapter 4: The best day
Chapter 5: Happy falls

A little trip away from home: Chapter 2

Chapter 1: On a whim

Beginning of the end

Not very often does the realization strike you that in the worries of the next moment, you are forgetting to breathe in the present. In the process, you get so bottled up that you lose your shit even when a stranger taps your shoulder and asks you directions to some place. That’s when I remembered my boss’s line “IS THIS THE END OF THE WORLD??” Obviously, he’d blasted me for getting too anxious over something at work. And here, as I waited for this woman, I had my answer to my boss’s question – “Fuck no!” Not that the answer quelled my anxiety, for she’d said she’ll be down by the canteen any moment.

Suddenly, I saw the familiar face. Hair tied tightly behind, thick, black wayfarer glasses on the face, she looked tired, almost like a vestige of the person I knew in college. She gave me her typical sly smile, I responded in what I think was half a smile (which I bet would have looked damn creepy), and she led me into her college canteen for a cup of coffee. It was pretty much the same deal what we spoke over phone, as to how it was never meant to be, how she never felt right, how I never felt right about it from the very first day we met, yada yada yada. Honestly, I think it was down to this one sex chat session we had some time ago, that really fucked shit up for good. Maybe I got carried away. Maybe I didn’t. But now, as I look back in retrospect, only one thing comes to mind…. “Who gives a shit?”

She was smart to keep the meeting short by having some friend of hers call her midway. I HATE it when someone attends a phone call during a meeting, and she knew that. So that was a fair way to end it. At least, this way, I didn’t have to think of an exit strategy. Little perks of having the hots for an unscrupulous human, I suppose, as much as the thoughts of such a thing stabs you in the heart. But I think I’ve developed a thick skin, and so, I have a new mantra. It’s called FTS, a.k.a. FUCK THIS SHIT (in caps).

Agreed, I felt like my heart had been ripped straight out of my chest, I wanted to pound a wall till it was reduced to dust, and maybe, my anger would have gotten the better of me. Especially when she later texted me “I feel much better after meeting you. Thanks for coming.” But then again, FTS. I had a bunch of folks and a wonderful road trip to Coorg awaiting me.

The entire gang for the trip was from my college. Of the five Mallus on board, I already knew two really well, I knew the other two by their names, and there was this supposedly ultra-smart woman (Let’s call her Geetu, sweet name no?), who I had made acquaintances with earlier over phone. And she spoke Hindi! Yesssssss!!!!!!!

Of these, Deepak – a dude who’s about to get married, and the person I’m closest to in the gang – was on his way from Trivandrum to Trissur, where we had decided to group-up and head to Mangalore, and thereon to Coorg. Geetu and I joined Deepak around Kochi, and met up with Krishna, Leela and Yaseer, the rest of the Coorgi gang. Of the lot, this Geetu woman was kind of a pain in the arse from the start. Just kidding. She’s weirdly sweet, and I say that even though she tried to punch me in the face when she got a bit too tipsy on one of our boozy nights. That happens. I’m usually on the verge of getting punched by women. Goodness knows why.

You know what’s the best bit about a bunch of perpetually hungry hooligans travelling around? The food!! Bloody hell, we managed to get good food wherever we went. Plus, Karnataka food is dirt cheap, and you need not necessarily have the hotel cooks wiping the sweat off their foreheads and arm pits every 3 minutes while they cook (or let’s hope). Maybe, the whole demonetization thingy played a bit of a spoilsport, but honestly, Coorgi chocolates aren’t all that worth buying. Before all that, however, there was an atrocious overnight journey that lay between Trissur and Coorg…..

Chapter 3: Riding the train
Chapter 4: The Best day
Chapter 5: Happy falls

A little trip away from home: Chapter 1

On a whim

It all started with a whim, a frenzied whim that had all the qualities of ruining a life. That life could have been mine. This impulse took me many miles away from the confines of safety, far from the ones I love, those who love me back equally or perhaps a lot more than I can phrase. For all I know, I shouldn’t have let my hurt little ticker on this strange adventure, because as ‘she’ said, “This is not normal. It only happens in the movies.”

But, I am a guy, I have a few things dangling between my legs that have minds of their own. The middle one’s having a ball with the other two chaps swaying to their own tune, and here I am, wondering… are they singing “I want to break free” in chorus? Actually, it was Farrokh Bulsara singing on my mp3 player.  

I’d set out on a journey of a kind to Kerala, in search of this creation, who until a few days ago, I truly believed, was made solely for me. My woman.

I took a leap of faith and booked my bus ticket to Mangalore just the night before. Seventeen tedious hours on that bus, then another 10 in a train before I reached Kochin, just for a little chat that I knew wouldn’t last for over an hour. Thankfully, my toils wouldn’t have gone in vain, for on my way back, I had a gang all set for a real fun trip.

That said, my mind was teeming with questions. Will I reach Kerala on time? Will I see my lady? Will she meet me, because despite all the chats, photos and calls, it’s been so long. Will I be able to make it back to meet the gang on time? All of these thoughts, a lot of music and a few clicks on my kindle surprisingly ate up the arduous journey up to Kochi. But instead of reaching at 5 in the evening, I made it at 9. So although I’d arrived, I’d lost my chance to see my lady for the day. Yes, a long phone call later, I knew for a fact that I’d meet her tomorrow. However, for that, I’d have to wade through her tantrums, which would take me another four years. So day 2 it was….

Seeing her in the morning was out of question. Fuzzy haired, smushed-up eye liner, sleepy little thing, who wants to see that woman? Nah, not me… that’s a lie. But I was like fuck this shit. Better roam around the city, see stuff, then maybe catch her off guard, and the end may be a bit smoother.

Thankfully, I had a bunch of things to scout around. The Kochi Muziris Biennale for one. It’s an ‘International exhibition of contemporary art’ as per Wikipedia, so that’s exactly what it is, I suppose. I’d heard about it from Nayan, a close friend from college – the bugger had attended the exhibition a few years ago and raved about it, the way he raved about hippy things. So I thought, anything is better than putting up all day in my dingy hotel room. A few pushups later, off I was on a bus to Fort Kochi, the venue for the exhibition, situated on the tip of land and the Arabian sea. I stepped inside like a kid into a labyrinth, wondering where to go, and how to go about. But this kind little lady, Anjali, gladly showed me around, and that’s how I bid four hours adieu. Bu then, it was two o’clock, three hours to go before I got to see the one I truly set out on this journey for. Next stop….. Lulu mall!

Now, Kochi’s Lulu mall is a result of all the tonnes and tonnes of money that’s come from the “Gelf” (Middle-East), where Mallus export themselves to in truckloads. The mall is like a gargantuan concrete slab (at least for Kochi) that’s just…… massive!!!

I’ve seen friends click selfies with this mall in the background, which used to leave me thinking “That’s a mall. Dude, that’s a mall!! Why the fuck would you want to click a selfie showing off that you went to a mall?” For that matter, why would you click a selfie in the first place? Tell another chap to click a photo of yours! That way, you’ end up talking to an extra human on the planet, instead of ogling your phone. Ah, forget it. I saw another 35897 fellow beings excluding their right hands from a picture of theirs inside the mall.

Besides being humongous as hell, it’s the same fair as any large mall you’ve been to. Lots of people, lots of shops, lots of brands you’ve never heard or seen before – all of which are too high-class for you– and plenty of fatty food! The cornerstones of an nonintellectual future populace. By some miracle, there was a bookstore there. Phew! After browsing through some interesting, then some really raunchy titles, I decided to take the exit without reducing my bank balance to zero. Now all that remained was finding my little miracle, which was easy-peasy. I knew where her college was, got into a cab, and reached in just 10 minutes. From thereon, the eager waiting ensued, and so did a trillion doubts. What if she makes an excuse? What if decides not to turn up abruptly? Am I late today too? Should I wait at the gates? Should I wait at the coffee shop?...............

Chapter 2: The beginning of the end
Chapter 3: Riding the train
Chapter 4: The best day
Chapter 5: Happy falls